Lassoed by the Would-Be Rancher--A Clean Romance

by Melinda Curtis

  If there’s a way to her heart...

  ...he’ll jump at the chance!

  CEO Shane Monroe sticks out like a sore thumb in Second Chance, Idaho, where he’s investigating his grandfather’s connection to the town’s folklore of stolen treasure. Feisty local Franny Clark ridicules his city-slicker ways but allows Shane to hunt for gold on her land...if he can help save her rodeo ranch. Shane is captivated by Franny’s go-getting attitude, but what will it take for him to win her over?

  Franny wanted to lift her gaze and see his face. She kept staring into her coffee mug. “Yes, but did you bring jeans with you?”

  “If you’re willing to let me help with those bulls, you’ll find out, won’t you?” The warmth. The tease. The magnetism.

  She closed her eyes. “You make me afraid.” Afraid she’d find out too many other things about Shane Monroe and fall for him.

  “I scare you?”

  She opened her eyes and met his gaze, firmly, the way a woman with responsibilities would. “Because you aren’t a cowboy. Because you don’t aspire to the ranch life. And because you aren’t going to stay in Second Chance.”

  “Meaning these long glances we exchange aren’t predictive of a future together.”

  “Yes.” Her pulse raced. She couldn’t believe she’d told him that nothing was going to happen between them. Nothing could happen between them...

  Dear Reader,

  Harlan Monroe left a small town in Idaho to his twelve grandchildren. What did Second Chance mean to Harlan? Why did he leave it to his grandchildren? His adult heirs are going to find out. And while they’re at it, they’ll get a second chance at love.

  Family dynamics fascinate me. Why are some brothers bossy and others laid-back? Why do some cousins get in your business and others just enjoy the occasional visit at the holidays? Shane Monroe falls into the bossy get-in-your-business camp. Got a problem? He can fix it. He’s a great guy to have around when the going gets rough. And the going is definitely rough for rancher Franny Clark. This widowed single mom has a lot on her plate, including feral cattle and the fate of the family ranch. How in the world can a former CEO help her?

  As with all the Monroe romances, there’s a little laughter to go along with the journey to a happily-ever-after. I hope you come to love The Mountain Monroes as much as I do. Each book is connected but also stands alone.

  Happy reading!

  Melinda

  Lassoed by the Would-Be Rancher

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Melinda Curtis

  Prior to writing romance, award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author Melinda Curtis was a junior manager for a Fortune 500 company, which meant when she flew on the private jet she was relegated to the jump seat—otherwise known as the potty. After grabbing her pen (and a parachute) she made the jump to full-time writer. Melinda recently came to grips with the fact that she’s an empty nester and a grandma, concepts easier to grasp than her former life jet-setting on a potty. Exciting news! Her Harlequin Heartwarming book Dandelion Wishes will soon be a TV movie!

  Brenda Novak says Season of Change “found a place on my keeper shelf.”

  Jayne Ann Krentz says Fool For Love is “wonderfully entertaining.”

  Sheila Roberts says Can’t Hurry Love is “a page turner filled with wit and charm.”

  Books by Melinda Curtis

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  The Mountain Monroes

  Kissed by the Country Doc

  Snowed in with the Single Dad

  Rescued by the Perfect Cowboy

  Return of the Blackwell Brothers

  The Rancher’s Redemption

  Visit the Author Profile pageat Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  EXCERPT FROM A BRIDESMAID TO REMEMBER BY AMY VASTINE

  PROLOGUE

  WHEN FRANNY BOUCHARD was ten, there were three things she loved completely.

  Sunny, her horse, who was the best cutting horse her father had ever trained, plus the most beautiful creature on the planet.

  Kyle Clark, who was two years older than she was and had come over to her family’s ranch the previous spring to help move cattle from the winter grazing pastures to the ranch proper. She’d beat him at the county-fair roping competition, and he’d bought her and his sister, Emily, ice cream to celebrate. He hadn’t cared that he’d been beaten by a girl. Franny was going to marry that boy one day.

  And stories. Franny loved stories. Scary stories, stories about aliens, westerns, Nancy Drew mysteries. Whatever books she could get her hands on, she read. And when she’d been allowed to go on her first cattle drive, she’d been ecstatic to learn that at night the adults sat around the campfire and told tales.

  One particular night, Gertie Clark had promised to tell a story about Merciless Mike Moody, who was Second Chance, Idaho’s very own bandit.

  Franny shrugged deeper into her jacket, shivering more from excitement than the high mountain cold. Dinner had been eaten. Horses taken care of. The cattle were mostly quiet. The Clarks and the Bouchards gathered around the large fire beneath a blanket of bright stars.

  “Granny Gertie.” Emily sat next to Franny on a log. “Do we have to hear about Merciless Mike again?” She turned to Franny, rolling her eyes. “She tells that one all the time at home.”

  “But I never get to hear it,” Franny said quickly. Well, except for the few times she’d spent the night at Emily’s house. But that wasn’t the same as hearing a story of the Old West while camping out on the high plains.

