Family on the Range

A Second Chance

A quiet ranch in the Oregon desert gives Mary O’Roarke the solace she craves after a painful childhood. Concealing her growing feelings for her boss, government agent Lou Riley, is a small price to pay. Then an abandoned little girl is placed in Mary’s care, awakening dreams she’s all but forgotten.

In all the years Lou has known her, how could he not have noticed Mary’s courage and warmth? Seeing her care for a child is a bittersweet reminder of the lonely widower’s loss. But if Mary won’t give up on young Josie—not even when real danger approaches—then Lou can’t give up on bringing this unlikely family together for good.

“This never could have lasted,” Lou said gently.

“It just felt so blissful, so perfect.” He felt Mary’s stare. “I’ve been…lonely, I suppose.”

“Since Gracie and Trevor left?”

“No.”

He glanced at her then pulled the wheel to the side to avoid a shrub growing in the middle of the rough desert road.

“For years now, I think,” she continued. “It took meeting Gracie to realize I was nothing but a shadow of a person. And now, seeing Trevor so happy and fulfilled, it’s as though a light has been cast on this deep, hollow well that’s my life.”

Lou frowned. She talked like he and James meant nothing to her. “You might want to explain, because I’ve always liked having you at the ranch. James and I depend on you.”

“You’ve both been blessings. A sanctuary for my soul. But what you’ve liked hasn’t been me. It’s been good food and clean clothes.”

“That’s a bunch of hogwash.”

“Is it?”

He swerved to the side of the road and slammed the brakes. “You better believe it.”

JESSICA NELSON,

in keeping with her romantic inclinations, married two days after she graduated high school. She believes romance happens every day and thinks the greatest, most intense romance comes from a God who woos people to himself with passionate tenderness. When Jessica is not chasing her three beautiful, wild little boys around the living room, she can be found staring into space as she plots her next story. Or she might be daydreaming about a raspberry mocha from Starbucks. Or thinking about what kind of chocolate she should have for dinner that night. She could be thinking of any number of things, really. One thing is for certain, she is blessed with a wonderful family and a lovely life.

Family on the Range

Jessica Nelson

He shall call upon me, and I will answer him:

I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him.

—Psalms 91:15

Dedicated to my sister Josephine, who has Mary’s heart. And to my niece Jayla, who is Josie.

Contents

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Chapter One

June 1920

Oregon

“Bag the body and don’t forget to ink his prints.” Special Agent Lou Riley moved away from the man who had met his demise in the bowels of an illegal liquor operation. He slipped Wrigley’s peppermint gum into his mouth and gnawed on it as he thought through his circumstances.

This dead witness meant more time on assignment trying to track down the one who’d hired the foreign bootlegger to do his dirty work.

Prohibition in Oregon wasn’t a thing to be trifled with. After a decade of chasing murderers, traitors and thieves in his job as special agent for the Bureau of Investigation, Lou guessed helping the local police track speakeasies and distilleries served him well enough.

Better than the more dangerous spying he’d done until this past year.

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the stress of a hard day’s work combined with personal pressures. Day before last he’d left his secluded ranch to tackle this assignment. His housekeeper, Mary, had everything under control at home, but he couldn’t shake his unease. Over a year ago his niece and his best friend, Trevor, had married, and ever since he’d been thinking about the past. About people long gone. And lately, when he saw Mary, a strange tension filled him, which was odd because they’d always had an easygoing rapport in the twelve years she’d been his employee.

Not that his job ever kept him home with her for long.

Grimacing at the kink in his left shoulder, he wheeled around and left the dim building. An overcast afternoon greeted him, heavy with mist and promising rain. He nodded to one of his field agents as he picked his way to the bureau’s automobile.

Summers in Oregon weren’t exactly sunny. Not warm, either. He missed the aridness of his home in east Oregon, the openness of the desert range. Small cities like this one tended to weigh him down with memories. Buildings pressed in on him....

