The Rancher's Secret Child

Blessings,

Brenda

It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.

—Lamentations 3:22–23

This book is dedicated to my Aunt Joyce, Aunt Alice and Aunt Betty. And in memory of my Aunt Shirley Clark. They have taught us to have fun, to be classy when it matters, to live life to the fullest and to love family.

Contents

Cover (#ua0bb258e-912a-50ad-b786-2fcd18f2d969)

Back Cover Text (#u9f6c9fc1-4751-5ed9-86c3-927fc754b70b)

About the Author (#ud226b730-26a5-55b9-9717-0c31a393f1be)

Booklist (#u67c2fd76-fd49-5991-a6da-1566a3063049)

Title Page (#u9c8a047d-199d-5eaf-9eb8-0134fa2f0f0a)

Copyright (#ucd5254fd-de1f-5dde-9d26-a2dfd7d74fba)

Introduction (#uc27712b0-505d-59c3-ba74-b33ea8e1d28c)

Dear Reader (#u902f3f29-e19d-5419-94e8-7acdc388a9ad)

Bible Verse (#u81407911-2391-5807-abe4-e0d9466c2073)

Dedication (#u633ec888-e384-5e82-b8a9-5cca75f52ca3)

Chapter One (#u5ec626e7-d6b0-5316-b412-63b0efc1c2b4)

Chapter Two (#u804132da-e1a9-537f-8435-c8ad9cadb056)

Chapter Three (#u012cfa62-00d8-5cfa-829a-debb7aca1213)

Chapter Four (#u926454ea-a2db-535d-b7fa-2e0b1f3c5b49)

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 (#u564ad831-6c0d-5924-b3b3-6e69e0263085)

A car door slammed and a child’s laughter rang out, followed by a woman’s voice. The horse beneath Marcus Palermo skittered across the arena, forcing him to hold tight. He managed a quick look in the direction of the visitors. A woman, tall with dark hair. A little boy with chocolate-brown hair who seemed all excited as he headed for the arena as Marcus made a last-ditch attempt at controlling the horse.

He had a few seconds to wonder where this woman and boy had come from and how they’d found the place, an old farm situated down a long dirt drive and hidden from view of the road by a copse of trees. He’d only recently purchased the old Brown farm and few people knew he lived here.

The boy shouted something as he ran toward the makeshift arena that Marcus had built with cattle panels. The horse jerked his head forward and took a few running bucks across the dirt-packed pen. Marcus’s hat flew off. He’d just bought that hat and he liked it. He tightened his legs, but the horse had the upper hand. The black-and-white paint gelding twisted and, with a final hard buck, sent Marcus flying. As he hit the ground, he remembered that he really didn’t like ranching all that much.

After a minute he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck where it hurt the most. Slowly he became aware of a couple of things. First, the horse he’d been attempting to ride had moseyed on over to the fence. The traitor had his head down like a big old puppy dog so the kid could pet him. The woman’s gaze left the boy and the horse and shifted his way, nervous and a bit guilty.

Considering she was partially to blame for his bad exit off the horse’s back, she could have at least asked if he was okay. But, no, she only managed to look sheepish as she ran her hand down the horse’s neck. The little boy seemed more curious than anything.

“No, don’t worry, I’m fine,” he muttered as he came to his feet.

He limped across the arena and grabbed the horse’s reins because he was a little jealous of the attention the animal was getting. He moved the gelding away from the fence and away from the hands of the visitors. The woman moved her sunglasses to the top of her head and narrowed her blue eyes at him. He must be getting better at offending the fairer sex. It had taken only two minutes for him to earn her displeasure. “Did he break your leg?” the little boy asked.

Marcus glanced at the kid. He was maybe five, with big eyes. Those eyes widened a bit, the normal reaction to Marcus’s face. Because it was a kid, not an adult staring at him, Marcus had sympathy. He half turned, giving the little boy his good side.

“No,” he answered roughly. “It would take more than that to break me.”

“I bet it would,” the boy said in awe.

Marcus hoped the woman and kid weren’t fans with the misplaced idea that he welcomed uninvited guests to the ranch for sightseeing. But the woman didn’t appear to be an admiring fan. She didn’t look like the type of woman who had ever witnessed a professional bull ride, let alone knew who the champions might be.

“Is there something I can help you with?” He looked down at the little boy and back at the woman, because there was something familiar about her.

She was taller than average, with long, dark hair, and had high cheekbones that made him think she had Native American ancestry. But she had startling blue eyes. The blue of a winter sky. Those eyes were boring into him like he was a bug and she couldn’t figure out what kind. So obviously not a fan.

Fine with him. He didn’t need fans. In fact, he didn’t need much of anything or anyone. Which was exactly why he’d picked this property, several miles off the beaten path and far enough away from his siblings that they wouldn’t always be in his business.

“Are you Marcus Palermo?” she asked, her hand protective on the boy’s shoulder.