by Rachel Lee
A passionate summer romance between a rancher and a social worker is rekindled when they meet again unexpectedly in New York Times bestselling author Rachel Lee’s latest addition to her miniseries, Conard County: The Next Generation!
“I love you.”
Ten years ago rancher Cliff Martin said those three little words to Holly Heflin. But all she said was “goodbye.” She ran from Conard County fast as a jackrabbit, leaving Cliff with a broken heart. But Cliff never forgot the one that got away….
Now Holly has returned to settle her aunt’s estate—and Cliff is the executor. Her matchmaking aunt and his jealous ex-wife are the least of Holly’s problems. Everywhere there are memories…and Cliff. But he’s still a small-town rancher with roots and she’s a big-city girl with a ticket home. She’s got two weeks to avoid the hunky cowboy….
But what if she can’t?
“It couldn’t have been any different. Us breaking up.”
Seconds ticked by before Cliff nodded. “We were too young and we were pulled in different directions. Nothing you wanted was here.”
“Except you.”
“I felt the same about you.”
“I’m sorry I was so hard on you.”
“You had to be,” he said. “You had to set us both free.”
He brushed her hair back. “But it was perfect. Perfection is a rare thing. You don’t find it often, and it seldom lasts. We were blessed.”
He caught her face between his hands and kissed her. The way he had when the flame between them seared them with passion. She wanted this kiss more than anything, even though this was dangerous and they were still headed down separate roads. If ever the universe had decreed that a relationship wasn’t meant to be, this was it.
So why couldn’t she resist him?
* * *
Conard County: The Next Generation!
Dear Reader,
We all had a first love. If we were lucky, it turned out well, or remained a good memory for us. But the rivers of time keep flowing, and often we move on, taking only our memories with us.
But there was something special about the first love. Perhaps because we were young and so full of hope, perhaps because it was the very first. Regardless, it becomes an experience out of time, full of a magic we hope we might find again someday. Magic is certainly easier to find when we’re younger, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still find it.
Writing this book gave me a marvelous opportunity. Not many of us get a chance to revisit our first love and remake it as the people we have become. In Reuniting with the Rancher, two people who have never forgotten their summer romance meet again. There are some bad memories between them, and a lot of lost time, but they find the magic once again, this time on a firmer footing.
They have grown up, and so has their love. Enjoy!
Rachel
REUNITING WITH THE RANCHER
Rachel Lee
Books by Rachel Lee
Harlequin Special Edition
**The Widow of Conard County #2270
**Thanksgiving Daddy #2295
**Reuniting with the Rancher #2314
Harlequin Romantic Suspense
**The Final Mission #1655
**Just a Cowboy #1663
**The Rescue Pilot #1671
**Guardian in Disguise #1701
**The Widow’s Protector #1707
**Rancher’s Deadly Risk #1727
**What She Saw #1743
**Rocky Mountain Lawman #1756
**Killer’s Prey #1771
Silhouette Romantic Suspense
*Exile’s End #449
*Cherokee Thunder #463
*Miss Emmaline and the Archangel #482
*Ironheart #494
*Lost Warriors #535
*Point of No Return #566
*A Question of Justice #613
*Nighthawk #781
*Cowboy Comes Home #865
*Involuntary Daddy #955
Holiday Heroes #1487 “A Soldier for All Seasons”
**A Soldier’s Homecoming #1519
**Protector of One #1555
**The Unexpected Hero #1567
**The Man from Nowhere #1595
**Her Hero in Hiding #1611
**A Soldier’s Redemption #1635
**No Ordinary Hero #1643
Harlequin Nocturne
ΩClaim the Night #127
ΩClaimed by a Vampire #129
ΩForever Claimed #131
ΩClaimed by the Immortal #166
*Conard County
**Conard County:
The Next Generation
ΩThe Claiming
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
RACHEL LEE
was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Excerpt
Chapter One
Holly Heflin walked into the lawyer’s office in Conard City with more uncertainty than she had felt in a long time, and she was used to facing some pretty ugly situations. But this was different—the reading of her great-aunt’s will. She was, as far as she knew, the only heir, so her concern didn’t lie there.
But she had arrived in Denver after a red-eye flight, hopped into the cheapest rental car she could find and driven straight here to make this meeting. She felt tired, grungy and most of all overcome by memory. Facing this meeting seemed so final.
Returning to Conard County wasn’t easy, but she had the fondest memories of visits to her aunt’s from childhood and early adulthood. They had begun washing over her from the instant the surrounding country began to look familiar, and with them came the numbness she had been feeling since the news of Martha’s death had begun to give way to a deep well of grief.
The last of her family had died with Martha, and a sense of her solitariness in the world had been striking her in an utterly new way.
