Slade: Ghost Mountain Ranch, #3

By Jan Scarbrough

Slade Heston has been around horses his whole life. But growing up as a "rich" boy in Kentucky Bluegrass country is nothing like spending the summer as a hired hand at a Montana dude ranch with his mother, Darby, and the grandfather he never knew. A Western saddle, complete with saddlebags, doesn't make him a genuine cowboy. Unlike his twin sister, with her perfectly planned life, Slade's still trying to figure it all out. What he never expected was his attraction to a pretty visiting writer.

 

The white-capped mountains of Ghost Mountain Ranch are a far cry from the urban cityscape of Chicago where reporter Laurie Chastain comes from. She's supposed to write stories to encourage more guests to visit the dude ranch, but Laurie has secret reasons of her own for taking the demeaning job in this godforsaken land. Had her grandfather really been a bomb-builder for a radical resistance group in the 1970s? What did the mysterious leader of the group have to do with it? Laurie's only clue has led her to Ghost Mountain. She can't afford the distraction of a broad-shouldered and entirely too-sexy man in a cowboy hat.

 

Someone knows the truth about the part Ghost Mountain Ranch played in Laurie's life, and the terrible consequences of that past. But when the ghosts of the past threaten the lives of the living, will their growing attraction be enough to protect Slade and Laurie? 

 

Slade's always kept his feelings closed off, but can he open his heart to love under the wide-open skies of Montana before it's too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Saddle Horse Press
• Release date: Jun 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9780999247464

Jan Scarbrough

Whether it is the Bluegrass of Kentucky, the mountains of Montana, or Medieval England, Jan Scarbrough brings you home with romances from the heart. Jan Scarbrough is the author of two popular Bluegrass series, writing heartwarming contemporary romances about home and family, single moms and children. Living in the horse country of Kentucky makes it easy for Jan to add small town, Southern charm to her books and the excitement of a Bluegrass horse race or a competitive horse show. Leaving her contemporary voice behind, Jan has written paranormal gothic romances: Tangled Memories, a Romance Writers of America (RWA) Golden Heart finalist, and Timeless. Her medieval romance, My Lord Raven is a story of honor and betrayal. A member of Novelist, Inc., Jan self-publishes her books with the help of her husband. She has published 26 romances. Jan lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with one rescued dog, one rescued cat, and a husband she rescued 23 years ago. When she isn't writing, she loves to ride American Saddlebred horses, drive grandchildren to activities, and volunteer with Alley Cat Advocates. There is nothing she enjoys more than curling up with a good book. Subscribe to Jan’s monthly newsletter and receive a free eBook.https://janscarbrough.com/contact/

Book preview

Introduction

Slade Heston has been around horses his whole life. But growing up as a rich boy in Kentucky Bluegrass country is nothing like spending the summer as a hired hand at a Montana dude ranch with his mother, Darby, and the grandfather he never knew. A Western saddle, complete with saddlebags, doesn’t make him a genuine cowboy. Unlike his twin sister, with her perfectly planned life, Slade’s still trying to figure it all out. What he never expected was his attraction to a pretty visiting writer.

The white-capped mountains of Ghost Mountain Ranch are a far cry from the urban cityscape of Chicago where reporter Laurie Chastain comes from. She’s supposed to write stories to encourage more guests to visit the dude ranch, but Laurie has secret reasons of her own for taking the demeaning job in this godforsaken land. Had her grandfather really been a bomb-builder for a radical resistance group in the 1970s? What did the mysterious leader of the group have to do with it? Laurie’s only clue has led her to Ghost Mountain. She can’t afford the distraction of a broad-shouldered and entirely too-sexy man in a cowboy hat.

Someone knows the truth about the part Ghost Mountain Ranch played in Laurie’s life, and the terrible consequences of that past. But when the ghosts of the past threaten the lives of the living, will their growing attraction be enough to protect Slade and Laurie?

Slade’s always kept his feelings closed off, but can he open his heart to love under the wide-open skies of Montana before it’s too late?

Chapter One

Chicago

April 2019

She was dead.

Laurel Chastain looked up at the doctor standing across the hospital bed with his hand on her grandmother’s wrist. He met her eye and nodded.

She placed a cold hand on her mother’s shoulder. Mama Bev is gone, Mom.

No, Laurie, Debbie said quietly. No.

Yes. Laurie firmed her grip, fearing what was to come.

No! Always the drama queen, her mother’s scream reverberated off the stark white walls and cut into Laurie’s heart. Not now, Mom. I don’t need this now.

Come along, Laurie drew her mother to her feet from where she sat by Bev’s bed. Let the doctor do what needs to be done.

Oh, Laurie! Debbie sobbed against her shoulder. What will we do now? What will we do?

Good question. One Laurie didn’t know how to answer. Her grandmother was the rock of their little family of three. After they’d moved in with her grandmother, into the two-bedroom, walkup apartment in Roger’s Park, Laurie had gained a modicum of freedom she hadn’t had since her parents’ divorce. Because of Mama Bev, Laurie didn’t have to be her mother’s mother as she’d done since she was twelve.

C’mon. Let me get you home. We can talk there about what’s to be done.

What was to be done? They depended upon Bev’s social security check to pay for the apartment. Debbie cleaned houses in Winnetka during the week, taking the train up and back. Those were steady jobs, but they were cash transactions. Her mother wasn’t accumulating Social Security for later in life. And Laurie wasn’t either. She didn’t make much money writing, working freelance jobs, short-term assignments, and selling them to magazines or blogs. Not the career she’d dreamed of when she’d studied journalism in college.

