“Kaye? Are you okay?”
She heard Caleb’s words through the layers of sorrow. The pain and grief rolled out of her, much like flood gates opening, and she had no control over them.
How long she cried, she couldn’t say, but it seemed like hours. When sanity returned, she felt the support and comfort of Caleb’s arms. This was the second time the man had held her and surrounded her with his strength.
She pulled away, wiping her face. “You’d never believe I was an efficient military officer who never once cried the entire time I was in the army. I didn’t even cry when my ex told me he was filing for divorce.”
“I believe you.”
His response brought her gaze up to his. “Really? I took the coward’s way out when I left here.”
Caleb’s finger lifted her chin. “I don’t see a coward. I see an amazingly strong woman who has dealt with a lot of tragedy.”
She searched his face, trying to see if he really meant what he said. His eyes held admiration—and something else.
LEANN HARRIS
When Leann was growing up, she used to spin stories to keep herself entertained, and when she didn’t like how a movie ended, she rewrote the ending—and still does.
Once her youngest child went to school, Leann gave in to her imagination and began putting those stories on a page. Since she was such a terrible typist, her husband brought home a computer, and her writing career was born.
Although she’s not a native Texan, she’s lived most of her adult life in Texas, married a fourth-generation Texan, and her two children are fifth-generation Texans, which is why most of her stories are set in the West or the Southwest.
She is active in her local RWA chapter and ACFW chapters. Since other writers nourished her, she wants to give to others the encouragement given her.
A teacher of the deaf (high school), she is a master composter and avid gardener, which you can look at on her website, www.leannharris.com.
A Ranch to Call Home
Leann Harris
But for you who revere my name shall the Sun of Righteousness arise with healing in His wings.
—Malachi 4:2
For my sweet husband,
who has supported me in all things.
My thanks to:
Steve Gander of the Mesquite Pro-Rodeo
for all his help and insights on how a rodeo operates.
Jennifer Baade and “Branigan” for their help.
Contents
Chapter One
Home. She was home.
After twelve years and a lifetime of experiences gained in the army, ex-captain Brenda Kaye was coming home to the little town of Peaster, Texas, west of Fort Worth to face—what?
Sucking in a long, steadying breath, she turned her army-surplus jeep down the dirt road that led to her family’s farmhouse. When she woke early this morning, she’d felt an urgency to go home. She knew better than to ignore that little voice, for it had saved her life more than once. She packed her clothes and a few personal items into her vehicle, notified her apartment manager she was going to Texas and started home. She didn’t call. Instead, she wanted to surprise her brother and grandfather. She didn’t know what her plans for the future were, she only knew she had to go home. Now.
When the familiar white farmhouse came into view, her stomach tightened. She’d faced some intimidating fellow soldiers and hostile Iraqi men and not backed down, but the sight of her home made her heart pound and her mouth go dry. The gravel road opened up into a large area with the white-clapboard house on the right and the barn on the left, fifty or so yards away. The house had a wraparound porch where the side kitchen door was the main door the family used.
She parked her jeep by an unknown truck but didn’t see her brother’s tan, two-tone F-150. Her grandfather’s old, faded, green Ford pickup sat on the other side of the unknown truck. She sat for a moment and rubbed her right calf, easing the cramping there. She felt the raised scars through the khaki pant leg, a painful reminder of why she was ex-captain Kaye.
Taking a deep breath, she got out of the jeep and looked around. Home. It hadn’t changed much, except for that beautiful horse trailer parked by the barn. She started up the porch steps when a voice called out, “Can I help you?” Kinda like he owned the place.
She stopped on the second riser, turned, ready to open fire, and faced a cowboy—an attractive cowboy, to be sure, but still a stranger. He stood outside the barn’s double doors. His clothes—a worn chambray work shirt rolled up to his elbows, well-worn jeans, boots and work gloves—were standard garb for a working cowboy. A curl of wavy brown hair hung over his forehead as he studied her. A one-thousand-watt smile curved his mouth. “You’re Joel’s sister, Brenda.”
Her stomach danced with awareness she hadn’t felt since her divorce. She put the brakes on her schoolgirl reaction. Ex-army captains don’t fall head over boot heels for a cowboy. “I’m used to going by Kaye. You’ll get a response from me faster if you call me that. I was looking for Joel and my grandfather. Do you know where they are?”
He sobered. “They’re at the hospital.”
“What?” She fought the fear of being too late. “Why are they there?” She stepped