A Cowboy's Salvation

By Megan Ryder

He wanted to be left in peace…

West Morgan knows all about second chances. After bouncing from foster home to foster home, he finally landed at the Rawlings Ranch as a teenager. There he found a home, something he’d never thought possible. Now an adult, he realizes he’s been given much more: a family and, most importantly, peace. But when his mentor dies and leaves the property divided among his foster brothers and his mentor’s daughter, Tara Rawlings, the fragile future he’s built for himself is threatened.

She wanted to be free of her past…

Tara Rawlings swore she’d never end up with someone like her father, a man completely focused on the ranch to the exclusion of his loved ones. She created a new life for herself in San Francisco, running an interior design company and getting married, then divorced. When she returns to settle her father’s estate, she finds that her birthright is in jeopardy. And the only way to save it is to work with West Morgan, the one man she has always resented—and always found irresistible.

Can they save the ranch without killing each other … or falling in love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Jun 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781950510689

Megan Ryder

Ever since Megan Ryder discovered Jude Deveraux and Judith McNaught while sneaking around the “forbidden” romance section of the library one day after school, she has been voraciously devouring romance novels of all types. Now a romance author in her own right, Megan pens sexy contemporary novels all about family and hot lovin’ with the boy next door. She lives in Connecticut, spending her days as a technical writer and her spare time divided between her addiction to knitting and reading.

Book preview

Author

Chapter One

Tara Rawlings Gordon stood in front of the bay windows in the front room that was their conference room of the Queen Anne house that doubled as the office space for their interior design firm, Design Lines. The four young software designers who sat around the other end of the oval table studied her and her designs impassively, not giving anything away. Designing office space for a start-up software company was a new venture for her firm, mostly used to dealing with homes and smaller offices like law firms and such. But this start-up was not a traditional company, challenging their typical layouts and structure for office space, which could showcase a new area of talent and originality for their firm, one Tara and her partner, Angela Barnes, had been looking for. Anything to help their firm stand out in the crowded design field in San Francisco. Only, judging by the lack of expression on the faces before her, Tara wasn’t sure how the presentation was going.

Pasting a bright smile on her face, she gestured for her assistant to bring up the sketches of the interior. We went with the open floor plan you had requested. No cubicle walls, small pods instead of individual desks, and collaborative work stations.

The president of the company nodded. This seems somewhat … bare.

Tara exchanged a glance with her assistant and gestured for her to switch the image to the interior shot. We went with a minimalist style, clean and simple. You expressed an interest in modern and sleek.

He nodded but didn’t seem to approve. Although he wasn’t exactly disapproving either. Tara honestly didn’t know what to think and she wasn’t accustomed to that reaction. The four people shuffled through the presentation in front of them, filtered through the samples of materials Tara had laid on the table to let them get a feel for what she proposed and studied the 3D model she had worked up over the previous two weekends, working almost round the clock to get that done in time.

A knock at the door interrupted the low murmuring and Tara glared until her partner poked her head inside. Angela motioned for Tara to step outside even after Tara shook her head. Tara laid her notes down on the table.

Why don’t you take a few minutes to look at our notes, the model on the table and our sketches over here? Talk for a few minutes among yourselves and I’ll be back to hear your thoughts and suggestions. Feel free to help yourself to coffee or tea, or anything else. Mandy can also assist if you need anything.

She nodded to her assistant and then stepped out of the room. What is so all-fired important that you needed me this minute, Angela? I had them, was about the seal the deal. Tara crossed her fingers at the little fib. It was more of a hope than a reality, but she was trying to be positive.

Angela pursed her lips. You have a phone call.

Tara frowned. I get phone calls all day. Why is this one so important?

It’s from home. From a West Morgan? The older woman spoke gently, studied her closely.

Tara froze. In the overall scheme of who would ever be calling her from home, West Morgan was the last person she’d ever expect. And the least desired. Are you sure? What could he want?

There’s only one way to find out. We’ll put him through to your office. Angela pushed her gently in the direction of the stairs and her second-floor office.

Tara dug in her heels. No, I have this presentation to finish. Take a message. I’ll call him back.

Angela shook her head. I think you need to take this. Right now. I’ll handle the presentation. I know it as well as you do, considering I practiced with you every day.

The other woman’s tone was odd, almost sympathetic, and Tara’s heart seized. Fine, I’ll be right back.

Take as long as you need. With that cryptic statement, Angela went into the conference room and Tara headed up the stairs to her office.

She closed her door and sat behind her desk, her refuge over the past few months. She sighed and picked up the phone, pressing the blinking light, and braced herself for the deep voice that always made her stomach clench.

Hello, West.

Hello, Tara. The deep rumble hadn’t changed much.

