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Reunited With The Bull Rider
Jill Kemerer
Goodbye rodeo, hello hometownBut is this Wyoming Cowboy ready to face his past?Amy Deerson wanted to mentor a child. Her plan did not include former bull rider Nash Bolton—the little girl's brother and guardian. It's been a decade since Nash left town without a word, breaking Amy's young heart. Now they must put their painful past aside to help fragile, traumatized Ruby. If only getting over their first love were that simple.
Goodbye rodeo, hello hometown
But is thisWyoming Cowboy ready to face his past?
Amy Deerson wanted to mentor a child. Her plan did not include former bull rider Nash Bolton—the little girl’s brother and guardian. It’s been a decade since Nash left town without a word, breaking Amy’s young heart. Now they must put their painful past aside to help fragile, traumatized Ruby. If only getting over their first love were that simple.
JILL KEMERER writes novels with love, humor and faith. Besides spoiling her mini dachshund and keeping up with her busy kids, Jill reads stacks of books, lives for her morning coffee and gushes over fluffy animals. She resides in Ohio with her husband and two children. Jill loves connecting with readers, so please visit her website, jillkemerer.com (http://jillkemerer.com), or contact her at PO Box 2802, Whitehouse, OH 43571.
Also By Jill Kemerer (#ueafac9b2-a7a5-57e5-8095-d507bcc8face)
Love Inspired
Wyoming Cowboys
The Rancher’s Mistletoe Bride
Reunited with the Bull Rider
Small-Town Bachelor
Unexpected Family
Her Small-Town Romance
Yuletide Redemption
Hometown Hero’s Redemption
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Reunited with the Bull Rider
Jill Kemerer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08429-1
REUNITED WITH THE BULL RIDER
© 2018 Ripple Effect Press, LLC
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
“You were my best friend.”
Amy’s eyes welled with tears. “I loved you. Cherished you. Thought nothing but the best of you. And then you were gone. You cut me out of your life, and mine became very empty.”
Nash shifted in his seat, his face grave.
She shook away the threatening tears, swallowed the lump in her throat. “I didn’t know what to do with myself.”
He stood, pacing, his movements agitated and robotic. “I hate myself for that.”
“I hated you, too.” She rose also, rubbing her arms, and gazed at the barn in the distance. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him. “I’m not trying to punish you. I just… Well, I needed you to know.”
He came up next to her. She dared not move or she’d fall apart. His shoulder was less than an inch from hers.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t remember. Forget it. Forget it all.
She spun away from him.
“It’s your fault, you know. The life I wanted? Gone. You shattered my dreams, Nash Bolton. You shattered them.”
Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me.
—Isaiah 6:8
Dear Reader (#ueafac9b2-a7a5-57e5-8095-d507bcc8face),
Do you ever feel torn between gratitude for the blessings in your life and envy of others who have things you still want? I struggle with this. I can wake up in the morning, praising God for my family, my health and the opportunity to write for a living. Two hours later I’m jealous and grumbling at a Facebook post someone shared. Like Amy at the Easter egg hunt, though, I keep turning back to focus on God’s providence. I try my best to keep a “Send me” spirit to do His will. I fail sometimes, but thankfully, we don’t have to be perfect!
My prayer is for you to walk daily with the Lord and to embrace obedience even when it feels impossible. He loves to bless His children. You never know—He might bless you beyond your wildest dreams!
I love to hear from readers, so please email me at jill@jillkemerer.com or write to PO Box 2802, Whitehouse, Ohio 43571. Bless you!
Jill Kemerer
To my sister, Sarah. You’ll always be my hero! And to my brother-in-law, Rich, and my nieces, Eva, Cecilia and Calista. You make life fun!
