The Kings Meadow Romance Collection

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “Well then. Let’s get started.”

  Anna looked up at Chet. “You want to join us?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “All right. But before we list everything online, you’re going to have to give your okay.”

  “I trust you, Anna.”

  “I appreciate that, my boy. But I still want you to look things over.”

  He leaned down and kissed her on the temple. “Whatever you want. When you need me, just give a holler.”

  “KIMBERLY, I HAVE A GOOD MIND TO TAKE MY OWN sweet time with the work that’s left.” Anna tossed the words over her shoulder as she led the way into the cottage. “I’m going to miss having you spend these Saturday afternoons with me when we’re done.”

  “I’ll miss it too.” Kimberly said it to be polite, then realized how very true it was. “I guess I’ll have to come up with other excuses to visit you while I’m still in Kings Meadow.”

  Anna stopped midway across the small parlor and turned to face Kimberly. “You’re leaving?”

  She gave a slight shrug. “Not right away. But eventually. When I find a job that will support me and Tara . . . and a horse.” Another shrug. “And that’s a long shot as things stand right now.”

  Wearing a saddened expression, Anna sat at the small writing desk. She clicked on one of the laptop keys, bringing the screen to life. Kimberly joined her there.

  With another press of a finger, Anna opened a photo program. “Amazing, isn’t it? Maybe you’re too young to remember a world without computers, the Internet, e-mail, digital cameras, and smartphones.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “So many of my friends in Florida refused to learn the latest technologies as they came along. They had no idea how much not knowing would cut them off from others. From children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”

  “You seem to know your way around the computer.”

  “I’ve always loved to learn new things. Still do.” Anna tapped her temple with an index finger. “As long as the old brain stays sharp.”

  “I seem to be more interested in old things.” Kimberly caressed the top and side of the writing desk. “Like this. It’s at least a hundred years old. You can’t find anything like it today. The craftsmanship is exquisite. Priceless, really.”

  “Well, we won’t have to put a price on it. It’s not for sale.” Anna smiled. “I spent many years writing letters and keeping a journal on this very desk. It belonged to Violet, Chet’s grandmother.” Her expression turned wistful. “Violet gave the desk to me on my eighteenth birthday because she said it was made for a woman’s use and the Leonard men admired horseflesh, not furniture.” She laughed softly. “Still true.”

  “But you didn’t take the desk with you when you moved to Florida. Why not?”

  “Because it belonged here, on this ranch, more than it belonged to me. It’s part of the history of this valley and of the Leonards.” Her eyes seemed to look beyond Kimberly and into the past. “So much history.”

  “If only it could talk. It’s a shame it got buried under all of the other things that were stored in this guesthouse. I’m glad you’re going to use it again.”

  “Me too.”

  Anna

  1947

  ANNA AND MILES RODE THEIR HORSES TO THE FARTHEST end of the Leonard land. On the hillside, framed by trees of green and gold, was a small line shack, one of several erected before the turn of the century to accommodate cowboys who needed to take shelter in foul weather. With the grazing lands all fenced, the cabins hadn’t been used in years.

  “What’s this?” Miles asked as they reined in their mounts.

  Anna told him the history of the line shacks, then slipped to the ground and reached into the saddlebag for the sandwiches she’d packed for them. “Come inside and we’ll eat.” Her heart pounded in her ears as she opened the door.

  Early that morning, she’d ridden to the shack by herself. She’d swept it clean of dust and cobwebs. She’d placed a bouquet of colorful dried flowers in a jar in the center of the rickety table. She’d put fresh linens and blankets on the old tick mattress and built a fire in the stove to take away the autumn chill from the dim interior. The room was still warm all of these hours later. She moved inside and waited for Miles to follow.

  Miles was leaving Kings Meadow next week. He was going to California to paint. He’d told her he would return in the spring. But would he? It was terrible to think she might never see him again. The ache in her heart was unbearable.