  “It’s got to be Merciless Mike.” Gertie sat in her husband’s lap. She may have been a grandmother, but she wasn’t shy about public displays of affection. “You can’t come out along the stage route and not talk about the brassiest bandit in the Idaho Territory.”

  “You can talk all you want,” Franny’s father said, giving Franny a stern look. “Just remember it’s a myth.”

  Gertie and Percy laughed. Those two laughed a lot.

  And then Gertie got down to business, turning to Kyle and the two girls. “Some say Mike Moody grew up back east, a dandy of sorts. Others, like me, believe he was raised on a farm outside of Boise, dirt-poor and envious of anyone better off than he was.” Gertie’s shoulder-length gray hair gleamed silvery red in the firelight. “When Mike was about Kyle’s age, his parents decided he’d had enough schooling and told him he’d be working the farmstead full-time.”

  Franny spared a glance to her father, who was drinking a beer and staring into the fire. As an only child, she’d been told the Silver Spur would be hers one day. Some days she felt
as if her father expected her to take over the ranch sooner rather than later. Just this morning, he’d made her rope strays instead of letting her horse Sunny funnel them back to the herd. Last week she’d had to go along with her dad while he mended fences, which would have been fine if he was a talker or a storyteller, like Gertie Clark.

  “And then Mike got in over his head and pulled the trigger.” While Franny’s thoughts had wandered, Gertie’s tale had progressed from Mike leaving the farm to him becoming an outlaw. “And he ran to this valley. Made himself a hideout in the mountains, where he could see the law, a passing stage or pony-express rider.”

  “A smart man would’ve changed his name,” Franny’s dad grumbled, pulling the brim of his sensible straw hat low.

  Percy grinned. His white hair was as long as Gertie’s and looked like a waterfall beneath his tall black cowboy hat. “Being good at one thing doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be smart in all things.”

  “Tell that to your millionaire Monroe friend,” Franny’s father grumbled. “Mark my words. Harlan Monroe will do something he regrets someday.”

  “He already has.” For once, Percy was dead serious.

  “The cattle-drive campfire is for storytelling, not kibitzing.” Gertie got up and went to sit next to the kids on the log. “There’s something to be said for admitting who you are to the world, be it with your name or your actions.” She pulled in a deep breath and shook herself, as if needing to shake off the bad. “Where was I? Oh, yes... They said Merciless Mike had one of the fastest horses in the Idaho Territory. He’d hold up the stage or rob a poor unsuspecting settler on their way out west and be gone before they drew bead on him with a rifle.”

  “That’s fast,” Kyle whispered.

  “Sunny is that fast,” Franny whispered back to him across Emily. It wasn’t exactly the truth. Sunny was sure-footed when it came to outmaneuvering cattle, but not fast on the straightaway.

  Emily and Kyle laughed, but didn’t argue.

  And neither did Gertie. “But ol’ Mike got cocky. He didn’t get discouraged from robbing the stage when they added more protection or when he knew there was a posse traveling through the area in the hopes of catching him. He pressed his luck instead and robbed one stage too many as the good guys were closing in.”

  “I like this part.” Kyle tipped back his straw cowboy hat.

  Emily snickered. “Only because our great-great-great-something grandfather got stabbed when Merciless Mike’s horse threw a shoe.”

  “Can I tell the part about Old Jeb Clark?” Gertie asked her grandchildren. “Without interruption?”

  “Yes, Granny,” the children said, including Franny.

  “Fine.” Gertie nodded and tossed her silvery red hair. “Merciless Mike’s horse threw a shoe in the chase. So, he crept into town and asked the blacksmith—”

  “Old Jeb,” Emily said.

  “—to shoe his horse quickly. But Old Jeb was busy, and he knew who Mike was, so he stalled.”

  “And then they got into it.” Kyle grinned.

  “They got into a fight and Old Jeb was stabbed.” Gertie leaned in close, as if this was the most important part. “Which would have meant the end of the Clarks in Second Chance if not for having a doctor in town.”

  “Or if the posse hadn’t ridden up before Merciless Mike could finish him off.” Kyle grinned again. He could be a little bit bloodthirsty.

  “Pfft.” Gertie shook a finger at Kyle. “When you have grandkids, you can tell the story any way you want, young man.” But she said it with a smile. “The posse came thundering into town, just like Kyle said. They picked up his trail heading into the mountains. And then—” she spread her thin arms wide, pressing the kids back as if bringing them out of harm’s way “—there was an earthquake.”

  Franny shivered. She’d never felt the earth move.

  “Boulders tumbled down the mountain from high above. Boulders the size of bulls.” Gertie’s eyes widened and her voice dropped to a whisper barely heard above the crackle of the fire. “Those stones knocked over trees and bounced off other boulders on their way downhill. Their collisions sounded louder than gunshots. And when the shaking and the rolling stopped, a riderless horse raced past the posse toward town. It was Merciless Mike’s horse. They found what was left of the bandit beneath a boulder. But they never found the gold he’d stolen.”

