Love Letters and Home: Whispers in Wyoming, #1

By Danni Roan

Successful, ambitious, and vivacious, Philomena knows just what to do when confronted with a new challenge. Inheriting her ancestral homestead seems like a dream come true but she is unprepared for the changes it will bring to her life and her heart?
Chase Haven swore he'd never return to Wyoming, but when his oldest friend asks for his help, offering him a chance to rebuild his family's fortune along the way, he can't say no.
The Broken J Ranch has seen better days but a twist of fate may give it a new lease on life. Can a heritage of love, truth, and faith bring wandering hearts home to find what they didn't know they had lost?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danni Roan
• Release date: Aug 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393504450

Danni Roan

About the Author Danni Roan, a native of western Pennsylvania, spent her childhood roaming the lush green mountains on horseback. She has always loved westerns and specifically western romance and is thrilled to be part of this exciting genre. She has lived and worked overseas with her husband and tries to incorporate the unique quality of the people she has met throughout the years into her books. Although Danni is a relatively new author on the scene she has been a story teller for her entire life, even causing her mother to remark that as a child “If she told a story, she had to tell the whole story.” Danni is truly excited about this new adventure in writing and hopes that you will enjoy reading her stories as much as she enjoys writing them.

Book preview

Epigraph

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No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.

1Corinthians 10:13

Prologue

Philomena tossed her dark hair over her shoulder in agitation, then turned back to the computer screen.

She had already read through the document three times, but no matter how many times her violet gaze scanned the letters, comprehension simply wouldn’t set in.

Dear Ms. Allen, the words never wavered on the screen, you are the last living blood relative of Mr. David Wilson Robertson I have been able to track down, and you are hereby named as his heir.

The words all made sense. She’d seen many such documents over her twenty-five years, but the whole thing seemed unreal.

Running a hand over weary eyes, she stood and moved to the bank of windows that made up the sharp angles of her corner office and gazed out at the Manhattan skyline.

Philomena had worked for Promontory Promotions Public Relations for nearly five years, and already in that short expanse of time had rocketed to the top of her field in marketing.

It had started so simply when a friend at college had told her that the company had several summer positions for people who were ambitious and willing to work long hours. Michelle had been right.

That first summer had not only given her the boost of income to continue her education, but it had also given her a whole new calling in life. She’d quickly changed her major at college, and the rest was history, as they say.

Phil? You contemplating taking the leap? A deep, resonant voice rolled into her airy office, a bite of sarcastic humor in the tone.

Not likely, she retorted, turning to consider the handsome face of Asher Dane. The man was GQ from head to foot, the arrogant twinkle in his eye somehow adding to his sex appeal.

How about a drink tonight? He stepped through the door, only coming to a stop when he stood mere inches in front of her. I hear there’s a new club along the avenue that’s the hot place to be, he continued, running a hand over the rich fabric of her lavender-suited arm.

Philomena stepped back a pace, breaking the contact. I’m not interested, Ash, she said, turning back to the windows. I have work to do.

Why don’t I stay and help, then we can go out and paint the town. His voice was silken. Surely you can’t have that much on your plate. He stepped around her desk, peeking inquisitively at the razor-thin, white monitor on her desk.

Pivoting on her six-inch Christian Louboutin heel, Philomena slid between Asher and the screen, clicking the monitor button as she blocked his view. You have your own work to worry about.

Yes, but working with you is far more fun. He leaned forward, his dark head nearly brushing hers as his hand found the exposed flesh of her knee, below her skirt. We always had fun together, Phil, he growled.

I have real work to do, Philomena pressed, slipping away from him and off the desk. You go on and have a good time. She turned her back, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

I’m not giving up, Ash’s voice was mocking. We were good together, and you know I always get what I want. His even tread across the polished floor and the click of the frosted glass door told her he had gone.

Letting out a breath, her petite form sagged slightly with relief. It had been a huge mistake getting involved with Asher Dane, but at the time, she couldn’t say she’d been thinking with her head.

The man was gorgeous, tall, dark, handsome, and disgustingly charming. The long hours and late nights working together for shared clients had been spark enough to ignite the fire that had burned between them.

Returning to her desk, Philomena clicked the screen back to life and studied the document once more. Her parents had told her about the ancestral home of her family. The big ranch with the strange name.