She had traveled so many places in her time away from Montana, met so many people, and no man had ever had a voice so deep, so sexy as West Morgan. Too bad it was attached to the most irritating man that had ever walked the earth. The one man guaranteed to piss her off. Well… except for her ex-husband. And the one man who always made her feel so goddamned incompetent.

What did you need to talk to me about right this instant? What was so damned important?

A slow pause. I’m sorry, Tara, but your father is dead.

*

After receiving the details from West and confirming that she’d be there as soon as she could, Tara stared out the office turret window overlooking Alamo Square Park, at the vibrant green grass and beautiful flowers that decorated the expanse. Families were having picnics and playing on this beautiful Tuesday afternoon in late May, and Tara would often join them at lunch, but today, even that beauty couldn’t lighten her mood. She should go back downstairs to her presentation, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate, her brain completely shut down for the second time in six months.

A quiet knock pulled her attention, then her door opened. Angela poked her head in. How are you doing, honey?

Tara took a quick breath and stood, deliberately ignoring the elephant in the room. Fine. I’ll be right down.

Angela stepped in the room and shut the door behind her. No, we’re done for the day. I spoke with Eric Carmichael and rescheduled the rest of the presentation. They requested more time to review our plans anyway.

Tara sagged back into her chair and swiveled it to face the park again, laying her head back against the padded headrest, trying to muster up some emotion for the failed presentation, but honestly couldn’t, not with everything else swirling in her brain. Well, that’s it then. Sorry, Angela. I tried my best, but I guess I’m just not up on the hip and fresh design styles. I should stick to boring old houses and staid law firms.

A rustling behind her indicated that her partner had sat down instead of leaving. Tara, you’ve had a rough six months—honestly, a rough year. You’ve really been pushing yourself so hard and I’m worried about you, especially now. How are you doing?

Tara blinked at the bright sunlight. Shouldn’t it be foggy? With news like this, she would have expected the day to be raw and damp, not bright, beautiful and near picture-perfect. Today of all days, San Francisco had let her down, like so many other people in her life. Then again, why should the day be any different since she had no idea how to feel herself? She was numb, her body tingling and buzzing, the room spinning around her, but her eyes were dry.

She twirled the chair around to face her partner and friend. I don’t know how I feel, Angela. How’s that for honesty? My father is dead. I haven’t seen him in almost a year, and I have no reaction whatsoever. Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to be winning daughter of the year anytime soon.

She gave a laugh that was raw and bitter, with none of the humor that she had been going for. Angela’s expression never changed to the horror Tara expected. Instead, she got up from her chair and hurried around the desk and enveloped Tara in a tight hug, as if trying to keep her together. Tara clung to her, her one anchor in the chaos that had been her life for the past six months, but still the tears never fell. Slowly, however, her rigid muscles relaxed minutely, and she pulled back from Angela. She was alone now. No husband, no parents. It was best that she learned how to be on her own. Even Angela had a family. She didn’t need to keep dealing with an emotionally stunted friend and business partner.

Angela leaned against the desk and regarded her sadly. When do you leave?

I’m not sure. I need to contact the funeral home and make the arrangements. West, one of my father’s foster boys, has been dealing with it, but it’s really up to me as his daughter. Technically, only I can formalize the arrangements although I wouldn’t be surprised if West can do everything. I should really get up there before they have him buried without me.

They can’t bury him without his only daughter, Angela gasped.

Tara smiled. I don’t think my wishes matter one bit when it comes to this or anything regarding my father or the ranch. It never has, really. I’ll go through my projects and see what I can put off. I should be back in a few days. She opened her planner and scanned her upcoming projects and meetings.

Angela laid a hand in the middle of the planner. Tara. Stop. She waited until Tara looked up. You’ve been going nonstop for the past several months, taking on more projects than anyone, burning yourself out in the process. To be honest, I’ve been worried about you. I think you might need a break.

Tara snorted. I don’t think a funeral is the break you had in mind.

Angela smiled gently. Of course not. But, don’t you have things to do with the estate? If your dad had a ranch and a house, won’t you have to handle the details of that? It’s going to take more than five days to go through all of that. I think you should take at least a month and deal with this. Tara, I worry that you’re not dealing with this or what happened before. When was the last time you spoke with your father?

Tara glanced away, face burning. It’s been a few months. At least. We’ve been busy with the Carmichael presentation and I didn’t have time to speak to him. Bitterness twisted her words, a sour taste in her mouth.

Angela blinked back tears. I’m so sorry, Tara. I can’t imagine the regret you must be feeling.

Despite the pain choking her, the tears still wouldn’t fall. Now, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t explain, apologize, or even talk to him again. It’s over.

There’s one thing I think you have to do. Go home. Stay there for a while. Take some time to grieve and maybe you can also find a way to forgive yourself, or at least connect with your father the only way you have left. You need this. You need to stop running, Tara. Angela laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. We can handle everything here. You need to do this. For yourself.