He shrugged the morbidity away.

Every time he went home, saw Mary, he left feeling this way. Maybe it was her trusting smile or the way her eyes lit with welcome when he walked in the door. Like someone else’s long ago. Mary’s look stirred up memories, blew the dust of time off them—he stopped himself, stuttering to a halt near a gutter. He couldn’t go there. Not ever again.

“Hey, mister!”

Lou turned slowly at the intrusion, his hand moving to the weapon at his hip beneath his coat. “You talking to me?”

“That’s right.” A shadow slid out from an alley to Lou’s left, heavy Irish accent lilting the man’s syllables. “You the agent in charge down the road?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I got information on who was supplying the gig down there.” The man moved closer, and Lou caught a whiff of sour fish as well as a glimpse of green eyes and blond mustache.

“Let’s take this downtown. Put it on paper.” That pesky muscle cramped in Lou’s back again and he fought not to wince. He was thirty-six years old, but he felt sixty today.

“I’ll just slip you the information here, quiet-like.”

Lou’s brows lowered. He looked down the street. His agents were busy coordinating the bust, but something felt off. Every instinct warned him to draw his weapon.

He never discounted his instincts.

Drawing his revolver, he beckoned the man. “Come into the light.”

“And get pinned for bootleggin’? Not on your life, mister.”

“Then stay right there. I’ll get a pen and—”

“This won’t take long.” The man pulled back suddenly.

Lou’s skin prickled.

Shadows closed over where the man had been as he slipped from view. Alert, Lou spun away from the blond and faced the road. A sharp ping split the night before his chest caught fire in a familiar, unwelcome sensation.

Pivoting, he backed into the shadows. Shouts from down the road reached his hearing, but whoever had shot him took off. The sound of the shooter’s footsteps was distinctive, a smart uneven clip of metal against cobblestone. Almost like spurs.... The sound faded, merging with other, faster steps.

His shoulder burned. He groaned as the strength left his legs.

This was real bad. Worse than a shot in the leg or shoulder. Body numbing, he crumpled to the ground. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. The sounds around him muffled and the last image he saw was Mary’s dark eyes, the curve of her lips when she opened the door to welcome him home.

Would he see her again?

* * *

Loneliness never killed a person.

Or so Mary O’Roarke tried to tell herself as she mentally prepared for a visit with her mother. Surely once she stated her wishes, her mother would then see reason and quit insisting on living by herself.

Oregon’s summer sun rolled above Mary, hot though not quite to its zenith. She slowed her mare outside the Paiute encampment where her mother lived. Alone. With no one to rely on. It was not the way an elderly woman should live, and she’d told her mother so many times.

Only now did she have the means with which to help her, and no one could stop her, not even her stubborn employer who owned the ranch where she worked and, until recently, lived. She’d bought an old friend’s house next to the ranch, the first home she’d ever owned in all her thirty years, and maybe that might convince her mother to come back with her.

Feeling hopeful, Mary turned the horse in the direction of her mother’s dwelling.

The encampment consisted of tents and campfires. The odor of rabbit flesh hung in the air. The government did not appear to care that native Paiutes preferred homes made from various woods and sagebrush, and instead provided them with only the means to make tepees. Mary nodded to those she passed. Some wore the rabbit robes for which her mother’s people were known. Others, mostly men, dressed in the white man’s garb. Trousers, hats.

She came to her mother’s tepee and dismounted. No hitching post for her mare, so she tied the reins to a straggly shrub nearby. Children whispered and giggled, circling but not coming close. A stray dog loped over and the children chased it, their ill-fitting clothes doing nothing to hinder their laughter.

A wistful smile pulled at Mary’s lips. She’d longed to have children many years ago. Before the trauma of her past had wrenched her from any chance of a normal life. Perhaps she’d grown too old now, too set in her ways.... She certainly knew nothing about the ways of motherhood. Sighing, she bent near the entrance of her mother’s tent.

