by A. J. Pine
Sam Callahan is too busy trying to keep his new guest ranch afloat to spend any time on serious relationships—at least, that’s what he tells himself. But when a gorgeous blonde shows up insisting she owns half his property, Sam quickly realizes he’s got bigger problems than Delaney’s claim on the land—she could also claim his heart.
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Chapter One
Sam Callahan stood on the front porch of Meadow Valley Ranch’s registration cabin, the one where he, his brother Ben, or their buddy Colt greeted each new guest. They were only in their second month of full operation, though, which meant new guests weren’t exactly pouring through the doors. Not yet, anyway. What was that saying from the baseball movie he loved—Field of Dreams? Something about once you build the thing, people will come.
Well, come on, people. We’re ready and waiting—and really need you to spend your money.
He and his brother Ben sold their family’s horse boarding business and sank every penny they owned—and a few they didn’t—into building the thing. The ranch. Their dream. They’d even let Colt invest as a third partner. Now it was just a matter of getting the people to come.
Right now he watched as Ben gave a riding lesson to a young couple celebrating their first anniversary. Colt was leading a trail ride for the Tanners, a family of eight with six kids between the ages of seven and fifteen, including a pair of identical twin boys he still couldn’t tell apart even after they’d been at the ranch for three days.
It was a start, but a slow one to say the least.
Today, though, something felt…off. The guests all seemed happy at breakfast, and everyone headed out to their various activities just fine. But sometimes Sam got an inkling, and for a guy who liked to keep things simple and logical, inklings didn’t sit well.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see KITCHEN EMERGENCY in all caps from Luis, Meadow Valley’s head chef.
“Shit,” he hissed. It was only ten o’clock in the morning. He was hoping to make it until at least noon before any all-caps texts came through. No such luck.
He stepped out from under the protection of the covered porch and was hit head-on by the hottest morning sun they’d had in months. The transition from September to October had brought along mild days and cool nights, but today the temperature was nearing a record high of ninety degrees.
He swore under his breath and swiped his arm across his forehead, where sweat had already started to bead along his hairline. He kept his hair cropped short for this very reason, but on days like today, it didn’t matter. Hot was hot.
He silently berated himself for insisting that whoever worked the desk in the main cabin wore a collared shirt. Didn’t matter that his plaid button-up was paper thin or that his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. There was no relief. It was going to be one heck of a fall festival if these temps held out for the entire week. He had planned to wait until spring to clear the new trail to the swimming hole, but maybe he would add that to his already growing list for this weekend.
But first—kitchen emergency.
He entered the dining cabin to the sound of raised voices, a man’s and a woman’s, arguing about—apples?
“My apple and spinach salad needs a Granny Smith! I always use a Granny Smith!” Luis bellowed, his arms raised and his round belly straining against his white apron.
“Never trust a cook who looks like he doesn’t enjoy his own food,” Luis said when he’d come to interview for the job. “Cuanto más grande sea la barriga, mejor será la comida. The bigger the belly, the better the food.” It didn’t take much more than that—and a tasting menu that had put Sam, Ben, and Colt into a major food coma—to know that Luis was right for the job. He was one of the best chefs Sam knew, running the ranch’s kitchen like a well-oiled machine. But when things went wrong—no matter how tiny—it was an all-caps kitchen emergency.
“For the eleventh time,” a tall, short-haired brunette yelled, hands gesturing wildly, “the Granny Smith crop was destroyed by a pack of squirrels. But my Honeycrisp are the best you’ll ever taste. I charge more for the Honeycrisps and am willing to give you the same price for a better apple!” It was Anna, their produce supplier.
She plucked a piece of fruit from the white box sitting on the kitchen’s prep island and shoved it in Sam’s face. “Here,” she said. “Taste. Tell this man he’d be crazy not to use this apple in his precious salad.”
The apple was practically touching Sam’s lips, and he’d once again forgotten to eat breakfast, so he grabbed the fruit in question and tore off a bite with a satisfying crunch.
Apple juice dribbled onto his chin as his taste buds exploded with the perfect mix of sweet and tangy. Maybe this inkling wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
“That’s one fine apple, Luis,” Sam said around his mouthful. “I’m not much for salads, but I’m thinking this is the fruit you’re looking for. And it is less than two hours until we open for lunch.” He raised his brows.
Luis narrowed his eyes—a standoff of sorts.
Luis was a few years older than Sam, early thirties. He’d been a sous chef at a resort restaurant on Lake Tahoe. Sam and Ben had a chance meeting with him when they’d made the drive down to Carson City to visit their mom and her husband, Ted. He asked to interview for the job on the spot—while the Callahans were eating at his resort. There was no way Sam could match what Luis was being paid—not yet, at least—but he could offer him his own kitchen and the promise that he, Ben, and Colt would never step on his toes. But it was hotter than Hades out there already, and he guessed the Meadow Valley patrons would be less than happy if they showed up for their second paid meal of the day only to find the kitchen had come to a halt over apples. Sam and Luis were dealing with a ticking clock.
Luis opened his mouth—likely to protest—but Anna shoved an apple between his teeth.
