The Rancher and his Lady

By Lavanda Woodall

Rancher Grady McKay has been burned by a past relationship, and Bree Patterson is a widow with secrets she is unable to share with anyone. When Bree shows up with baby Molly, she and Grady must resolve their problems before their new romance threatens to set Central Florida on fire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lavanda Woodall
• Release date: Aug 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452433417

Lavanda Woodall

Author Lavanda R. Woodall is a mother of four, grandmother of eight and great-grandmother of three. She spends most of her time writing on a lovely little farm in Central Virginia. She is a rabid, voracious reader. Lavanda also has her pilot's license, spent several years in the US Navy and worked as a LPN for many years. She is also the author of the award-winning Cade County stories. For more information on Lavanda and to contact her, visit her page on Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorlavandawoodall or her blog at http://author-lavanda-woodall.blogspot.com/

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THE RANCHER AND HIS LADY

A Novel

LAVANDA R. WOODALL

COPYRIGHT © 2012 BY LAVANDA WOODALL

SMASHWORDS EDITION

All Rights Reserved.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks to: Caryn Moya Block for her invaluable assistance.

Bette Hileman for her expert editing.

Hillary Albury for a beautiful cover.

My writing group, Pen-To-Paper, the writers division of Windmore Foundation for the Arts.

And last but certainly not least, my granddaughter, Chrissy Woodall, for her unfailing support and work along the way.

CHAPTER ONE

FLORIDA 1992

It's too quiet.

Aw, Billy, you'd complain if you was hung with a new rope.

Muffled laughter came across the wide porch of the old cookhouse and office where McKay's ranch hands were quietly enjoying a last cup of coffee before starting the day's work.

The 1990 Florida morning was beautiful. The sun had just risen, yet there was enough light to see cattle grazing beneath tall pines. The ranch hands could hear the pleasant, homey sounds of crockery being washed inside the cookhouse.

Then, boot heels hit the bare wooden floor of the ranch office, and an impatient yell came through the screen door. Whitey…where the devil are you?

Whitey Evans, the ranch's longtime foreman, stretched his wiry frame and ambled over to the office. When he opened the screen door, McKay's old hunting dogs, Blue and Candy, slipped in beside Whitey and sprawled out on the floor nearby. Shutting their eyes they sighed with noisy contentment. He leaned over and scratched one of the dogs behind a long brown ear. Then, as he had so many mornings, he sipped his coffee while he watched the younger man sorting and stacking papers on the old battered desk.

Grady McKay was a big man, well over six feet. His thick brown hair had needed cutting for a month. His deep-set brown eyes were tired and, as usual, a frown marred his high tanned forehead.

On top of being big and good-looking, Whitey thought, the fella had a pile of money. Why, women ought to be all over him. Instead, there he sat, all by his lonesome cause he was so miserable to get along with. Whitey couldn't figure it out to save his life. He shook his head in disgust.

What? Grady asked.

Ain't nothin'. Go on. Whitey made a small motion with his hand.

I've got a cattlemen's meeting this morning, so let's get this work list squared away. Grady shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his straight nose with long calloused fingers. Send a couple of the boys down to that big field by the highway where Joe Sellers had that trailer…check all the fence. String new if you have to. I want to move the small herd of Black Angus in there no later than Wednesday.

Okay, you want to use the fence that was delivered last week?

Yes, and use those new treated pine posts, Grady told him. They shouldn't have to be replaced for years. He opened his eyes and saw Whitey watching him, concern showing on his homely face. Grady lifted a dark eyebrow. "What is it?''

Grady, how long has it been since you took a day off? It's been years, ain't it? No, wait a minute, let me have my say. Whitey set his empty cup on the littered desk. Boy, you're exhausted. You're angry all the time and, another thing, you're too damn hard on the hands. In fact, if the boys wasn't so loyal, some of them woulda quit before now.

Grady's dark eyes blazed. Who's been complaining?

Hell, this is a real good example. Nobody's said a word to me. But I'm not blind or deaf neither. Whitey stood up and leaned across the desk. Poking Grady's chest with a gnarled forefinger, he rasped, Son, there's got to be some changes made around here. Soon. You already have the start of an ulcer. Don't glower at me like that. I saw you sippin' on that antacid. Grady, I haven't seen you smile in years and, worst of all, you've completely lost your sense of humor!

The dogs' heads came up in alarm at this serious accusation.

Outraged, Grady stared at the older man for a good ten seconds. Well, where do you suggest I look for the sucker? Out in the barn? Maybe doing paperwork until midnight?

There was a loud knock on the screen door, and Billy Peters stepped inside. What the hell do you want? Grady barked at the young cowhand.

Boss…Whitey…uh, Jimmy just now told me that Joe Sellers’ old trailer ain't been moved. Billy looked from one man to the other and, finding Whitey's face easier to talk to, continued with his story. There was a, um, car there this morning. And Jimmy said it looked like somebody had moved in the trailer.

The ensuing roar shook the rafters and speedily sent the listening men off the porch. The dogs decided there were better places to sleep and left through the open door.

Dammit to hell! That Joe Sellers played me for a fool. It took me ten stinking years to talk him into selling me that property and moving that eyesore parked by the road. Grady's eyes appeared to catch fire, and the two onlookers expected to see steam coming from his ears any minute.