“It’s Mary. I’ve come to visit.”

A rustle ensued. Then the grunt that was Rose’s answer. Mary twisted the flap to the side and entered the tent. The interior never failed to elicit a strange sense of distance. This was her mother’s life now, a return to her roots, but it had never been Mary’s life. The setting filled her with disquiet and a peculiar sense of displacement.

As a child she’d lived in the white man’s world. Her father was Irish and while he worked the docks, her mother had used her beauty to bring in money at various brothels. It had been an odd childhood, full of travel and sporadic learning. When she was twelve, her father had abandoned them, followed shortly by her mother.

Tasting bitterness, Mary swallowed and prayed for peace.

“You brought me something?” Her mother sat to the side, high cheekbones cloaked with lined, leathery skin. The map of her broken life.

“Yes, willow and sagebrush bark.” She placed the offerings next to the stack of intricate baskets Rose weaved to sell.

They lapsed into awkward conversation. Mostly talk of weather.

“I have my own home,” she told her mother at last, warming to her subject. This was why she’d come. To coax Rose into living with her. At her mother’s look of surprise, Mary continued, “I’ve bought Trevor’s house. Now that he’s married, he plans to find a place in town for when he and Gracie don’t stay at the ranch. I would like you to come live with me.”

An old argument, but she tried again, hoping this to be the day her mother might surrender.

“Interesting,” Rose murmured, stroking the thick rabbit robe on her lap. “Now you will be alone with your employer?”

“Lou?”

“You have great besa soobedda for him.”

“A what?” Though Mary spoke some Paiute, she wasn’t fluent and disliked when her mother used language she hadn’t taught her only daughter.

A crooked smile lifted the corner of Rose’s lips. “Besa soobedda is love, the sweet emotional bond between a man and his wife.”

Mary stiffened as a peculiar heat seeped through her. She’d lived at the ranch for twelve years and never had she entertained such a thought about her employer. Granted, he was charming and funny. He had hired her as his housekeeper when she was eighteen, offering his home as a refuge after she’d been rescued from the notorious slave trader Mendez. Lou’s kindness would never be forgotten. But love?

“We have no such love,” she denied. “I feel a sister’s affection for him.” Even as she spoke, she wondered if that was true. When she’d told him goodbye yesterday, there had been the oddest regret creeping through her. Unnerved, she continued, “I should leave if you do not wish to come with me at this time.”

“Wait!” Her mother struggled to a standing position, and Mary tried not to cringe at how age and worries had stolen her mother’s strength. Perhaps loneliness would not kill her mother but rather another more obvious ailment. She swallowed hard at the thought.

Rose shuffled toward a trunk at the other side of the tepee. Bending, she opened it. “I have something for you.”

“I want you to come home with me. I need nothing else.”

“This is important.”

A small blond head popped up out of the trunk. “Hiya!”

Mary started. “What is that?”

“I’m a little girl.” The child clambered out of the trunk and gave Mary a decidedly mischievous smirk. “Are you going to be my mother?”

Startled, Mary groped for words. Finally, she said, “I’m not a mother to anyone.”

“Oh, but I need one. Just for a bit, you see, until I go home to my real mama.” The girl shot a cheeky, gap-toothed grin up at Rose, who reached down to stroke the girl’s head.

The movement snapped Mary from her shocked paralysis. “You have someone’s child? Do you know the penalty for such a thing?”

Rose met her accusation with a steady look. “She is in danger. You have a home apart from Lou now. You can hide her.”

“No.” She shook her head, feeling her braid swing against her back. “No, I can’t do it.”

“My daughter, I need you.” Her mother shuffled forward. “I cannot keep her much longer.”

Mary glanced at the child, who’d shifted her attention to the baskets and studiously went about picking one apart. “Who is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“My name’s Josie Silver,” the girl put in. “I live in Portland but my mama’s not home right now.”

“Where is she?” Mary asked. “How about your father?”

