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“I want Darcy to be my new mom,” Ricky said. Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication About the Author Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Copyright
“I want Darcy to be my new mom,” Ricky said.
Joe looked at his son and felt a lump lodge in his throat. He’d hoped that Ricky had gotten over this desperation for a mother. But somehow the boy had decided that Darcy Beckett was the perfect maternal candidate.
Joe took a deep breath. Was there anything Darcy was less suited for? “Darcy is not the mom type,” he said, more to himself than to Ricky.
“Why not?”
“Well, we like milkshakes. Darcy likes champagne. And every mouthful costs about as much as a box of crayons.”
“Oh.”
There was a long silence, and Joe thought, gratefully, that the subject was closed. Someday, he told himself, his son would understand. And when he did, maybe he could explain it to Joe.
“But what if she drank something else?” Ricky piped up. “Then could she be my new mom?”
Dear Reader,
In 20 months Silhouette Romance will celebrate its 20th anniversary! To commemorate that momentous occasion, we’d like to ask you to share with us why you’ve chosen to read the Romance series, and which authors you particularly enjoy. We hope to publish some of your thoughtful comments during our anniversary year—2000! And this month’s selections will give you food for thought....
In The Guardian’s Bride by Laurie Paige, our VIRGIN BRIDES title, a 20-year-old heiress sets out to many her older, wealthy—gorgeous—guardian. Problem is, he thinks she’s too young.... The Cowboy, the Baby and the Bride-to-Be is Cara Colter’s newest book, where a shy beauty reunites a lonely cowboy with his baby nephew...and lassoes love in the process! Karen Rose Smith’s new miniseries, DO YOU TAKE THIS STRANGER?, premieres with Wealth, Power and a Proper Wife. An all-work-and-no-play millionaire learns the value of his marriage vows when the wife he’d suspected of betraying him suffers a bout of amnesia.
Rounding out the month, we have Her Best Man by Christine Scott, part of the MEN! promotion, featuring a powerful tycoon who heroically offers protection to a struggling single mom. In Honey of a Husband by Laura Anthony, an ex-bull rider returns home to discover his childhood sweetheart is raising his child—by another woman. Finally, rising star Elizabeth Harbison returns to the lineup with True Love Ranch, where a city gal and a single-dad rancher lock horns—and live up to the Colorado spread’s name.
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor Silhouette Romance
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
www.millsandboon.co.uk
To Annie Jones and Natalie Patrick
both excellent writers...and one heck of a great friend.
ELIZABETH HARBISON
first thought of becoming a writer in sixth grade, when she would stay up well past midnight reading Nancy Drew and Trixie Beldon books under the covers by flashlight. The idea became a decision when she discovered the books of Mary Stewart and Dorothy Eden, and realized that writing would be a really fun thing to do for a living.
She studied literature and art history at the University of Maryland and the University of London, Birbeck College. She’s been back to England once since college and is eager to return again, and possibly even set a book there.
The author of several cookbooks, Elizabeth spends her spare time cooking, reading, walking and shopping for new books. As for romance, her fairy-tale dreams came true in 1994 when she married her real-life hero, John, a musician and illustrator. They currently reside in Germantown, Maryland, with their daughter, Mary Paige, and dog, Bailey.
Elizabeth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 1636, Germantown, MD 20875-1636.
October 7, 1997
Ms. Darcy Beckett
3631 Dasher Street #4
Boston, MA
Dear Ms. Beckett,
As you are no doubt aware, R. Kenneth Beckett passed away on October 6 of this year.
You are a beneficiary in his will, which will be read on Friday, October 22, at noon. This meeting will take place on Mr. Beckett’s property, known as the “True Love Ranch,” in Holt, Colorado. If at all possible, please come to that reading...but beware—the True Love Ranch is thought to have magical powers for reuniting former lovers....
I look forward to meeting you.
Sincerely,
Edward J. Connor, Esq.