Whitey pushed Billy out the door ahead of him. Turning to Grady, Whitey said: Well, it's a cinch you can't do anything about it this morning, Go on to your meeting, and I'll go over there and see what's going on. He looked back at Grady as he shut the screen door. You can't tell…it could be squatters.

Grady grabbed his new cream-colored Stetson, jammed it on his head, and stomped out to a dusty, white pickup truck. As he drove out of the ranch yard, gravel sprayed from under the tires, and Whitey knew that things did not bode well for the cattlemen’s meeting that morning.

***

Just before noon Grady was back from town. When he came to an abrupt stop, gravel once again spun in every direction. Looking around, he saw a couple of ranch hands loitering on the porch of the cookhouse.

Where's Whitey? he snapped.

In the barn. Unsaddling his horse, boss.

Grady walked on toward the barn. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a couple of the men edging away from him. They do act a mite jumpy, he thought.

He stepped into the cool barn, removed his sunglasses and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. The big building was clean and dry smelling. He insisted on that. Animals didn't thrive in dirty, wet barns. As he walked down the long aisle between the stalls, he could see Whitey at the far end.

When an inquisitive mare looked over the stall door, Grady stopped to rub the soft, velvet nose. Hey, old girl. At least somebody around here likes me.

Whitey was carefully rubbing the back of a big gray gelding with a dry cloth.

What did you find out about the trailer? Grady asked.

Whitey jumped. Hey, didn't see you, boss. He continued grooming the horse. To tell the truth, I didn't get a whole lot out of them.

Well, are they squatters or what? Grady demanded.

I told them you'd be over to see them this afternoon. After a minute Whitey looked at Grady with a strange glint in his eyes. They're gonna be trouble for you, boss.

Muttering a few choice words, Grady left the barn and headed for the truck.

The road was taking a beating today, Whitey thought, as he stood in the barn door and watched Grady drive away.

Was that the boss leaving again? Billy's freckled face looked relieved.

Yeah, he's going down to Sellers’ old trailer and throw out a couple of squatters.

They're sure gonna get a surprise. Billy chuckled.

They're all gonna get a surprise. A smile of pure enjoyment creased Whitey's leathery face. Come on, son. Let's eat. All of a sudden, I feel hungry.

***

Dammit, thought Grady, as he drove the three miles to Sellers’ old trailer. Now I'm going to have to throw these people out and haul off that dilapidated, portable shack. Joe Sellers has been waiting to stick it to me since high school, when I got to Amy Sue Johnson before he did.

He was still fuming when he drove up beside a blue Toyota parked under a huge live-oak tree near the old trailer. Looking over the small car, he could see that it was several years old and had current Georgia plates.

Three rusty metal steps led up to a sagging screen door. Grady knocked and, when there was no answer, opened the door and stepped directly into a small living room. There was very little furniture. In one corner sat a dejected-looking, overstuffed chair, a small end table with several paperbacks on it, and an elderly floor lamp that leaned a couple of degrees toward the wall. A table and two rickety chairs took up the rest of the living space. The trailer appeared to be clean enough, but the air was damp and smelled musty.

Hearing voices, Grady walked down a narrow hallway to a partially open door. A woman was murmuring and laughing softly. Grady's mouth tightened in distaste. As he pushed open the door, both occupants of the tiny bedroom turned to stare at him.

Hey, don't you knock?

Shock held him immobile as the smiling woman finished diapering the baby. She was small and casually dressed in a red halter and matching shorts. Her narrow feet were bare.

There you go, Miss Molly. She lifted Molly from the crib and held the baby in her arms.

Grady was stunned. They were incredibly alike. Dark curly hair framed small heart-shaped faces, and their deep blue eyes were ringed with long dark lashes.

You must be the boss, Grady McKay. The woman was smiling as she shifted the baby to her left hip and offered a hand to the speechless man. ''I'm Bree Patterson, and this is Molly. Whitey said that you'd be around this afternoon to meet us. Take Molly for a minute, will you? I have to change the crib sheet."

Before Grady could refuse, he was holding Molly. He had never held a human baby before, and the tiny girl's soft, sweet-smelling body was a surprise. Molly leaned back and looked carefully at Grady's tanned face. Then she smiled amiably and stuck a small finger in his unsuspecting mouth. Slowly removing the finger, Molly patted the big man on the cheek and laid her curly head on his shoulder. For a few minutes Grady felt something strange happening in his chest and couldn’t breathe. One of his big hands came up to carefully cover the baby's small back. The woman continued to talk as she changed the sheet, and Grady realized that he hadn't heard a word she'd said.

Okay, Molly, nap time. She took the reluctant baby from Grady's arms and laid her down in the crib with a small bottle of water. Come on out to the living room.

As Grady followed Bree down the short hall, he watched her red shorts. They were very tight, and she walked with a slight sway that looked natural to his eye.

Please sit down. There's no coffee, but I can give you tea or milk, Bree offered with a smile. I drink hot tea all day long.

As he passed her in the narrow kitchen, he caught the scent of flowers. The big chair he sat down on was lumpy, and the cushion sagged under his weight in an alarming manner. Pulling his thoughts away from her red shorts and the scent of her hair, Grady said with some asperity, Mrs. Patterson, this isn't a social visit. Are you and Molly alone here?'' At her nod he went on. You can't stay here. The pitch of his voice rose two notches. How the hell did you get the trailer, anyway?"

Please keep your voice down, Mr. McKay. Molly doesn't like loud noises. Bree filled a small pan