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Rodeo Daddy
B.J. Daniels
Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work with their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.LostHer first and only love. Chelsea Jensen had no idea her father had been to blame for her heartbreak when Jack Shane disappeared from the Wishing Tree Ranch. Ten years later, the betrayal still burned.FoundA check. A canceled check that explained everything. Or almost. Now she knew why he'd left her. But she didn't know if he'd loved her. Had she just been too young and too blind to see the truth? She was determined to track Jack down–wherever he was–and find out!
Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work with their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.
Lost
Her first and only love. Chelsea Jensen had no idea her father had been to blame for her heartbreak when Jack Shane disappeared from the Wishing Tree Ranch. Ten years later, the betrayal still burned.
Found
A check. A canceled check that explained everything. Or almost. Now she knew why he’d left her. But she didn’t know if he’d loved her. Had she just been too young and too blind to see the truth? She was determined to track Jack down—wherever he was—and find out!
“I found the check my father tried to give you,” Chelsea said, her voice barely a whisper.
“So that was it.” Jack felt his jaw tighten.
“I didn’t know, Jack.”
He looked away, the pain fresh as a new wound, past her to the sports car parked by the chutes. Her sports car. He smiled bitterly. For a moment, just looking at her, listening to her, being so close to her, he’d forgotten. Now he looked from the car to her, recalling only too well everything he’d once felt for her—and all the reasons they had been wrong for each other.
“If you’d just told me,” she said.
How many times had he questioned that decision? How many times had he thought about going back to try to straighten things out? But the memory of her father coming out that morning to the corrals with the check, the look in Ryder Jensen’s eyes, the accusations, the contempt—all had kept him moving on down the road.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” he said.
“I don’t believe it.”
He turned away. He definitely didn’t need this.
“Jack.”
It came out a whisper, so familiar and so intimate, he stopped in his tracks, unable not to remember that soft sound, the feel of her breath on his skin.…
“Believe it,” he said, walking away from her, just as he had ten years ago.
Dear Reader,
I grew up on old Westerns, spending many a Saturday with Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, riding the range and rootin’ for the good guys. Is it any wonder, after spending part of my youth in Texas and the rest in Montana, that I love cowboys—and rodeos?
They say that rodeo is a reaffirmation of the Old West, a celebration of life and a lifestyle that has all but passed away.
That’s why I loved writing this book as part of the Trueblood, Texas series. I like to believe that somewhere in Texas right now Chelsea and Jack and their descendants are keeping the cowboy way of life alive. A life based on a love for the land—and each other.
B.J. Daniels
Rodeo Daddy
B.J. Daniels
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
THE TRUEBLOOD LEGACY
THE YEAR WAS 1918, and the Great War in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.
The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.
The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.
The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.
None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprecedented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.
But in one house, there was still hope.
Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, leaving their Quaker roots behind.
Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.
Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.
Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.
Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son, Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from growing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.
And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would become famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunited with their families. After reading notices in newspapers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.
Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.
At her death, the town’s name was changed to Trueblood, in her honor. For years to come, her simple grave was adorned with flowers on the anniversary of her death, grateful tokens of appreciation from the families she had brought together.
Isabella’s son, Josiah, grew into a fine rancher and married Rebecca Montgomery in 1938. They had a daughter, Elizabeth Trueblood Carter, in 1940. Elizabeth married her neighbor William Garrett in 1965, and gave birth to twins Lily and Dylan in 1971, and daughter Ashley a few years later. Home was the Double G ranch, about ten miles from Trueblood proper, and the Garrett children grew up listening to stories of their famous great-grandmother, Isabella. Because they were Truebloods, they knew that they, too, had a sacred duty to carry on the tradition passed down to them: finding lost souls and reuniting loved ones.
To Judy Kinnaman, a friend and fellow writer, who has been there from the beginning. Thanks for all your support and encouragement.
Acknowledgments:
With special thanks to bull riders Colby Yates of Azle, Texas, and Canadians Blade Young of Saskatchewan and Denton Edge of Alberta.
B.J. Daniels is acknowledged as the author of this work.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u7391cfb7-13b2-5af6-9ad5-a0d5b5935233)
CHAPTER TWO (#uce01433c-e658-5213-a4c3-7fe16529f718)
CHAPTER THREE (#uc9f00cce-c7fa-55ea-a8b0-a2657a17ae76)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uaf14bf2e-3f19-5a81-838b-47812dd14c01)
CHAPTER FIVE (#uea3d9d26-8c1c-5283-886e-3041d5b3cf1a)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo) (#litres_trial_promo)
EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
CHELSEA STOOD AT the door, her hand poised over the knob. It had been more than a month since her father’s death and yet she still didn’t want to go into his den. Unlike the rest of the ranch, with its eclectic mix of furnishings collected over many years, Ryder Jensen’s den mirrored the strong, determined man who had made the Wishing Tree one of the largest working ranches this side of the Pecos.
