Courtship In Granite Ridge

Excerpt Letter to Reader About the Author Title Page Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Teaser Chapter Copyright

Her Breath Caught. It Couldn“t Be Him. It Wasn’t Possible.

“Slater?”

“Yeah, Kasey, it’s me.”

Years fell away. She felt seventeen again. Her knees shook as she moved closer and studied his face. Older, a few more lines. He was more rugged, his dark hair a little longer. Different, but so familiar.

“Aw, hell, Kasey.” Slater shook his head as he opened his arms. “Come here, will you?”

With a nervous laugh, she moved into his arms. Tears gathered in her eyes and she blinked them back. He was solid muscle against her, his scent masculine. His touch made her dizzy. How could he have this effect on her after all these years?

She’d obviously never gotten over him. How could she protect her heart a second time around?

Dear Reader,

February, month of valentines, celebrates lovers—which is what Silhouette Desire does every month of the year. So this month, we have an extraspecial lineup of sensual and emotional page-turners. But how do you choose which exciting book to read first when all six stories are asking Be Mine?

Bestselling author Barbara Boswell delivers February’s MAN OF THE MONTH, a gorgeous doctor who insists on being a full-time father to his newly discovered child, in The Brennan Baby. Bride of the Bad Boy is the wonderful first book in Elizabeth Bevarly’s brand-new BLAME IT ON BOB trilogy. Don’t miss this fun story about a marriage of inconvenience!

Cupid slings an arrow at neighboring ranchers in Her Torrid Temporary Marriage by Sara Orwig. Next, a woman’s thirtieth-birthday wish brings her a supersexy cowboy—and an unexpected pregnancy—in The Texan, by Catherine Lanigan. Carole Buck brings red-hot chemistry to the pages of Three-Alarm Love. And Barbara McCauley’s Courtship in Granite Ridge reunites a single mother with the man she’d always loved.

Have a romantic holiday this month—and every month—with Silhouette Desire. Enjoy!

Melissa Senate

Senior Editor

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

About the Author

BARBARA McCAULEY was born and raised in California, and has spent a good portion of her life exploring the mountains, beaches and deserts so abundant there. The youngest of five children, she grew up in a small house, and her only chance for a moment alone was to sneak into the backyard with a book and quietly hide away.

With two children of her own now and a busy household, she still finds herself slipping away to enjoy a good novel. A daydreamer and incurable romantic, she says writing has fulfilled her most incredible dream of all—breathing life into the people in her mind and making them real. She has one loud and demanding Amazon parrot named Fred and a German shepherd named Max. When she can manage the time, she loves to sink her hands into fresh-turned soil and make things grow.

Courtship In Granite Ridge

Barbara McCauley

One

“Hugh Slater, you need to git yerself a woman.”

With a silent groan, Slater kept his nose buried in his newspaper and ignored Digger Jones, hoping that the silver-bearded owner of the Hungry Bear Café would move on to badger another customer. It had been a long, hot day, and all Slater wanted to do was catch up on a week’s worth of mail and newspapers and eat his meal in peace.

No such luck.

“Did you hear me, son?” Digger slid the blue plate special—a two-inch thick T-bone with mashed potatoes smothered in home-style gravy—across the Formicatopped table and slapped down a plate of steaming biscuits. “I said you need to git yerself a woman.”

“Didn’t see them on the menu,” Slater replied dryly, keeping his attention on his paper as he reached for a biscuit

“Don’t you wisecrack me in my own establishment, boy.” Digger straightened his remarkably fit seventytwo-year-old, six-foot-three frame and sniffed indignantly. “You might be bigger and younger than me, but I can still whoop your butt. Just giving a little friendly advice, that’s all.”

Everyone in Cactus Flat knew that one of Digger’s meals always came with advice or criticism, most often both. They also knew—as did Digger—that there was no place to get a better steak or apple cobbler in all of West Texas. And since Slater had his eye on a piece of that cobbler after his meal, he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Digger, on the other hand, didn’t.

“’Bout time you settled down, son.” Digger ignored the ring of the cook’s bell that the next order was up. “What are you, thirty-two, thirty-three?”

