Rodeo Daddy

CHAPTER THREE (#uc9f00cce-c7fa-55ea-a8b0-a2657a17ae76)

CHAPTER FOUR (#uaf14bf2e-3f19-5a81-838b-47812dd14c01)

CHAPTER FIVE (#uea3d9d26-8c1c-5283-886e-3041d5b3cf1a)

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)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo) (#litres_trial_promo)

EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE

CHELSEA STOOD AT the door, her hand poised over the knob. It had been more than a month since her father’s death and yet she still didn’t want to go into his den. Unlike the rest of the ranch, with its eclectic mix of furnishings collected over many years, Ryder Jensen’s den mirrored the strong, determined man who had made the Wishing Tree one of the largest working ranches this side of the Pecos.

But it wasn’t just the thought of seeing her father’s neat, very masculine office and the memories it would evoke that made her hesitate at the door. It was his words just before his death. He’d been trying to tell her something. She felt a chill, although it was April and, in this part of Texas, already warm.

What had he taken to his grave? Something to do with her, that much was clear. And the answer, she feared, was on the other side of this door.

She steeled herself and opened the door. Instantly she was hit with the scent of leather and her father’s tobacco. Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, she almost turned away. But if anything, she was her father’s daughter. Whatever secret he might have been hiding, she would face it. Just as she’d had to face his death and the terrible sense of loss that came with it.

She went to the desk and slowly began going through the stack of papers resting on the surface. The heart attack had taken her father quickly. He’d had no time to put his affairs in order. It had been in the ambulance on the way to the hospital that he’d tried to tell her something. No, she thought, it was almost as if he’d tried to warn her about something. But she’d been unable to understand him and she’d never gotten another chance.

The Wishing Tree felt empty without him, as if the heart of the ranch were gone. While she had friends who’d supported her and let her talk about her father and his death, her older brother Cody had shut her out, refusing to even mention Ryder’s name. Cody’s way of dealing with his grief was work. She hardly ever saw him these days, and that made her loss even greater.

She couldn’t remember her mother, who’d died when she was two. Her father and brother had always been the center of her life and now she felt abandoned, adrift.

To her surprise, the papers on the desk all had notes on them, reminders of things her father needed to get done, all personal. Had he known about his illness and just not told Cody and her?

Her fingers slowed as she worked her way through the pile of papers, a cold chill coming over her. He must have known! Why hadn’t he told them, prepared them for this?

As she neared the bottom of the pile, she was almost relieved when she still hadn’t found anything pertaining to her. Then she saw it. Tell Chelsea before it’s too late. It was written in her father’s clipped, slanted script, and attached to the note was a check.

Tell Chelsea what? Fingers shaking, she pulled the check from behind the note. Her heart took off at a gallop when she saw who it was made out to. Jack Shane.

Memories blindsided her, a deadly mix of pleasure and pain, love and betrayal. Why had her father kept one of Jack’s old paychecks from the time he was a ranch hand on the Wishing Tree? It had been almost ten years.

She started to wad the check up and throw it away, wondering what her father could have possibly wanted to tell her. Jack Shane was old news.

Her eye caught the amount of the check. She froze. Ten thousand dollars! Her gaze flew to the date. It was the same day Jack had left the Wishing Tree. The same day he’d broken her heart, his note short and to the point: I can’t do this, Chelsea. I’m sorry. It’s for the best. Goodbye, Jack.

She dropped into her father’s chair, her hands shaking so badly that the check slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor.

Her father had bought off Jack! She couldn’t believe it. She felt sick. That was what he had been trying to tell her. How could he have interfered in her life like that? She and Jack had loved each other. They’d planned to marry. Ryder Jensen thought she was too young to know her own mind, not yet eighteen, and tried to convince her she was wrong about Jack. But to pay Jack to leave?

Her anger at her father was eclipsed by the realization that Jack had betrayed her. He’d taken the money. Ten thousand dollars to turn his back on their love.

Fury brought her to her feet. He’d settled for peanuts. He could have gotten so much more. He could have had her—and half of the Wishing Tree—if he’d stayed and stood up to her father. The coward.

With tears in her eyes, she knelt down to retrieve the check, incapable even now of forgetting her feelings for Jack. Her father had been wrong. She’d damned well known her own mind. She’d been in love with Jack. It had been the real thing. At least for her.

As she picked up the check and straightened, she saw something that was destined to change her life forever—just as her father had thought he could change her destiny.

The check had never been cashed! There was no cancellation on the back. No signature. She stared at it, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Jack hadn’t taken the money.

She stood looking at the check for a long time, remembering, then she folded it carefully, put it in the pocket of her jeans and went out to saddle her horse.

* * *

THE MORNING AIR smelled of pine and sunshine as she set off on Scout. She loved this land, this life, as much as her father had. All she’d ever cared about was ranching and the Wishing Tree. Ryder had insisted she get a formal education, an education befitting a woman. But she’d always known where she belonged and had returned to the ranch to take over the financial end of it, while Cody saw to the day-to-day running of the place.

That arrangement allowed her to ride every day and continue to be the tomboy she’d always been, helping with calving and branding and even mending fences when she felt like it. But at the same time, she was the lady of the house and found that role also fit. Her father loved to entertain in the grand living room with the massive stone fireplace and the windows that looked out over a small lake and ranchland.

Her father had left her and Cody the Wishing Tree with the restriction that it could never be sold outside the family. Not that either of them would dream of such a thing. She planned to see her children raised here and her children’s children.

She worked her way toward the south forty, riding Scout through the scrub pines and rock outcroppings until she spotted her brother with a handful of men repairing one of the corrals.

Cody looked up when he heard her approach. He frowned, but said nothing as she dismounted and, ground-tying Scout, walked toward him.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, a few yards from the men.

Cody didn’t seem surprised, just obviously not happy about the prospect.