His Pledge to Protect: a Silver Star Ranch Romance, #3

By Shanae Johnson

Mareen Silver can get any horse to dance to her tune. But when a damaged soldier rescues her, will she allow him to side-step her away from a previous attachment?

 

Mareen Silver is used to being hurt—by her cold as ice mother, by her half-sisters who she's longed to be closer to, even by her distant army general father. However, with her family in danger of losing the ranch they all love, Mareen is prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice and marry a wealthy man she doesn't love to save their home. But after taking a nasty tumble, she finds herself falling hard for the wounded soldier who just saved her life.

 

Wilson Michaels can't escape the guilt that has plagued him every day since surviving the blast that took the general's life. If he can't find absolution, he'll find purpose, and—after a series of incidents—it's looking more and more like that purpose is keeping the general's daughter alive. Protecting Mareen is one thing, but falling in love with her is not a possibility, especially when her marriage could be just the thing to save the ranch.

 

Wilson can't afford to get in the way again or this time all the Silvers could lose everything. And now that Mareen has tasted true happiness and is finally bonding with her sisters, can she bear to lose the man who's shown her how to love?

 

Find out if love can truly heal all wounds in this light-hearted, sweet romance of convenient arrangements that unfold into lasting love. His Pledge to Protect is the third in a series of marriage of convenience tales featuring Wounded Warriors who are healed with the power of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Those Johnson Girls
• Release date: Mar 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954181250

Book preview

Chapter One

The sound of the loud, bursting pop didn't make Mareen Silver jerk with surprise. She had expected the small explosion. Maybe even hoped for it?

It happened while she was on a dirt road that was more sharp-edged rocks than paved concrete. A road made for tractor trailers, all-wheel-drive vehicles, and horses. Not for a luxury town car that was tricked out with all the modern computerized conveniences for city living. In all honesty, Mareen was surprised the car had made it this far on her journey without blowing a tire.

The back tire of her car threw up the white flag now. The car limped on three wheels instead of four as she came to a crossroads in Honor Valley. To the left lay the Silver Star Ranch, the home that had been her father's when he was alive. Mareen had spent the years of her youthful summers running wild and free on that land.

Metaphorically speaking. The daughter of Catherine Chesterfield Silver would never do something as unladylike as running. At least not out in the open where her mother could see.

Young women should step lightly on the ground so as not to disturb a blade of grass or overturn a stone. Or so Mareen's mother had drummed in her head. Catherine's words were gospel.

No, really, it was gospel. Catherine had gone up to the societal equivalent of a pulpit—the head table of Sunday brunch with the elite ladies of the capital city of Helena—and decreed it so. It might not have been written in scripture or on a stone tablet, but it was indelibly etched in each young lady’s mind that day.

So Mareen had stopped running before she'd reached double digits in age. Now, at twenty-five, she found herself running for the first time in decades. Though she wasn't exactly breaking any of her mother's rules. Her feet weren't even touching the ground.

When she pushed the pedal of the gas, gravel spewed from the ruined tire. The sound was another assault on the ears. She might not have been turning any blades of grass, but she was making a mess of the stones in the road.

Mareen didn't let up on the gas. It wasn't her soul she feared for. She had to do this now, or her sisters would face the wrath of who they had determined was the devil. Unless Mareen picked up the pace, her sisters would have to face her mother. Though Mareen and her sisters rarely saw eye to eye, she wouldn't wish her mother's wrath on her worst enemy. Never mind that Scout, Mareen's eldest sister, thought the worst of her.

Mareen steered her limp, luxury car away from her childhood home. At the fork in the road, she went to the left. At least there, she knew she would be welcomed. There she might even find an ally.

In the late morning sunlight, Father Matthews sat on his front porch. A pipe was between his mustached lips. A cowboy hat sat low on his head, casting a soft shadow on his elderly features. His long legs were stretched out before him as he rocked back and forth.

He didn't rise to greet her when she stepped out of her car. His gaze traveled to her busted tire. One of his bushy brows lifted.

