The Rancher's Redemption

by Melinda Curtis

  His family committed a terrible wrong

  Ben Blackwell wants to make it right

  The last time Ben saw Rachel Thompson was when her best friend left him at the altar. Now Rachel’s suing the Blackwells over river water rights. Rachel’s a triple threat—rancher, fellow attorney and single mom—and Ben’s plan to win in court hits a snag when mutual attraction blooms. If he divulges a long-held secret, will his family forgive him? Will Rachel?

  “Why are you apologizing to me?”

  Rachel brought Utah to a stop. Ahead of her, the road was choked with weeds. “We hate each other.”

  She’d brought him as far as she’d said she would. He slid to the ground and moved to Utah’s head, rubbing behind the gelding’s forelock beneath the browband. It was the kind of gesture a cowboy would give to a beloved horse, and at odds with the ridiculous jogging clothes Ben wore.

  Utah leaned into his touch. Without realizing it, Rachel leaned forward, as well.

  “I don’t hate you, Thompson.” Ben stared up at her. “You’re one of the few people in town who had the courage to tell me the truth on my wedding day.”

  The way he said it...as if her shouting at him in the church aisle all those years ago was a good thing. The way his blue eyes looked at her...as if she was the only person in town he could trust.

  Dear Reader,

  I’m the youngest of a large, blended family—three brothers and two sisters. We’re all very different but share many of the same family traditions and values. We drifted apart when we were younger—seeking our own paths, healing perceived family hurts, trying to figure out who we are. But we’re closer than ever now.

  The Blackwell family has drifted apart, too. Ben Blackwell wasn’t proud of his first win as an attorney back in Montana. That victory changed the fortunes of the Blackwell Ranch and the Double T, and it drove Ben away. So the last thing he wants to do is return to the family ranch, admit what he’s done to his brothers and face childhood friend Rachel Thompson of the Double T in court. He doesn’t know the path to forgiveness runs through family.

  I hope you enjoy this installment of the Return of the Blackwell Brothers, as well as the other books in the series. It was a joy working on another project with my writing sisters—Carol Ross, Cari Lynn Webb, Amy Vastine and Anna J. Stewart. Yes, this wasn’t our first writing rodeo, so to speak. And yes, we’re something of a family.

  Happy reading!

  Melinda

  The Rancher’s Redemption

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Melinda Curtis

  Award-winning, USA TODAY bestselling author Melinda Curtis is an empty nester married to her college sweetheart. However, she didn’t feel old until her oldest son and his wife became pregnant during the writing of this book. Topics at family gatherings eventually turned to what Melinda wanted to be called by her grandchildren. Grandchildren! Her three children eventually came up with a name for her: Grandma Overlord, a name derived from her mastery of all things, or at least her ability to fake it on the page. Is that supposed to be a compliment? Now they lovingly refer to her as GO (pronounced “gee-oh”). Check in with Melinda a few years from now to see if the “endearment” stuck.

  Melinda writes sweet contemporary romances as Melinda Curtis (Brenda Novak says Season of Change “found a place on my keeper shelf”) and fun, sexy reads as Mel Curtis (Jayne Ann Krentz says Fool for Love is “wonderfully entertaining”).

  Books by Melinda Curtis

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  A Harmony Valley Novel

  Time for Love

  A Memory Away

  Marrying the Single Dad

  Love, Special Delivery

  Support Your Local Sheriff

  Marrying the Wedding Crasher

  A Heartwarming Thanksgiving

  “Married by Thanksgiving”

  Make Me a Match

  “Baby, Baby”

  Visit the Author Profile page at www.Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  To Carol Ross, Cari Lynn Webb, Amy Vastine and Anna J. Stewart. I know I often scare you with my writing ideas—“Come on! Let’s write connected cowboy stories!”—and I admire your courage for falling into step with me... And then having my back so I don’t face-plant on a public sidewalk. Love you, ladies!

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM THE RANCHER’S FAKE FIANCÉE BY AMY VASTINE

  EXCERPT FROM HER LAWMAN PROTECTOR BY PATRICIA JOHNS

  CHAPTER ONE

  NEVER LOOK BACK.

  That’s what Ben Blackwell’s grandfather, Big E, always said.

  At least, that’s what he used to say. Back when he and Ben used to talk. Back before Big E eloped with Ben’s fiancée. Back before Ben left behind trail dust and boots and Montana to be a top public utilities lawyer in New York City.

  And now, Ben was doing more than looking back—he’d gone back. Home to Falcon Creek and the Blackwell place, which had been a cattle ranch for five generations, but was now also a dude ranch.

  “Big E wants us to call it a guest ranch,” Ethan, Ben’s twin, had corrected Ben when he’d muttered something about dudes on the phone last week.

  Seemed like Ben had been muttering ever since—about his bossy older brother, Jonathon, who wanted him home ASAP; about his younger twin brothers, Tyler and Chance, who couldn’t seem to be bothered to help at the family homestead; about the grandfather whose picture was in the dictionary under selfish; and about the small-town attorney who was suing the ranch for water rights.

