Sarah's Legacy

Sarah's Legacy
Brenda Mott

Her idea of paradise is a country farmhouse with lots of kids and a dog. All he wants is his ranch, his horses–and to be left alone.When the Denver bank Bailey Chancellor works for transfers her to the small mountain town of Ferguson, Colorado, she eagerly accepts. Now she can have a country home, and maybe the children she's always wanted.The townspeople view Bailey as tough because of her banking policies, but neighbor Trent Murdock sees a softer side, and he can't help responding. Up to a point, that is. Trent lost his little girl, Sarah, a year before Bailey moved to town. Then his marriage fell apart. The last thing he wants is to feel vulnerable again.How does a city girl with a country heart get a stubborn cowboy to love her?

“So you would’ve sat at home all by yourself today—as usual—Mr. Cool Lone Wolf,” Bailey said

Trent grunted. “So that’s what you think of me, huh?”

Bailey pursed her lips and nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Humph.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to deny it.”

“I don’t deny it, Bailey, and I don’t make excuses for it, either. It’s simply the way I like my life.”

“Really?” Irritation bubbled within her. “You’re going to stand there and tell me you prefer being alone and lonely to being here with me and these kids, having a good time?”

“That’s right,” he said stubbornly.

“You know what?” She glared at him. “You’re hopeless.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Probably.”

“I ought to stop wasting my time with you.”

“Maybe so.”

Then why didn’t she?

Dear Reader,

I first began writing romance in 1986. Fifteen years later, with more rejection slips than I can count, I finally got “The Call” from Paula Eykelhof, senior editor for Superromance. I’m sure you can imagine my excitement!

Sarah’s Legacy came straight from the heart. I was in the middle of writing this book when my seventeen-year-old nephew was killed in a snowmobile accident. It took months for me to be able to go back to the book, but when I did, the writing became a way to pour out the grief that threatened to drown me. There is nothing more devastating than the loss of a child. Trent Murdock must find a way to get past that pain. But I promise you, this book doesn’t need to come shrink-wrapped with a bottle of antidepressants! After all, the reason I write romance and love this genre so much is that the reader is always guaranteed a happy ending.

Just how does a city-woman-turned-country-girl manage to get a stubborn cowboy to love and laugh again, especially when she’s never had a family of her own? Come with me on Trent and Bailey’s journey and find out. I hope you enjoy their story, and that you never ever give up on your own goals and dreams. I’m living proof that if you keep at it, your dreams will happen.

I’d love to hear from you. My e-mail is BrendaMott@hotmail.com. Please reference the book on the subject line. Thank you and happy reading.

Sincerely,

Brenda Mott

Sarah’s Legacy

Brenda Mott

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

This book is dedicated with love to the memory

of my nephew, Steven Dale Springer,

who left this world much too soon—I miss you, bud

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

BAILEY CHANCELLOR slowed her Ford Mustang, looking out through the car’s open window. The little Christmas tree seemed so out of place fully decorated in the month of August, yet there it stood, its red and green ornaments and shiny tinsel reflecting the summer sun.

Curious, she forged ahead on the gravel road until she spotted the entrance to the Roth Hill Cemetery. Putting on her blinker, she turned into the driveway, parked and got out of the car.

The Christmas tree rested beside a marble headstone, the blue-green branches sweetly fragrant. Flipping her braid over one shoulder, Bailey crouched in front of the stone. Sarah Adelle Murdock. A cowboy hat and boots were etched into the marble above the name.

Bailey’s throat thickened, making it difficult for her to swallow, as she read the dates and the words below the name: