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Chance's Joy
Patricia Thayer
When Chance Randell helped deliver Joy Spencer's baby, he had no idea this stubborn city girl would stand in the way of his dream. This mother-daughter duo were now the owners of his neighbor's ranch–the land Chance planned to buy.Surely a fair-haired beauty–even one who stirred a yearning inside him, making him want things he couldn't afford to want–couldn't run a ranch alone?Chance offered his help, but learned this widowed single mom needed more than muscle. She needed to keep her wealthy in-laws from gaining custody of her baby. And all Chance had to say to make the ranch his own was "I do!"
“Chance!” Joy gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“It looks like I’ll be sleeping here tonight.”
“There isn’t room in the bunkhouse?” she asked.
“Yes, but how could I tell the men I couldn’t sleep with my wife? Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You can’t. You have to be on a horse tomorrow. You take the bed.”
“You need your rest, too, Joy,” he said. “I’ve slept on the ground before.”
Stubborn man. “Chance, it’s a large bed. I don’t see anything wrong with you sleeping on top of the covers—on your side.”
“Lady, you’re playing with fire.”
“Not if we don’t let anything happen. All I’m offering is one side of the bed.”
He watched her for what seemed like an eternity, then said, “I’ll take it.”
Chance’s Joy
Patricia Thayer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To My Nieces and Nephews
Nora, Danielle, Sarah, Lydgia, Judy, Hannah, Malachi, Stephen, Arron,
Hannah and little Josh. Nikki, Travis and Anthony.
You too, Glenn.
You’re a great bunch, and I had a wonderful time getting to know you
all. Thanks for hanging out with your Aunt Pat.
See you at the next Greiner wedding.
PATRICIA THAYER
has been writing for fourteen years and has published over ten books with Silhouette. Her books have been nominated for the National Readers’ Choice Award, Virginia Romance Writers of America’s Holt Medallion and a prestigious RITA Award. In 1997 Nothing Short of a Miracle won the Romantic Times Magazine Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Special Edition.
Thanks to the understanding men in her life—her husband of twenty-eight years, Steve, and her three sons—Pat has been able to fulfill her dream of writing romance. Another dream is to own a cabin in Colorado, where she can spend her days writing and her evenings with her favorite hero, Steve. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 6251, Anaheim, CA 92816-0251.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Chapter One
Chance Randell had waited a long time for his dream. He just had to be patient a while longer. But patience had never been easy for him, he thought, as he rode his buckskin horse, Ace, along the fence that bordered the Circle B Ranch to the deserted Kirby place.
He looked out over the rolling hills of West Texas. Last week’s rain had only added to the rich, emerald hue of the lush spring grass. Ancient oak trees spotted the landscape, their large branches capable of shading herds of mama cows even on the hottest June and July days.
Chance pushed the Stetson back from his forehead as he shifted in the saddle. “Sure is some prime grazing land,” he said into the warm April breeze. “And soon, it’s gonna be mine.”
Just months ago, Chance had learned from Lillian Kirby’s lawyer that her only nephew had died, but the search was on for other relatives to stake claim to the place.
If there were any, Chance bet they’d be city folk who didn’t want any part of running a cattle ranch. And he was going to make damn sure when—or if—anyone showed up, he’d be first in line to make an offer on the ranch. One way or the other, he was going to get this place. Yeah, that was his plan all right.
For as long as he could remember, Chance had wanted his own ranch. Most of his life he’d lived on the Circle B. Ever since Hank Barrett had seen fit to drag him and his incorrigible brothers from a life in the foster-care system.
A slow smile creased Chance’s mouth as he thought about the man who had believed in those wild Randell brothers. Their mother had died several years ago, and they hadn’t had any options until Hank had opened his home to all of them. It had been the last chance for the trio everyone else had given up on.
Back then Chance had had more attitude than brains. Some people thought he still did. For the most part, Chance never cared what other people thought. They were going to think the worst just because he had the last name Randell. It didn’t matter that he’d been the Circle B’s foreman for the past ten years, or that he’d trained some of the finest quarter horses in the area. There were people who’d never forgotten that their father, Jack Randell, had been sent to prison. Chance and his brothers had spent most of their lives trying to pay for their father’s sins.
“To hell with them all,” he cursed, and Ace danced sideways sensing his rider’s mood swing.
Wait until he had his own place. He’d show everyone. Determined to have his dream, Chance had managed to save nearly everything he’d made over the years.
Even though Hank had always wanted the brothers to think of the ranch as their home, Chance wanted something of his own. At nearly thirty-four, he wanted a home. Not that he had anyone to share it with. His thoughts drifted back to a time when he’d thought that love was possible. But Belinda Reed had had other ideas. Her only interest had been to have a good time with one of the wild Randell boys.
Chance tightened his grip on the saddle horn as he thought about the fateful summer he’d been made a fool of. It had taken him years, but he’d learned all kinds of tricks to keep his emotions under control. And his practiced stony gaze could shield his hurt from just about everyone. He wasn’t going to let anyone get close enough to hurt him again.
He pushed away the memories and gave Ace a slight nudge. He rode through the gate and stopped at the barn about a hundred yards from the old house. Might as well check on the winter feed. A few years back he’d arranged a deal with Lillian Kirby to use her barn to store feed. It had also been an excuse for Hank or Chance to check up on the old woman who’d lived here alone until her death about twelve months ago.
Chance swung his leg off his horse and tied the reins to the rusted metal fence. He glanced toward the house and saw that the paint was faded and starting to peel. He could easily take care of the problem in a few days. Some scraping and prepping, and the house could be ready to paint. White. He’d always wanted a white ranch house. The big wraparound porch sagged a little, but that could be taken care of, too.
