by R. C. Ryan
When the entire MacKenzie family is present:
5 to 10 lbs. potatoes, peeled, quartered, and brought to a boil in a huge pot of water, along with 4 cloves of garlic
Simmer until cooked to a soft consistency (approx. 20 to 25 minutes), depending on amount of potatoes.
Drain and pour into large mixing bowl.
Add ½ a cup of milk and ½ a stick of butter, depending on amount of potatoes.
(For a creamier potato, add a package of cream cheese as well.)
Mix all ingredients well and serve with Mad's tender pot roast.
Also by R. C. Ryan
Montana Legacy
Montana Destiny
Montana Glory
Quinn
Josh
Jake
RAVES FOR R. C. RYAN’S NOVELS
Jake
“A must-read…cozy enough to make you want to venture into the wild west and find yourself a cowboy…And if you haven’t read a western romance before, R. C. Ryan is where you should start.”
—ReviewsbyMolly.com
“Wonderful characters who quickly find a way into our heart…a glorious picture of the west from one of my favorite authors.”
—FreshFiction.com
“A heartwarming tale about love, loss, and forgiveness…The characters seemed to spring to life from between the pages.”
—SeducedbyaBook.com
Josh
“There’s plenty of hot cowboys, action, and romance in this heady mix of a series that will leave you breathless.”
—Parkersburg News and Sentinel (WV)
“A powerfully emotional tale that will connect with readers…Love a feel-good cowboy romance with a touch of suspense? Then pick up Josh.”
—RomRevToday.com
“This story is action packed and fast moving…A good solid story with fantastic characters and an interesting story line.”
—NightOwlReviews.com
Quinn
“Ryan takes readers to Big Sky country in a big way with her vivid visual dialogue as she gives us a touching love story with a mystery subplot. The characters, some good and one evil, will stay with you long after the book is closed.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Quinn is a satisfying read. R. C. Ryan is an accomplished and experienced storyteller. And if you enjoy contemporary cowboys in a similar vein to Linda Lael Miller, you’ll enjoy this.”
—GoodReads.com
“Engaging…Ryan paints a picturesque image of the rugged landscape and the boisterous, loving, close-knit Conway family.”
—Publishers Weekly
Montana Glory
“These not-to-be-missed books are guaranteed to warm your heart!”
—FreshFiction.com
“Wonderful romantic suspense tale starring a courageous heroine who is a lioness protecting her cub and a reluctant knight in shining armor…a terrific taut thriller.”
—GenreGoRoundReviews.blogspot.com
Montana Destiny
“5 stars! Watching this wild rebel and independent woman attempt to coexist was so much fun…The author, R. C. Ryan, delivers an ongoing, tantalizing mystery suspense with heartwarming romance. Sinfully yummy!”
—HuntressReviews.com
“Ryan’s amazing genius at creating characters with heartfelt emotions, wit, and passion is awe-inspiring. I can’t wait until Montana Glory comes out…so that I can revisit the McCord family!”
—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
Montana Legacy
A Cosmopolitan “Red Hot Read”
“A captivating start to a new series.”
—BookPage
“Heart-melting sensuality…this engaging story skillfully refreshes a classic trilogy pattern and sets the stage for the stories to come.”
—Library Journal
“A fresh, entertaining tale that will keep you wanting to read more.”
—RomRevToday.com
After his mother passes away, Griff Warren ventures to Copper Creek to meet the family he never knew. But the handsome cowboy still feels like he doesn’t fully belong there—until he meets a beautiful woman with a heart of gold…
Please see the next page
for a preview of
The Rebel of
Copper Creek.
Chapter One
Get ’im in that chute, Griff.”
The cowboy’s shrill voice had Griff Warren singling out the next calf from the portable corral and urging it into the narrow passageway toward a branding cradle. At least that was what the wranglers called it. Griff thought of it as a torture chamber.
Once in there, the headgate slammed shut, the walls of the chute closed in, and the entire cage tipped to hold the calf on its side while Ash or Whit MacKenzie pressed a sizzling branding iron to the calf’s right hip area.
