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Courtship In Granite Ridge
Barbara McCauley
WANTED: ONE HUSBANDEven tight-lipped loner Hugh Slater couldn't let a good woman marry a ranch-hungry stranger she'd met through an ad in the local paper! So he'd come back to Granite Ridge, Texas, the town he swore he'd never step foot in again. He'd talk some sense into Kasey Donovan, then be gone by morning. But shooing away would-be husbands - and himself - was harder than Hugh thought. Kasey had grown into one beautiful, lush woman… .The only man Kasey wanted was handsome, sexy Hugh Slater - whom she'd secretly, passionately loved since she was fourteen years old. Yes, his heart was heavy with the past, but maybe, just maybe, the desire she saw burning in his eyes would prove stronger… .
Excerpt (#u5213c1a1-8440-5ae5-85c4-891291fc4e74)Letter to Reader (#u506f8974-5043-5809-8238-dcd6a570a0df)About the Author (#uf35361c7-18b7-5997-8ac3-20746aec9ed5)Title Page (#uc4054908-a10d-506a-9ac7-af6ee8e8c272)Chapter One (#u16e355d9-2e00-5bf2-a339-5314bd070e4a)Chapter Two (#u1380abbc-881d-525c-ae5d-f16c3b829d5b)Chapter Three (#u6a468cc3-5632-59db-809f-4c0a6fce1a6b)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)Teaser Chapter (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Her Breath Caught. It Couldn“t Be Him. It Wasn’t Possible.
“Slater?”
“Yeah, Kasey, it’s me.”
Years fell away. She felt seventeen again. Her knees shook as she moved closer and studied his face. Older, a few more lines. He was more rugged, his dark hair a little longer. Different, but so familiar.
“Aw, hell, Kasey.” Slater shook his head as he opened his arms. “Come here, will you?”
With a nervous laugh, she moved into his arms. Tears gathered in her eyes and she blinked them back. He was solid muscle against her, his scent masculine. His touch made her dizzy. How could he have this effect on her after all these years?
She’d obviously never gotten over him. How could she protect her heart a second time around?
Dear Reader,
February, month of valentines, celebrates lovers—which is what Silhouette Desire does every month of the year. So this month, we have an extraspecial lineup of sensual and emotional page-turners. But how do you choose which exciting book to read first when all six stories are asking Be Mine?
Bestselling author Barbara Boswell delivers February’s MAN OF THE MONTH, a gorgeous doctor who insists on being a full-time father to his newly discovered child, in The Brennan Baby. Bride of the Bad Boy is the wonderful first book in Elizabeth Bevarly’s brand-new BLAME IT ON BOB trilogy. Don’t miss this fun story about a marriage of inconvenience!
Cupid slings an arrow at neighboring ranchers in Her Torrid Temporary Marriage by Sara Orwig. Next, a woman’s thirtieth-birthday wish brings her a supersexy cowboy—and an unexpected pregnancy—in The Texan, by Catherine Lanigan. Carole Buck brings red-hot chemistry to the pages of Three-Alarm Love. And Barbara McCauley’s Courtship in Granite Ridge reunites a single mother with the man she’d always loved.
Have a romantic holiday this month—and every month—with Silhouette Desire. Enjoy!
Melissa Senate
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
About the Author
BARBARA McCAULEY was born and raised in California, and has spent a good portion of her life exploring the mountains, beaches and deserts so abundant there. The youngest of five children, she grew up in a small house, and her only chance for a moment alone was to sneak into the backyard with a book and quietly hide away.
With two children of her own now and a busy household, she still finds herself slipping away to enjoy a good novel. A daydreamer and incurable romantic, she says writing has fulfilled her most incredible dream of all—breathing life into the people in her mind and making them real. She has one loud and demanding Amazon parrot named Fred and a German shepherd named Max. When she can manage the time, she loves to sink her hands into fresh-turned soil and make things grow.
Courtship In Granite Ridge
Barbara McCauley
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
One
“Hugh Slater, you need to git yerself a woman.”