Attorney for Mr. R. Kenneth Beckett
* Cindy, please make a duplicate
letter and send it to
Mr. Joseph Tyler
R.R. 8, Box 92
Holt, CO
Thanks,
Edward
Prologue
“Darcy, honey, can you finish making the pies? If I don’t get out and help the men set up outside this is going to be the most sparse Fourth of July party ever.”
Anthea Cox had worked as the housekeeper and general caretaker on Darcy’s grandfather’s ranch for as long as she could remember.
“Sure, Anthea.” Darcy Beckett looked out the window. Eight hired hands, her grandfather and Anthea’s husband, Hank, were milling about rather aimlessly. “You tell them, Anthea. We women shouldn’t have to do all the work.”
Anthea put her arm around Darcy’s shoulder and gave her a warm hug. “That’s right, child. You remember that. Men and women should share responsibilities in this life, as well as pleasures.”
Darcy flushed at her private thought of pleasure and took another look outside. Where was Joe? The youngest—and strongest, Darcy thought proudly—of Kenneth Beckett’s hired hands, Joe Tyler was always roped into tasks like this. She’d seen him there a few minutes ago.
“Looking for someone?” Anthea asked over her shoulder.
“I’m just looking out the window.” Darcy’s skin tingled with anticipation.
Anthea gave her a knowing look. “Don’t see that Tyler boy out there.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Pity. You’d have such a fine view from here.”
Darcy’s face grew hot, but she laughed. “You always could see right through me.”
Anthea went to the refrigerator and took out a chilled lump of pastry dough for the pies. “Just see to it that your grandfather doesn’t see through you that way.”
“He doesn’t understand anything about love,” Darcy said miserably. She knew if her grandfather found out about her and Joe, the consequences would be dire.
“He knows a thing or two, but he can be a little too...vehement. At times.”
“Mean is more the word.”
“He’s just looking out for you.” Anthea put a sympathetic hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “He doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m old enough to take care of myself.”
Anthea smiled. “At your age, I thought I knew all about love, too. I didn’t.”
There was a whoop of laughter from the men outside and Anthea flashed an impatient look in that direction. “I’d better get out there. Folks’ll be coming in an hour.”
Darcy took the chilled dough and began pressing it down with the heel of her hand. “I’ll take care of this, don’t worry.”
Anthea bustled out the kitchen door. As soon as she was gone, Darcy sighed and allowed herself a moment’s indulgence in thinking about Joe. Last night had been magical. Better than she’d ever imagined it could be.... She shivered with remembered pleasure. She knew about love, all right.
She picked up the apron and moved back to the window. Where was Joe anyway? Just as she was reaching behind her to tie the straps, she felt hands on hers. “Need some help, ma’am?” Joe asked, close to her ear.
She whirled to face him. “We shouldn’t be in here alone together, you know.”
He reached behind her to tie the straps. “I’m only helping a lady in distress.” He stopped tying and rested his hands on her lower back.
“Is that all you’re doing?” she teased.
“That and kissing my future wife.” He lowered his mouth onto hers and kissed her. Darcy’s passions flared, quickly reaching a state close to what she’d felt last night.
She pulled back, breathless. “W-wife?”
“Sure. You knew I’d make an honest woman of you, didn’t you?”
She swallowed. “When?”
“How long before you’re eighteen?” He gave a devilish smile. He knew dam well her birthday was in September—it was the day after his.
Her heart thundered in her ears. “Do you mean it?”
“More than anything.” He kissed her again. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”
“Joe—”
“Say yes or I’ll die.”
She smiled. “Well...”
“Darce, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.” His eyes burned with sincerity. “Do you love me?”
She looked down. He loved her! Her knees began to shake. “Yes,” she said, looking back at him. “I love you.”
Something crossed his expression then: a boyish relief mingled with joy. “Then say yes.”
“Yes.”
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, deeply. “How about we get ourselves a place just like this?”
“Like the ranch?”