Contents
Cover (#ud0fd8856-afdc-562e-a63d-30fb1853d236)
Back Cover Text (#u0d4b91b5-31e3-531a-9a13-630df55b65e1)
About the Author (#u8664d443-6af1-5703-95da-8eaea98cdfdb)
Booklist (#u0964226e-7e26-572f-98e1-f4b867e4e289)
Title Page (#uecb7101a-cb8e-5eac-a6aa-3fffc4aaaceb)
Copyright (#uc813404e-19f8-587f-8bdc-a6b7a3cc526a)
Introduction (#u2ba8436f-3904-5c70-a84c-d5a5d123f00f)
Bible Verse (#u44673842-a4e1-5554-8304-24fd8a748d2d)
Dear Reader (#u8b923f4c-018b-5a09-8a92-41ddf90e68ec)
Dedication (#uad82bac2-57f7-545f-919f-dbf78640e6aa)
Chapter One (#u05e4aee2-3a44-51a6-ba20-16e4de502387)
Chapter Two (#u4b5c78e4-5973-5e62-9ae0-8d5f9d9bc599)
Chapter Three (#u838b483a-7239-5b6c-8362-2e5311ba6983)
Chapter Four (#u5b6ffe84-5011-57fb-aaf4-a698803041f8)
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)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ueafac9b2-a7a5-57e5-8095-d507bcc8face)
Tonight was no ordinary night, not for Amy Deerson, at least. She was about to meet the little girl she’d been asked to mentor. When the pastor called yesterday, she’d jumped at the opportunity to spend a few afternoons each week with a neglected child. At four years old, the girl was too young for the church-sponsored mentor program, and the pastor had suggested a private arrangement due to the circumstances. But first, Amy needed to meet the girl’s father. He had the ultimate say in whether she spent time with his daughter or not.
Taking a deep breath, Amy got out of the car and approached the church’s entrance. It was still chilly for late March in Sweet Dreams, Wyoming, but it wouldn’t be long before wildflowers bloomed. Just thinking about flowers, crafts, tea parties and other things small girls enjoyed put a bounce in her step. Don’t get ahead of yourself. This was the initial meeting. Until the dad agreed, it was not a done deal.
She’d prayed for so long to make a difference in a kid’s life, and God had answered.
Amy headed down the staircase to the meeting rooms. The low hum of male voices quickened her pace. What would the girl look like? Would they hit it off right away? And would the dad be cute?
Cute?Really, Amy? Who cared what the father looked like? A romance would be inappropriate given the situation. And, anyway, she’d been scorched at love twice. She would not put her heart on the line again.
The hallway walls were filled with pictures of kids doing crafts at previous vacation Bible schools. Excitement spurred her forward. Life was falling into place. Business was booming at her quilt shop, she’d finally gotten up the nerve to submit a portfolio of her fabric designs to several manufacturers and now this! She’d never intended to remain single, but that’s how life had worked out. Helping this little girl would ease the longing in her heart for a child of her own.
She peeked into the preschool room. Hannah Moore, the pastor’s wife, was standing next to their toddler son, Daniel, and a young girl.
It’s her!
Dark blond hair cascaded over the girl’s shoulders. She looked woefully thin under a purple sweater and striped leggings. Amy couldn’t see her face, but she stood stiffly near Daniel, who was pushing a toy dump truck on the colorful ABC area rug. As much as Amy longed to join them, she continued toward the door at the end of the hall where Pastor Moore was waiting with the father.
Entering the conference room, she greeted the pastor then turned her attention to the man sitting at the end of the table. Her stomach plunged to her toes, the sensation worse than the roller coaster incident in eighth grade.
No! This can’t be... He can’t be...
Her knees wobbled to the brink of collapse. Unable to hear a word the pastor was saying, she shook her head, her gaze locked on familiar blue-green eyes. Every instinct screamed for her to run, to get out of there, to make sense of the fact Nash Bolton was in the room.
Nash. The man she’d loved completely. The one she’d thought she’d marry. The guy who had left town over a decade ago—no goodbye, no explanation. The jerk who had never come back.
It hit her then... The little girl she’d been asked to unofficially mentor?
His daughter.
She was having a nightmare. She’d wake up and be in her bed under her favorite quilt—
“Thank you for meeting us tonight,” Pastor Moore said.
It wasn’t a nightmare. And yet it was.
She blinked a few times and sat in the nearest chair, forcing herself to focus on the pastor’s face. In his early thirties, he had a kind air about him.
“Sure.” She hoped her lips were curving into what could pass as a smile.
Pastor Moore gestured to Nash. “Amy Deerson, this is—”
“We know each other.” Nash’s deep voice was firm, and its familiar timbre unlocked memories she’d thought long gone.