“Thirty-four.” Not that it mattered, Slater thought irritably. He had no intention of “settling down.” Not now. Not ever. Even the ten months he’d been here in Cactus Flat working as foreman on the Stone Creek Oil rigs was a record for him. He was feeling anxious lately, restless. He knew it was time to move on and had already accepted a new job in Alaska on a rig there. Stone Creek Oil was on a month hiatus after ten months of nonstop drilling on four rigs, and Slater figured now was as good a time as any to leave. He’d planned on telling Jared Stone today, but Jared, who was not only his boss, but also his friend, wasn’t going to like it.

“Thirty-four? That old, huh?” Digger shook his head pitifully. “Man your age needs a sweet young thing and a passel of kids to come home to every night.”

Slater frowned and glanced at Digger over the top of his newspaper. “I don’t see a ring on your hand.”

“Exactly my point.” Digger emphasized his statement by pointing a long, thick-knuckled finger. “I spent my life prospecting one claim after another, moving from one mine to the next, just like you with your oil wells. I was a damned fool. Don’t want to see the same thing happen to you, boy, that’s all.”

“Hey, Cupid, you gonna jack the jaw all night?” Floyd Perkins bellowed from the corner booth. “A man could grow old waitin’ for a cup a coffee ’round here.”

“Somethin’ wrong with your legs, Perkins?” Digger hollered back. “Slater and me are having a conversation.”

“Sounds more like you’re the one having the conversation,” Floyd grumbled. “Why don’t you leave that poor boy to read his paper and eat his meal in peace?”

“What paper you reading that’s so dang interesting?” Digger squinted and leaned close. “The Granite Ridge Gazette. Why in tarnation you readin’ that? Granite Ridge is five hundred miles from here.”

Slater ground his back teeth together. He should have known better than to expect any privacy here. What he read and why was his business, and he had no intention of sharing that business with anyone—especially Digger Jones.

“You know somebody there?” Digger kept on. “I hear they got some fine horse ranches down that way, especially quarter horses. Joe Stovall bought two cutters from a fellow named—” he rubbed thoughtfully at his chin “—hell, what was his name...Jack something...”

Slater braced himself.

The cook’s bell rang persistently, cutting off Digger’s train of thought. He turned sharply and growled at the intrusion. “All right, already. I’m coming. Stop yer clanging.”

With a sigh of relief, Slater watched Digger shuffle off, then settled back into the booth, struggling to fit his long legs under the tabletop. He stared at the paper in front of him, at the familiar names and faces.

Granite Ridge.

For the past ten years, since he’d left his hometown, the Gazette had followed him across the country: Oklahoma, New Mexico, Washington and now back to Texas. The only time he hadn’t received the paper was during his stint in Venezuela. The rig he’d been working on there had been too remote to receive mail with any dependability, so he’d let it lapse those months, then immediately started it up again when he’d returned to the States. Whether for some morbid kind of punishment—a reminder of all the things he could never have, that he never did have—simple curiosity or just plain habit, he didn’t know or care.

Thankful that Digger was busy harassing Pete Walker for his lack of attendance at the last town meeting, Slater scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes and turned his attention back to the front page of his paper. The top stories of the past week were Mary Lou Hebbit’s—assisted by her husband, Bobby Joe Hebbit—giving birth to twin girls in the flatbed of a hay truck, and the Hackett brothers’ assigned twenty hours’ community service for being drunk and disorderly.

Slater seemed to recall a few nights that he’d spent with Bobby and Billy Hackett himself. The brothers had played in the bars as hard as they’d worked on their daddy’s farm, but always showed up for church on Sundays and were the first to volunteer for the town’s annual Ladies’ Auxiliary carnival and auction. If anyone needed to “git himself a woman,” Slater thought with a smile, it was definitely those boys.

He skimmed the city council and agriculture reports, then paused at the wedding section, which had one entry: Millie Johnson and Todd Overby were engaged and getting married in two weeks. Millie and Todd? Slater shook his head as he took a sip of coffee. They’d practically been babies when he’d left. How could they be old enough to get married?

