by Danni Roan
Contents
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Prologue
Philomena tossed her dark hair over her shoulder in agitation, then turned back to the computer screen.
She had already read through the document three times, but no matter how many times her violet gaze scanned the letters, comprehension simply wouldn’t set in.
Dear Ms. Allen, the words never wavered on the screen, you are the last living blood relative of Mr. David Wilson Robertson I have been able to track down, and you are hereby named as his heir.
The words all made sense. She’d seen many such documents over her twenty-five years, but still the whole thing seemed unreal.
Running a hand over weary eyes, she stood and moved to the bank of windows that made up the sharp angles of her corner office and gazed out at the Manhattan skyline.
Philomena had worked for Promontory Promotions Public Relations for nearly five years, and already in that short expanse of time had rocketed to the top of her field in marketing.
It had started so simply when a friend at college had told her that the company had several summer positions for people who were ambitious and willing to work long hours. Michelle had been right.
That first summer had not only given her the boost of income to continue her education, it had given her a whole new calling in life. She’d quickly changed her major at college, and the rest was history, as they say.
“Phil? You contemplating taking the leap?” A deep, resonant voice rolled into her airy office, a bite of sarcastic humor in the tone.
“Not likely,” she retorted, turning to consider the handsome face of Asher Dane. The man was GQ from head to foot, the arrogant twinkle in his eye somehow adding to his sex appeal.
“How about a drink tonight?” He stepped through the door, only coming to a stop when he stood mere inches in front of her. “I hear there’s a new club along the avenue that’s the hot place to be,” he continued, running a hand over the rich fabric of her lavender-suited arm.
Philomena stepped back a pace, breaking the contact. “I’m not interested, Ash,” she said, turning back to the windows. “I have work to do.”
“Why don’t I stay and help, then we can go out and paint the town.” His voice was silken. “Surely you can’t have that much on your plate.” He stepped around her desk, peeking inquisitively at the razor thin, white monitor on her desk.
Pivoting on her six-inch Christian Louboutin heel, Philomena slid between Asher and the screen, clicking the monitor button as she blocked his view. “You have your own work to worry about.”
“Yes, but working with you is far more fun.” He leaned forward, his dark head nearly brushing hers as his hand found the exposed flesh of her knee, below her skirt. “We always had fun together, Phil,” he growled.
“I have real work to do,” Philomena pressed, slipping away from him and off the desk. “You go on and have a good time.” She turned her back, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“I’m not giving up,” Ash’s voice was mocking. “We were good together, and you know I always get what I want.” His even tread across the polished floor and the click of the frosted glass door told her he’d gone.
Letting out a breath, her petite form sagged slightly with relief. It had been a huge mistake getting involved with Asher Dane, but at the time, she couldn’t say she’d been thinking with her head.
The man was gorgeous, tall, dark, handsome, and disgustingly charming. The long hours and late nights working together for shared clients had been spark enough to ignite the fire that had burned between them.
Returning to her desk, Philomena clicked the screen back to life and studied the document once more. Her parents had told her about the ancestral home of her family. The big ranch with the strange name.
Like everything else in her life, it seemed very far away, as if it existed in another realm that you could almost see, but never touch.
Running her hands under her hair she tipped her head back, feeling the knots along her spine as she closed her eyes. Too many things seemed empty lately; even her job had become repetitious, filled with endless monotony. Somewhere along the way, the thrill had fizzled out.
Pushing herself to her feet, she hit shut down on the computer, lifted her Gucci bag from her drawer, and stepped into the hall.
Perhaps an hour in the gym and a good massage would settle the mad thoughts that were racing through her mind.
Chapter 1
The sleek, silver sedan rattled over the rough dirt track, kicking up plumes of dust in the crisp air of an early spring.
Slowing the car as she approached a ramshackle fence line, Philomena rolled through the broken uprights of the gate and past a corral where several horses nibbled at the first green grass of spring.
Leaning forward over the steering wheel, she gazed around her at the wide-open sky and the large buildings dotted around the property.
“Looks like we’re here,” she said, looking at the yellow and white cat that stretched the length of her dash.
Putting the car in park, she climbed out into the blustery air and started toward the sprawling, two-story house.
“I’ve got to be out of my mind,” she said, tucking her arms around her against the chill and ascending the stairs onto the wide, wrap-around porch with a screech.
More dust sifted over her expensive trainers as she pulled the keys from her pocket and opened the door despite its loud protests.
A dim light and slightly musty smell drifted toward her and she sneezed delicately as the screen bumped closed behind her.
For a few moments, Philomena stood waiting, unsure what to do first. Mr. Baron had said he’d meet her in the afternoon to sign off the last of the paperwork, but it was obvious no other living soul was present.
Shuffling along the hall, she peered at the dusty pictures hanging on the long wall and reaching out, she brushed away some of the haze with a small hand.
