The Rancher's Homecoming

She shifted her path and made a show of coming into view. Katie knew the instant he saw them. He went from relaxed contemplation to a soldier at attention. He set his glass on the porch rail and walked down to meet her.

“She okay?” Chance reached for Rosie with firmness and care.

“She’s just pooped.” Katie shook out her arms and laughed. She stopped herself when she realized the sound echoed falsely in her own ears. “I’m not sure she’s as enamored with ranch life as she once was.”

“Good.” Chance winced. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that to sound quite so—”

“Rude?” Katie tried not to be offended. Of course Chance didn’t want Rosie liking this place. The only reason he’d come back in the first place was because Ty convinced him he didn’t have a choice. “Don’t worry. I’ll get used to it.”

“I’m sorry.” Chance rubbed a hand up and down Rosie’s back. “You’re right. That was rude. It’s hard. Being back here.” He shifted to look out onto the Rocky-tipped horizon. “I keep expecting her to come riding along, hair flying, those ridiculous boots of hers barely clinging to the stirrups.”

“The purple-and-blue boots Dad special-ordered from Bozeman?” Katie’s heart flipped. “She almost wore out those things. Bugged him for months until he gave in.” She reached up and caught one of Rosie’s curls around her finger. “I know you don’t want to be here, Chance. I know you hate us. But that doesn’t stop me from being grateful you brought her here.”

“I don’t hate you, Katie.”

“Just my father.” Didn’t he know that hurt her just as much. “I know he’s a difficult man, Chance.”

“Understatement of the century.” Chance cradled Rosie’s head in his hand. “He did everything he could to control your sister’s life and yours. He could never accept Maura choosing me over him. Or that she left.”

“No, he couldn’t.” Katie shook her head. “I know that. Just as I’ve always known I came in second where she was concerned.”

“Katie.” Chance’s gentle admonishment wasn’t something she wanted to hear.

“You think I don’t know?” Katie asked around a too-tight throat. “You think I don’t know she was the one he wanted to follow in his footsteps? That she was the one he doted on, spoiled and loved?” She looked into Chance’s face, part of her wanting him to correct her, to tell her she was wrong. As much as it hurt when he didn’t, she was grateful he didn’t lie to her. “I know he cares about me in his own way. I can only hope he’s proud, but I won’t count on that. I’m all he has now. Even if I’m not what he wants.”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

“That better not be sympathy I hear in your voice, Chance Blackwell.” Katie stepped back and pointed an accusing finger at him. “I wouldn’t trade my life for the world. This place is everything to me. It’s where I belong. It’s where you all have made me always feel like family.”

“You are family, Katie.”

She forced a smile. If he only knew. Family didn’t lie to one another. Family didn’t deceive and manipulate. “I appreciate that. I need to get back and make sure Dad eats something. And I think you should probably get her into bed.”

“Which pink cloud shall I choose?” Chance asked. “That place is...”

“Hideous.” Katie would give anything to have seen his face when he first walked inside. “Yep. I am well aware. Just imagine Rosie’s face when she wakes up and finds she’s living in a cotton-candy dispensary.”

“Hadley left us dinner. Why don’t you come back and join us?”

“I can’t. Have to fix Dad his dinner and then I’ll be doing another walk-through of the stables. I’ll be in the north paddock in the morning, though. If you want a riding-lesson refresher course,” she said, then began backing away.

“I’m not getting on a horse, Katie Montgomery,” he called after her as she headed toward her truck, which she’d left parked at the back of the house.

She turned and laughed. “We’ll see, Chance. We’ll see.”

CHAPTER FOUR (#u6b45426c-372b-5bdd-8dc3-3e9c7797c401)

CHANCE CARRIED A still-sleeping Rosie up to his old room. A room that had undergone a massive personality transplant. He blocked his mind to the frilly canopy bed—he didn’t know they still made those—and the swirly pink wallpaper. His old scarred dresser had been transformed, as had the desk that had gotten him through grammar school and high school that sat wedged beneath a window and looked out onto endless pastures and countless cattle. His closet, now stuffed with boxes and junk that had no connection to him, was ajar because of the slightly uneven floor.

And there, on his bed, sat his old hat.

“Subtle, Jon.” Or Hadley. Or maybe his veterinarian brother, Ethan, or his new bride, Grace, had gotten sneaky and creative? Ben wouldn’t have been so subtle; despite his brother’s formal lawyerlike tendencies, Ben would have been more likely to smack Chance in the face with the Stetson. Ty would have put him in a headlock and shoved the hat on his head.