With a sigh, he moved on to the obituaries, thankful at least, that column was empty. He took another sip of coffee and started to fold the paper when the bottom of the last page, an assortment of classified ads and personals, caught his attention.

Wanted: One Husband. Not too old. Must like kids. List good qualities. Call Kasey at the Double D Ranch—555-4832 or send picture to 684 Marva Lane, Granite Ridge, TX.

He nearly choked. Coffee sloshed over the sides of his cup as he slammed it down.

Kasey...as in Kasey Donovan?

He shook off the coffee he’d spilled onto his paper and looked at the ad again. Good God! He had read it right. It was Kasey.

Kasey Donovan had been his sister Jeanie’s best friend since they’d been six. They’d been inseparable. Kasey, with her wild red hair, vibrant green eyes and a ready-to-take-on-the-world attitude, had been a sharp contrast to Jeanie’s silky blond hair, pale blue eyes and quiet acceptance of whatever life dealt her. Which, Slater thought with a tightening in his gut, had been one lousy hand after another. She’d learned young that life wasn’t fair. They both had.

He missed her. God, how he missed her.

He let the pain roll through him, then shook it off and stared at the newspaper again. Kasey Donovan. With her bright laugh and enthusiasm for life, she emerged from a dark past like a rainbow after the storm.

He’d lost track of her after he’d left Granite Ridge, though he had read that after she’d graduated high school she’d married some hotshot journalist and moved to New York. Obviously if she was looking for a husband, that hadn’t worked out. Then four years later her mother had died after a long illness, six months after that, her father from a heart attack. Slater had been in Venezuela at the time and hadn’t heard until he’d gotten back to the States. By the time he’d called, the phone had been disconnected.

The Donovans had been like some kind of a TV family. Always there for each other, loving...accepting. Mrs. Donovan had been the mother Jeanie had lost when she was two, and, Slater recalled with a smile, Mr. and Mrs. Donovan had both treated him as a son, too. Kasey’s mother would always insist he stay for dinner every time he came to pick up Jeanie, then afterward Mr. Donovan would discuss the latest issue of Rancher’s Digest over a cup of strong black coffee, asking Slater his opinion or advice on horse breeding.

Something Slater’s own father had never done.

The Donovans had been Slater’s only regret when he’d left Granite Ridge. His only regret even still.

And now Kasey was advertising for a husband?

He shook his head at the thought. Kasey. His little Kasey. He’d taught her how to ride a bike, helped her with her science homework. At fifteen she’d been all arms and legs and a mouthful of braces. At seventeen, when he’d left, she’d emerged a young woman with curves that had every male drooling and every female turning a lovely shade of green.

And now, here he was, ten years later.

And here was Kasey.

Obviously she was in a serious situation if she was advertising for a husband. But whatever her problem might be, there had to be another solution than marrying a stranger.

“Slater!” Digger’s loud exclamation from the other side of the diner brought Slater’s head up. “Jack Slater, from the Bar S. That was that big rancher’s name.”

Slater’s back stiffened at the name he hadn’t said in ten years.

Coffeepot in hand, Digger moved beside the booth and refilled Slater’s cup. “Hey, he must be a kin of yours. Brother, maybe? Cousin?”

Digger had a hold of the bone now, and Slater knew the old man wouldn’t let go. So let him have it What difference did it make?

“Father,” Slater said evenly, and took a sip of coffee.

“No kidding.” Digger whistled. “And all this time we thought you had no family.”

I don’t, Slater thought. Not with Jack Slater, anyway.

Ignoring Digger’s rattling on about fathers and sons, Slater stared at Kasey’s ad again. Jeanie’s death had been as hard on Kasey as it had him. He’d walked out on her ten years ago and let her down. He had an opportunity to make up for that now.

Right or wrong, mistake or not, he was going back. Even if it meant he’d have to see Jack Slater again.

Something very strange was going on.

It wasn’t just the stares she’d gotten at the market in town, Kasey thought as she pulled her pickup off the main road and headed down the gravel drive that led to her house. There’d been sidelong glances and raised eyebrows, too. And Kasey would swear that June Bindermeyer had actually snickered when she’d bagged the groceries.

Very strange.