She quietly closed the door behind her, leaving Tara to her thoughts. And her fears.

Chapter Two

Tara stopped her car and stared at the turn off for the Double R Ranch. She opened and closed her fingers to work out the kinks from clenching the steering wheel for the past twenty-two hours since she left San Francisco, a trip that should have taken eighteen but had stretched thanks to numerous road construction delays and heavy spring rains through Nevada and Idaho. All she wanted was a warm bed, preferably in a space that wasn’t moving and wasn’t in Montana. But life was full of things she wanted and never got, including a father who was alive and a relationship with him. Now it was too late, and she’d have to figure out how to deal with that.

The driveway to the Double R Ranch stretched out almost a mile, the ranch house hidden behind a low rise in the distance, but she knew it was there. Even if it had been two years since she had visited. Split rail fences lined the paved road that wound its way to where the house and barns stood, just out of sight of the road. She could continue driving. No one would see her. The pastures and fields were empty. The cattle were in the upper grazing grounds by this time of year. Only the cows who hadn’t given birth yet were kept closer to the barns beyond the ranch house and there should only be a few by this time. No one to see her cutting and running like a coward.

The sun glinted low on the horizon and exhaustion permeated every muscle of her body. She didn’t have the energy to drive another couple hours to Missoula and she refused to get a room in the small hotel in town. Wouldn’t that cause a stir? Tara Rawlings avoiding her own ranch and staying somewhere else. No, she refused to be chased out of her own ranch for anyone, even herself.

Especially not Weston Morgan.

She could almost hear her father’s voice in her head. Time’s a-wasting, girl. Get moving before the sun goes down on you.

She put her blinker on and drove the winding mile, keeping a keen eye out for any sign of activity. When she pulled into the ranch house yard, it was strangely devoid of people, although she supposed that wasn’t that odd. The ranch hands were probably working in the pastures, checking on the cattle and the fences. Then they’d head for the various bunkhouses for dinner and the evening, not to the main house. There was little else in the ranch house to deal with until sundown.

She had half-expected West to be waiting for her, a disapproving expression on his face, although why she cared what he thought was beyond her. He had never been her biggest fan, especially since her college days. Nothing she had done satisfied him. Instead, her mere presence was often an affront to him, although it really should have been the other way around, considering the way he had stolen her place at the ranch and with her father. But that was the past and she had made her own path, had been forced to many years before, and she had succeeded.

She studied the sprawling ranch house, the one her father had built for her mother when they had first married. Not much had changed since she had last been back, although it was a bit more worn and aged than she had remembered, as if her father had stopped taking care of the place. The area in front of the large white farmhouse-style ranch home was mostly hard-packed dirt and gravel, with a small area in the center for grass. When her mother had been alive, it had been a welcoming patch of riotous color from flowers and green grass and a bench where she and her mother would wait for her father and his hands to come in from working the cattle. Her mother would sew or knit or read while Tara would play or do her homework. Now, the patch was barren; the grass barely there and the paint on the bench all flaked and weathered.

She parked next to a mud-crusted black monster truck and the much older pickup that had belonged to her father. She smiled at the sight of the truck that was more rust than red, glad to see one thing hadn’t changed on the ranch in all her years away. No matter how many times she had nagged him, he hadn’t given up Betsy. The damned truck was a menace, not only to her father but to anyone else on the road. One small accident and the whole vehicle would collapse around the driver and leave metal dust scattered around him, along with springs and leather seats. She caught her bittersweet smile in the rearview mirror at the thought. Funny how she always thought that damned wreck of a truck would be her father’s downfall. Well, at least he went doing something he loved on the land he cared more about than anything or anyone else.

Chickens strutted around the yard, pecking for insects, the only sign of life. An occasional neigh from the horses in the corral by the fancy new barn but no voices so she assumed everyone was out working. As expected, the barn was in far better shape than the house, par for the course for her father, who always took care of the ranch, the animals, and the business before his family. She sighed, thinking of her parents’ shouting matches when her father would come home late in the evening after riding the range or working in the calving barn, when her mother would have preferred him home. And after her mother had died, how quiet the house had been. Tara understood better now how the ranch took precedence, but it still hurt to know business and the job came before all else. And he never even tried to integrate them into his life, keeping them separate from the inner workings, but it only kept them apart from him, severed their ties as a family so they could not survive when things got really rocky.

No one came out to investigate her car and Tara was glad. She needed some time to adjust to being home, although it didn’t really feel like home. It hadn’t in years. Maybe it never did. Thank God no one was around while she was readjusting to the ranch. The last thing she needed was someone watching her, judging her, while she wandered around here, lost in her thoughts. Besides, she hadn’t exactly called anyone with a time or date to be expected, so no one would have been waiting. Not that there was anyone left to care about Tara, here or anywhere else.