With a silent groan, Slater kept his nose buried in his newspaper and ignored Digger Jones, hoping that the silver-bearded owner of the Hungry Bear Café would move on to badger another customer. It had been a long, hot day, and all Slater wanted to do was catch up on a week’s worth of mail and newspapers and eat his meal in peace.
No such luck.
“Did you hear me, son?” Digger slid the blue plate special—a two-inch thick T-bone with mashed potatoes smothered in home-style gravy—across the Formicatopped table and slapped down a plate of steaming biscuits. “I said you need to git yerself a woman.”
“Didn’t see them on the menu,” Slater replied dryly, keeping his attention on his paper as he reached for a biscuit
“Don’t you wisecrack me in my own establishment, boy.” Digger straightened his remarkably fit seventytwo-year-old, six-foot-three frame and sniffed indignantly. “You might be bigger and younger than me, but I can still whoop your butt. Just giving a little friendly advice, that’s all.”
Everyone in Cactus Flat knew that one of Digger’s meals always came with advice or criticism, most often both. They also knew—as did Digger—that there was no place to get a better steak or apple cobbler in all of West Texas. And since Slater had his eye on a piece of that cobbler after his meal, he knew when to keep his mouth shut.
Digger, on the other hand, didn’t.
“’Bout time you settled down, son.” Digger ignored the ring of the cook’s bell that the next order was up. “What are you, thirty-two, thirty-three?”
“Thirty-four.” Not that it mattered, Slater thought irritably. He had no intention of “settling down.” Not now. Not ever. Even the ten months he’d been here in Cactus Flat working as foreman on the Stone Creek Oil rigs was a record for him. He was feeling anxious lately, restless. He knew it was time to move on and had already accepted a new job in Alaska on a rig there. Stone Creek Oil was on a month hiatus after ten months of nonstop drilling on four rigs, and Slater figured now was as good a time as any to leave. He’d planned on telling Jared Stone today, but Jared, who was not only his boss, but also his friend, wasn’t going to like it.
“Thirty-four? That old, huh?” Digger shook his head pitifully. “Man your age needs a sweet young thing and a passel of kids to come home to every night.”
Slater frowned and glanced at Digger over the top of his newspaper. “I don’t see a ring on your hand.”
“Exactly my point.” Digger emphasized his statement by pointing a long, thick-knuckled finger. “I spent my life prospecting one claim after another, moving from one mine to the next, just like you with your oil wells. I was a damned fool. Don’t want to see the same thing happen to you, boy, that’s all.”
“Hey, Cupid, you gonna jack the jaw all night?” Floyd Perkins bellowed from the corner booth. “A man could grow old waitin’ for a cup a coffee ’round here.”
“Somethin’ wrong with your legs, Perkins?” Digger hollered back. “Slater and me are having a conversation.”
“Sounds more like you’re the one having the conversation,” Floyd grumbled. “Why don’t you leave that poor boy to read his paper and eat his meal in peace?”
“What paper you reading that’s so dang interesting?” Digger squinted and leaned close. “The Granite Ridge Gazette. Why in tarnation you readin’ that? Granite Ridge is five hundred miles from here.”
Slater ground his back teeth together. He should have known better than to expect any privacy here. What he read and why was his business, and he had no intention of sharing that business with anyone—especially Digger Jones.
“You know somebody there?” Digger kept on. “I hear they got some fine horse ranches down that way, especially quarter horses. Joe Stovall bought two cutters from a fellow named—” he rubbed thoughtfully at his chin “—hell, what was his name...Jack something...”
Slater braced himself.
The cook’s bell rang persistently, cutting off Digger’s train of thought. He turned sharply and growled at the intrusion. “All right, already. I’m coming. Stop yer clanging.”
With a sigh of relief, Slater watched Digger shuffle off, then settled back into the booth, struggling to fit his long legs under the tabletop. He stared at the paper in front of him, at the familiar names and faces.
Granite Ridge.