“One bite,” she said calmly. “One little bite, and if it’s not one of the best apples you’ve ever tasted, I’ll drive across town to that awful touristy orchard that charges an arm and a leg for a bushel of what I could pick from my own trees if those pesky squirrels hadn’t broken through my fence, and I will buy you your darn Granny Smiths.”
Sam shrugged and bit off another chunk of his own apple.
Luis sighed through his nose and sank his teeth into the forbidden fruit. His eyes fluttered shut, and he groaned.
Anna tossed the apple in the air, caught it bite side up, and grinned, triumphant. “Stubborn man.”
Luis swallowed and opened his eyes, reaching for his apple.
“Oh no,” Anna said. “Apology first. Then you get your fruit.”
Luis’s jaw tightened.
Sam hopped onto the counter and continued to enjoy his apple. “Don’t mind me, folks,” he said. “I’m just here for the show.”
Anna slid the box of apples farther from Luis’s reach, then brandished the one he’d tasted like she was the evil queen tempting Snow White. “Come on, Luis,” she taunted. “All you have to do is say, ‘I’m sorry, Anna. You were right. You’re always right.’”
Sam choked back a laugh.
Anna tapped her foot on the tiled floor.
Luis emitted a low growl. “I’m…sorry, Anna. You…were…” He sighed and threw his hands in the air. “Just…give me the apples. I paid for them.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Technically, I paid for them, and I’d kind of like to see you say the thing she wants you to say.”
Luis mumbled something under his breath, which meant he’d likely have some words for Sam when they kicked back with a few beers around the firepit. In the short time they’d worked together, the two men had become friends. Sam wasn’t the type to pull the boss card, but in this case it was worth it.
Veins pulsed in Luis’s neck, and Anna beamed.
“I’m sorry, Anna. You were right. You’re always right. Give me my apples.” Luis spouted the words in rapid succession, snatched the ap
ple he’d tasted from Anna’s outstretched hand, and then stormed through the dining hall and out the cabin’s front door, likely to finish his apple and cool off—emotionally, at least. Because the temperature was still rising.
Sam laughed and hopped off the counter, tossing his apple core into a nearby trash bin.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Anna said.
“Sure.”
“There were no squirrels. The Granny Smiths are fine. But I knew he’d like these better.”
Sam shook his head. “Why do you torture him like that?”
Anna shrugged. “Because it’s so easy. And fun. I can’t help myself.” She patted the box of Honeycrisp apples. “I’ll email you the invoice. Always a pleasure doing business with you, Sam Callahan.”
She held out her hand, and he shook it and grinned. Then she bounded out the back door to her truck. She’d be back the same time next week, likely to mess with Luis again.
“Is there no one else?”
Sam turned to see Luis standing in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the dining hall.
“No one else to what?” Sam asked.
Luis crossed his arms and stared toward the back door. “No one else who can be our produce supplier.”
“And dairy supplier.” Sam laughed. “Where? Anna’s farm is the best in the county, and she’s ten minutes away. If you actually ever had a kitchen emergency, she could be here in a matter of minutes, most likely with whatever you needed.”
Luis lifted his Chicago Cubs baseball cap—still a fan of his hometown team—and ran a hand through his overgrown brown hair. “Then we’ve got a big problem.”
“Oh yeah?” Sam said. “What’s that?”
Luis shook his head and sighed deeply. “I think I’m in love with her.”
Sam rubbed his temples and blew out a breath. “We have a great thing going with Anna,” he said. “Affordable prices. On-time delivery. And she even knows what goes better in your salad than you do. Please, Luis. I’m begging you. Don’t mess this up.”
Luis held a hand over his heart and wistfully stared at the place where Anna once stood. “That’s your problem, Sam. You only see the logic. When it comes to Anna, I don’t think with my head. I think with my—”
“All right. All right,” Sam interrupted. “I don’t need to hear about your—”
“Heart,” Luis said before Sam could finish. He whacked his friend on the shoulder with his baseball cap. “The heart doesn’t care about logic or what’s best for business. Do you think I cook with logic?” Luis slapped his knee and howled with laughter. “If you don’t start using that rusty old—and I might remind you, vital—organ soon, you’re going to miss out on the best of all of it.”
“All of what?” Sam asked.
Luis simply shook his head. “One of these days, my friend, you’ll get it.”
Sam shook his head and left Luis to his pining. He had a ranch to run.
“Logic,” he mumbled as he strode back toward the main cabin. That was how you ran a business. With logic. Not heart. Luis could fall for whomever he wanted. But their produce supplier? Maybe Anna didn’t exactly work for the ranch, but she worked with them. Daily. If things ever truly went south between her and Luis, then Sam, Ben, and Colt would be up one hell of a creek.
Ben was standing against the arena fence while his riders braved a few laps on their own.
“Who’s got your panties in a wad?” he called to Sam as he passed.
Sam flipped his brother a good-natured bird and kept on toward his destination.
Didn’t Luis get that Sam had to be the logical one? Or Ben or Colt for that matter? Of course they didn’t. They all had lives outside the day-to-day running of the ranch. Sam was the one who signed the checks, who balanced the books, and who knew how much they needed to pay the next bill. His life was the business. He knew they’d be in the red for a while after getting things off the ground, but he also knew that doing anything to remotely jeopardize the ranch could sink them.