She grabbed her purse and overnight bag, leaving the bulk of her luggage in the SUV, the only memento of her marriage that she was glad to have kept. She stretched, her muscles protesting the movement after being crammed behind the wheel for so long. Get in and get out, that was the name of the game. She didn’t want to be stuck in the back-ass part of Montana, or any part of Montana, longer than she had to.

She threw her bag over her shoulder and crossed the dirt yard, her heels wobbling a little on the uneven ground. She paused at the porch, where the swing remained, creaking in the gentle breeze, though it looked a little worse for wear, like no one had sat on it or the porch in some time. A couple of worn cane chairs were scattered on the porch, missing some of the wood weaving, surrounding an old, scarred table that she vaguely recalled her father making in the old wood shed when she was a kid. Her mother hadn’t wanted it on the porch back then, saying it wasn’t finished. He had promised to sand it and paint it, but here it stood, unfinished, a reminder of all that was lost in her past.

The front door was closed, and she had a moment of panic, but the knob turned easily, unlike in San Francisco. She took a deep breath and stepped into her past. The sunlight couldn’t quite filter through the windows and the drawn curtains, and Tara half-expected her father to come stomping down the hall from the kitchen. The smell from his cigar lingered in the air, stale and old but familiar even after all of these years, and tears threatened. She blinked rapidly and strode further into the house, resolutely ignoring the ghosts that grasped at her from the shadows of the living room. She was too tired to deal with them. There would be plenty of time for that later, when it came time to clean out everything.

Hello? Is anyone home?

Silence. Well, there would be no surprises then.

Feeling oddly bereft, she stood at the bottom of stairs. Food or sleep? Which did she need more? Her stomach rebelled at the thought of any food, thanks to a steady fare of Diet Coke and junk food she’d ingested on her journey, making up for the years of health food, juicing, and cleanses her husband had insisted on to keep her weight down. Maybe she could have used one of them now to ease the sugar bloat, not that she ever wanted to admit the pansy-assed traitor was right about anything.

Sleep, it was.

She headed up the stairs for her old room, the steps creaking under her weight. Instinctively she avoided the fifth step and the center of the seventh where the sound was the loudest. When she realized what she was doing, she laughed, as if her father cared about her sneaking in now. She rounded the corner and avoided looking at the bedroom right across from the top of the stairs—her father’s room. The door was closed, solid and forbidding, just like in life. She lifted her hand and pressed it to the wood, holding it there for a moment, then dropped it, not quite ready to deal with that Pandora’s box.

She needed to be prepared for the funeral tomorrow.

She turned and followed the railing around the open stairwell to her old bedroom, a place she had only rarely slept in since she was a teenager. She opened the door to an explosion of male clothes. A couple of pairs of jeans were tossed over a chair in the corner, while a few shirts had fallen on the floor just outside of a duffel bag. Socks and underwear also littered the area around the duffel and a scuffed pair of boots. The bed, no longer the purple and white from her teenaged years, was now a more masculine color scheme with brown, maroon, green and tan striped comforter, carelessly tossed back over tan sheets. A stack of magazines was tossed haphazardly on the nightstand and she didn’t dare peek at the titles, although a quick glance showed bulls and cowboys so hopefully the rest were also rodeo related.

She closed the door. Maybe another room. She walked across the way to the guest room that her mother had decorated in shades of yellow. It had changed to a much more utilitarian style. The bed, also masculine in shades of hunter green and maroon, but made this time, was neat as a pin. No clothes decorated the simple Shaker desk. In fact, nothing at all was on the desk. A beat-up classic guitar sat on a stand in the far corner next to the window, the only personal effect in the sparse room.

She sighed and headed for the third door on the floor, hoping against everything that this last room was now unoccupied. Unless something had radically changed, which was highly unlikely, this room belonged to the person who had replaced her in her father’s eyes and on the ranch.

Weston Morgan.

She turned the brass knob and opened the door to a room her teenaged self had always wanted to enter but never had to guts to explore, not with her father just down the hall, and definitely not with West’s own demeanor toward her.

Reviews for A Cowboy's Salvation

[pam50627 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book is a story of misconceptions & second chances. Tara has come back to the ranch after her father passed away. The townspeople have already judged her & found her lacking since she hasn’t visited lately. West & the other foster boys call her the “Princess” because they felt she had it all - a terrific father & a fantastic home - & threw it all away. West & Tara have a lot to learn about each other. I enjoyed this story because it really shows the importance of getting to know all about someone before you judge them. West thought Tara voluntarily left the ranch behind & that wasn’t the case at the beginning. Tara thought West & the others replaced her in her dad’s life while it was just what he was familiar with, other guys. As West grew to learn the truth about Tara & her life, he began to see how everyone judging her was affecting her. Did it make a difference? Did their chemistry enable them to get together or will her ex come back into her life?