by Sky, JoAnn
Table of Contents
Dedication
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Find your Bliss with these great releases… Back in the Rancher’s Arms
The Cowboy’s Homecoming Surprise
Blame It on the Bet
The Bookworm and the Beast
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by JoAnn Sky. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/bliss
Edited by Alycia Tornetta
Cover design by Bree Archer
Cover art from iStock
ISBN 978-1-64063-501-2
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition April 2018
It’s wide open as wide open gets
The kind of wide open your heart can’t forget.
—“Nevada” by Pedro Márquez
To John, the cowboy who gave me my happily ever after.
Chapter One
She hadn’t intended to come back to this mess. At twenty-five, she certainly hadn’t planned to own it.
Grace Harper drove up the dusty back road to the familiar two-story farmhouse and took everything in: peeling paint, broken screens, warped siding. Mom’s flowerbeds overgrown with monster weeds. A lump of nostalgia clogged her throat. Beyond the house, an old barn sat surrounded by leaning fences, crooked wooden structures, and acres of thirsty yellow pasture.
Grace stepped out of her rental Audi and onto the dirt driveway, wishing she’d worn her Converse sneakers rather than her Jimmy Choos. She’d dressed like she was going to her father and Sheila’s funerals, not like someone arriving a week late. But she’d learned in New York that presentation was everything—and it wasn’t like there was a manual telling her what to wear to meet her ten-year-old stepbrother for the first time.
She took a few careful steps toward the house. “Anyone home?”
Mr. Lincoln, her father’s attorney, had told her the housekeeper had been granted temporary guardianship of her stepbrother, just until Grace arrived, due to the circumstances. Circumstances. A nice word for dysfunction. Did folks blame her for some of that dysfunction? Probably. Did she care? She sniffed and shook off the question.
So, the housekeeper was watching JJ and taking care of the place while Grace scrambled to get to Reno, Nevada—or more specifically, twenty miles south. Unfortunately, the ranch looked like it needed a bulldozer, not a babysitter.
A scrappy mutt ran out of nowhere and yipped at her. Grace held up her index finger. “You stay right there.”
The dog whined, then looked back and ran to a boy. A very dirty boy. The boy’s eyes widened at the intruder—her.
“JJ, is that you?” Grace asked. This wasn’t going at all how she’d hoped.
The boy and the dog ran into the barn, a sagging structure that didn’t look fit for field mice. Clearly the housekeeper wasn’t much of a guardian. Her stepbrother was steeped in grime, from his jet-black hair to his mud-caked shoes. And the woman obviously hadn’t told him Grace was coming. Embarrassment bubbled inside her, and she quickly squashed it.
Grace peeked inside the barn, then carefully stepped in, bracing herself for the God-awful manure odor she hadn’t missed but would never forget. Except there was none. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering in through the cracks in the wood panels. Where were the horses? Pete Palomino, Blackie the mare, even her father’s pride and joy, Josephine, the wannabe racehorse—all gone.
Had Sheila made Grace’s father sell those beautiful horses? As much as the thought needled her spine, Grace knew she should be thankful. One less thing to deal with.
She started across the bare dirt floor. “JJ, I know you’re in here. Come on out. It’s Grace.” Should she say stepsister? “You know, from New York.”
The shadows shuffled.
“I’m sure your mother told you about me.” Or not. Grace never spoke of her father and his second wife, whom she’d never met. Why should she expect something different in return? Her father had moved on to a new, ready-made family when he’d married Sheila. Did JJ call her father “Dad” or maybe even “Daddy”? It’d been seven years since Grace had allowed either word to fall from her lips.
The boy stepped out of the dark corner, the mangy mutt cuddled in his arms.
“There you are. Hi, JJ, I’m Grace.” She stepped forward but stopped when the boy primed to run. “That’s a cute dog. What’s its name?”
“You can’t have him.” The boy’s arms tightened around the furry creature.
“I don’t wa—”
“You can’t have anything. Just leave.”
When she didn’t move, his face scrunched into a pout, his cheeks turning tomato-soup red. “Do you hear me? We don’t want you here!” He turned and ran out the barn’s back door.
“JJ, wait.” She stopped herself from running after him. He was scared enough. Chasing him might totally freak him out. Besides, she’d scuff her Choos. Maybe if the ungodly purchase price wasn’t languishing on her credit card bill, she’d feel better about it.
She looked around at the bareness, her gaze eventually shifting up to the loft, still filled with hay. And memories. Memories she wanted to forget but couldn’t, like the bittersweet memories of Noah. Her friend, her knight, her once-upon-a-time everything. Goose bumps ran up her spine. This loft had been their kingdom, where they’d dreamed big when they were small. Later, it became a refuge, where they experimented with alcohol. And each other. A place where they planned their escape, where they—
“Hello, Gracie.”