A nurse handed Laurie a plastic bag containing Bev’s clothing and personal items. Laurie had to detach herself from her mother to take it. She knew she’d have to come back and make arrangements for the body, but first her mother needed calming down. They’d been at the hospital since seven o’clock the night before when an ambulance had taken Bev to the hospital. Now it was five in the morning.

Let’s go, okay? She didn’t have time for her own grief. She’d deal with that numb spot in her heart later.

Her mother shuddered. I can’t go.

You’ve got to. There’s nothing you can do here.

But she’s my mother. Debbie hiccupped her opposition. Her eyes were a mess of tears and her nose red.

Not again. Laurie sucked in a breath trying to calm herself, then forced a slow breath out of her mouth. She needed to take care of her mother, because Mom had never, not once, taken care of anyone. Not her husband. Not Laurie. Not even herself. Why? It was a question that had haunted Laurie’s childhood, causing friction between them.

Stepping back into that all too familiar role, she found a clean tissue wadded up in her pocket and thrust it at her mother. Blow your nose.

Mom did as she was told, then handed the tissue to a nurse. Laurie could see a look of sympathy in the nurse’s eyes when she took the tissue from her mom and disposed of it.

That was it. Laurie didn’t need anyone’s pity. We’re going now.

In her heart, Debbie was a passive person. Her rebellion over, she let Laurie lead her to Bev’s Chevy which Laurie had parked near emergency services. The sunrise had just broken the gray Chicago horizon.

At home, Laurie was lucky to find a parking spot on the street. They climbed the steps to the third-floor apartment and went inside. It seemed like a longer distance, the staircase steeper. Already the living area seemed too quiet without Bev. Too empty. Laurie sat her mother down at the kitchen table and put on a pot of coffee.

Mama Bev always said she saved enough money to bury her, Laurie said more to herself than to Debbie.

If not, they would be in deeper trouble.

The coffee was black and hot. Debbie poured cream into her cup and brought it to her lips, sipped it carefully and watched Laurie over the rim. Laurie sat in the second chair and left her own cup of coffee untouched. Her hands trembled. She clasped them together under the table. The plastic bag from the hospital was in her lap.

Laurie shut her eyes a moment, drawing up strength from within. Her grandmother had been a practical, no-nonsense person. What would she do in a time like this? Finally, she pulled open the bag. Inside was Bev’s purse, the same tie-dyed, sling shoulder bag, ragged on the edges, that she’s seen her grandmother carry forever.

Had this purse come from her hippie days? Once, when the two of them had had a heart-to-heart talk, Mama Bev had claimed to be a real revolutionary with long, straight, blond hair and free-flowing granny dresses. She’d shown Laurie the photos, yellowed pictures of Bev’s friends from the past. She’d seen her mother in one of them, a child of five or six, totally out of place among the long-haired, young people smoking weed and doing whatever they did in their communal living arrangement.

Bev had told her living that kind of life had given her strength, the kind of strength she and Debbie had always counted on.

And now Bev was gone.

What are you looking for? Debbie asked.

Laurie glanced up at her mother’s red-rimmed eyes. Her checkbook.

She keeps it in her bedroom.

Laurie nodded. Her mother had no clue why she wanted Bev’s checkbook. But to make sure, she checked the zippered pocket in the purse. There was nothing in it except a faded newspaper clipping folded up into a neat, compact square.

Laurie smoothed it out flat on the table and leaned over the discolored ink print. Look at this. It’s about a bombing in February 1971 when a policeman was killed.

That’s why we left Los Angeles.

Laurie’s head jerked up. She stared at her mother. What do you mean?

Debbie shrugged and added a packet of sugar to her coffee. Laurie saw her hands shake. All I remember is we had to leave our house in a hurry. A bunch of us in several cars. I couldn’t find my doll in time, and they left it there. I cried.

Laurie sat back. What the hell? Why hadn’t she heard about this in all of her twenty-two years? Had her grandparents really been some sort of felons?

Debbie stirred her coffee Her eyes blurred as she drifted back to her childhood. Mom’s friend Tim dropped his girlfriend off in Montana. She couldn’t go with us because she had a red-headed baby named Darby. I liked Darby, but Tim said babies were too much trouble. He also said I was too much trouble. I’m glad they didn’t make me stay at that ranch. I didn’t like the name of the place. It was scary.

Why is that?

Wouldn’t you be scared of a place called Ghost Mountain Ranch?

Chapter Two

Gallatin Canyon, Montana

April 2019

The view took his breath away. So did the height.

Slade Heston laid a gloved hand on the shoulder of his ranch-raised and trained black horse. The gesture was more to calm his nerves than to settle those of the easy-going, rock-steady Tennessee Walker. In the distance, a snow-capped mountain range rose out of the blue-sky Montana day. In the valley far below, a roadway meandered alongside a ribbon of river. Perpendicular to the road, his grandfather’s guest ranch stretched up a draw following Saga Creek as far as the eye could see.

I’d forgotten how gorgeous Ghost Mountain Ranch is, his mother Darby said from beside him.

She was sandwiched between him and his stepfather-to-be, Hank Slade, and riding a golden-colored buckskin gelding with a black mane and tail. For a mother, she looked young and beautiful with her red hair tied back in a ponytail.

Although Slade had been named for the middle-aged wrangler his mother was engaged to marry, they were not related. Hank was simply part of his mother’s life before and now after the death of Slade’s father.

On this day saturated with sunshine, the three of them had ridden the trail to Sunset Point, a rock escarpment eight thousand feet above sea level. They’d followed the valley along a clear stream fed by fresh snowmelt and crossed an alpine meadow before taking the rocky path up to the summit. Along the way, he and Hank had dismounted and