  “Anna?”

  She turned around. He stood framed in the doorway, the outside light a golden backdrop behind him. She wished she knew what he thought.

  “Why are we here, Anna?”

  “I love you, Miles,” she whispered, unable to keep those words to herself another moment.

  His gaze flicked to the small, inviting bed she’d made for them. Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Anna . . . we can’t do this.”

  “I love you and you’re going away.”

  “I’ll be back in the spring. I told you.”

  She took a step toward him. “What if you don’t return? What if you like California more than Idaho?” She took a quick breath. “What if you meet someone?”

  “You’re only seventeen.”

  “I’ll be eighteen in the spring.”

  Miles closed the distance between them, took the bag that held their sandwiches from her hand and dropped it onto the small table. Then he gathered her into his arms, pulling her close, rubbing his chin against the top of her head. Tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids and dampened his shirt. She didn’t want him to ever let go.

  Say you love me. Say you love me too. Please say it.

  Softly, he said, “I’ll only be gone six months, maybe seven. It isn’t so very long.”

  It was an eternity.

  “Anna, I can’t break Abe’s and Violet’s trust.” He leaned back, then tilted her head with his index finger beneath her chin so their eyes could meet. “I can’t break your trust either.”

  “You wouldn’t be break—”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t think so today, but one day you would. When you got married. It would matter to you then.”

  Tears welled up again, blinding her. What difference would it make once he was her husband? Didn’t he want her?

  “Anna . . . don’t think that. You’re wrong.”

  “Don’t think what?”

  “Believe me. I want you.” His smile was gentle and loving. “But I care for you too much to take you to bed before we’re married.”

  Her heart hiccupped. Before? Not if?

  His hands moved up to cup the sides of her face. His fingers felt soft against her skin. “Listen to me, Anna. I’m not proposing. Not yet. You’re young. After I’m gone, you might change your mind. You are the one who might meet someone else. I won’t ask you to promise me anything today. We’ll wait and see.”

  I won’t change my mind. I won’t.

  He hadn’t said he loved her. Not exactly. But the words were implied. He meant to propose to her when he returned. She could hold onto that while she waited for him, while she grew a little older.

  Still cupping her face, he leaned down and kissed her for the first time. Her heart galloped in response. The room seemed to spin, and her legs were unwilling to keep her upright. It was more wonderful than she’d dreamed.

  He drew back, although not far. When he spoke, his voice sounded gruff. “Come on. We’d better get you home.”

  Home for Anna would be wherever Miles was. Didn’t he know that?

  He turned, took hold of her by the hand, and drew her outside, into the soft light of the afternoon. When they reached her horse, he held her by the waist until she stepped up into the saddle. She missed the warmth of his hands at once.

  “Anna.”

  She looked down at him.

  “You’ll be thankful for this one day.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and all she could do was nod. There were no
words left to be said.

  Twenty-two

  CHET AND SAM PREPARED THE DINNER THAT NIGHT, and no matter how often Kimberly—and Janet, who arrived around five o’clock—offered to help, they were turned down. “You’re our guests,” they were told.

  Tara, the birthday girl, didn’t get back from her ride with Pete until it was almost time to eat. Both of the teens dashed off to separate bathrooms to wash up and returned before all of the food had been set on the table. As Tara took her seat opposite her mother, Kimberly couldn’t help seeing the sparkle of happiness in the girl’s eyes. Would it still be there if they moved back to the city?

  No. Not if. When. When they moved back to the city. It might take longer than Kimberly wished, but it would happen. She was gaining work experience. Her résumé wasn’t as blank as it had been when they arrived in Kings Meadow. She didn’t look as unemployable on paper as she had a year ago.

  But Tara won’t want to go.

  Yes, she would. When the time came, Kimberly would be able to make her see why it was for the best.