But she shoved all that down as she spoke to Jackie, the young receptionist. Get through this. Get to the funeral home to watch Martha’s ashes placed in a mausoleum. Martha had always used to say she wanted to sprinkle her ashes around the ranch, but apparently that wasn’t allowed, because the attorney had been quite definite, and Martha had paid all the expenses in advance.
God, the ache was growing. The reality was beginning to settle in, tightening her chest.
The receptionist ushered her into a spacious but ancient-looking office. She supposed the balding man behind the desk was the attorney, but then she saw the cowboy in one of the chairs facing the desk.
Her heart immediately jammed into her throat. Cliff Martin? Here? Of all the people on earth she never wanted to see again, he topped the list. She’d been busily burying her memories of him for nearly a decade now, trying to forget, trying to forgive herself. Apparently she hadn’t succeeded.
He had always been attractive, but at thirty-two, Cliff Martin had become attractive to the point of
danger. Weather and those ten years had etched themselves a bit on his face. Age had taken away any softness and his face now looked hard and chiseled. Those eyes were the same, though, an incredible turquoise that would make him a standout anywhere.
An instant shaft of remembered passion pierced her numbness, arrowing straight to her core and causing her insides to clench. She’d never wanted to see this man again, but apparently her body had other ideas. She glanced quickly away.
Both men rose immediately at her entrance, a courtesy that seemed quaint after the life she had been living. She tried not to look at Cliff, but couldn’t help noticing that he seemed taller. Was that possible, or had her memory shrunk him? Broad shoulders, narrow hips... Stop, she ordered herself. Just stop it now. She didn’t need this.
She immediately shook the lawyer’s hand as he introduced himself. “John Carstairs,” he said. “Good to see you, Ms. Heflin. And you remember Cliff Martin.”
She turned to Cliff, wishing he didn’t look as if he had just stepped out of a movie poster or ad. Darn, his dark hair didn’t even show a thread of gray, unlike hers.
Cliff Martin. The man who had been helping her aunt keep the place up the past few years. The man who leased most of her aunt’s grazing land. The man she had ditched. Her hand trembled a bit as she offered it.
He spoke. “So you finally got back here.”
It sounded so much like a criticism that she had to bite back an angry retort. All she could do was drop her hand, turn away and take the empty chair. Working on the streets with troubled kids had taught her to be wary of how she responded to people. Problems could start in a flash.
She managed to keep her voice even. “I’ve been back.”
The men sat. She avoided looking at Cliff Martin and focused on John Carstairs. “I traveled all night,” she said. “I may be a little slow this morning.”
He at once reached for his desk phone and punched a button. “Jackie? Could you bring some coffee for Ms. Heflin?” He arched a brow at her.
“Black, please.”
“Make it black. Thanks, Jackie.”
He released the button and sat back. Waiting. There was a strong sense of waiting, which made her even edgier after her race to get here. Then he said, “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. Your aunt was a wonderful woman.”
“Yes, she was,” Holly said honestly. “I’m going to miss her.”
“Really,” drawled Cliff.
At that she turned to stare at him. “How would you know? You know nothing.”
“You haven’t been around much.”
That wasn’t true, but again she bit back her retort. This man had no need to know anything, and she wasn’t going to dignify his criticisms with explanations he had no right to.
“Please,” said the lawyer, “let’s be pleasant, shall we?”
Holly was all for pleasant. She was too tired for the spat Cliff apparently wanted. Jackie entered, setting a cup and saucer on the edge of John’s desk in front of Holly. “Thank you.”
Jackie smiled, nodded and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.
John leaned forward. “As I told you, Ms. Heflin, your great-aunt made all the arrangements. They’ll be waiting for you at the funeral home after we’re done here. But there are other things we need to discuss.”
“Yes,” she said. There was also one thing she knew for sure, that a visit with a lawyer was supposed to be private. “But what is Mr. Martin doing here? You said I was Martha’s sole heir.”
“He,” said John, “is the executor.”
Holly’s mind whirled. Maybe it was fatigue. Maybe it was burgeoning grief. All she knew was that she felt as if she had been sideswiped by a Mack truck. “Why not you?” she asked quietly.
“Conflict of interest. And it was your aunt’s decision.”
“Of course.” She was still trying to take this in. She was going to have to deal with a man who had every reason to believe she was hateful? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. Still. She reached for the coffee and took a few sips, hoping to assemble her brain into a more orderly pattern than it seemed to be following right now. She noted that her hand trembled, and she quickly put the coffee down.
Deal. The word wafted up. She always dealt. Whatever life threw her way, she was good at it. She’d deal with all of this somehow, from grief to that nasty cowboy.
“I’m going to give you a copy of your aunt’s will to read at your leisure. In the meantime, I’ll just go over the broad aspects here.”