For the past ten years, since he’d left his hometown, the Gazette had followed him across the country: Oklahoma, New Mexico, Washington and now back to Texas. The only time he hadn’t received the paper was during his stint in Venezuela. The rig he’d been working on there had been too remote to receive mail with any dependability, so he’d let it lapse those months, then immediately started it up again when he’d returned to the States. Whether for some morbid kind of punishment—a reminder of all the things he could never have, that he never did have—simple curiosity or just plain habit, he didn’t know or care.
Thankful that Digger was busy harassing Pete Walker for his lack of attendance at the last town meeting, Slater scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes and turned his attention back to the front page of his paper. The top stories of the past week were Mary Lou Hebbit’s—assisted by her husband, Bobby Joe Hebbit—giving birth to twin girls in the flatbed of a hay truck, and the Hackett brothers’ assigned twenty hours’ community service for being drunk and disorderly.
Slater seemed to recall a few nights that he’d spent with Bobby and Billy Hackett himself. The brothers had played in the bars as hard as they’d worked on their daddy’s farm, but always showed up for church on Sundays and were the first to volunteer for the town’s annual Ladies’ Auxiliary carnival and auction. If anyone needed to “git himself a woman,” Slater thought with a smile, it was definitely those boys.
He skimmed the city council and agriculture reports, then paused at the wedding section, which had one entry: Millie Johnson and Todd Overby were engaged and getting married in two weeks. Millie and Todd? Slater shook his head as he took a sip of coffee. They’d practically been babies when he’d left. How could they be old enough to get married?
With a sigh, he moved on to the obituaries, thankful at least, that column was empty. He took another sip of coffee and started to fold the paper when the bottom of the last page, an assortment of classified ads and personals, caught his attention.
Wanted: One Husband. Not too old. Must like kids. List good qualities. Call Kasey at the Double D Ranch—555-4832 or send picture to 684 Marva Lane, Granite Ridge, TX.
He nearly choked. Coffee sloshed over the sides of his cup as he slammed it down.
Kasey...as in Kasey Donovan?
He shook off the coffee he’d spilled onto his paper and looked at the ad again. Good God! He had read it right. It was Kasey.
Kasey Donovan had been his sister Jeanie’s best friend since they’d been six. They’d been inseparable. Kasey, with her wild red hair, vibrant green eyes and a ready-to-take-on-the-world attitude, had been a sharp contrast to Jeanie’s silky blond hair, pale blue eyes and quiet acceptance of whatever life dealt her. Which, Slater thought with a tightening in his gut, had been one lousy hand after another. She’d learned young that life wasn’t fair. They both had.
He missed her. God, how he missed her.
He let the pain roll through him, then shook it off and stared at the newspaper again. Kasey Donovan. With her bright laugh and enthusiasm for life, she emerged from a dark past like a rainbow after the storm.
He’d lost track of her after he’d left Granite Ridge, though he had read that after she’d graduated high school she’d married some hotshot journalist and moved to New York. Obviously if she was looking for a husband, that hadn’t worked out. Then four years later her mother had died after a long illness, six months after that, her father from a heart attack. Slater had been in Venezuela at the time and hadn’t heard until he’d gotten back to the States. By the time he’d called, the phone had been disconnected.
The Donovans had been like some kind of a TV family. Always there for each other, loving...accepting. Mrs. Donovan had been the mother Jeanie had lost when she was two, and, Slater recalled with a smile, Mr. and Mrs. Donovan had both treated him as a son, too. Kasey’s mother would always insist he stay for dinner every time he came to pick up Jeanie, then afterward Mr. Donovan would discuss the latest issue of Rancher’s Digest over a cup of strong black coffee, asking Slater his opinion or advice on horse breeding.
Something Slater’s own father had never done.
The Donovans had been Slater’s only regret when he’d left Granite Ridge. His only regret even still.
And now Kasey was advertising for a husband?