  With everyone seated at the table, Chet spoke a blessing, and then the passing of platters and serving bowls began. Baked glazed ham, one of Tara’s favorite foods. Au gratin potatoes. Peas with baby onions. Homemade dinner rolls—one of Anna’s specialties.

  Kimberly’s thoughts continued to wander, aware of the conversations taking place around the table but tuning them out until Tara spoke into a temporary lull. “Mr. Leonard, I was telling Pete that you oughta fix those little cabins up and rent them out. I mean the line shacks. You know. Fix them up for glamping.”

  “Glamping?” Chet raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  “Glamorous camping. It started in Europe, I think. People are paying big money for the experience. It’s camping without all of the inconveniences. Roughing it but with the same amenities as a nice hotel.” Enthusiasm animated Tara’s face. “You could give guests a dude ranch experience and provide all kinds of comfort. Nice beds. Fancy sheets and down comforters. Besides horseback riding, they could go white-water rafting too. That’d bring even more of ’em. And if you don’t have enough cabins, you could do canvas tents on platforms.”

  Chet put down his fork. “How do you know so much about this . . . glamping?”

  “One of my friends in Seattle. Patty’s parents went glamping in Ireland this spring. They stayed in a yurt, and they rode bikes all around that part of Ireland. I saw some cool pictures of what they did over there, so I looked at glamping sites in the US. There’s no reason you couldn’t do it on your ranch. Who wouldn’t want to come stay here? It’s so pretty.”

  Patty. Patty Wainright. The girl’s parents had been acquaintances of Kimberly’s and Ellis’s, although the Wainrights’ wealth had given them entry into much higher circles of society. She hadn’t known Tara was in touch with Patty again. Was that a good thing?

  “I don’t think I’m cut out to be an innkeeper,” Chet said after a moment of silence.

  “You wouldn’t have to be anything like an innkeeper. Besides, Mom could run it for you. She and Dad used to take trips and stay in some fancy places. She’d know how to make it work, I’ll bet, and she’s good with people.”

  Kimberly felt her eyes widen. She knew plenty about what people desired in a luxury hotel. When Ellis was alive, they’d stayed in quite a few of them on their travels, both in the States and abroad. But in these mountains? In old shacks? Glamping? She was clueless. Why would anyone want to spend their vacations in a place like this?

  For the peace and tranquility. For the beauty of nature. Because it’s so pretty.

  Fine. Tara was right. It was beautiful. But that didn’t mean Kimberly wanted to be a part of this glamping nonsense.

  Janet said, “Chet, I think Tara may have hit on a great idea. It could be a real moneymaker for you.”

  “Sounds like a lot of extra work and frustration,” he answered.

  Janet turned toward Anna. “Don’t you have a bunch of things in the guesthouse you were planning to sell? Couldn’t you use some of those items to fix up those cabins?”

  “Yes. We could.”

  “I’ll volunteer to help any way I can,” Janet added.

  “Me too,” the three teenagers all said at once.

  Anna looked at Chet at the head of the table. “It does sound rather exciting,” the elderly woman said. “You could have guests from June through hunting season every year. You should at least look into it.”

  “I suppose I could do that,” he said with obvious reluctance.

  Kimberly felt sorry for Chet. With all the excitement generated around the table, nobody seemed to be listening to his hesitation. But she heard it. She heard it and sympathized. Because she didn’t want to get caught up in it any more than he did.

  IT WAS LIKE BEING SWEPT DOWNRIVER IN A STRONG current. To Chet, the idea of renting out the old line shacks sounded outrageous. Surely it would be a way to lose money, not make it. And yet there was a tug of anticipation in his chest as he listened to everyone tossing out ideas. Everyone except Kimberly. She looked as if she too thought the idea implausible. If he was crazy enough to try this glamping thing, would Kimberly consider helping with its operation? She already had a job with the mayor. But maybe she could help him out part-time. He liked the idea of seeing her at the ranch more often. He imagined the two of them sharing his office, using the computer. He imagined shared laughter. He imagined—

  He brought the thought up short. Enough with his imagination when it came to Kimberly. Better not to go in that direction.

