The Heart of Falcon Ridge (The McLendon Family Saga, #1)

by D. L. Roan

  The McLendon Family Saga Book 1

  by D.L. Roan

  Copyright 2015

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Description

  Dedications

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Description

  Three hearts beat as one, for one; always.

  Claira Robbins technically didn’t exist until two weeks before she began teaching at Grassland Academy. Her new identity may have given her the credentials she needed for the job, but it hasn’t helped one whit to soothe her frayed nerves caused by years on the run. It also didn’t come with instructions on how to handle three ravenous cowboy brothers intent on seducing her.

  Six years after losing their wife, the McLendon brothers are focused on running their family ranch, Falcon Ridge, and raising their rambunctious twin boys. They’ve never believed they could find another woman with which to share their hearts and family.

  When Matt and his twin, Mason, meet their sons’ classy new teacher, hope and love aren’t the only things that spring back to life. Matt is convinced she was Heaven sent to heal their family. Mason hopes he’s right, but knows they have a bigger problem than convincing Claira to take a chance on their unconventional family; a much bigger, surly, older brother kind of problem.

  After their wife died, Grey McLendon planned to live the rest of his life comfortably numb from the neck down, even if it killed him...and it just might if he can’t reconcile his guilt and desire for Claira before her treacherous past catches up with her.

  The McLendon Family Saga Reading Order

  The Heart of Falcon Ridge

  A McLendon Christmas

  Rock Star Cowboys (Pre-Order January 2016)

  Rock Star Honeymoon (January 2016)

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  More Books by D.L. Roan

  Survivors’ Justice Series

  The Heart of Falcon Ridge Copyright © D.L. Roan, 2015

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the author and publisher.

  This electronic book is protected under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. If you downloaded this book from any source other than B&N or other major online retailer, you have downloaded a pirated copy and are participating in illegal activity. Please delete and legally purchase the file from one of the authorized retailers listed above or contact the author for further information.

  Published by D.L. Roan. First eBook edition, November 2015

  Originally published as Second Chances, February 2013

  www.dlroan.com

  All characters, events, and locations in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or living, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Editing/Proofreading by: Read by Rose

  Cover Design by JAB Designs

  Interior eBook Design by D.L. Roan.

  Dedications

  To all my fans and friends who’ve supported me throughout my writing career and cherish my characters as deeply as I do. To the fabulous Indie Author community, whose invaluable advice and support has propelled me to become a better writer and tell the tales that are forever etched into my heart. To my husband and family. Thank you.

  Chapter One

  Claira Robbins closed her eyes and drew in a calming breath, running a sweaty palm over a non-existent wrinkle in her prim skirt. Though it wasn’t her first time substituting as a first grade teacher, it was her first day at Grasslands Academy, and the official start of her new life. She was nervous, but determined. She was safe; hidden in a quiet, small Montana town, her past well behind her.

  I’m safe here. She repeated the mantra silently, willing herself to believe it.

  In the past, she’d fallen in love with each and every one of the children she’d helped. This time would be no different. Remembering the ones she’d left behind, the ones she would never see grow into their exuberant personalities, her next breath came out a little shaky.

  This job was a temporary one, and only a few weeks remained until the end of the school year at that. Even so, she clung desperately to the hope that she would soon find a more permanent position; a way to rebuild her life doing what she loved. She had to.

  Her heart leapt at the sound of the first screech of laughter that filled the hall. Unable to contain her smile, she sprang from the chair at her desk and hurried to her classroom door to greet the children as they began to trickle down the hall. One by one, she took the time to greet each child with a brisk handshake, asking their names and introducing herself. She knew it was silly, and resonated ‘newbie’, but she couldn’t help herself. It had been so long since she’d been able to embrace the kind of love only a child could give.

  Ignoring a few condescending smirks from the other teachers as they passed by on their way to their own respective classrooms, Claira welcomed her last student and closed the classroom door.

  Once they were settled into their seats, she took one last breath and began her day with a fun round-robin game her mentor had taught her to help learn the children’s names. She was immediately taken with the sandy haired, twin boys. Connor and Carson McLendon—Con and Car—they’d not-so-shyly corrected her. Promptly assuming the teacher’s helper roles, they both jumped at the chance to help her arrange the little desks into a circle for the next game.

  One shy girl refused to speak at all, relying on her friend to share her name. Claira made a mental note to ask the school counselor if there was anything she should know about little Meg that could help her overcome the girl’s crippling shyness. She may only be a temp, but it would be nice to put her almost degree in child psychology to good use.

  It took more than half the day, but when Robbie Nichols stood, green paint covering all but the whites of his eyes as he strained his little biceps in a Hulk pose, she knew she’d found her class clown.