Maybe it had been Katie. That grin on her face as she’d backed away from him had been full of more than humor. He might not have dwelled on a lot of memories from the ranch, but he’d known Katie well enough to know when something was amiss. And despite her easygoing smile and steely-eyed determination, something hovered beneath the surface. She was worried.

No. Chance held Rosie a moment longer than necessary as he watched out the window as Katie hiked over the hill and up toward the foreman’s house. She was scared.

“Daddy?” Rosie mumbled and sighed as he laid her down on the creaky mattress. “I rode a horsie.”

“I know you did, Bug.” Chance kneeled on the floor beside the bed and stroked her hair and sweaty face. “Did you like it?”

She blinked sleepy eyes at him and smiled. “Yes. But my butt hurts.”

“It won’t hurt so much next time.”

“Tomorrow?” Rosie yawned. “I can ride again tomorrow?”

“We’ll see.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and squeezed his eyes shut to ride the wave of emotion that swept over him. “You take your nap and we’ll have dinner later, okay? Then tomorrow you’ll start to meet your family. Your aunts and uncles and cousins.”

“I have family.” Rosie beamed at the thought as her eyes drifted closed. “I love having family. Where’s Clyde?”

“In the car. Here.” He reached for his hat and pushed it into her hands. “You keep this safe in dreamland for me and I’ll go get him. Be careful, though. This hat is special.”

“It is?” Rosie hugged the gray hat to her chest and patted it like a pet.

“Your mommy helped Big E pick it out just for me.” Or so the story went. Probably Big E’s way of making sure Chance held some appreciation for it.

“Mommy liked it here. I like it here.” Rosie’s arms went lax and she dropped back into sleep, her mouth open just wide enough to emit little-girl snores.

He pulled the folded blanket from the bottom of the bed and draped it over her before leaving the room. Chance stood in the hall, brushing off ghosts and an early-evening chill. The house felt...different. Not at all what he expected after all these months, all the years of dreading returning. His mother and father had doted on this place, but that had been when appliances went on the fritz and the wallpaper peeled from the corners of the room. It hadn’t been perfect, or designer chic. But it had felt like home.

He peeked into the bedroom next to his old one, the one Ethan had once occupied, and decided he could settle for that. The floorboards still squeaked in familiar spots, the sound an echo from the past that made his lips curve. The bones of the house were still here. He could hear them creaking as he headed downstairs, as if calling to him, and begging for help. It was the house’s soul that was barely hanging on as its heartbeat slowed beneath the avalanche of emotionless detachment and overwhelming color.

The house was no longer a home. But it wasn’t only Big E and Zoe who had done the damage. It was as if it had lost its will to live after the boys’ parents had been killed, truly gasping its last breath when the final Blackwell brother left.

“Good riddance,” Chance whispered. Because Chance, more than anyone, knew there was no turning back time. No matter how hard one tried.

* * *

“DAD!” HIP NIPPING at her heels, Katie pushed open the back door, wiped her boots on the porch mat and stepped inside. “I’m home!”

Silence greeted her, as usual, and drew her into the darkened, dated kitchen. She snapped on the light and sighed. There went any hope of a long soak in the tub before she headed back to the ranch to lock things down. Not one item had shifted since she’d left before sunrise and the mess had only been added to. Yesterday’s dishes were stacked in the chipped farmer’s sink. Toast crumbs sat like dead ants on the counter, mail and bills were piled on the breakfast bar. A pot on the stove proved her father’s talents with oatmeal had not progressed in his sixty-eight years and had, in fact, deteriorated to the point that she’d need to buy new cookware. She smelled burned food and sour milk, due in part to the half-empty milk container left out on the counter.

“At least you lick your plate clean,” Katie told Hip, who was sitting patiently at her eating spot, waiting for the rice-and-chicken dinner Katie stored in the fridge. After a quick zap in the microwave, she set it down, refilled Hip’s water bowl and smiled at the dog’s grateful whine when Katie gave her the all clear to eat.

Disgust mingled with despair when she returned to the refrigerator and found only two bottles of beer left in the door. She couldn’t remember when beer hadn’t been considered a food group in her home, which meant it must have started before Katie’s mother had died twenty years ago. Only a few months before the Blackwell brothers’ parents were killed when their car got caught in a flash flood on Blackwell property.

She was down to the last containers of guest-ranch leftovers, which meant it was time for another pilfering run. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do in the off-season for belly-warming, delicious food. But she’d worry about that later. For now...