Marrying My Cowboy

by Diana Palmer

  She sat down at the table that had two chairs around it and ate a tuna sandwich she’d made last night. Luckily, she’d slept well, a rare thing but so welcome. Major Dawson had told her that over time, years, the anxiety, the hypervigilance, the nightmares and those dreaded flashbacks would begin to ease. Lily took it as a good-luck sign that Wind River was a place of healing for her. In the last two weeks, she’d had seven nights of solid, unbroken sleep. A new record! Attributing it to her beloved dogs and cats, she remembered her caring therapist telling her she would find an inner strength that would support her healing. It would be a journey that would consume her life to come, but a worthy one.

  Well, she’d found it. Kassie and Travis Grant were her guardian angels. Just as Maud Whitcomb had been, by hiring her part-time at the animal shelter. Yes, this place, the kindness of so many people who lived here, was the medication she needed to get her feet solidly under her. Tonight, she’d call her mom and dad in Idaho and let them know what had transpired. Idaho Falls was about six hours north of where she lived now, but sometimes it seemed like half a continent away. Other times, a six-hour trip by pickup home to see them would be easy for her to accomplish.

  Sitting and munching on her sandwich, she went over her short talk with Maud. She’d never been a personal caregiver but liked the idea of helping a sixty-five-year-old woman rehabilitate. After all, she’d worked in orthopedics while going through her last two years before receiving her RN degree. Maybe that would help her get the job. But it was only for two months. Then she’d be back to square one. Still, it felt hopeful, and she had to try.

  Fear was something she had rarely felt until after joining the Army. Then it had been a daily companion after her breakdown. She felt the emotions rising in her, felt her stomach shrinking, as if a hand had grabbed it and was squeezing it until it was painful. Fear of rejection. Yes, that was it. Shame and humiliation were the two biggest feelings in her life. Ashamed that she couldn’t take it. Some of the male vets in her hospital ward due to their own PTSD had called her weak. Fragile. Even though they themselves were in as bad shape emotionally as she was. How many times at night, in her bed, had she cried, face pressed deep into the pillow to stop the sounds? Lily had lost count. Crying helped relieve the pressure within her. Better out than in. Crying was healthy, and she saw the difference in her state of mind since giving herself permission to do just that.

  Humiliation haunted her daily, reminding her that she couldn’t take real life, the natural stress everyone around her could deal with without blinking an eye. She couldn’t handle a crowd on a sidewalk, or be squeezed into a theater, or be comfortable in a department store. Instead, walks around the hospital grounds, green grass, trees, colorful flower beds, birds singing, all combined to ramp down the anxiety that savaged her. Lily understood what fragile meant because that was how far she’d sunk into her own wounded being. There was so much she could no longer handle.

  Frowning, she wondered what Maud would think of her. Because she wouldn’t lie about what had happened to her, and how it affected her daily. If she lost the job, so be it. Lily wasn’t about to put herself into a position where there was high stress, loud noises or too much hustle and bustle. In an hour, she’d find out a lot more. The fear grew in her, making her feel hyper with anxiety.

  On the legendary ranch she can now call home,

  one woman searches for her place in her birth family—

  and finds so much more . . .

  Now that she’s completed her engineering degree,

  Rachel Ford Morgan is trying to find her footing

  around her birth father and her four brothers.

  She gets a chance to prove herself when she discovers

  worrisome fault lines around an abandoned silver mine.

  But they’re nothing compared to the cowboy who seems

  determined to shake up her world . . .

  Cauy Lymond doesn’t take kindly to the woman nosing around his property—especially since she’s a Morgan.

  He came home just to keep his father’s failing ranch out

  of their super-wealthy hands. But he soon realizes that

  Rachel’s skill—and admirable courage—may be the

  only things that can shore up the old mine that threatens

  both their futures. Still, it will take pouring all of their

  blood, sweat, and secrets into saving the land—

  and ultimately, themselves—to bring their true

  feelings for each other to the surface . . .