The in-numeral tin-types and ancient daguerreotypes stared back at her, faces and names nearly forgotten, lost to the history of the ranch.
One shot of a large family, an old man with white hair sitting surrounded by men, women and children of various ages, caught her eye.
She knew her great-great-grandparents were in there somewhere and squinted, trying to make them out, when her gaze fell on a large man at the back, his beefy arm around a slim woman in a dark dress.
Without thinking, she rubbed at the glass with the cuff of her jacket, trying to get a better look.
“That’s Hank Ballard,” a deep voice rumbled through the open door, making Philomena jump as she turned to study the massive figure who blocked her way out.
“Hello,” she squeaked, blinking toward the form that seemed to have absorbed most of the light.
“I’m Kade.” His voice rolled from the depths of his barrel chest. “You must be Philomena.”
“Yes, yes, I am.”
“I’m your neighbor and your cousin in a somewhat convoluted way.” He reached for the door handle, raising an eyebrow questioningly.
“Oh, come in,” she finally managed with an awkward smile.
/> “Eric, Hank’s son, was my great-grandfather,” Kade continued, his scuffed boots clicking on the hard wood floor. “See, that’s him with his wife, Joan,” he pointed at another picture, “and his father’s there on the other side.”
Philomena turned back to the wall of photos. “You live on the ranch, don’t you?” she asked, looking at the big man in the image again.
“Down by the creek. I imagine Baron mentioned me.” A slight smile creased his face. “We Ballards never left, you see.”
Philomena smiled, suddenly feeling comfortable with the man who towered over her. “Philomena,” she offered, stretching out a hand that disappeared in his much larger one.
“Nice to finally meet you.” His grip was firm but gentle.
“If you’re my cousin,” the young woman began, “why didn’t you inherit?” she asked turning her eyes upward.
“That’s a rather long history lesson, but let’s just say that Uncle Davey was not on friendly terms with my mother and father. You see, technically Eric wasn’t a James by blood, so my line could be cut out of the inheritance.”
“I see,” Philomena said, not seeing at all, “so have you been looking after the place?” she asked instead of pushing.
“As best I can, though I didn’t have access to the house.” He looked around him at the thick layer of dust.
“Oh, of course, Mr. Baron had the keys.”
The big man chuckled, a deep humming in his chest. “I’ve been looking after the stock and keeping things fixed as best I can.” Kade grinned. “I heard you came all the way out here from New York, that true?” he finished.
“Yes,” her smile was bright, “you’re staying on, aren’t you?” she asked, suddenly scared that now she was there, he would leave.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he answered, studying the pictures on the wall again. “I own my plot outright. Uncle Davey had no say over the Ballard homestead.”
“Good.” She sounded relieved, even to herself. “Who’s this?” She pointed at another picture.
“That’s Meg and Clayton, your forbearers.”
She squinted, examining the handsome, black-haired cowboy in the fancy belt buckle and the tall, lean woman next to him. “She was pretty. You’ll have to tell me everything you know.”
“How ‘bout we get you unloaded, then I’ll answer any questions you have,” Kade replied. “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know the ghosts of the Broken J.” He smiled and turned back through the door.
“Oh, thanks,” Philomena called, hurrying to follow. “I’ll need to get Fred,” she called, catching up. “He’s my cat.”
“Fred?” Kade asked, raising that brow again.
“What’s wrong with Fred?” she asked. “It’s a perfectly good name.”
“Yes ma’am,” the big man smiled.
A half hour later, Philomena sat in her new kitchen, looking at the tired appliances and worn linoleum flooring over a cup of coffee.
“You grew up here?” Phil asked, looking at Kade where he sat precariously on a stiff, metal chair.
“Yep, I’ve been on the ranch my whole life. We’ve still got a few head of cattle and there’s a lease on the wheat fields, so I manage.”
He gazed out across the prairie at the greens and yellows of new growth. “What do you plan to do with it?” he finally asked, his dark blue eyes serious.
“I’m in marketing,” Philomena answered, her bright, violet eyes hard. “I’m going to make it a dude ranch.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” his deep voice was low.
“I’ve done my homework over the past few weeks. I think it’s possible.”
“A dude ranch,” Kade rolled the word around on his tongue, “in the middle of Wyoming.” He shrugged. “It’s your place, so I guess you can do whatever you want with it.”
“It will work,” Philomena bristled. “I’m sure of it.” Her eyes glinted, but softened when Kade smiled. “Tell me you’ll help,” she pleaded.
“Me, what do you want me to do?”
“I know absolutely nothing about ranching,” she admitted. “Marketing, guests, finance, that I’ve got, but I don’t know one end of a cow from the other.”
Kade laughed, his eyes crinkling. “You tend to figure that out pretty quick,” he chortled.