The girl lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know, and I don’t have a papa. I want to stay here.”

Mary glared at her mother. “Where did you find her?”

“Half-dead near Harney Lake, one week ago.”

She shuddered. “That’s horrible. You should’ve taken her to the authorities.”

Her mother grimaced. “I wasn’t supposed to be out there.”

“Mother.”

“Don’t berate me. You say you follow Jesus. A woman in town says He helps the poor and motherless. This child is that, and I—” Her mother peeked at the girl and lowered her voice. “I’m begging you to hide her until I send word it’s safe.”

“This makes no sense. How do you know she’s not safe?”

“Her guardian has posted a reward for her.”

“You said you didn’t know who she is? Return her.” Mary frowned. Where was the problem if someone had offered a reward? They already knew the child’s mother’s name. Confused and feeling lost in the maze of her mother’s reasoning, she backed toward the door flap.

“I know the guardian,” her mother said quietly. “He is not a man to be trifled with.”

Uncharacteristic impatience rushed through Mary. “Take care of the matter, then.” She had no room, no time, for a child.

I’m afraid.

The thought slammed into her. Tension hovered at the base of her skull, knotting and twining the muscles of her neck.

Her mother moved closer, bringing her once-beautiful features near. “I knew him when you were a child. In my past.”

Mary’s hand flew to her lips, but the movement didn’t stifle her gasp.

“Yes.” Her mother nodded. “Now you understand. He is a bad man, and I do not know why this child lay in the desert like a starved and wounded animal, but I will not return her. He will come looking, and it will be impossible for me to hide her from others.”

“I’ll take her,” Mary said through numb lips.

It was true she could take the child to her new home, but for how long? The girl couldn’t live with her indefinitely. The authorities must be contacted.

What would Lou say about a child near his secluded ranch, a haven he’d created for secret agents of the Bureau of Investigation and not for child rearing?

The little girl stared at her with big eyes, and she winced.

Why should she care what Lou thought? Yes, he employed her to keep his house, but she’d just bought her own home, her first step toward a more independent life. Determination straightened her backbone. If she was going to stop being afraid, to start living again, then she must put Lou and everything he represented behind her.

Could she do that, though?

Thank goodness he wouldn’t be home for several weeks. That gave her time to return Josie to her mother and persuade her own mother to come live with her. Because if Lou were home, he’d protest, and she didn’t know if she had the backbone to stand up for what she thought was right.

Chapter Two

An uncomfortable dryness at the roof of Lou’s mouth woke him. His tongue felt oversize, and his throat worked to swallow. He opened his eyes to find himself in the dark tones of his bedroom. A sense of claustrophobia wrapped galvanizing tentacles around him.

He tried to shove upward, but fierce pain in his chest snatched the breath from his lungs. Forced to lie still, he took shallow breaths while the pulsating daggers near his upper rib cage ebbed. Only thirty-six. It wasn’t fair to feel this way.

“Water,” he croaked.

Movement to his left, and then a firm hand slipped under his neck. Relieved, Lou allowed his head to tip forward so he could drink from the proffered cup.

The hand took the water away too quickly. After resting his head back on the pillow, Mary crossed his line of vision, disappeared, and then reappeared on his right side.

Hair pulled back in a bun, she might’ve passed for any Irish lass but for the duskiness of her skin and the high cheekbones that pronounced her native heritage. As usual, the sight of her stunned Lou for a moment.

His lids lowered and he watched as she bustled with his covers, stretching and straightening. Finally, she patted them, a satisfied look relaxing the line of her full lips. She turned her gaze to him.

Immediately he noted the strange look in her eyes. Normally she appeared serene, gentle, timid even. Today, however, wariness shadowed her gaze, something he’d only seen in her eyes when she dealt with others. Never with him.

He didn’t like that something was wrong with her. He would fix it, whatever it was. Frowning, he ignored the burn in his throat to speak. “Something’s wrong.”

Her eyelids flickered before she turned away. “You’re still thirsty.”