“Like all of this.” He swept his arm across the room. “You look good in this kitchen. I can see you here, making breakfast for me and the kids—”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Kids?”
He nodded. “Two or three of them. That okay with you?”
“I always wanted two kids,” she said wistfully. “A boy and a girl.”
He tipped an imaginary hat. “I’ll do my best to help you out with that dream, ma’am.”
She gave a tremulous smile. “If last night is an example of your help, I’ll look forward to it.”
“Last night was just the tip of the iceberg,” he murmured and lowered his mouth onto hers again.
Her body flamed to life. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body along the length of his. She felt so safe in his embrace, so warm, so happy.
“What the hell is going on here?” a voice boomed from the doorway.
Darcy sprang back and looked, with horror, at the source of the angry demand.
It was her grandfather.
Chapter One
“Come on, get out of the way!” Darcy glanced at her watch, then leaned on the horn of her dilapidated luxury car for the second time. “Let’s get moving here.”
Ahead of her, the brake lights on the pale blue pickup flared red, and the vehicle stopped. Stopped? That wasn’t the response she’d been after.
Inside the truck, the driver moved as though to get out.
Darcy’s breath caught in her throat. Boy she may have just aggravated the wrong guy. She looked around. The rough road that led to T.L. Ranch had barely enough room for one car and certainly no room for her to go around him. And she couldn’t back up. The reverse gear had broken a week ago, and she’d been using the Fred Flintstone method ever since. She wasn’t about to open the door now....
The driver’s door of the pickup opened.
Darcy straightened her back and carefully reached for her purse on the seat next to her. Coming from Chicago, she knew not to take any chances with angry strangers. She had a stun gun and pepper spray at the ready at all times. Which should it be?
A booted leg extended out of the truck. And it was a big boot.
Pepper spray, Darcy decided.
She watched with bated breath as the driver unfolded himself from the truck. He straightened up to nearly seven feet tall, or so it seemed to her.
His hair was as black as licorice under a battered Stetson, and longish at the collar. His pale eyes narrowed when they touched upon her. If he weren’t coming at her in that sinister way, she might have thought he was attractive—in a rustic sort of way. Faded denims, a Levi’s shirt and scuffed leather boots completed the intimidating picture. He looked like an angry Paul Bunyan.
He walked slowly and steadily toward her. He wasn’t as tall as she’d originally guessed; he was probably just over six feet, but his commanding air made him seem taller.
. As he got closer, she realized he looked vaguely familiar. But how could that be? She hadn’t been to her grandfather’s ranch for ten years—since she was seventeen years old, and back then... Her heart pounded with a mixture of dread and excitement. Could it possibly be him?
No, surely he had left when she did.
Darcy glanced at the half-open window and pressed on the broken automatic-close button, knowing that it hadn’t worked for a month. The cold November wind whipping around the inside of the car was a testament to that. But paying to have it fixed had fallen somewhere after eating on her hierarchy of needs.
She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.
“You need something?” a deep voice asked.
She opened one eye and looked into the face of the truck driver. Her chest constricted. It looked like him, that was for sure. But it was just too far-fetched. He was long gone. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m trying to figure out what it is you need.” One side of his mouth twitched toward a smile but didn’t quite make it. The brim of his hat was low over his brow, shading his features.
“What I need?” she repeated dumbly.
He pushed the rim of his hat up and she went still with shock. It had to be him. There couldn’t be another man in the world who looked so like him. Faint laugh lines around his eyes made him a little less familiar than he would have been with the boyishly smooth skin she remembered. But it was him; she knew it.
“I heard your horn.” His voice was lower, a little huskier than she expected. “Thought you might be signaling some distress.” His mouth twitched into a half smile now. “Especially when it kept happening.” He hesitated and scrutinized her. “Is everything all right?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
“I’m—It’s fine,” she said, feeling her face warm.
“Wait just a minute.” He leaned closer and her heart skipped a beat. “Are you who I think you are?”