Like everything else in her life, it seemed very far away, as if it existed in another realm that you could almost see, but never touch.

Running her hands under her hair she tipped her head back, feeling the knots along her spine as she closed her eyes. Too many things seemed empty lately; even her job had become repetitious, filled with endless monotony. Somewhere along the way, the thrill had fizzled out.

Pushing herself to her feet, she hit shut down on the computer, lifted her Gucci bag from her drawer, and stepped into the hall.

Perhaps an hour in the gym and a good massage would settle the mad thoughts that were racing through her mind.

Chapter 1

The sleek, silver sedan rattled over the rough dirt track, kicking up plumes of dust in the crisp air of an early spring.

Slowing the car as she approached a ramshackle fence line, Philomena rolled through the broken uprights of the gate and past a corral where several horses nibbled at the first green grass of spring.

Leaning forward over the steering wheel, she gazed around her at the wide-open sky and the large buildings dotted around the property.

Looks like we’re here, she said, looking at the yellow and white cat that stretched the length of her dash.

Putting the car in park, she climbed out into the blustery air and started toward the sprawling, two-story house.

I’ve got to be out of my mind, she said, tucking her arms around her against the chill and ascending the stairs onto the wide, wrap-around porch with a screech.

More dust sifted over her expensive trainers as she pulled the keys from her pocket and opened the door despite its loud protests.

Dim light and slightly musty smell drifted toward her and she sneezed delicately as the screen bumped closed behind her.

For a few moments, Philomena stood waiting, unsure of what to do first. Mr. Baron had said he’d meet her in the afternoon to sign off the last of the paperwork, but it was obvious no other living soul was present.

Shuffling along the hall, she peered at the dusty pictures hanging on the long wall and reaching out, she brushed away some of the haze with a small hand.

The in-numeral tin-types and ancient daguerreotypes stared back at her, faces and names nearly forgotten, lost to the history of the ranch.

One shot of a large family, an old man with white hair sitting surrounded by men, women, and children of various ages, caught her eye.

She knew her great-great-grandparents were in there somewhere and squinted, trying to make them out, when her gaze fell on a large man at the back, his beefy arm around a slim woman in a dark dress.

Without thinking, she rubbed at the glass with the cuff of her jacket, trying to get a better look.

That’s Hank Ballard, a deep voice rumbled through the open door, making Philomena jump as she turned to study the massive figure who blocked her way out.

Hello, she squeaked, blinking toward the form that seemed to have absorbed most of the light.

I’m Kade. His voice rolled from the depths of his barrel chest. You must be Philomena.

Yes, yes, I am.

I’m your neighbor and your cousin in a somewhat convoluted way. He reached for the door handle, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

Oh, come in, she finally managed with an awkward smile.

Eric, Hank’s son, was my great-grandfather, Kade continued, his scuffed boots clicking on the hardwood floor. See, that’s him with his wife, Joan, he pointed at another picture, and his father’s there on the other side.

Philomena turned back to the wall of photos. You live on the ranch, don’t you? she asked, looking at the big man in the image again.

Down by the creek. I imagine Baron mentioned me. A slight smile creased his face. We Ballards never left, you see.

Philomena smiled, suddenly feeling comfortable with the man who towered over her. Philomena, she offered, stretching out a hand that disappeared in his much larger one.

Nice to finally meet you. His grip was firm but gentle.

If you’re my cousin, the young woman began, why didn’t you inherit? she asked turning her eyes upward.

That’s a rather long history lesson, but let’s just say that Uncle Davey was not on friendly terms with my mother and father. You see, technically Eric wasn’t a James by blood, so my line could be cut out of the inheritance.

I see, Philomena said, not seeing at all, so have you been looking after the place? she asked instead of pushing.

As best I can, though I didn’t have access to the house. He looked around him at the thick layer of dust.

Oh, of course, Mr. Baron had the keys.

The big man chuckled, a deep humming in his chest. I’ve been looking after the stock and keeping things fixed as best I can. Kade grinned. I heard you came out here from New York, that true? he finished.

Yes, her smile was bright, you’re staying on, aren’t you? she asked, suddenly scared that now she was there, he would leave.

I’m not going anywhere, he answered, studying the pictures on the wall again. I own my plot outright. Uncle Davey had no say over the Ballard homestead.

Good. She