But it wasn’t just the thought of seeing her father’s neat, very masculine office and the memories it would evoke that made her hesitate at the door. It was his words just before his death. He’d been trying to tell her something. She felt a chill, although it was April and, in this part of Texas, already warm.
What had he taken to his grave? Something to do with her, that much was clear. And the answer, she feared, was on the other side of this door.
She steeled herself and opened the door. Instantly she was hit with the scent of leather and her father’s tobacco. Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, she almost turned away. But if anything, she was her father’s daughter. Whatever secret he might have been hiding, she would face it. Just as she’d had to face his death and the terrible sense of loss that came with it.
She went to the desk and slowly began going through the stack of papers resting on the surface. The heart attack had taken her father quickly. He’d had no time to put his affairs in order. It had been in the ambulance on the way to the hospital that he’d tried to tell her something. No, she thought, it was almost as if he’d tried to warn her about something. But she’d been unable to understand him and she’d never gotten another chance.
The Wishing Tree felt empty without him, as if the heart of the ranch were gone. While she had friends who’d supported her and let her talk about her father and his death, her older brother Cody had shut her out, refusing to even mention Ryder’s name. Cody’s way of dealing with his grief was work. She hardly ever saw him these days, and that made her loss even greater.
She couldn’t remember her mother, who’d died when she was two. Her father and brother had always been the center of her life and now she felt abandoned, adrift.
To her surprise, the papers on the desk all had notes on them, reminders of things her father needed to get done, all personal. Had he known about his illness and just not told Cody and her?
Her fingers slowed as she worked her way through the pile of papers, a cold chill coming over her. He must have known! Why hadn’t he told them, prepared them for this?
As she neared the bottom of the pile, she was almost relieved when she still hadn’t found anything pertaining to her. Then she saw it. Tell Chelsea before it’s too late. It was written in her father’s clipped, slanted script, and attached to the note was a check.
Tell Chelsea what? Fingers shaking, she pulled the check from behind the note. Her heart took off at a gallop when she saw who it was made out to. Jack Shane.
Memories blindsided her, a deadly mix of pleasure and pain, love and betrayal. Why had her father kept one of Jack’s old paychecks from the time he was a ranch hand on the Wishing Tree? It had been almost ten years.
She started to wad the check up and throw it away, wondering what her father could have possibly wanted to tell her. Jack Shane was old news.
Her eye caught the amount of the check. She froze. Ten thousand dollars! Her gaze flew to the date. It was the same day Jack had left the Wishing Tree. The same day he’d broken her heart, his note short and to the point: I can’t do this, Chelsea. I’m sorry. It’s for the best. Goodbye, Jack.
She dropped into her father’s chair, her hands shaking so badly that the check slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor.
Her father had bought off Jack! She couldn’t believe it. She felt sick. That was what he had been trying to tell her. How could he have interfered in her life like that? She and Jack had loved each other. They’d planned to marry. Ryder Jensen thought she was too young to know her own mind, not yet eighteen, and tried to convince her she was wrong about Jack. But to pay Jack to leave?
Her anger at her father was eclipsed by the realization that Jack had betrayed her. He’d taken the money. Ten thousand dollars to turn his back on their love.
Fury brought her to her feet. He’d settled for peanuts. He could have gotten so much more. He could have had her—and half of the Wishing Tree—if he’d stayed and stood up to her father. The coward.
With tears in her eyes, she knelt down to retrieve the check, incapable even now of forgetting her feelings for Jack. Her father had been wrong. She’d damned well known her own mind. She’d been in love with Jack. It had been the real thing. At least for her.
As she picked up the check and straightened, she saw something that was destined to change her life forever—just as her father had thought he could change her destiny.
The check had never been cashed! There was no cancellation on the back. No signature. She stared at it, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Jack hadn’t taken the money.
She stood looking at the check for a long time, remembering, then she folded it carefully, put it in the pocket of her jeans and went out to saddle her horse.
* * *
THE MORNING AIR smelled of pine and sunshine as she set off on Scout. She loved this land, this life, as much as her father had. All she’d ever cared about was ranching and the Wishing Tree. Ryder had insisted she get a formal education, an education befitting a woman. But she’d always known where she belonged and had returned to the ranch to take over the financial end of it, while Cody saw to the day-to-day running of the place.
That arrangement allowed her to ride every day and continue to be the tomboy she’d always been, helping with calving and branding and even mending fences when she felt like it. But at the same time, she was the lady of the house and found that role also fit. Her father loved to entertain in the grand living room with the massive stone fireplace and the windows that looked out over a small lake and ranchland.
Her father had left her and Cody the Wishing Tree with the restriction that it could never be sold outside the family. Not that either of them would dream of such a thing. She planned to see her children raised here and her children’s children.
She worked her way toward the south forty, riding Scout through the scrub pines and rock outcroppings until she spotted her brother with a handful of men repairing one of the corrals.
Cody looked up when he heard her approach. He frowned, but said nothing as she dismounted and, ground-tying Scout, walked toward him.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, a few yards from the men.
Cody didn’t seem surprised, just obviously not happy about the prospect.