  “Because it’s a myth,” Franny’s dad grumbled.

  Gertie and Percy just laughed.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE WEDDING WAS OVER. The cake eaten. The bridal bouquet tossed, and the garter snapped to a thin crowd of eligible bachelors.

  Shane Monroe sat on the steps of the hundred-year-old church in Second Chance, Idaho, and waited for the revelry to end and the family drama to begin.

  His sister, Sophie, the bride, danced with her newly minted husband, Zeke, looking happy. Blissful, even.

  The reception was being held in a wildflower-filled meadow next to the white clapboard church. Across a narrow ribbon of rural highway, the Salmon River barreled past at its high-water mark from snow melt and spring rain. Beyond that, the Colter Valley stretched toward the mighty Sawtooth Mountains, their peaks still blanketed with snow even though it was April.

  The day was clear. The sky blue. Sophie’s four-year-old twin boys from her first marriage ran through the crowd playing tag with the three Clark kids. Cousin Laurel sat in a folding chair, hands circling her baby bump as she talked to Ella, Cousin Bryce’s widow. It was a beautiful day for a wedding. A beautiful day to be surrounded by family you loved and trusted.

  Sophie, Laurel, Ella. They were the family Shane loved and trusted. They believed in him.

  And the rest?

  His father and three uncles were grouped near the back corner of the church meadow, expressions of displeasure on their faces. They didn’t approve of Sophie marrying a penniless cowboy and moving to Second Chance. Shane’s Grandpa Harlan had left his four sons millions. There was only one condition to their inheritance—they’d had to fire their children, all of whom had been working for the Monroe Holding Corporation in some capacity. Tough love, they guessed. Regardless, it had felt like a coup.

  Fired. You might just as well say failed...

  Bitterness scaled Shane’s throat. He’d tried so hard the past few years to make his father proud, to garner the respect of his uncles, to be the Monroe among the third generation who would ascend to the throne. He’d run the Monroes’ chain of luxury hotels in Las Vegas. He’d been respected. His ideas embraced. He’d put family profits above time with family. And for what? To be fired so his father and uncles could inherit everything? To be humiliated in the global hospitality industry?

  And by his grandfather, of all people. The man who’d taken him in and given him a chance when his father no longer would. That’s what Grandpa Harlan’s last wishes were? For his children to fire his grandchildren?

  Shane passed his thumb over the narrow scar on his chin.

  Today, he was unemployed, living off his savings and serving as an honorary council member in Second Chance. Why? Because the only thing Harlan Monroe had left his dozen grandchildren was the small town. That’s right. A town. And the town was in need of saving.

  “I never have to worry about your dedication to family,” Grandpa Harlan had told Shane when he was a teenager. The older man’s faded gaze had strayed to the oldest of his grandchildren—Holden. “You were taught that power and wealth comes hand in hand with responsibility, and that you have a duty to uphold your heritage.”

  What good did that do Shane? It was a curse, this need to be responsible. To live up to some unwritten code about protecting the Monroe family name, not to mention his grandfather’s reputation.

  On the far side of the cake table, Cousin Holden held court with Shane’s brother and other cousins, planning a coup of their own. They wanted to cha
llenge Grandpa Harlan’s will and regain their leadership positions within the Monroe conglomerate, to take down their fathers and uncles a peg on the power-and-wealth scale. But to do so they’d have to prove Grandpa Harlan wasn’t in a fit mental state when he’d written his will.

  They wanted to besmirch the reputation of one of the wealthiest and one of the most compassionate men in America, a man Shane had idolized, a man who’d ultimately betrayed him.

  And now the only thing standing in their way was Shane.

  * * *

  FRANNY CLARK STOOD on the edge of the crowd at Zeke’s wedding reception and tried to remain calm.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on the good things.

  Sunshine. Her children’s laughter. The happy bride and groom.

  Panic crept past calm, and made Franny feel brittle.

  “Who was on the phone?” Emily, Franny’s sister-in-law, didn’t take her eyes off the cluster of Monroe men and women on the other side of the cake table.

  Men of a certain age were hard to come by in Second Chance, and Emily, being of a certain age, was on the lookout to be part of a matched set.

  Franny could’ve told Emily not to set her sights on those Monroe men. They were here today, but would be gone tomorrow. Except for one...

  Her gaze strayed to Shane Monroe. He sat on the church steps in a suit that probably cost more than the price of a straw of Buttercup’s bull semen. He had wavy brown hair in a corporate haircut and studied his estranged family like a cowboy sized up a bull he’d drawn for a rodeo competition.

  Shane had been in town for more than three months, doing Granny only knew what.

  He wasn’t dancing. At least, he wasn’t dancing today. And certainly not with Franny.

  He spared her a glance, one that lingered and made Franny feel...not like a widowed mother of three. He stared as if he considered her worthy to have a discussion with, worthy to spend time with, worthy to—

  Shane looked away.

  “Franny?” Emily prompted. “The call?”