He walked around to the barn door and discovered it open. Great, had kids been in here again? Inside, he examined the bags of feed and found them untouched. That was when he heard the noise.
It was more of a cry. Like an animal in pain. He moved down the aisle between the empty stalls toward the tack room, where the noise got louder. Carefully and slowly, not wanting an injured animal to attack him, he opened the door. What he saw was a shock. A woman. A very pregnant woman doubled over in pain.
Joy Spencer’s timing couldn’t have been worse. She’d thought she had everything figured out. But her plans hadn’t included her baby deciding to come two weeks early. She’d had back pain most of the morning, but thought it had been caused by the long drive here, not labor. She had to get some help. Once the pain subsided she stood up and tried to walk, but before she could make it to the door another pain hit her, making her cry out again.
“Oh, no,” she groaned, when she felt a gush of warm water running down her legs. She was in big trouble now. Sinking down onto the wooden bench, she managed to ride out the contraction.
“God, please help me,” she whispered as she tried to catch her breath.
“Guess you’re stuck with me instead.”
She jerked around to find a tall man with shoulders so wide they blocked the doorway. His long legs were encased in jeans and brown leather chaps. A black cowboy hat sat low on his head, nearly covering a pair of piercing gray eyes.
“Who are you?” she gasped.
He came further into the room. “Name’s Chance Randell. A neighbor. By the looks of things, you could use some help.” He knelt down beside her.
She nodded. “It’s my baby. It’s early. Please, can you get me to the hospital?”
“Only if you have a car,” he said. “I rode over here on a horse.”
“My keys are in my purse—” she groaned as another pain raced through her. Joy gripped the man’s shirt and cried out. This was all happening too fast.
“Okay, ma’am, try to take a slow easy breath,” he coaxed.
Joy did as he directed, and finally the pain faded. He helped her to the cot in the corner of the room where she collapsed and closed her eyes.
“I’ll be right back.” The stranger started to get up and she grabbed him again.
“No, don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere, ma’am. Just need to get my cellular phone from the saddle bags. I’ll call an ambulance.”
Joy was too exhausted to do anything but nod and whisper, “Just hurry.”
Chance ran outside and tore his saddle bags off Ace. His hands were trembling as he took out his phone and punched in the emergency numbers. When someone answered, he nearly yelled in the dispatcher’s ear. “I need an ambulance at the Kirby place out off Highway 56. A woman is about to have a baby.”
Several moments later, they had patched him into the hospital. A doctor came on the line. “Hello, I’m Dr. Hager. Are you the husband?”
“No, I’m a neighbor, Chance Randell. I just found the woman…” Damn. Wasn’t this his lucky day?
“Well, it looks like you’re all she has for the moment. How far apart are her pains?”
“Not far. A few minutes at the most.”
“Okay, Chance, I’ll stay on the line with you until help arrives.”
“Thanks. My only experience with birthing is with the four-legged variety.” Chance hurried into the tack room just as another pain gripped the tiny blond woman. He went to her and let her grasp his hand until the pain finally subsided.
She looked at him, fear etched on her face. “They’re not going to get here in time, are they?”
Chance forced a smile. “Hey, I’ve got it under control, blue eyes. I’ve got Dr. Hager right here on the line.” He handed the phone to her. She talked with the doctor and answered his questions.
She gave Chance back the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Look, Chance,” the doctor began. “I want you to make sure she stays calm. Just in case things speed up and she gives birth before the paramedics get there, you’ve got to help her breathe through the pains.”
And just how was he supposed to do that? Cows didn’t need this kind of help. “Sure, Doc,” he said, more confidently than he really felt.
The woman grabbed his arm again and groaned as another contraction began.
“Breathe, breathe.” He puffed out his cheeks and started panting rapidly. Finally she got the picture and followed his lead as the pain faded out.
Three minutes later another pain struck. They repeated the same breathing technique until she collapsed exhausted on the cot.
Chance took out his bandanna and wiped the moisture from her face. “You’re doing just great,” he said.
She looked at him skeptically, clearly not convinced. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The baby’s early.”
“That happens. Is there anyone else I can call? Your mother, husband…?”
She shook her head. “No, my husband is dead. It’s just me…and the baby.” He didn’t question her when she closed her eyes. But not for long, he thought as another pain began.
“Oohh, I need to push.”
“Breathe,” he pleaded with her.
Chance hung in there, coaxing her, wondering why the hell a pregnant woman was out here all alone. If he hadn’t come by she’d have really been in trouble.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Ssh. Save your strength,” he said and got her some water from a bottle in his bag. While she rested, he raised the phone to his ear. “Look, doc, where the hell is the ambulance?”
“It’s en route. Chance, just concentrate on your patient. I have to know if she’s crowning.”
Chance swallowed. He knew there was only one way to find that out.
He put down the phone and turned around. “Look, ma’am, the doctor says I need to examine you. I’m sorry. I’ll try and make it quick.”
Her eyes got big and wide, then she nodded. “Go ahead.” She looked so tiny, so fragile with her oversized shirt and long skirt, her belly rounded. After pulling off her panties, she bent her knees and draped her skirt over her legs. Another contraction hit her. “I’ve got to push again,” she cried.
“Don’t. Not yet. Breathe,” Chance ordered, then he gave a quick glance under her skirt and saw the baby’s head. He grabbed the phone. “Okay, doc. We have a head showing.”