The water she brought him slid down easy, coating the soreness with cool relief. Cleared his head, too, so he could more closely examine the situation. Something was off. Mary’s evasion, that look on her face...

“Help me up,” he said.

She set the cup on his dresser and then returned, sitting at the edge of his bed, just out of reach. Her scent, a strange mix of sage and flowers, filled his senses and taunted him.

“I won’t help you sit up. You might tear your stitches,” she replied. Her pronunciation was technically correct, but an exotic flavor rounded each of her words, courtesy of her trilingual skills.

“How long have I been out?”

“You left the ranch a little less than a week ago. I believe two days into your assignment you were shot and then taken to the hospital. They removed the bullet and telegrammed James.”

Her mention of his ranch hand and long-time friend failed to comfort.

“Did they catch the shooter?”

“No one has told me much. James picked you up from the hospital and brought you here. He drove to town this morning to find supplies to keep your wound clean, but he should be back this afternoon.” Her brow lined. “You have been going in and out of consciousness for days now. How do you feel?”

Confused. He felt confused and bothered.

“Sore,” he answered shortly. “Where’s my M&P?” His Smith & Wesson military and police revolver had kept him company for almost twenty years. He didn’t plan on losing it now.

The lines in her forehead deepened. “I put it somewhere safe.”

He pushed up, purpose fueling his movement. His vision blackened for a moment as his upper body throbbed with pain, but he ignored the sensation.

“Bring it to me,” he managed to say.

“You can’t move like that.” Mary leaned over him, her features drawn with worry. “You almost died. Someone tried to kill you, and that’s why the bureau decided it was best to get you here, to the safe house. You are on temporary leave until you recover.”

Lou closed his eyes and waited for the nausea and torturous aches in his body to pass. This couldn’t be happening. He needed his job. The last place he wanted to be stuck at was the ranch.

“Let me give you some pain medication.” Mary’s voice drifted over him.

“No,” he said, voice rough. “Not yet. This place isn’t safe.”

“Mendez is dead.”

Lou forced his eyes to open when what he wanted more than anything was to sleep. “He might’ve passed our location on to one of his buddies.”

Twelve years ago, Mary had been kidnapped by a man called Mendez. She’d been his first kidnapping and, thankfully, had been rescued by government agent Striker, aka Lou’s friend Trevor, before Mendez could sell her.

Unfortunately, her rescue hadn’t stopped Mendez from becoming a notorious slave trader, known for trafficking women down to Mexico.

Trevor spent the next ten years as a shadow, tracking Mendez and rescuing what women he could while hiding behind his nickname, Striker. And Mendez had developed an obsession to pay Striker back for foiling his moneymaking kidnapping schemes. Out of fear, and knowing Mendez wanted to use Mary to draw Striker out from his anonymity, she’d been hiding on this ranch until two Christmases ago, when Mendez had found her again. He’d attempted to kidnap Mary but had accidentally taken Lou’s niece, Gracie, instead.

Thanks to Gracie’s ingenuity, she’d escaped and had been found by Trevor. Mendez and his men had died of poisoning unrelated to their kidnapping plans, but Lou couldn’t shake the feeling this place wasn’t safe anymore. He didn’t want Mary to see the depth of his worry, though. She had enough burdens to carry.

Feeling exhausted yet unwilling to surrender consciousness, he met her gaze. “Trevor and I buried Mendez. You don’t have to worry about him. But our cover is gone....” He paused for breath. He’d been shot before, stabbed, even, but never had he felt this tired.

“Take the medicine.” A note of stubborn finality crept into her voice. “I will speak with you about this later.”

Lou blinked hard against the tide of sleep pulling his lids closed. Mary wavered in front of him, holding out some foul-smelling concoction. She pressed the spoon against his lips, and he grabbed her wrist. Keeping his gaze pinned on hers, he swallowed but didn’t let go of the delicate bones beneath his fingers.