She whirled around at the sound of his voice, as familiar as if she’d heard it hours—not years—ago. But the man standing in front of her wasn’t the boy she’d left behind. Dark stubble had replaced peach fuzz. The lanky, thin frame she remembered had morphed into broad shoulders and hard muscle. Hard-work-earned muscle, not gym-sculpted. His stance was confident, proud. Imposing.
Noah stared up at the loft and then shifted his focus to her. “Remembering old times?” The mischievous glint in his eyes hadn’t changed, nor had other things. His hair was still thick and black, one random curl hanging over his forehead. His dark blue eyes were still as deep as Lake Tahoe. His lips? Firm, full… Were they still totally kissable? Her mouth dried at the thought, and heat sprawled through her stomach,
then lower.
What was wrong with her? She wasn’t a teenager anymore. This was the guy who’d broken her heart; pulverized it. And it wasn’t like she was Celibate Celia in New York, pining over him. Noah Taylor shouldn’t affect her body, shouldn’t affect her anymore.
And he shouldn’t be here.
This trip was supposed to be in and out, nice and easy. Sell the ranch, scoop up JJ, and skedaddle.
Noah’s gaze rolled down her body, lingered on her too-high heels, then climbed back up. “The city’s treated you well,” he said.
Bronzed abs peeked through the rip in his dirty T-shirt. Reno had treated him well. Very well. Not that she’d ever admit it, especially to him. “How did you know I’d be here?”
He lifted a brow. “You stopped at the Stop-n-Gas,” he said, as if that explained everything.
And actually, it did.
“Mrs. Walters.” The Stop-n-Gas’s manager and resident town gossip. Grace had almost forgotten about the lack of privacy in her hometown.
Noah smiled. “You know she’s always had a soft spot for me.”
A spot that had never included Grace. Noah had the advantage there: his father was the town preacher. Hers was the town joke—or rather, had been.
“So Mrs. Walters called you.” Grace would be annoyed, except that the old woman wasn’t just a gossip. She’d given Grace some Skittles for JJ. Noah wasn’t Mrs. Walters’s only favorite anymore.
Noah pushed past her, closed the barn’s back door that JJ had left open, and turned to face her again. “It took you long enough to get here.”
He wasn’t referring to the time spent at the Stop-n-Gas. She hadn’t meant to take so long to get home, but her boss had made anything else impossible. No one said “no” to Simon. Not even Grace as his lead—okay, only—photographer, his protégé. Heck, people reorganized major life events, including funerals, around Simon.
“I did the best I could.” Which, of course, wasn’t enough. Her best had never been enough for anyone here—not her mother, her father, or even for Noah. “I left a message on the home phone.” Though why did Noah care? “Why are you here?”
“Are you here to stay?” he asked cautiously, ignoring her question. His stare pressed against her soul, assessing her, judging her. Just like always. But Noah had no right to judge. He’d given up any rights he had, any trust they’d shared, seven years ago. Grace forced herself not to squirm or hightail it out of the barn.
“For a couple weeks.” She straightened her back. She owned this place now. Noah wasn’t going to push her around on her ranch. “I’ve got a lot of things to take care of and little time.”
“What kind of things?”
“Things that don’t concern you.”
He flinched, almost indiscernibly. Anyone else would’ve missed it, but Grace recognized his gestures, knew him too well. Or used to. He waited, most likely for a better answer. If she was right, she knew he’d outwait her.
“Fine.” She pushed a wayward brown curl behind her ear. “I’m putting this place up for sale. As soon as possible.” She had meetings set up like dominoes, and a list of things to do over the next two weeks to get her plan in place.
Noah clenched his jaw. “Your daddy loved this place.”
She tried to ignore how his words stapled themselves to her heart. Once upon a time, it wasn’t just her father who had loved this place. But that was before The Incident, before the world turned pear-shaped. She adjusted the cuffs of her jacket. She should have worn short sleeves. The warm, arid air, though typical for late May, was stifling. “My father loved his horses, too, but it looks like he was able to part with them just fine.”
“There are still other animals. JJ takes care of them. They’re his friends.”
“JJ will make new friends.”
“That’s it? You’re here to sell the place and haul JJ away from his home, his life—to New York where he knows no one?”
It was her turn to flinch. He was right; her stepbrother didn’t know her, probably didn’t know anything about her. She wasn’t proud of it. Truth be told, she wished things were different. But they weren’t, which was why Grace had been shocked to learn her father and Sheila had named her as guardian. Apparently, Sheila had no relatives to take JJ, so Grace was the only choice.
“I’m… No. I don’t need to explain myself to you, and I certainly don’t need your permission for anything I do.” Sure, New York City didn’t have rodeos or wild horses or miles and miles of wide-open space. But that didn’t mean JJ wouldn’t grow to like it just as she had. Grace clasped her hands, twisting them together. “This ranch is mine now. I can do whatever I want.” She took a deep breath and pulled at the edge of her linen jacket to smooth out the wrinkles. “I need to find the housekeeper. She’s expecting me.”