He didn't offer to help her change the tire. He knew she was capable of doing it herself. Another secret she kept from her mother, who would've sent a car service all the way from Helena to these country roads to perform the simple service.

Mareen didn't want that service. She didn't care to have the town car fixed. She didn't care to go back into town anytime soon.

Instead, she shut the car door behind her and stood tall. Her first step was a tricky one. The gravel of the Flying Heart Ranch's driveway was treacherous on her six-inch heels. She wobbled as she picked over the rocks. One false move and her ankle would be the next blowout.

The man on the porch watched her silently. Well, his mouth didn't move, but his brows drew together. Mareen knew from years of knowing the man that it was his touch-the-fire look.

Father Matthews believed in experiential teaching. He could tell a child what to do and what not to do. However, the lesson was cemented when said child would defy his advice and subsequently yank their burned finger back from the flame.

Mareen knew better than to have worn these shoes. The designer heels were entirely impractical on a ranch. Just like the luxury car that had already bitten the dust. Though she knew better than to try to walk in heels on gravel, she stepped into the flame. Luckily, she didn't get burned. She managed to climb the porch without incident and took a seat next to the old man.

Sitting poised, just as her society mother had taught her, Mareen arranged herself as elegantly as possible. She crossed her hands in her lap. She held her head high as she waited for Father Matthews to say something. If she didn't have him on her side, then her plan was destined to fail.

Father Matthews stretched his sturdy legs out. The movement caused the porch swing to rock backward. When it did, Mareen lost her composure. She slumped back onto the swing. Her back didn't meet the hard wood of the bench. Her shoulder landed on the cushion of Father Matthew's barreled chest.

She didn't bother to try to straighten. She let herself crumple into the person she trusted most in the world. Mareen rested her head on the old man's shoulder, taking in the sweet-smelling smoke, the woodsy scent of straw, and a hint of horse manure. It brought back memories of racing through fields on horses, rolling down hills of grass, laughing so hard that tears pricked her eyes.

Mareen couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed. Smiled, yes. She smiled all the time. It was part of her work uniform, how she presented herself to the world in city life. Like the shoes and the car.

Mareen looked down at Father Matthews's cowboy boots. She felt the ache in her instep from the high arch of her heels. She felt the pinch in her toes of the narrow front of the shoe.

Off in the distance, she heard the whinny of one of the horses. Then the answering call of one of its friends. Her hands itched to squeeze the leather of a lead.

I don't think it's going to work, soldier.

Mareen sighed at Father Matthews's words. Deep down, she knew that would be his verdict on her plan.

Scout's too proud, Father Matthews continued. Your other sisters will fall in line behind her out of loyalty.

Then they'll lose the ranch. Mareen sat up. She planted her feet firmly on the ground. But she didn't rise.

She did note Father Matthews's raised brow at her statement. She could guess exactly which word had caused that lift. She'd said they instead of including herself in we. It had always been them and not her.

Why don't you go talk to them, said Father Matthews.

Mareen snorted at that, a very unladylike sound she was thankful her mother wasn't around to hear.

That's the problem with you Silvers, you don't talk to one another. Your father was the same way.

Mareen couldn't disagree there. General Abraham Silver was not one for talking. He hadn't spoken to Mareen in nearly a year before she got word he'd been killed in the line of duty. His last words to her weren't even addressed to her. They were written down in his will and addressed to all his daughters. Either each of them find a husband before the year was out, or the ranch would go to his second wife, Mareen's mother.

When that part of the will had been read aloud, each of her sisters had turned accusing eyes on her. As though she'd written the words of their father's will. As though she wanted her mother to take ownership of the ranch.

She didn't.

Catherine hated Silver Star Ranch. If Mareen's mother ever learned what was in the will, then she would descend upon the valley like the Wicked Witch the other Silver sisters believed her to be. She'd kick them all out and sell the ranch for profit, just to spite them all. But mainly to spite Sarah Silver for always holding a piece of her ex-husband's heart.

Your sister's wedding was lovely, said Father Matthews.

Mareen wouldn't know. She hadn't been invited to Scout's wedding just a week ago. "I hear