  “Nana Anna, where’s my laptop?” Sam asked.

  “Still in the guesthouse.”

  “Dad, can I go get it?” His son started to rise.

  Chet shook his head. “Wait until after dinner.”

  “It would only take a—”

  “After dinner.”

  Sam grumbled something as he settled back into his chair.

  Chet heard the sound of a throat clearing even as he saw the gazes of those around the table shift to the doorway behind him. He knew, without looking, that it must be Blake. The ranch hand had volunteered to keep an eye on Shiloh’s Thunder this evening. He wouldn’t have interrupted Tara’s birthday dinner unless the horse had taken a turn for the worse.

  Chet set his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “You all finish eating. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Somber faces looked back at him. The excitement of moments before drained away. Like Chet, they all knew what must have brought Blake into the house.

  Chet drew a quick breath as he turned around and followed his ranch hand through the kitchen and out the door. “Did you call the vet?” he asked as soon as they were outside.

  “Yeah, I called him. He’s tending another animal on the other side of the valley, but he said he’ll come as soon as he can. I don’t think it makes much difference now.”

  At the corral, Chet drew another breath, hoping to calm that sick sensation in his gut. Then he opened the gate and went in. The horse’s breathing was shallow, his eyes closed. He didn’t even attempt to lift his head as Chet squatted and stroked his neck. Blake was right. It wouldn’t matter if the vet got there or not. As if in answer to Chet’s thought, Thunder made a soft sound, similar to a sigh, and then all was quiet. The stallion was gone.

  Emotion tightened Chet’s throat as he stood.

  Blake said, “I’ll see that he’s buried first thing in the morning.”

  Chet nodded.

  “I’m sorry, boss.”

  “Thanks.”

  Blake came to stand beside Chet. “He was a great horse.”

  “Yeah. One of the best.”

  “Want me to wait around until Devon gets here?”

  “No, thanks.” Chet turned his back toward the dead horse. “I’ll call and tell him there’s no need to come. See you in the morning.”

  Blake hesitated a moment longer, as if trying to find something more to say, then he left the corr
al. Chet stayed in the corral until the ranch hand had turned his truck onto the highway. Then he walked to the gate and pressed his forehead against the top rail.

  God . . .

  He wanted to pray but was unable to form the words.

  God . . .

  It wasn’t just the potential loss of stud fees that made his heart heavy, although that mattered. No, it was more than that. The death felt . . . personal. As if he’d been abandoned. Again.

  God . . .

  Crazy. Made no sense. He was a practical man. Ranching needed a level head and a calm outlook. Animals took sick and died or they grew old and died. Dogs. Cats. Horses. They matured and were slaughtered for food. Cattle. Hogs. Sheep. He’d seen it countless times. He would see it many more times if he lived long enough.

  A sound drew his head up from the railing. Kimberly walked toward him. Seeing her, the heaviness in his chest lightened a little. One more feeling that made no sense. He opened the gate and left the corral. Kimberly stopped and waited for him to reach her.

  “Thunder?” she asked softly.

  “He’s gone.” Chet glanced toward the house. “Did you have cake yet?”

  She shook her head. “No. The spark kind of went out of the party after you left. I guess everyone knew what was happening out here.”

  “Sorry it spoiled Tara’s birthday.”

  “She’s more worried about you, I think.”

  From the look in her eyes he could see that the same was true of Kimberly. He wanted to hold her in his arms and draw strength from her slight frame. It was as if he’d held her before and knew how it would be. How holding her would make him feel. Alive again. He wanted to draw her close and bury his face in her long, dark hair. He wanted to breathe in the faint citrusy fragrance of her shampoo.

  Uncertainty flashed in her eyes, as if she’d seen the direction of his thoughts. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Nerves, he thought. Or did she hope he would kiss her?