  Please turn the page

  for an exciting sneak peek of

  Kate Pearce’s

  THE RANCHER,

  available now wherever

  print and eBooks are sold!

  Lymond Ranch, Morgan Valley, California

  Cauy Lymond stared at the gate blocking the road and reluctantly stepped down from his truck into a teeth-chattering wind. The rusting five-bar gate leading up to the main house was closed with a chain and padlock he didn’t have the key for. With a soft curse, he went to find the toolbox he always carried in the back of his truck. By the time he located his wire cutters and work gloves his hands were blue with cold.

  After leaving the ranch at sixteen for the sunnier climate of Texas, he’d forgotten how cold it got in Morgan Valley during the winter months. It took him just a second to snap the chain, but far longer to persuade the gate to move past the accumulated muddy ruts so he could get his truck through.

  He didn’t bother to shut the gate behind him. He’d probably have to replace the damned thing anyway. It wasn’t as if his father had left him any livestock that could escape. He turned the heater higher and drove up the steep slope toward the single-story house, barn, and ramshackle livestock sheds arranged in a circle at the top of the slight incline. The sides of the rutted track were piled high with abandoned farm machinery, metal and plastic drums, and the odd rusting domestic appliance.

  “What a dump,” Cauy murmured as he turned off the engine, and stared at the unwelcoming house. He didn’t remember it looking like this when he was a kid, but he hadn’t returned for almost fourteen years. At one time his father had taken a lot of pride in the place.

  “Welcome home.”

  The trouble was, it was now his home. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. Cauy felt in his pocket for the house keys his mother had mailed him from Florida where she’d lived after dumping his dad’s ass. He hadn’t brought much stuff with him so he hoped the place was still habitable. He blew out a long breath, and watched the wind bend the trees in a graceful scrabble of desperation as if even they wanted to get away.

  He didn’t want to get out of the truck....

  Eventually, he forced himself to brave the frigid temperature and went around to the side door that led into the mudroom and kitchen. To the right of the door was the old chicken coop. Even though the wire had long gone, three chickens stuck their heads out of the dilapidated wooden structure and glared at him like he was the intruder.

  He found himself smiling as he wrestled to turn the key in the lock. It took a hefty kick with his booted foot to persuade the warped door to open. Cauy paused with his back to the wall and attempted to work out what he was looking at. Someone had helpfully closed the blinds so the room was in complete darkness. A faint smell of damp, bleach, and used cooking oil wafted across his nose, and he swallowed hard.

  “First things first.” Yeah, so he was talking to himself now. If he didn’t he might just run back to his truck and never return. “Open the blinds, check the electricity.”

  Apparently, his mom’s cousin, who’d married a Turner, had come over on horseback and checked that everything was still connected and paid up. Without much hope, Cauy flicked on the light switch and was rewarded by his first clear view of the kitchen in all its dilapidated glory.

  Jeez, for a second he contemplated plunging the place back into eternal darkness but as he already felt like he was in the middle of a horror flick it might not
be a good idea. He made himself take stock of the space. The kitchen table with two chairs sat against the far wall. A recliner facing a flat-screen TV was crowded in one corner where they had once kept the dog’s bed.

  “Weird . . .” Cauy wandered over to check out the TV. “Same old kitchen appliances and tablecloth, but Dad managed to afford a new screen.” As he’d never seen eye to eye with his father, he wasn’t surprised at their differing priorities. Not for the first time he wondered where the money he’d regularly sent his mother had gone.

  After the shock of finding out his father had left him the ranch, Cauy had discovered things were worse than he’d imagined. Mark had run up huge debts and blamed his neighbors the Morgans for destroying his livelihood.

  He checked out the refrigerator, which was running but empty, and tried the range. Water flowed into the deep sink and didn’t back up. Whatever else he found, Cauy wouldn’t starve or be driven out into the cold.

