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Redeeming the Rancher
Deb Kastner
Her Perfect MatchSuccessful businessman Griffin Haddon just wants a quiet place to start over again…alone. Griff doesn't realize that in a small town like Serendipity, Texas, solitude's hard to come by. Especially at Redemption Ranch, where the stunning Alexis Grainger struggles to keep her ministry for troubled teens afloat. The last thing Alexis needs is a distraction like slick city-boy Griff with his designer jeans and boots. But her meddling, matchmaking twin has other plans. As Alexis and Griff work to save the ranch, can they also heal his broken heart?Serendipity Sweethearts:Three small-town matchmakersfinding Texas-size love.
Her Perfect Match
Successful businessman Griffin Haddon just wants a quiet place to start over again…alone. Griff doesn’t realize that in a small town like Serendipity, Texas, solitude’s hard to come by. Especially at Redemption Ranch, where the stunning Alexis Grainger struggles to keep her ministry for troubled teens afloat. The last thing Alexis needs is a distraction like slick city-boy Griff with his designer jeans and boots. But her meddling, matchmaking twin has other plans. As Alexis and Griff work to save the ranch, can they also heal his broken heart?
Serendipity Sweethearts:
Three small-town matchmakers
finding Texas-size love.
“I’m amazed at how you’ve turned these kids around.”
Griff shook his head and grunted softly. “I remember how unruly they were at that first dinner with you.”
Alexis choked on a laugh. “Them? I remember how unruly you were at that first dinner.”
Griff blushed. “Touché.”
“You’ve improved some upon acquaintance.” Her lips quirked.
He smiled crookedly, his gaze warm and inviting. “You haven’t.”
“Gee, thanks,” she quipped back at him. The way he was looking at her was causing her stomach to do all kinds of crazy somersaults.
“And by that,” he drawled lightly, “I mean you are already perfect the way you are.”
“Flattery, my dear man, will get you everywhere.”
“Is that so?” He planted his cowboy hat on his head and winked. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
“Don’t get lost,” she teased.
“Same to you. I know how massive piles of paperwork can bury a person.”
“I won’t,” she murmured belatedly as she watched Griff walk away.
Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t quite true. She was getting lost, but it wasn’t the paperwork she was worried about.
She was in danger of losing her heart.
DEB KASTNER
lives and writes in colorful Colorado with the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains for inspiration. She loves writing for Love Inspired Books, where she can write about her two favorite things—faith and love. Her characters range from upbeat and humorous to (her favorite) dark and broody heroes. Her plots fall anywhere in between, from a playful romp to the deeply emotional. Deb’s books have been twice nominated for the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Book of the Year for Love Inspired. Deb and her husband share their home with their two youngest daughters. Deb is thrilled about the newest member of the family—her first granddaughter, Isabella. What fun to be a granny! Deb loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her by email at debwrtr@aol.com, or on her MySpace or Facebook pages.
Redeeming the Rancher
Deb Kastner
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
—Matthew 5:3–8
To Natasha Kern, my fabulous agent.
I’m so grateful for all the invaluable career guidance you offer. You are a special and remarkable person who is such a blessing to me in so many ways. Thanks for believing in me.
Contents
Chapter One (#u0f922b92-8f78-5a33-b60b-f19a40f504f3)
Chapter Two (#ufb7e19a4-3260-5cfd-8f9e-71b0cd4b938c)
Chapter Three (#u84ef2392-8621-5243-9871-9ce2aae252ea)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Alexis Grainger awoke to the smell of bacon and the tinny sound of pots and pans being shifted around in one of the kitchen cupboards. It might have been a pleasant surprise—if it wasn’t for the fact that she lived alone.
With a start, she bolted out of bed, shakily wrapping a plush magenta-colored cotton robe around herself. She reached for her cell phone, which she usually kept on the nightstand, but it wasn’t there. Her pulse ratcheted up right along with her thoughts. Where was her stupid phone? In her purse? Her coat pocket? Not good either way, since she routinely dumped them both in an inglorious heap on one of her kitchen chairs.
Her heart slammed in her chest as she looked around for anything she could use as a weapon against the intruder. In a panic, she swiped the largest item from her vanity and tucked it into the pocket of her bathrobe.
Oh, why didn’t she keep a baseball bat by her bed?
Maybe because she didn’t play baseball. And maybe because she resided in small town Serendipity, Texas. Crime was virtually nonexistent here. Only businesses secured their doors at night. Regular townsfolk rarely bothered to lock their cars, much less their houses. There was simply no need.
At least until now there wasn’t. She sucked in a breath and held it. She had locked her door last night, hadn’t she?
Yes. Of course she had. Or at least, she thought she had, since her ranch was also technically a nonprofit ministry. Out of habit, if nothing else. Oh, Lord, please let there be a rational answer. But how else would someone have gotten in? Only her twin sister,
Vivian, had a key.
Vivian.
Alexis let out the breath she’d been holding and her shoulders sagged in relief.
Of course. It had to be Vivian, even though Alexis hadn’t expected to see her. Vivian was busy in Houston trying to get her new business off the ground and didn’t have time to make the commute home more than a few times a year, but it was the only explanation that made sense.