“And she’s going to help you get this place ready for sale?”
“She will.” Grace sniffed and crossed her arms. “Once I talk with her.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“And why’s that?”
A smug smile spread across his lips. “I’m the housekeeper.”
Chapter Two
Noah watched his words sink in. The look on her face was worth more than her diamond-stud earrings.
“You’re the housekeeper?”
He bit down a smile. “Not in the traditional sense.”
She frowned. “Yeah, more like nonsense.”
Damn. If possible, the East Coast had sharpened her barbed tongue. “I’ve been helping George.” He held her eyes. “Your father,” he said, pretending to misread the confusion on her face.
“I know who George is.”
Was.
“You’d know more if you’d stayed in touch. I’ve been helping out for the last two years.” Initially, it had been for the money. But when George couldn’t pay anymore, Noah had stayed. The ranch had grown on him, and so had JJ. “I offered to watch JJ until you got here.” No kid should be alone in the world.
“And the court agreed to that?”
This from the woman who’d left one message—one—and then had taken over a week to get here? Noah tamped down the anger simmering in his gut. “Destiny Morson is the social worker assigned to the case. She’s—”
“I know who Destiny is, too,” she said, irritation lacing her voice. “We graduated with her.”
At least she hadn’t forgotten all her roots. Especially impressive, since Gracie and Destiny had run in different circles—Destiny as captain of the debate team, and Gracie as captain of the cheerleading squad. Noah still remembered how that short skirt had showed off her long legs. Just like her current skirt and fancy heels.
Gracie sighed, then turned and looked out the barn door she’d come through. “We’ve got our work cut out to get the ranch sellable,” she said before launching into a list of things that had to be done, pronto.
Noah’d figured Gracie would want to sell the ranch, though the callousness of her declaration scraped at his skin. No matter. He knew the perfect buyer—him, assuming he could figure out how to pay for it. Not that Noah wanted to be a cowboy or even a rancher. But a handful of animals and some wide-open space—his own—with a creek running through it was close to perfect in his mind. Especially this ranch, the land he’d practically grown up on. Maybe JJ would visit over summer vacations. He wished he could do more, but his new digital marketing business was sucking through most of his money and almost all his time.
Noah kept his eyes locked on Gracie. He hadn’t lied; New York had definitely agreed with her. Regret pushed at his heart, but he shoved it aside. He’d made his choice seven years ago, and from the looks of her, she’d managed just fine. Professional, polished, a bit skinny.
But still sexy.
Gracie snapped her fingers at him. “Are you even listening to me?”
And still bossy. Noah’s eyes shifted to the lips that were lecturing him. Lush, red lips. Would they still taste like cherry? His tongue tingled, remembering the taste of her
favorite gloss.
She stepped toward him. “You’re really the caretaker?”
He shook his head to get it back in the game. He wasn’t a horny eighteen-year-old anymore. Well, at least not eighteen anymore. “I’m real, honey. You can pinch me to make sure. I pick where.”
Her eyes widened, her cheeks reddening to bright apples. Hot and bothered, she was even cuter.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He knew her too well. She hadn’t expected to see him here. She most likely hadn’t wanted to see him ever again. Or that was probably what she told herself. Flushed cheeks, rapid breaths, fiddling with her hands and clothes. She was just as affected by his nearness as he was by hers. After seven years, was there still a chance that the girl he’d known, the girl he’d sent away, was underneath that hard East Coast shell? He needed to know. He stepped toward her.
“There was a time when you wanted to do a hell of a lot more to me than pinch.” His eyes held hers. A man could get lost in those eyes. Big vats of honey swirling down, down, down. “Remember that girl?” When she didn’t throw back a snappy comment, he took another step forward. “The one who used to fly on the tire swing down by the creek?”
Her face softened, her eyes unfocused.
He shifted closer. “The one who’d catch tadpoles,” he said, “and run barefoot through the fields after the wild horses.” He was less than a foot away. It wasn’t cherry he smelled but lavender, like the fields behind his granny’s garden. “The girl who loved this place, this land, as much as her family did.”
Her jaw tightened at the mention of that word—family. Damn. He’d overplayed his hand, pushed too hard, too fast.
She looked up, eyes blank. “That girl,” Gracie whispered. “She doesn’t exist anymore.”
…
Noah lugged her oversized suitcases, all three of them, into the mudroom, then nodded toward them. “This mean you’re staying awhile?”
“Two weeks,” Grace muttered. “Fourteen days too long.” She glanced around the mudroom. Her father had finally added the sink that Mom had wanted all those years. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they looked on the outside. She walked into the kitchen. It was like stepping through a time warp. Same cracked sink, same yellowing linoleum floor, same Formica countertops. Blech. Though the pink paisley curtains framing the sink window were new—well, newer—as were the matching home sweet home plaque on the wall and the other assorted knickknacks on the counter. The place almost had a homey feel. Almost.