The entire operation took only a few seconds, and the bawling calf was righted, released, and sent racing toward its mother in a second holding pen, while Griff, amid shouts and catcalls, was forced to prod the next calf toward the same fate.
The process was repeated over and over, for five hot, sweaty, endless days, until every calf born this spring on the MacKenzie Ranch had been branded with the unique MK on its left shoulder. Then they were herded by a team of wranglers, or in some cases trucked to the highlands in cattle haulers for a summer eating frenzy on the lush grasses that grew in the hills around Copper Creek.
When the last of the calves had met its fate, Whit, Griff’s brother, dropped an arm around Griff’s shoulders. “Great job, cowboy. You just had your baptism of fire. And look at you. Still standing.”
“Barely.” Griff, his shirt so wet it stuck to his skin, eyes red from the dust of frantic cattle, managed a weak grin.
Brady Storm, foreman of the MacKenzie Ranch, offered a handshake. “Welcome to Ranching 101, son. It’s hard, dirty work. And not one of us would trade this job for a suit and tie in the city.”
Griff shook his head. “Don’t tempt me, Brady. At the moment, that almost sounds like heaven.”
“Another fine supper, Mad.” Griff sat back, sipping coffee.
Fresh from the longest shower of his life, he was feeling almost human again.
He’d been living with the MacKenzie family on their ranch since mustering out of the Marine Corps. He’d arrived in time to bury the stranger who had been his father. But though he’d been acknowledged as the son of Bear MacKenzie, he resisted accepting the MacKenzie name, choosing instead to continue using his single mother’s last name as it had been recorded on his birth certificate.
“From what Brady told me, son, you deserve a good meal.” Seventy-year-old Maddock MacKenzie, Bear’s father, and therefore Griff’s biological grandfather, was called Mad by all who knew him. It was a well-deserved name, since his temper was legend in this part of Montana.
The cantankerous old man winked at ranch foreman Brady Storm. “Brady tells me you’ve been jumping into ranch chores with both feet. But branding’s another thing altogether. For a novice, branding can be pretty grueling, even for those of us who cut our teeth on ranch chores,”
“Tell me about it.” Whit, at twenty-five, the youngest of Bear MacKenzie’s three sons, shot a grin at his brother, Ash, seated across the table. “The first time Pa took me with him to help with the branding, I was five or six. The wranglers were still branding the old-fashioned way. Wrestling calves to the dirt, holding them down, and driving that hot iron into their rump. I’ve never forgotten the smell of burning flesh and the bawling of those calves. I was sick for a week.”
“I guess, to a kid, it’s pretty barbaric.” Mad polished off the last of his garlic mashed potatoes, one of his favorite side dishes, which he prepared at least once a week.
“Not just to a kid.” Willow MacKenzie, mother to Ash and Whit, turned to her father-in-law. “I may have grown up on a ranch, but I’m still troubled every spring during branding.”
“Can’t be helped.” Mad shared a knowing
look with the foreman. “We can tag a cow’s ear or implant a chip, but the process our ancestors came up with is still the most efficient. The state of Montana is open range. We’ve got thousands of acres of rangeland. Those critters can hide in canyons, wander into forests. But the state demands that we register our brand with the state brand office. Not only the brand, but the exact location on each calf. That’s why we’ve got that MK on the right hip of every one of our cattle. It’s pretty hard for a thief to explain what he’s doing with your property.”
Griff shook his head. “All I know is, I’m glad that particular chore is finished for the year. Now I can get back to learning the easy stuff.”
“You think tending herds in the high country in blizzards or summer storms is easy? You like mending fences and mucking stalls?” Ash shared a look with the others. “I guess that’s what happens when you survive three tours with the Marines in Afghanistan. Everything after that is gravy.”
The others around the table joined in the laughter.