  If he remembered correctly, there was a parlor, a farm office, and an official front hallway on this side of the single-level structure, and three bedrooms and a large bathroom on the other side. Turning lights on as he went, Cauy opened every door and peered in. Nothing much had changed. He kept expecting his father to walk through from the mudroom at any moment complaining about his day.

  He ended up in what he remembered as the master bedroom to find someone had added an en suite onto the side of the house. The room had an unused feel, and he wasn’t surprised when he went into the second largest bedroom and found all his dad’s stuff in there. Cauy took in the ashtray on the arm of the old recliner, another TV, and a queen-size bed covered in a quilt like the ones his grandma used to make. The room still smelled of leather, stale smoke, whisky, and his father’s spicy aftershave.

  Cauy shuddered and shut the door. He and Jackson had originally shared that room. Their sister, Amy, had the smaller space next door. He clicked on the light in the bathroom and was pleased to find everything working just fine. He’d have to thank Jean Turner when he went back into town. He suspected she’d done a lot more than just ride over.

  Retracing his steps to the kitchen, Cauy rinsed out the ancient coffeemaker and set it to work. He’d stopped off at Maureen’s store in Morgantown to get the basics. No one had recognized him, which was hardly surprising seeing as he’d left home so long ago.

  There was no microwave, so he dumped a can of beans and sausages in a pan and set them to warm on the stove. A couple of bread rolls and he’d be fed and watered for the night. If he was lucky, one of the guardian chickens might lay an egg for his breakfast.

  The house felt wrong without his mom . . . like the heart had gone out of the place. Maybe that was why when she’d finally left, his dad had stopped caring and let everything go to shit. On impulse, Cauy pulled out his cell and checked for coverage, amazed when he got a few bars.

  He waited as the phone rang, mentally trying to work out the time difference and failing miserably. He was just about to give up when his mother answered.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Cauy, Mom. I just wanted you to know I got here safely.”

  “Cauy! I’m so glad you called. I was just taking the dogs out for their last constitutional before bed.”

  His mom, Anita, had two Pomeranians she spoiled rotten. Cauy pictured her in her cozy kitchen and couldn’t help but compare it to where he was now. Had she ever been happy at the ranch? She’d always made an effort for him and his siblings, but he’d heard the fights. They all had.

  “Is everything okay up there?” Anita asked.

  “Yeah. Do you miss it, Mom?”

  She took her time before she answered him. “Some of it. We had some good years before your father made some bad choices that changed everything. I miss the place, and the people in the valley. They were always kind and supportive of me.”

  “That’s not what Dad said.”

  “Cauy, your dad was an alcoholic. He went out of his way to set up the backs of the very people he needed to help him survive. Ranching isn’t a solitary occupation, and he forgot that.”

  Unwilling to argue with his mother, who was the only person in the world apart from his two siblings who were still talking to him right now, Cauy decided to shut it. While he was at the ranch he intended to investigate his dad’s claims and hopefully lay them to rest. He also had no intention of handing the ranch over to the Morgans.

  “Anyway, I’m here, and I’ll report back on the state of things when I get a chance, okay?”

  “Okay, but promise me you won’t tire yourself out, or do anything stupid. You’re still not a hundred percent.”

  “No, Ma. I promise.” Cauy crossed his fingers like a five-year-old. “I’m just going to take a look around, and see how things are hanging.”

  Anita snorted. “Whatever that means. Take care, Cauy, and call me if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  He ended the conversation, got himself some coffee, and took a grateful sip. There was no use crying over spilled milk. His mom had always loved to tell him that. Unless he wanted to give up entirely, he had to find a way forward, and at least the ranch offered him an opportunity to do something positive with his life.

  It had been in the Lymond family for almost a hundred years and had once rivaled the next-door Morgan Ranch in size and prosperity. If what he’d heard about the Morgans was true, there was no longer any comparison between the two places.