“That’s fine.” She certainly didn’t feel up to dealing with anything detailed.
“You’ve inherited the ranch. It’s free and clear except for the leases. As the law makes clear, those leases to Mr. Martin remain in place, and your aunt’s will states that he is allowed to continue leasing the land at his discretion for the next ten years.”
Holly felt her heart began to sink. That meant she would have to deal with this ghost from her past indefinitely.
“Your aunt was also a very careful woman, and left you a great deal of cash, a quite surprising amount, actually. Mr. Martin has the necessary papers giving him management of the estate, and he’ll take you to the bank to transfer the accounts into your name.”
Holly managed a jerky nod. Nothing seemed to be penetrating except that she was now locked into some kind of long-term relationship with a man she had been avoiding for a long time. A man she had never wanted to see again. Martha had known that. What had possessed her aunt?
“In addition, you’re not allowed to sell the ranch for at least ten years. But your aunt added something to that.”
Holly lifted her head. “Yes?”
“She said to find your dream. I’m not sure what she meant.”
Holly’s heart rose, just a bit. God bless Aunt Martha, even though she didn’t know what her aunt meant. “I’m not sure, either.”
Carstairs shrugged. “Well, that’s what she said, and if it has anything to do with the ranch, she made sure it would be possible for you. So those are the essentials. The rest is mostly legal stuff that you can call me about if you have questions.”
Sooner than she would have believed, she was out of the office and back on the street. Downtown Conard City hadn’t changed in any way she could perceive. It seemed to be cast in amber, preserved and unchanging. It had always charmed her, coming as she did from larger towns and cities, and she paused for a moment to soak it all in. There was a peaceful air to this place that had never failed to draw her during her visits. But since Cliff, she had never wanted to make this her home.
That wasn’t likely to change. She started to turn toward her rental when Cliff’s voice yanked her up short. “The funeral home is the other way.”
She turned. “I know. I’m driving.” What did he care?
“It’s not that far. I’ll see you there then.”
He was going to be there, too? Somehow she had imagined herself quietly putting her aunt to rest. But of course Martha must have had friends. She looked down at herself, at her overworn black sweater and slacks, and wished she had thought this through. Surely she could have dressed better for this?
God, all that had been on her mind was getting out here in time. To do her last act for her beloved great-aunt. She’d raced to find a plane ticket, fought to reserve a rental car that wouldn’t completely impoverish her, put on something black and fled her dingy apartment.
Now she felt as dingy as the streets she had left behind.
She climbed into her car, found a brush in her purse and ran it swiftly through her wavy chestnut hair. A glance in the rearview mirror told her that her makeup was long gone, not that she cared. Instead of primping any more, she headed for the funeral home.
Inside she found her fears confirmed. Some forty or fifty people milled about t
he place, and while she couldn’t remember any of them, they all seemed to know who she was. She was quickly swamped in condolences and a sea of names. Some offered a memory or two of her aunt.
And with each memory her throat grew tighter. Soon she could feel the sting of withheld tears in her eyes, and wished only that this would be over so she could get out to the ranch and cry in private.
God, she hadn’t even had time to get some flowers.
None too quickly, the funeral director announced it was time. The crowd followed him at a somber pace as he carried Martha’s urn through a door, across a covered walkway to a large concrete mausoleum. There, one door to a niche stood open and waiting.
Holly swallowed hard. She swallowed even harder when a man stepped forward and said, “I was Martha’s minister for many years. I know she refused a memorial service, saying she only hoped that she would be well remembered. We remember Martha well indeed. A generous woman, with a kind heart. We are grateful she passed swiftly and without warning, and know that she rests now in God’s love.”
Then he insisted on reciting the Twenty-third Psalm. Before it was done, the unbidden tears were rolling hotly down Holly’s cheeks. When the funeral director slid the urn into its niche, she stepped forward and laid her hand on it, not wanting to see it disappear, hanging on for one last moment.
“I love you,” she whispered. Then she stepped back and watched the director close and lock the door. A brass plate on the outside listed Martha’s name, her dates of birth and death. Nothing else.
When she turned she found all those people looking at her as if they expected her to speak. A moment of panic fluttered through her, memories surged, and then she remembered something her aunt had once said to her.
“Aunt Martha told me that she wanted to leave a small footprint in this world. That she wanted to leave the land as it was meant to be, and nearly everything as she had found it. Except for one thing. She hoped that she would leave small footprints in the hearts of her friends, and that they would bring smiles. Thank you all.”
Then she pivoted to stare at that closed vault. Great-Aunt Martha was gone. The times between her visits had been punctuated by weekly phone calls with her aunt. Now there would be no more calls and it hit her: there was a huge difference between being separated by miles and being separated by death.