  Claira didn’t think twice before she grabbed a nearby cup of green paint, scooped out a big glob and smeared it over her cheeks, striking a strongman pose that mimicked Robbie’s as she released her own thunderous roar.

  The room fell deafeningly silent. Someone behind her cleared their throat. Sweat broke out between her shoulder blades and her stomach plummeted. This is not happening.


  Following the stares of her students over her shoulder, she turned to see Mr. Dawes, the school principal, standing in the open doorway. Beside him stood the most intimidating, heart-stutteringly handsome man she’d ever seen.

  Taking in the crisp black suit Mr. Calendar Model wore like a suit of armor—and he was positively sexy enough to get a whole calendar to himself—a surge of embarrassing self-awareness danced over her skin.

  Her gaze snapped back to the principal as he cleared his throat with another grunt of disapproval. How oddly frail and frumpy the scholarly man looked standing next to the green-eyed god beside him.

  “Miss Robbins?” Principal Dawes dipped his head and peered over the rim of his wire-framed glasses.

  Good grief. Her boss, her new and very uptight boss, was standing in her classroom with Mr. January as she posed as the new runway model for green finger paint. She chewed on her bottom lip to keep from groaning aloud at the embarrassing timing of their visit. Way to make a first impression.

  She was never going to get that full time position. By the haughty look on his face, and the straining smirk on Mr. January’s lips, she would be lucky if she wasn’t tossed out on her rear before the final bell rang.

  She recognized the disapproving, small-minded expressions on their faces. She’d seen it countless times before on her own father’s face. These people assumed themselves better than her as well. Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding had masked his amusement and now glared at her with unmistakable disdain. They may be small-minded, but she wouldn’t let them make her feel small. She still had to play nice, though, if she had any hope of salvaging this job.

  “We were just wrapping up our arts and crafts hour, Principal Dawes.” She crafted her tone to mirror their haughty demeanor and swiped her hand over her skirt, smearing a big, green handprint down the front of the beige cotton material. Brilliant!

  Completing a mental eye roll, she jerked her hand away and gestured toward the little hulk impersonator. “Robbie has quite the imagination and acting talent for such a young—”

  “Miss Robbins!” Principal Dawes closed his eyes, peeled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, holding up his other hand to stop her interpretation of the seemingly offensive scene. His shoulders drooped in exasperation as he released a frustrated breath, propping his bifocals back onto his overly prominent nose. “Mr. McLendon is here to collect the twins, Miss Robbins.”

  She turned to see Connor and Carson, noticing the somber expressions on their faces as they quietly packed their things into their desks and made their way to the door. Mr. McLendon knelt onto his haunches and whispered something to them.

  They certainly didn’t seem happy to see him. Taking one of their little backpacks, Mr. McLendon shot the principal a searing glance and ushered the boys down the hall and out of sight.

  Nope. There was no way was she going to see a full week’s paycheck, much less the few weeks that were left of the school year while Mrs. Wittington finished out her maternity leave. She wondered what atrocity the temp before her had committed to be fired within her first week. Whatever it was, she’d clearly exceeded it.

  “Get the rest of the children cleaned up before the other parents arrive,” the principal snapped as he stared over the rim of his glasses. He took one more inspecting glance around the room then left without another word, the door clicking closed behind him.

  Claira released a breath she hadn’t realize she’d been holding and rested her hands on her hips, green paint and all.

  “Dat’s Beaker Dolls.” A quirky voice pulled her attention away from the dread that began building in her chest. “He’s got a big nose.” Claira turned to find Robbie holding his green finger in front of his nose, arched in a perfect imitation of Principal Dawes’ big snout.

  At the small sink in the back of the classroom, she snatched up a stack of paper towels and walked back over to Robbie. She couldn’t help but giggle, at both Robbie and herself. Imitation was the finest form of flattery, but she didn’t think Principal Dawes would appreciate the likeness. And judging by the glare he’d given her, neither would Mr. McLendon; not that there was anything about him that could be mocked.

  The enthusiasm with which she’d started her day had been sucked into the vortex of doom that was her life. Everything had been so much more difficult, more terrifying than they’d told her it would be.

  She continued wiping away the goopy, green paint until Robbie’s face beamed, and then moved on to the next student, all the while missing her little helpers, Con and Car. She thought of Mr. McLendon and the intense flutter in her stomach returned. How abruptly his expression had turned, his cool, green eyes so full of mischief one second, then cold as ice the next as he took in the sight of her. Yeah, she should undoubtedly pack up her things before she left for the night, save Principal Dawes the time of firing her.