He shook his head at the thought. Kasey. His little Kasey. He’d taught her how to ride a bike, helped her with her science homework. At fifteen she’d been all arms and legs and a mouthful of braces. At seventeen, when he’d left, she’d emerged a young woman with curves that had every male drooling and every female turning a lovely shade of green.
And now, here he was, ten years later.
And here was Kasey.
Obviously she was in a serious situation if she was advertising for a husband. But whatever her problem might be, there had to be another solution than marrying a stranger.
“Slater!” Digger’s loud exclamation from the other side of the diner brought Slater’s head up. “Jack Slater, from the Bar S. That was that big rancher’s name.”
Slater’s back stiffened at the name he hadn’t said in ten years.
Coffeepot in hand, Digger moved beside the booth and refilled Slater’s cup. “Hey, he must be a kin of yours. Brother, maybe? Cousin?”
Digger had a hold of the bone now, and Slater knew the old man wouldn’t let go. So let him have it What difference did it make?
“Father,” Slater said evenly, and took a sip of coffee.
“No kidding.” Digger whistled. “And all this time we thought you had no family.”
I don’t, Slater thought. Not with Jack Slater, anyway.
Ignoring Digger’s rattling on about fathers and sons, Slater stared at Kasey’s ad again. Jeanie’s death had been as hard on Kasey as it had him. He’d walked out on her ten years ago and let her down. He had an opportunity to make up for that now.
Right or wrong, mistake or not, he was going back. Even if it meant he’d have to see Jack Slater again.
Something very strange was going on.
It wasn’t just the stares she’d gotten at the market in town, Kasey thought as she pulled her pickup off the main road and headed down the gravel drive that led to her house. There’d been sidelong glances and raised eyebrows, too. And Kasey would swear that June Bindermeyer had actually snickered when she’d bagged the groceries.
Very strange.
What could have happened in the two weeks she and her sons had been gone? She’d taken the last of the boys’ summer vacation and gone to Dallas to look for a broodmare, the first of what she hoped would eventually be a full stable of quarter horses. She’d looked at a dozen mares in the first three days and had finally settled on a beautiful sorrel from the Circle Q named Miss Lucy. The animal was more than Kasey could afford, but one look and she was lost. She’d bought her and made arrangements for her to be delivered in a few days, then immediately placed an ad for a stud in several papers, including the Granite Ridge Gazette.
But placing an ad for a stud was no reason for anyone to look at her oddly, Kasey thought with a frown. This was horse country. Still, at the post office when she’d picked up the bag with her mail and papers, disapproval had been plainly etched on Mildred Macklin’s face. And was it Kasey’s imagination, or had Mildred actually slammed her window shut when Steven, Mildred’s son, had come over to say hello?
Very, very strange.
Shaking her head, Kasey shut off the engine and looked down at her sleeping sons. Cody, her eight-year-old, and Troy, almost seven, were slumped into each other, making it hard to tell where Cody’s thick, dark hair stopped and Troy’s wavy auburn hair started. It had been a long, busy two weeks for them. After the horse business was taken care of, they’d gone to the amusement park in Arlington, the rodeo in Dallas and the water park outside of Fort Worth.
It didn’t matter to her that she couldn’t afford it. Her sons deserved a family vacation, a real family vacation, not an assignment that their father dragged them along on, then left them all in a hotel while he went off to do his research.
Cody sat up abruptly, realizing the car had stopped. “Are we home?” he asked, blinking several times.
Home. They’d only moved here from New York two months ago, and the word home had never had a nicer sound. She smiled and combed her fingers through his hair. “We are.”
Cody realized at the moment that his younger brother was sleeping on him. “Get off me,” he said, shoving Troy away.
Troy rubbed at his eyes and yawned. “We home?”
“Mom,” Cody whined in disgust. “Troy drooled on me.”
“Did not.”
“Did, too.”
“You’re a moron.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too. Idiot, idiot.”
“That’s enough.” Kasey helped both boys out of the truck and sent them each a sharp look. Ah, yes, home, she thought with a sigh. Back to normal.