“Yoo-hoo! Ms. Allen,” a male voice called from the front door. “It’s Baron.”
“I’ll let him in as I go.” Kade drained his cup and stood.
“No, you stay. This is your home, too, and things will affect you even if you don’t decide to help.” Philomena said, rising and heading to the door.
“Mr. Baron,” she called as she opened the door and let the man in the salmon-colored suit into her new home. It took all her effort not to laugh at the man’s apparel; he looked like a walking advertisement for a cowboy lawyer.
“None of that Mr. business, just call me Baron, everyone else does,” the older man grinned, offering her a spotty hand to shake.
“Alright, Baron, then you must call me Phil,” she said, holding the door open and ushering him into the kitchen where he greeted Kade.
“Good to see you, Kade,” Baron spoke, taking off his big, white Stetson and tossing it on a counter top. “Sorry it had to be like this, but the law’s the law.”
“No need to apologize,” Kade rumbled. “Besides I think Phil and I are going to get along just fine.”
“I brought the papers along,” the older man said, pulling things out of a battered briefcase. “I just need the last few signatures, and this old place is all yours.”
Chapter 2
Philomena had never worked so hard in her life. She had been confident that she was fit from hours of disciplined exercise in the gym, but each night she collapsed into bed utterly exhausted.
It wasn’t only the physical labor of cleaning, hiring the crews to update and refit the house, or going over the inventory of items that could be used to make the ranch a paying prospect, but also the effort in learning a whole new and unfamiliar world.
Kade had been a god-send, a bastion of strength and knowledge throughout the whole process, not to mention a reminder to laugh. He’d even reached out to friends, finding stock and people in the community to fill vital staff positions.
“Phil,” Kade’s voice echoed up the stairway to where Philomena sat, rummaging through decades worth of items that had been stuffed into the peaks and eves of a half-finished attic.
“Up here!” she shouted, trying to be heard, running a hand over Fred’s back as he walked across the dusty floor.
“Where’s here?” Kade’s voice bounced along the hall of the second floor.
“In the attic!” she called back.
“Oh, there you are,” Kade said, ducking to fit into the low-roofed space. “I got a hold of my friend and he’s willing to wrangle for us.”
“Good, now help me with this thing,” she indicated, bracing her feet and trying to pull a large black trunk by its leather straps out of a dark corner.
“Here, let me,” Kade offered, angling his shoulder into position and sliding the thing out into an open space. “What is it, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Phil said. “It looks like one of those old steamer trunks.”
“Like the ones people used to pack when they traveled in the olden days?”
“Yes, like that,” Phil sniped, shaking her head as she opened the lid.
Kade leaned over her shoulder, trying to peer inside, effectively blocking out the light that filtered through the windows at each end of the house.
“Kade.”
“Huh?”
Philomena turned to look at him.
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He chuckled.
With the dust, diffused light pouring over her shoulder once more, Philomena lifted a bundle of fabric, exposing a stack of tightly wrapped envelopes.
“They’re letters,” she said, turning the bundle in her hand. “I can’t read what they say in this light.”
Kade took the packet from her hand and tipped them toward the window. “They’re all addressed to the Broken J.”
“Would you mind taking this down to the office and I’ll look through it later?”
“I could do that,” Kade said, waiting until she’d latched the brass hooks, then grabbed the thick leather handles and hefted the heavy box with a grunt as he started back down the stairs.
“What do you think we’ll find?” Philomena asked, following him. She was beyond curious.
“I have no idea. I’ll leave that to you,” Kade said, moving carefully toward the room at the bottom of the stairs.
“Kade Ballard, is that you?” a voice called from the kitchen at the back of the house.
“Yes, Mrs. Wade,” Kade answered, plunking the banded trunk in the middle of the downstairs bedroom that Phil had converted into an office.
“You come on in for lunch now, and where’s that cousin of yours?”
“I’m here, Mrs. Wade,” Philomena called with a grin. “We’ll be right there.” She dusted herself off and headed toward the kitchen.
“Where have you two been all morning?” the woman Philomena had hired as their chief cook called. “I was afraid I’d have to put all this in the freezer.” She indicated the food spread out on the long, wooden trestle table.
The kitchen, which had been divided in a previous remodel, had been opened once more, exposing a long room, nearly the length of the house, where seating for guests had been organized. It was amazing what throwing money at a structure could accomplish.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I made sandwiches for the crew outside today. They’ve been working so hard, moving all the houses along the back of the property. Never thought I’d see the day all them places was in a row.” The older woman shook her head, making her tight curls bounce.
Philomena walked to the large farm sink, its white porcelain spotless under the big window that looked out on the back yard, past the old bathhouse and over the fence that separated the ranch yard from open fields.
“I want the smaller structures to be used as rental cabins,” she commented, watching as the log structure from the top of the hill was settled on a poured concrete foundation.