  At thirty-two, Ben was too old to be dragged back into the family drama that orbited Big E and the Blackwell Ranch.

  Too big for your city britches, more like.

  That was his grandfather’s voice in his head. That voice had been talking nonstop since Ben had agreed to return to Falcon Creek.

  You have arrived, big shot.

  And he had.

  Ben got out of his Mercedes, punched his arms into his suit jacket, ignoring the stifling feeling from being buttoned-up in the early afternoon heat. He’d flown from New York to Montana, and then driven to Falcon Creek without stopping. He didn’t plan to stay more than a few days—a week, tops.

  Across the street, Pops Brewster looked up from his chess game on the Brewster Ranch Supply porch to get a good look at the city slicker. Annie Harper slammed too hard on her truck brakes as she pulled up to the stop sign, gaze ping-ponging between Ben and the intersection. In the Misty Whistle Coffee Shop parking lot, Izzy Langdon tipped his straw cowboy hat up, the better to ogle Ben’s ride.

  Rachel Thompson opened the door to the law office of Calder & Associates, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Ben. “Late as usual, Blackwell.”

/>   “Welcome home,” Ben muttered, walking around a knee-high weed bending over the sidewalk. He stopped in front of the steps of a white clapboard shack, which had probably been built over a hundred years ago when the town had been founded. “Traffic was gridlocked, it was impossible getting out of Bozeman.” That was like saying traffic in the Mojave Desert was bumper-to-bumper.

  Overexaggeration. Hyperbole. Sarcasm.

  It was completely lost on Rachel. She spun on her high heels without so much as a roll of her eyes.

  Reluctantly, Ben followed. It took him two tries to get the front door closed behind him. The building had settled, and the doorframe was no longer plumb. He slammed it home, earning a dry, “Really?” from Rachel.

  “Really,” Ben said airily. “You should run a planer on that door.” And think about practicing law elsewhere.

  The narrow, rectangular building was divided into two offices and a waiting area with a black couch that was so old it had butt impressions in the cushions. The building’s hardwood floor was worn to the nails that kept it in place and there was a crack in the ceiling plaster that spoke louder of foundation issues than the ill-fitting front door.

  Everything about the office screamed struggling law practice, from the receptionist’s bare desk to the unread magazines perfectly fanned on the coffee table.

  Rachel settled behind a large oak desk in her office, which had a clean blotter and a few neat, low stacks of paper.

  By contrast, when Ben had left his office at Transk, Ipsum & Levi, his credenza had piles of depositions and his desk had been buried in briefs and court filings.

  Ben paused in the doorway to Rachel’s office, assessing his adversary for any apparent weaknesses other than inadequate resources.

  Rachel was still easy on the eyes, and still favored suits that lacked the sophistication and designer cachet most of his female opponents in New York wore into battle. Joe Calder was probably behind the closed door of the other office. He had to be ancient. When they’d met in court five years ago, Joe had shuffled into the courtroom slower than a turtle in deep sand.

  Beware! Remember the tortoise and the hare, boy.

  Well, this hare had won the last go-round, but not without a bit of finagling of the racecourse.

  That’s what lawyers are supposed to do, boy, bend the law.

  Ben ran a hand over his hair. “Where’s Joe?” He leaned back to see if the other office door was opening. “Will he be joining us?”

  “Joe died last winter.” Rachel’s tone indicated she didn’t think she needed Joe. “He left me the practice.”

  It looked like Joe hadn’t done Rachel any favors.

  Ben dusted off the seat of a chair across from her before he sat down, but his gaze never really left Rachel.

  They’d known each other since kindergarten, both raised as ranch kids on bordering properties. His grandfather hadn’t much cared for the Thompsons and hadn’t encouraged a friendship.

  Ben had targeted Rachel in dodgeball in the fifth grade, because she wasn’t much of an athlete beyond being able to ride. She’d asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance in the seventh grade, but they’d both been awkward about it, because what did you do with the opposite sex when you were almost thirteen? When Ben was fourteen and in high school, he had the answer to that question, but he’d moved on to dating Rachel’s best friend, Zoe Petit. Back in the day, Rachel and Zoe were always made-up and dressed-up, looking like they went to school in a Beverly Hills zip code.

  After Ben graduated law school, he and Zoe had made wedding plans. Rachel had been Zoe’s maid of honor—meaning she was supposed to stand up at the altar, smile serenely and hold Zoe’s bouquet while the preacher said his words. Instead, Rachel had stood up to Ben in the church aisle, smiled like she wanted to kill him and then told Ben that Zoe had run off with a wealthier Blackwell—Ben’s grandfather.

  Kind of made it hard to look at Rachel’s pretty face after that.

  Today, Rachel wasn’t so put-together. She’d straightened her blond hair, but missed a long lock on the side. The eyeliner beneath her left eye was heavier than the line beneath her right. And the pink blouse beneath her navy suit jacket was wrinkled with a stain near the neckline. He wasn’t so principled that he didn’t take a little pleasure in seeing how far the mighty had fallen.