  Cauy yawned so hard his jaw cracked and smoothed a hand over his stubbled chin. He’d get the rest of his gear out of the truck, find his sleeping bag, and make use of the single bed in the master bedroom. Tomorrow was soon enough to take stock of the rest of the place. In the meantime, he had shelter, water, and food, which was enough for any man—especially one who’d reached the end of his rope. His future was just as messed up as the ranch. He finished his food and took the plate over to the sink. Maybe they deserved each other after all.

  * * *

  Rachel Morgan dumped her bag in her bedroom, took off her shoes, and went right back down to the kitchen where her grandma was waiting for her. The smell of roasting pumpkin floated up the stairs, and Rachel sucked it in like oxygen. Ruth was the best cook in the world. When she wasn’t at Morgan Ranch, Rachel often dreamed about her food and woke up with drool on her pillow.

  “Rachel, darlin’, come here and give your grandmother a hug.”

  Rachel went willingly, bending down to kiss the wrinkled cheek of her grandma Ruth and holding her tight. She smelled just like the pies she loved to bake—full of goodness, with just a kick of spice.

  Rachel sat at the table and Ruth pushed a plate toward her. “Have a chocolate cookie while I get on with dinner. They’ll all be milling around in here like sharks in an hour or so.”

  “I could help you cook,” Rachel offered. “It doesn’t seem right that you still do everything.”

  “I don’t do it all,” Ruth smiled. “I’ve given up cooking for the ranch guests. Avery found someone to take that on and Billy’s a qualified chef as well. Now I just cook for my family, and that’s just how I like it. If I need any help I’ll ask for it, so don’t you worry about me.”

  Ruth was in her seventies, but had the wiry strength of a much younger woman and the determination to match. She’d single-handedly run the cattle ranch until her son and grandsons had come back to help her. Rachel was still in awe of her and hoped one day to be half as strong and capable.

  After a few minutes of preparation, Ruth closed the oven door and took the seat opposite Rachel at the table.

  “So how’s your stepfather these days?”

  “Oh.” Rachel hastily swallowed a mouthful of cookie. “He got married again.”

  “What?” Ruth put down her coffee mug. “When?”

  “Just last month. He married one of the professors at his college. She’s very nice, and also a widow.” Rachel tried to shrug. “I had no idea until he asked me to go with him to the wedding to act as a witness.�
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  “Good Lord.” Ruth shook her head. “How do you feel about that?”

  “I’m very happy for him, but it was a bit of a shock,” Rachel confided. “They’ve gone on an extended honeymoon to explore ancient Greece. That’s Jane’s specialty, and they won’t be back for several months.”

  “Then I hope you’ll stay here with us for a while.” Ruth patted her hand. “You can’t want to be going back to an empty house.”

  “He’s putting our house on the market. Apparently, Jane’s place is closer to the Humboldt campus. I haven’t lived there full-time for years, but it’s still home.” Rachel sighed. “I tried to say all the right things, but I feel like such a killjoy. I know he’s been lonely, and that he misses Mom, but—”

  “It still feels like a betrayal.” Ruth nodded. “You just need some time away to come to terms with it, and what better place than here among your other family? We’ll all enjoy your company over the holidays—especially Billy.”

  The last thing Rachel wanted to think about right now was her birth father, Billy. When Rachel was a baby, her mother had taken Rachel and walked out on her husband and four sons never to be seen again. The discovery that she even had a real father and four siblings was still new and, despite their warm acceptance of her, still filled her with uncertainty.

  “I’ve finished at college now, so I suppose it doesn’t matter about the house that much.” Rachel picked up another cookie. “I don’t think I would’ve found an engineering job in Humboldt.”

  “Probably not. What do you plan to do with that fancy degree of yours?”

  “I’m not sure.” Rachel considered. “I could go abroad and work in the mining industry, or I could stay here. There’s always a demand for engineers. It just depends what comes up first.”

  Some part of her longed to travel, but the new uncertainty of her adopted father’s unexpected marriage had shaken her complacency. After the first years of her life when it had just been her and her mom moving constantly around she’d always craved stability. When her mom had married Paul she’d been in heaven.