It was him. Joe Tyler.
“I’m not sure...” she said vaguely, her heart pounding a furious beat that he could probably hear from a distance of three feet. “You are...?”
Of course she already knew the answer. He was Joseph Emory Tyler, though he hated his middle name. Favorite color: blue. Favorite dessert: chocolate pudding. Favorite rock group: the Beatles. Favorite sport: steer wrestling at the rodeo. They’d spent many long ago hours arguing over whether or not it was a humane sport. He’d wanted to be famous for it one day. In the meantime he was going to try to finish his college education in order to have something “to fall back on if the rodeo thing doesn’t work out.” He hated spinach, but ate it because he’d bought into the whole Popeye myth years before. He loved beef but hated pork—except sausages and bacon.
A long time ago, Darcy had adored him enough to... well, that didn’t matter now. Maybe it had never mattered. It certainly hadn’t mattered to him—that was clear then and it was just as clear now. Maybe more, since he was still here.
She swallowed her bitterness. That was history now. Her anger could only hurt her. She took a long breath, inwardly counting to five. She knew her face was a self-conscious blotchy red.
“Darcy Beckett?” he said, solidly confirming his recollection. “Little Darcy Beckett?”
She gave a shuddering sigh. Hearing him say her name did nothing to still her reaction. And he remembered the moniker that had made her so impatient back then. All of her grandfather’s friends and employees, who’d known her since she was a baby, called her Little Darcy Beckett, but only Joe had done it in a low, teasing way. Then and now.
“Joe Tyler, right?” She hoped she sounded nonchalant.
He touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “How the hell have you been?”
“Fine,” she said, a little too curtly. She thought of all the ways in which life had not been fine, but forced a smile. “How about you?” What in the world are you still doing here? she demanded silently.
“Just great.” He shook his head again and gave a low whistle. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Darcy. Welcome back to the T.L. Ranch.” Was it her imagination or was his voice tinged with irony?
Anyway, just who did he think he was, welcoming her back to her own grandfather’s ranch? It was the closest thing she’d ever had to a real home, and yet she’d been sent away from it because of Joe Tyler. Now, here he was, welcoming her back in that lord-of-the-manner way of his. “It’s good to finally be back,” she said, hoping he noticed the chill in her tone.
Clearly unaware of the feelings churning inside her, Joe continued, “I guess you’re here because of the will.”
“That’s right.”
“Me, too.”
Her heart pounded. “You?”
He nodded.
“Why?” Her voice sounded sharp, even to her own ears.
“I got a letter from the lawyer telling me to be there at four o’clock.” He raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I’m usually there anyway—”
“Don’t tell me you still work at the ranch.” She tried to sound casual, as if she weren’t grinding it out from between her teeth. Which she was.
“I do. Been there for twelve years now.” He paused, and she wondered how much he knew about her estrangement from her grandfather. “I’m surprised your grandfather never mentioned it.”
Shame burned in her cheeks. “We...didn’t talk much in the last few years.” Did he really not know that? Or was he baiting her, trying to get her to admit she’d lost touch?
Joe frowned, then his expression cleared. “That’s right.” He snapped his fingers. “Now I remember the story. You ran off and married that guy no one liked. Whole family was mad at you.”
It was an accurate description, except he didn’t mention the divorce. She gave a noncommittal nod.
Joe clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You and Ken stopped speaking all those years because of that?”
“It seemed best at the time.” She didn’t add that she’d tried to telephone Kenneth Beckett about fifty times in those first couple of years, but that he’d never taken her calls. She also didn’t add that her Christmas cards had come back unopened. She couldn’t bear to admit she hadn’t even known her grandfather was ill, and she also didn’t add that she’d hesitated even to come to the reading of the will for fear he’d left her a bag of coal as his final I-told-you-so.
Joe raised an eyebrow. “So where’s your husband now?”