For about one second.
Until she remembered that Vivian could not and did not cook.
At all. Ever. Period. Exclamation point.
Alexis dearly loved her sister, but she had no qualms admitting that the woman couldn’t even boil water, much less cook bacon.
Then again, house thieves didn’t pause to cook themselves a meal, either; at least none that Alexis had ever heard of.
Rational explanation, Alexis, she coached herself. Don’t panic. Don’t freak out.
Despite her efforts to be quiet, she couldn’t contain the shaky laugh that tittered from under her breath, more nervous than amused, as she pictured a thief cooking breakfast in her kitchen. Barefoot and silent against the hardwood floor, she crept down the hallway toward the kitchen. The light was on, bacon was crackling on the stove and someone was humming.
A male someone.
Definitely not Vivian, then.
Alexis plastered herself to the wall, her breath coming in short gasps, her skin burning as if it was on fire. Even though she’d doubted the mystery intruder was Vivian, she’d still held out hope that there was nothing more sinister at work here than her sister fresh off a cooking class. But there was a man in her kitchen. And he appeared to be making himself at home.
What on earth?
Her pulse was pounding in her ears, nearly drowning out the sound of the mystery man. She was going to be in full-out panic mode if she hesitated much longer. Before she could think better of it, her fist circled around the makeshift weapon in her pocket and she sprang forward, brandishing the flat-iron wand in front of her like a sword.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” she demanded with a good deal more bravado than she actually felt. If her voice came out a little high and squeaky, who could blame her?
The tall man hovering over the oven had been humming a pleasant tune to himself, but when he heard her voice he jumped back in surprise. He dropped the tongs he was holding and they clattered into the pan, spraying grease over his exposed left hand. He howled in protest and shook his wrist, then nursed his knuckle between his lips.
“Who am I?” he growled as he swiveled around to face her. “The better question would be…” The man’s sentence drifted off into a strained silence and his dark brows lowered over gray-blue eyes. He shook his head, clearly bewildered.
“I asked you a question.” Alexis lifted her weapon and took a defensive stance.
“Vivian? What are you doing here?” He hesitated a moment, his head tilting as he scrutinized her features. Uncertainty flashed in his eyes. “You’re not Vivian.”
Alexis sighed in relief and let her posture relax a bit. If the man knew her sister, then he probably wasn’t a thief, although what he was doing making breakfast in her kitchen was still a mystery.
That said, she was impressed that he could tell her apart from Vivian. Most folks couldn’t, at least not right away. It wasn’t the first time she’d ever been mistaken for her twin sister and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But she reminded herself not to give him too much credit. Since this man knew Vivian, he’d probably realized his mistake in calling Alexis by her sister’s name as soon as he saw the complete lack of recognition on her face.
He was clearly out of his element, and not just because he was cooking up a meal in her kitchen as if he owned it. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties and well-to-do. Thick dark hair threaded with the occasional touch of silver lent him a sophisticated air. Everything about the guy screamed city boy, from the spit-shine of his black cowboy boots to the designer scarf draped around his neck.
Designer clothing. On a guy. In Serendipity, Texas. He might as well have a Kick Me sign on his back. Men around here wore the scuffs in their boots like trophies.
“Alexis,” she corrected. “Grainger. Vivian’s twin sister.”
“Alexis? A-Alex?” he stammered. “I… I’m, uh…”
“Confused, obviously.” No one ever called her Alex, for one thing.
He nodded adamantly. “Yes, there is that. Were you—” he gestured toward her hand, one corner of his lip rising “—planning to stab me with your curling iron?”
Heat flooded her face as she hastily lowered her “weapon.” She stuffed the flat-iron wand back into her bathrobe pocket, frantically looping the uncooperative tail around her palm. The cord stubbornly refused to follow and it took a humiliating length of time to complete the action. Her cheeks were positively burning by the time she finished.
“Yes. No,” she stammered, shaking her head and scowling at the unwanted intruder. So he wasn’t a random stranger but rather a friend of her sister’s. That didn’t mean he was welcome to barge into her home at a ridiculous hour of the morning. “Maybe. I thought you were a burglar.”
Alexis didn’t like the way the stranger flustered her with his sharp gaze. She liked it even less when he burst into laughter at her expense.
“Lady, if I was intent on swiping your possessions or causing you bodily harm, you would have been a lot smarter to sneak out the front door, get yourself to safety and call the cops on me. I’m guessing most criminal types wouldn’t be deterred by your curling iron, no matter how bravely brandished.”
His eyes flooded with amusement, but there was something else there, too.
Admiration.
The nerve of the man.
“Well, you’re not here to steal my things or to hurt me, now, are you?” she demanded, annoyed that she continued to wrestle with the ridiculous inclination to defend her actions. Why should she? He was the one who was trespassing.
“No, ma’am, I’m not.”
“It’s a good thing for you I didn’t call the police or you’d be in handcuffs right now. You should be thanking me, not giving me a hard time.”
“Thank you,” he said, sounding as if it were more of a concession to her than a heartfelt expression of gratitude. His lips quirked as he wiped his greasy palm against the black denim on his thigh. He extended his hand. “Griff Haddon, at your service.”