They’d moved north to Meadow Valley, California, from their hometown of Oak Bluff not just because they got the land for a steal but also to be close to the memory care facility where his and Ben’s father now lived. So it wasn’t just their livelihoods on the line. It was their father’s life as well.
“Panties in a wad,” he said to himself as he strode back into the main cabin, where his silver pit bull, Scout, was sleeping on the sunny part of the rug where he’d last left her. He’d woken in a pretty good mood this morning, but now he’d gone from enjoying a really good apple—and watching Anna make Luis eat his words—to wondering when the next shoe would drop.
He stepped over his still-lounging pup but stopped short before he could make it to his office. A woman stood at the reception desk, her back to him as she peered over the top so that all he could see were her fitted jeans, her tennis shoes, and the tanned skin at the small of her back where her red tank top rose up.
He cleared his throat, and the woman straightened with a gasp.
“Sorry!” she said, turning to face him so that he now saw the messy strawberry-blond bun on top of her head and the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Clear hazel eyes stared him down as if she were privy to the biggest secret in the world while he was lost in the dark. Pretty—for a snoop.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and crossed his arms. He didn’t take kindly to anyone, pretty or not, looking through his stuff, especially if said stuff belonged to the ranch.
She raised her brows. “That depends. Are you the owner of this place?”
He nodded once, already getting a sinking feeling in his gut. “Sam Callahan. One of three.”
She extended her hand, and he shook it without thinking because that was what you did.
“Delaney Harper,” she said. “And you mean one of four. My ex-husband sold you this place by forging my name on the quitclaim deed, so the way I see it, this place is half-mine.”
Sam pulled his hand away and laughed. “Ben put you up to this, right?” His brother had been giving him shit all week about loosening up. He’d always been the jokester—spraying Sam with the hose when he was bathing the horses, pushing him off the pond bridge fully clothed. Come to think of it, Ben’s pranks usually occurred only when water was around. This was his most sophisticated one yet.
“Who’s Ben?” Delaney asked.
“It was Colt?” he said.
But even as he tried to rationalize that it could have been his buddy, her name replayed in his head, and he knew it wasn’t a coincidence. The last name was all over the paperwork for the sale of the property—the land, the ramshackle little cottage, and the barn that was in disrepair. Neither structure had been good for anything other than tearing down and rebuilding.
“Delaney Harper,” he said, emphasizing her last name.
“That’s me,” she said with a wince. Then she cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “All I took was the man’s name, and he went and took everything from me in return. That changes today.”
“You’re either kin or you’re Wade Harper’s wife,” he said simply. Wade was the property’s former owner. “Either way, still not sure what any of this has to do with you.”
“Ex-wife,” she explained. Her expression turned wistful as her green-eyed gaze traveled to the window that looked out on the stable. “You took down my barn. I know it wasn’t much, but I had a hand in building it. Wade and I were underwater when I left him, which was why we didn’t unload the property then. Never thought he’d sell it out from under me before the divorce was even final.” She sighed. “Glad you kept the English maple on the outskirts. Always did love that tree.”
He followed her gaze. Either she was putting on one hell of an act, or she was who she said she was, because the first thing he and his crew did when they started work out here was tear down that barn and replace it with the stable. And no way was he tearing down any trees. The whol
e point of this place was to appreciate the outdoors. Not destroy it.
“I had a real estate attorney go over everything,” he said, more to himself than to her.
She turned her attention back to him, her expression hardening, and shrugged.
“Yeah, well, I’d fire that lawyer, because either they didn’t spot the forgery, or they helped push it through. I’ll just need to get a copy of the quitclaim deed, give it to my lawyer, and then—I don’t know—see you in court to figure out which half of the land is mine.”
“The quit what?” he asked. He knew a thing or two about buying and selling property, but she was speaking another language.
She sighed. “Quit. Claim. Deed. When two people own a piece of land together, the only way one can sell it on their own is for the other to sign over ownership. Which I did not. Yet somehow Wade was able to sell you our property. I don’t suppose the forgery was included in your paperwork?”
Sam laughed. He was never an asshole intentionally, but this woman sure had some nerve. “You waltz in here telling me what I own isn’t really mine, and now you want me to produce the paperwork to prove it?” He was certain her first name was nowhere to be found in his closing documents. Wade Harper was the only person listed as seller. “And why are you coming around now when I bought this place almost two years ago?”
She crossed her arms. “So that’s a no to the paperwork?”
He crossed his arms right back. “I’ll show you anything you want to see because I guarantee your name is nowhere to be found. Now it’s your turn to answer my question.”
She blew out a breath. “I didn’t know he sold it,” she said, losing some of her steam. “Not until I couldn’t sleep last night and decided to check in on what should have been my home for the past few years. Imagine my surprise when I saw my maple tree and figured out what Wade did. Hopped right in my car. Made the eight-hour drive from Vegas in eight hours flat,” she added proudly. “No stopping.” She cleared her throat. “Who built your website, anyway? Could use some work if you want to get folks through the door.”