  She didn’t need the money. She needed to teach; needed the children. She’d sacrificed everything for this new life. She had to make Mr. Dawes understand that art was a way to connect to her students; to get them to open up and be themselves.

  The sun had set and the parking lot was empty when she gave up trying to outwait her boss and decided to call it a day. She’d been sure he would come back to her classroom and give her the bad news before he left for the day.

  As the hours ticked by, Principal Dawes never showed and she began to think that maybe she was in the clear. She noticed the little piece of paper taped to her locker as she walked into the teacher’s lounge to get her things. Each teacher was assigned one classroom, but as a temp she wasn’t allowed to make any changes to the room or store her things in the desk. She ripped off the note and leaned against the bank of lockers as she read the edict.

  Miss Robbins, please meet me in my office at half past seven tomorrow morning. There are a few things I would like to discuss with you.

  Principal Dawes.

  Half past seven. “Who talks like that?” She snorted as she opened the locker, threw the crumpled note into the bottom and grabbed her lunch sack and a few notebooks. If he did fire her, at least she wouldn’t have to listen to his pretentious drivel any longer. She didn’t like snobby, sneaky people and something about the man set off her well-tuned creep-o-meter.

  Fifteen minutes later Claira pulled into the short driveway in front of her little rental. Nestled in Grassland’s historic district, it wasn’t much. Two bedrooms, one she used as her office, and a small communal bathroom. The kitchen had been what sold her. She loved to cook and try new recipes as a way to relax. The spacious floor plan and marble counter tops would be perfect for the fudge she loved to make.

  She took notice that her porch light was still on, sighing in relief. She’d rigged a little warning to let her know if someone had entered the house while she was away; a lightweight thread looped over the inside light switch that was hooked over a thumbtack on the bottom edge of the door. If the door was opened without removing the looped end from the tack, the tension on the line would flip the switch and she’d know before she pulled into her drive if someone had been inside.

  Of course, that didn’t account for blown bulbs or if the intruder saw the half-baked setup and flipped the light back on. It was silly, really, but her thought at the time was that it was something she could see from her car, giving her a better chance to escape. She shrugged. Silly or not, it always helped slow her heart rate to see the light shining when she arrived home. It was a shot in the dark, but if her past ever caught up to her, she’d need as much advanced warning as she could get.

  “All’s safe.” She gathered her purse and slid from the car, stepping over the line of pebbles on the front step. Arranged in a familiar pattern only she would recognize hadn’t been disturbed, they gave her a second layer of security.

  She climbed the bare, concrete steps to her front door. Stretching up on her tip toes, she removed the broken toothpick from the top of the door jamb and the paperclip from the bottom. If someone found the first,
they may not look for the second. Everything in layers. Plan A had a plan B; B had a C, and so on. She unhooked the delicate thread from the thumbtack at the bottom of the door, unlocked the two deadbolts and rushed inside, throwing both locks back into place before she entered the security code to reset the alarm.

  I need to get a dog. A big dog. She’d convinced the landlord to let her have one, with a sizeable deposit of course, but she hadn’t had time to find one. She’d only arrived in town a week ago. Between finding a place to rent, finding a job and putting all the other security measures in place so that she could at least try to sleep at night, she’d scarcely had time to get groceries.

  Like it or not, paranoid was her new reality. They’d told her he would never find her, but she knew better. She tried to believe in them, in their ability to keep her safe. She had to do her part of course, most of which consisted of keeping her secrets just that; secrets. Somewhere deep down, she knew he wouldn’t give up until he found her.

  She tucked her keys into her purse and carried them to the bedroom with her, flipping on each light as she went. She still couldn’t walk into a dark room and she always kept her purse and keys within arm’s reach in case she had to leave in a rush.

  After rechecking all the window locks, preparing a quick salad for dinner and taking a long shower, she pulled back the covers and laid her head on her new pillow. The bed felt cold, strange. The whole house felt wrong. She missed Daniel.

  Deputy Marshal Daniel Gregory had been quiet and aloof for the first month of her father’s trial—which took three years longer to conclude than they had promised—but before long he became almost like a father to her. More than her real father had been, anyway. He always made her a cup of hot tea before bed and then sat and talked with her. She’d felt...safe. The long months he was assigned to her had been the only time in the last few years she’d been able to truly sleep.

  He’d also taught her how to become invisible. No social media, use disposable phones, keep your head down, and don’t make eye contact if you don’t have to. That had been the easy part. She’d had enough practice being invisible around her father and his men. It was the constant running and endless state of panic those first days in hiding that had nearly broken her. Not to mention the bullets. Things only got worse from there.