  “Lookin’ good, Rach.” Ben ran a hand over his hair once more. Behind her on the credenza was a picture of a baby, a cute one as babies went. Round face, big brown eyes, a thatch of blond hair. Brought to mind another baby and another court case. Ben didn’t let his gaze linger. He gave Rachel a peacemaking smile and reached across the desk to shake her hand. “Is that another one of your sister’s babies?”

  “Still the charmer, I see.” Rachel’s fingers were small and cold. They convulsed around Ben’s hand before she drew back, rubbing her palm over her skirt as if he had germs.

  No surprise in that handshake. As adults, the Blackwells and the Thompsons were about as friendly as the Hatfields and the McCoys.

  Ben flattened his smile out of existence. Best get to the point. “I hear there’s an issue over river water rights.” That’s why he’d returned to Falcon Creek. At his twin’s urging, not his grandfather’s. Big E had apparently gone on drive-about in his thirty-foot mobile home and wasn’t taking calls.

  For centuries, ranchers in Montana’s high country had been fighting over water rights. Water nourished crops. Crops fed cattle. Cattle was sold to pay bills. Limited water meant skinny cattle, small herds and limited income. Permission to divert river water for agriculture or to communities was determined in court and by the state water board, and was based on several factors, including historical use and legal precedent. Properties and towns were assigned allotments and priorities. Those in first position had first rights to river water even if they were farther downstream. Ben and Big E had won the first position from the Double T five years ago with a slick piece of legal wrangling that should be iron-clad.

  “The Double T has decided it’s time to revisit your rights.” Rachel opened a thin manila folder. “I’ve done some research with the water district and it appears the Blackwell Ranch hasn’t been using their allotment of water, which—as you know—means the claimant with secondary rights can divert more river water. And the ranch with second rights—as you know—is the Double T.”

  She’d done research?

  Ben was surprised, but not worried. This was Rachel Thompson. She used to copy off his test in Mrs. Whitecloud’s science class. There’d be no competition here. He’d graduated from Harvard and practiced law in New York City. Rachel had graduated from the University of Montana and only ever practiced in Falcon Creek.

  Rachel thought she could break the deal Ben had drawn up five years ago? Not on her best day.

  He gave her a pitying smile. “I haven’t seen your brief yet, but—”

  “I have a copy for you here, along with Exhibit A, the Blackwell Ranch’s year-to-year river water usage.” Rachel handed Ben a few pages, a challenging spark in her brown eyes.

  For the first time since arriving in Falcon Creek, Ben felt like doing more than muttering.

  He sat up straighter and scanned the brief. But his mind was chugging along an unpleasant train of thought. Both ranches relied on the river for water. The Blackwell Ranch also had rights to an underground reservoir, although it was their practice to use aquifer water only if the river was low. But there was a third player in the water game. Decades ago, the Falcon County Water Company had won legal access to the metered pumps monitoring river water use on both ranches, claiming someday the community’s needs might supersede theirs.

  Rachel shouldn’t have the Blackwell Ranch’s water information. She shouldn’t have filed a lawsuit with the court either. There were new housing developments south of Falcon Creek. Unused water would make the water company salivate. There were legal firms out there
being paid to watch for opportunities just like this.

  He should know. Up until last week, he’d worked at one and as soon as he wrapped things up here, he hoped to work for another.

  And then Ben noticed something odd in her brief. Battle alarms went off in his head, ringing in his ears. “Why are you mentioning aquifer rights? I thought this case was about river water use.”

  Rachel’s smile contradicted the wrinkled blouse and frizzy lock of hair. “We’d like to establish with the court that the aquifer provides you with more than enough water. More than enough,” she repeated.

  More than enough as in...more than enough to share?

  There was something about Rachel’s attitude that made Ben wonder...

  Is she going to make a run for aquifer access?

  She couldn’t. Not without a land ownership claim. And to do that, she’d have to suspect the Double T had rights to the property above the reservoir. Or she’d have to have proof of...

  The alarm bells rang louder.

  She knows.

  Ben sucked in thin mountain air.

  She couldn’t know. Big E may be the worst grandparent on the planet, but he was one of the best businessmen Ben knew. The proof Rachel needed to obtain aquifer water rights was in Big E’s safe.

  Or it had been five years ago.

  A lot can change in five years, boy.

  Ben wanted to tell his brothers this was nothing serious.

  But there was something about Rachel’s smile that made him nervous.

  And nervous lawyers didn’t run.

  * * *

  RACHEL THOMPSON’S HANDS SHOOK.

  She clenched her fingers and tucked her hands beneath her arms, watching Ben pull away in a black Mercedes blanketed with dust that dulled the expensive car’s shine.

  Ben Blackwell was going down, along with the rest of his swindling family.

  Thanks to her anonymous guardian angel, Rachel thought she had what she needed to get the Double T’s river rights back and to put the Blackwell Ranch in secondary position for water from Falcon Creek. Her confidence should have been unflappable.