“My ex-husband, you mean.”
She could have sworn a look of mild surprise came into his eyes.
“The divorce just recently became final.” Though she had known Brandon wasn’t Prince Charming when she had married him, she had hoped that fact would protect her. If she didn’t love him, how could he hurt her? She now knew how foolish that idea was. “And as for where he is, I don’t know.” Though she wished she did. Or, more specifically, she wished she knew where her money—which he had helped himself to upon his exit—was.
Joe regarded her for a moment, then with a very small inclination of the head, he said, “I’m sorry to hear it.”
She shrugged. “It’s almost time for the meeting.” She gestured at her watch. “We don’t want to be late.”
“Right. Sure.” After one final moment’s perusal, he turned and headed back toward the truck. Darcy wondered if he could be completely unaware of how attractive he was viewed from the back, in his faded jeans and scuffed boots. Her heart flipped stupidly, just as it had so many times that summer when she was seventeen. The cool breeze lifted, carrying the familiar scent of the woods—like a ghost from her memory.
Darcy watched Joe for a moment, feeling a deep purple melancholy settle over her like a cloud. Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them away. Then she picked up the carefully folded lawyer’s letter that was on the seat next to her and tried to concentrate. As if anything would stop the memories and the longing now that she was going to have to see Joe again. She unfolded the letter and glanced at the hand-drawn map on the back. She should remember the way, but it had been so long.
She could follow Joe, but pride compelled her to find the way for herself. She continued to look at the map. There was a broken-down shack somewhere up here or the right, but she couldn’t recall such a thing. It was just one more reminder of how long it had been since she’d been at the ranch.
She looked back at the blue pickup, which had resumed its pitiful gait. It was deliberate, she knew. Joe hadn’t changed much at all, now that she thought about it. He’d always been able to goad her more effectively than anyone.
The trick was to ignore him.
She thought about the ranch and wondered what would become of it. The lawyer’s letter certainly made it sound as though it was her inheritance, but she couldn’t believe that, given her grandfather’s attitude toward her. She sighed. At least the letter said she could stay on for a while. That would give her a few days to regroup and plan the rest of her trip to California. Maybe she could even find a mechanic who would give her car the once-over without charging too much.
But then she’d be moving on. She’d spent too long in Chicago as it was—nearly five years. It was the longest Darcy had ever spent in one city. After the divorce, her friend Melanie, in San Diego, had said Darcy could share her place until she got on her feet. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but Darcy was running out of options.
She’d spend a few days here—maybe a week—then move on. Forever. This wasn’t home. That was just an illusion she’d created because it was out of her grasp. As long as the T.L. Ranch remained the single great bastion of home and safety in her mind, she would never be able to move forward. Once she’d spent a little time here, worked out some of her inner demons, she would be free of Colorado, the ranch, and memories of that summer with Joe Tyler... forever.
Then she’d be free to work on the Menger’s grant scholarship program in San Diego. Louis Menger had been trying to get her on the project, which provided scholarships for inner-city teenagers, for three years. He was getting older now, and Darcy feared the scholarship program might falter if Louis stopped heading it and left the reins to someone else. It had been her father’s pet project before he died, and Louis had long wanted Darcy to take it over.
The idea had always appealed to her, too. But her husband hadn’t had much respect for any kind of nonprofit organization so she put it off. Now it sounded like the perfect project to sink her energies into. Darcy liked the idea of being responsible for helping to educate bright, worthy kids who might otherwise get lost in the system.
She wanted to make a difference in people’s lives.
But she was going to do it by herself. Louis Menger might be offering her a job, but she was going to have to start her life on her own, without help. She was going to make a home for herself, without a man.
And she wouldn’t let Joe Tyler—or her former, perhaps unresolved, feelings for him—get in the way.
She took a deep breath and felt the energy of possibility surge through her. For the first time in years she felt as though things really were going to work out for her. She had a purpose, a goal—and she was heading for it full speed.