Myrna Hill, plump housekeeper for the MacKenzie family, set a tray of brownies on the table before passing around hot fudge sundaes. “You have Brenna to thank for the dessert. She drove all the way into Copper Creek, to that cute little shop I’s Cream, for Ivy’s special chocolate marshmallow walnut ice cream.”
Ash nudged his bride, Brenna, seated beside him. “Is this a special occasion?” He put a hand to his heart. “Don’t tell me I’ve forgotten an anniversary or something already.”
“Now you’ve done it, lad.” Mad’s Scottish burr thickened along with his laughter. “Don’t you know that the first rule of a new husband is to never admit that you’ve forgotten a special day? You’re supposed to just smile and remain silent, and your bride will think you’ve known about it all along.”
“Now you tell me.” Ash put his arm around Brenna’s shoulders and nuzzled her cheek. “Whatever the occasion, you know I’m happy to be celebrating it with you.”
“Uh-huh.” With an impish grin Brenna smiled at Myrna, whose cap of white curls bounced with every step she took. “I suppose, if you’re feeling guilty enough, I could get a new washer out of this. Or maybe something really big, like a new truck at Orin Tamer’s dealership. But the truth is, babe, you haven’t forgotten a thing. I just thought you’d want some comfort food after dealing with all that branding for the past week.”
“Whew.” Across the table, Whit made a big production of wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. “You really ducked a trap this time, bro.”
“Yeah.” Ash lifted Brenna’s hand to his mouth and planted a wet kiss in her palm. “See how she pampers me?”
“Don’t be fooled, bro.” Whit dug into his sundae. “Our Brenna’s smart. That means she’ll figure a way to get what she wants even without playing on your guilt.”
Brenna dimpled. “Better eat that dessert as fast as you can, or you may find it dumped over your very adorable head, my sweet brother-in-law.”
“That’s ‘bro-in-law’ to you, Bren.” He held up his now-empty bowl. “And you’re too late.”
Around the table, the others enjoyed the banter while they polished off their desserts.
Afterward, they lounged comfortably, drinking coffee and discussing the week’s activities on the thousand plus acres that made up the mighty MacKenzie ranch.
With the sudden, shocking murder of Bear MacKenzie, the operation of the ranch had fallen to his three sons and his widow, Willow. Bear’s father, Maddock, was confined to a wheelchair since a ranch accident nearly fifteen years previous. Since then he’d merged his ranch with that of his son, and had commandeered the kitchen chores, much to housekeeper Myrna’s dismay. Though the two shared some cooking skills, Mad’s overbearing personality often drove Myrna to hide out in other parts of the house. But when she did work in the kitchen, she was more than ready to stand up to the old curmudgeon. And though they enjoyed spirited arguments, there was an underlying affection that was obvious to everyone.
Ash turned to his mother. “Any news from Chief Pettigrew?”
Willow shook her head. “As a matter of fact, Ira called this morning, just to touch base and let me know he was doing all he could. The state police crime lab has concluded the estimated distance the bullets traveled. That’s an important step in the investigation. Once they determine the exact location where the shooter was concealed, they can begin going over the area with a fine-tooth comb. Ira assured me that if even a single thread of evidence exists, they’ll find and identify it.”
Mad patted his daughter-in-law’s hand. “Keep the faith, lass. They’ll get the coward who shot Bear.”
She nodded. “I know, Mad. But every time I go into town, I can’t help thinking that someone smiling at me, talking to me, could be Bear’s killer.” She shuddered. “I can’t bear the thought that such a monster is still walking around, enjoying his life, while Bear is…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
Brady Storm, always sensitive to Willow’s emotions, quickly changed the subject. “I saw Lance McMillan fly in that sleek new plane. What did he want?”
At the mention of their long-time lawyer’s son, who had recently taken over his father’s practice, Willow sighed. “I told him his father knew better than to interrupt a rancher at branding time. And without even the courtesy of a phone call. But he said he was on his way up to join his father on a fishing trip in Canada, and it was Mason who’d wanted me to sign some papers.”