What could have happened in the two weeks she and her sons had been gone? She’d taken the last of the boys’ summer vacation and gone to Dallas to look for a broodmare, the first of what she hoped would eventually be a full stable of quarter horses. She’d looked at a dozen mares in the first three days and had finally settled on a beautiful sorrel from the Circle Q named Miss Lucy. The animal was more than Kasey could afford, but one look and she was lost. She’d bought her and made arrangements for her to be delivered in a few days, then immediately placed an ad for a stud in several papers, including the Granite Ridge Gazette.

But placing an ad for a stud was no reason for anyone to look at her oddly, Kasey thought with a frown. This was horse country. Still, at the post office when she’d picked up the bag with her mail and papers, disapproval had been plainly etched on Mildred Macklin’s face. And was it Kasey’s imagination, or had Mildred actually slammed her window shut when Steven, Mildred’s son, had come over to say hello?

Very, very strange.

Shaking her head, Kasey shut off the engine and looked down at her sleeping sons. Cody, her eight-year-old, and Troy, almost seven, were slumped into each other, making it hard to tell where Cody’s thick, dark hair stopped and Troy’s wavy auburn hair started. It had been a long, busy two weeks for them. After the horse business was taken care of, they’d gone to the amusement park in Arlington, the rodeo in Dallas and the water park outside of Fort Worth.

It didn’t matter to her that she couldn’t afford it. Her sons deserved a family vacation, a real family vacation, not an assignment that their father dragged them along on, then left them all in a hotel while he went off to do his research.

Cody sat up abruptly, realizing the car had stopped. “Are we home?” he asked, blinking several times.

Home. They’d only moved here from New York two months ago, and the word home had never had a nicer sound. She smiled and combed her fingers through his hair. “We are.”

Cody realized at the moment that his younger brother was sleeping on him. “Get off me,” he said, shoving Troy away.

Troy rubbed at his eyes and yawned. “We home?”

“Mom,” Cody whined in disgust. “Troy drooled on me.”

“Did not.”

“Did, too.”

“You’re a moron.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too. Idiot, idiot.”

“That’s enough.” Kasey helped both boys out of the truck and sent them each a sharp look. Ah, yes, home, she thought with a sigh. Back to normal.

“Mom,” Cody said, putting the disagreement behind him and moving forward. “Can Troy and me go over to Brian’s house? We wanna show him the Battle Boy and Maniac Man we got on vacation.”

“It’s Troy and L” She reached into the bed of the truck, then shoved a bag of groceries into each boy’s arms before grabbing two herself. “And not today. It’s already starting to get dark, and you both still need to unpack.”

Cody and Troy started to argue with her, but she held firm and herded them through the front door and into the kitchen. She glanced at the answering machine on the kitchen wall phone, amazed at the number that was lit up on the display. Fifteen? Had her ad for a stud been that successful? She’d expected maybe five or six calls, but fifteen? She’d also noticed that her bag of mail had been stuffed to overflowing. Were there that many letters, also?

She’d deal with the messages and mail later. Right now she needed to get her food put away and her sons fed. They’d started arguing again, with Cody calling Troy a drool-mouth and Troy calling Cody a jerk. It would come to fists soon if she didn’t intercede, and she was too tired to deal with blood right now.

Separating them once again, the groceries were nearly put away when there was a knock at the front door. Like a call to dinner, both boys charged toward the sound.

Kasey frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone, though it might be Sandy, Brian’s mother. She’d been caring for the horses and watching the house for Kasey while she was away. But Sandy thought they were coming home in the morning, not tonight.

She slid the last half gallon of milk into the refrigerator and shut the door, suddenly aware of the absolute quiet.

“Cody? Troy?”

When she came around the corner, she saw them standing just inside the screen door, staring at the ceiling. No, not the ceiling, she realized as she moved toward them. They were staring at a person. A very tall person she couldn’t make out through the screen door.

“Can I help you?” she asked, feeling a little nervous at the sheer size of the denim-clad stranger at her door. She tried to make out his face, but a black cowboy hat and the dim light shadowed his features. Though she was used to and didn’t mind being a single mom, at times like this she at least wished she owned a dog.

“Acacia Donovan?” a deep, strangely familiar voice asked.

Acacia? No one ever called her that. No one except...

Heart pounding, Kasey flipped on the porch light. He took off his hat and grinned down at her.

Her breath caught. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

Slater.

Ten years fell away. She suddenly felt that her arms and legs were too long, her braces too tight, her hair too curly and her voice too high.

“Slater?” she whispered.

He nodded. “Yeah, Kasey, it’s me.”

Her knees shook as she moved closer to the screen door and studied his face. Older, a few more lines. He was more rugged, his dark hair a little longer. Different, but so familiar.

“You gonna make me stand out here all night?” he asked.

She looked down at her sons, who were still frozen in place, their necks bent back, their mouths open as they stared at the stranger. Under a different situation, she might have laughed. Unless they were sleeping, her sons were never quiet this long. But this wasn’t just a different situation.

This was Slater.

Her fingers shook as she reached for the screen door and pushed it open. Slater glanced down at Cody and Troy. Still staring, the boys slowly parted, and he stepped inside.

Kasey’s first impulse was to yell for Jeanie, to tell her that her big brother was here to pick her up. Her second impulse was to jump into his arms. She did neither. All she could do was stand there, a lump in her throat and a tight ache in her chest.

“Ah, these are my sons,” she said finally. “Cody—” she touched her oldest son’s head “—and Troy. Boys, this is Slater, an old friend of mine.”

Troy pressed against her, curious, but cautious, while Cody craned his neck upward and stared. “How old are you?” Cody asked.

“Cody Thomas Morgan,” Kasey reprimanded, “where are your manners?

“Well, you said he was old,” Cody grumbled.

With a half grin, Slater slipped his hat back on, then knelt and leaned close to Cody. “I’m thirty-four,” he whispered. “Is that old?”

Cody shrugged. “Not so bad. My mom’s twentyseven.”

Slater raised his brows in mock surprise. “That old, huh? Do you have to help her across the street and speak real loud so she can hear yon?”

Cody and Troy both burst into giggles. Kasey rolled her eyes and shook her head. What in the world was all this talk about age? Cody had never asked anyone how old they were before.

“We just got back from vacation,” Cody offered. “My mom bought a new horse called Miss Lucy, and we got to go to the rodeo and the water park.”

“And ride a roller coaster,” Troy added. He’d unglued himself from her side and had moved a few inches closer to the visitor.

“You ever take your kids on a roller coaster?” Cody asked.

“Cody,” Kasey warned, though she was curious herself now, “that’s enough questions.”

Slater smiled. “I don’t have any kids.”

“How come?” Suspicion edged Cody’s voice. “Don’t you like them?”

“Cody! I said, that’s enough.” Kasey took hold of her son’s shoulders.

“Sure, I like kids.” Slater tipped his hat back and looked at both Cody and Troy. “But I was moving around a lot, working on oil wells, and I just never got married.”

Cody’s eyes widened. “You work on oil wells. That’s cool. Does oil really squirt ten miles up and get all—”

Kasey clamped a hand over her son’s mouth. “No more questions. I’d like to talk to Slater now if it’s all right with you two.”

Cody and Troy glanced at each other and smiled. “Sure, Mom,” Cody said, looking back up at her. “You want us to leave you guys alone?”

Leave them alone? Kasey frowned at her son. Why was everyone, including her sons, acting so odd today? Was there a full moon tonight? “That’s not necessary.”

Slater straightened. “I, uh, heard you got married.”

She wondered how a man who’d walked away from family and friends—without so much as a glance backward—could have heard anything. “I’m divorced. Two years now.”

They stared at each other, the momentary silence awkward and heavy. Then they both spoke at the same time.

“You look—”

“You’ve sure—”

They both stopped, then smiled.

“Aw, hell, Kasey.” Slater shook his head as he opened his arms. “Come here, will you?”

With a small laugh, she moved into his arms. He was solid muscle against her, his scent masculine, his touch so familiar. This really was Slater. Tears gathered in her eyes and she blinked them back, afraid that he might see them and think her silly or childish.