Mad looked over. “What kind of papers?”
Willow shrugged. “Lance said they were just routine documents needed after the death of a spouse. I told him to leave them and I’d read them later, when I have my wits about me.”
“Good.” Mad nodded his approval. “Mason would have never brought documents for a signature without taking the time to explain them thoroughly.”
Willow gave a short laugh. “That’s what I said, though in truth I didn’t want to give him any more of my time. The irony is, after I took my shower I went to Bear’s office to read them, and they weren’t there. When I phoned Lance on his cell phone, he said he’d mistakenly dropped them back into his briefcase. He has them with him in Canada. Now he’ll have to mail them to me when he gets back to Billings after his fishing trip with Mason.”
“So his visit was a waste of time.”
“I don’t know about Lance’s time, but it was certainly a waste of mine.”
Willow looked up as Whit clapped a hand on the foreman’s back. “How about a beer at Wylie’s?”
Brady nodded. “I’m in.” He turned to Griff. “You joining us?”
Griff smiled. “Good idea. Willow? Mad? Ready for a night in town?”
Both Willow and Mad shook their heads.
Whit turned to the newlyweds. “Ash and Brenna?”
The two turned to each other, smiled, and shook their heads in unison.
Ash spoke for both of them. “Thanks, but we’ll pass tonight.”
Whit waved a hand toward the others. “What did I tell you? The way those two are looking, I’m betting that before the night’s over my big brother will be promising his lady love that new truck she’s been mooning over.”
“Nobody deserves it more,” Ash said, stonefaced.
“Oh, man.” Whit turned away with a mock shudder. “Now I really need a beer at Wylie’s, to wash away the taste of all that sugar.”
At that, everyone burst into gales of laughter. Even Myrna joined in as the men made ready to leave for town.
Copper Creek, more than an hour’s drive from the ranch, was little more than a main street, with rows of shops and stores, a church, a school, a medical center, a town hall connected with a jail and a courthouse, and Wylie’s Saloon, the official watering hole for the surrounding ranchers. “Hey, Whit. Griff.” Nonie Claxton, a waitress at Wylie’s since it first opened, paused while juggling a tray holding half a dozen longnecks. She wiped stringy orange bangs from her eyes as she gave Brady Storm a long, admiring look. “How lucky can a gir
l get? Three sexy cowboys. Park somewhere, boys, and I’ll take your order in a minute.”
Seeing no seats left at the bar, they grabbed a table in the middle of the smoky room. Within minutes Nonie was there as promised to set three frosty longnecks in front of them.
Griff nodded toward a noisy table in the corner. “Who’re the guys in uniform?”
Nonie glanced toward the assortment of men in wheelchairs, others balancing crutches or canes across their laps. Several wore faded military fatigues. “They call themselves Romeos.”
At Griff’s arched brow she laughed. “They’re all part of the band of veterans who spend time at the Grayson Ranch. It’s a take on the owner’s name. The widow Grayson. Her name’s Juliet. Get it? Romeos? Juliet?” She nodded toward Whit. “Your brother here could probably tell you about the place.”
Whit shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know that much about it, except that when Buddy Grayson’s widow came back to Montana to take over the ranch, she offered to turn it into some kind of therapy place for wounded vets.”
“How can a ranch be a therapy place?” Brady asked.
Again that shrug as Whit said, “I don’t have a clue. I’m thinking it’s like a dude ranch. All phony, and not a working wrangler in sight.” He turned. “Maybe we ought to ask the Romeos about their Juliet.”
Just saying those names had him grinning, and Griff and Brady chuckled at the joke.
A short time later Griff felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see a bearded man in a faded denim shirt and torn jeans, seated in a wheelchair and grinning from ear to ear.
“I thought that was you, Captain. What in hell are you doing in Copper Creek?”
It took Griff a moment to place the face, but the gravelly voice was unmistakable. “Jimmy? Jimmy Gable?” He was up and leaning over to grab the bearded man in a bear hug.
