Return To Marker Ranch

This is one reunion both of them could do without

This is the chance she’s been waiting for to prove she can run her family’s ranch. And despite her many doubters, Lori Allen knows she’s doing a good job. Until the man who once broke her heart—Wade Hoffman—runs her well dry! And it turns out he’s got as much to prove as she does. After serving his country, Wade’s back to rebuild his family’s reputation and win his battle with PTSD.

With so much to lose, neither can afford to give in to temptation. But to succeed they must let go of old heartache and face up to bringing out each other’s worst, along with the best. And what doesn’t kill them...

“Who’s going to want to mentor a Hoffman?”

Wade shook his head and added, “C’mon, Lori, you know how people in this town must feel about me being back. You’re my only hope.”

She looked at Wade for a long moment. What he was proposing was dangerous. To her heart. To the regrets she kept locked away so they wouldn’t overwhelm her. But he was trying to make something of himself. Trying to prove himself. She understood that—she was living it.

“All right. We’ll try it.” She was crazy to agree, but how could she say no?

“Thank you,” he breathed, relief written stark across his face. “I promise I’ll try to take as little of your time as possible. And I’ll pay for Bill Cooper’s time when he helps us figure out the water share. I’m truly grateful, Lori.”

He was looking at her like she was his guardian angel, his salvation. And then the reality of this, of them, sent anxiety washing over her. How would he look at her if he knew what she’d done?

Dear Reader,

Return to Marker Ranch started out as a short story about two young people caught in a snowstorm together and forced to come to terms with their past. I entered the story in a contest, which it didn’t win, and then set it aside. But the characters, Wade Hoffman and Lori Allen, so in love, and so torn apart by the past, haunted me. I couldn’t stop thinking about them and the issues they were grappling with. I realized that they had to have their own book. But when I started writing, it quickly became clear that their story was much bigger than one book. So that first short story grew into the Sierra Legacy series.

I loved writing Wade and Lori’s book. And along the way it became so much more than a story for me. Wade’s attempts to fit into his hometown felt similar to my own struggles growing up in a troubled family and feeling like I’d never fit in anywhere. Lori’s efforts to never show weakness, and to work so hard to seem perfect, also felt familiar. Wade’s PTSD broke my heart as I read articles and learned more about the challenges that veterans face. And Lori came to represent all of the brave people who love our veterans and stand by them, even when it’s difficult.

I hope you enjoy Wade and Lori’s story of love, forgiveness and healing. To find out more about PTSD, or how to help veterans, please visit the resources page of my website, www.clairemcewen.com. And thank you for reading Return to Marker Ranch. I hope the story touches your heart the way it did mine.

Claire McEwen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CLAIRE MCEWEN lives by the ocean in Northern California with her husband, son and a scruffy, mischievous terrier, whose unique looks and goofy hijinks provided inspiration for an important character in Return to Marker Ranch. When not dreaming up new stories, Claire can be found digging in her garden with a lot of enthusiasm but, unfortunately, no green thumb. She loves discovering flea-market treasures, walking on the beach, dancing, traveling and reading, of course! Claire enjoys Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram, and likes musing about writing and all things romantic on her blog, Romance All Around Us. Please visit her website, clairemcewen.com, for more information.

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For my stepsister, Heather: a brave and dedicated soldier and pilot, a rescuer of cats, and a light in my childhood. Memories of her warmed my heart while I wrote this story.

And for animal lovers everywhere, who know that when we rescue an animal they rescue us too, and grow our hearts a few sizes bigger in the process.

And for Arik, who makes it all possible and keeps me believing in love.

Contents

COVER

BACK COVER TEXT

INTRODUCTION

Dear Reader

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

LORI ALLEN TUGGED at the brim of her hat in a futile attempt to shade her eyes from the relentless blue sky. It was way too hot for this late in the fall. She scanned the granite ridges that towered behind her ranch. Heat waves shimmered between her and the peaks. No clouds. Again.

But heat or no heat, Lori couldn’t put it off any longer. She needed to get this pasture ready. The cattle she’d summered up in the high Sierra meadows had to come down. The Bureau of Land Management didn’t care that summer never seemed to end anymore. They’d fine her if she let the herd stay beyond the terms of the lease.

Leaning forward in the saddle, Lori nudged her mare up the rutted dirt road that bordered her upper pasture. She glanced at the neat rows of barbed wire with pride. There’d been plenty of time to mend fences last winter when the snow never came. Though she’d happily trade this perfect fence line for a few snowstorms.

Thanks to the drought, the only forage up here was brush and brown stubble. Maybe if she turned on the irrigation for a few days she could get some new grass started before she brought the cattle down. She glanced at the sky again. It was her only choice. Irrigate or pray for rain. And she’d been praying to deaf ears for a while now.

Dakota’s short, choppy gait took them quickly up the hill toward the well and the irrigation valves. The flaking gray metal of the storage tank came into view. Lori veered the mare alongside it and peeked at the gauge. And felt her heart stutter. “No...” she breathed, staring at the gauge. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Dakota’s ears flicked back instantly, as if the little quarter horse was trying to comprehend the sudden change in her rider’s mood.

Lori blinked, looked and blinked again. But nothing changed. The tank was empty.

No. No, no, no. The words hammered along with her heart. She’d heard of wells running dry a little south of here, but this one was supplied by mountain runoff, and there had been some snow up on the highest peaks last winter. It would make sense for the well to be low...but empty? Impossible.

The gauge had to be stuck. Lori reached over and tapped its thick, clear surface with her knuckles, waiting for the numbers to jump. Nothing. She smacked the gauge hard with the palm of her hand, wincing as the impact jarred her wrist. She willed the numbers to change. They didn’t.

Four-letter words she rarely said hung ugly in the afternoon silence. She couldn’t deal with this. Couldn’t afford this. The threatening heat of tears slicked behind her eyes, but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry. Not even up here, alone in the most remote part of her ranch.

Solutions. Focus on solutions. She knew how to handle his. She slid off Dakota’s back and led the mare in a circle around the tank, looking for broken pipes, dripping water, cracks in the tank, anything that would explain what was going on.

Everything looked just fine.

“Okay,” she said to Dakota, her voice sounding foreign in the deep mountain silence. “We’ll ride up closer to the mountains.” She put her foot in the stirrup and swung up onto the saddle. “Let’s take a look at the creek up here. Maybe we can see what’s going wrong.” It was silly to talk to her horse, but it kept the panic at bay.

Maybe a new spring had pushed its way out somewhere. The east side of the Sierra Nevada was known for its hot springs. Water wandered deep under the still-forming peaks and met up with all kinds of heat and pressure, then popped out of the earth in unpredictable places. If a new spring had surfaced, it could change everything.

A flicker of hope had her urging Dakota through the brush behind the tank, following deer trails until they were in the shadow of the higher peaks. There’d been an earthquake last week. Not a big one, but maybe enough to shift things around. If that was the cause of the problem, it might be an easy fix.

It was probably wishful thinking, but she could allow herself a few hours of wishing before she went home and called up Bill Cooper, the local driller.

She let Dakota have a loose rein so the horse could pick her own way up the hill. Arching her back, Lori stretched in the saddle, trying to let some of the stress go. A ride on a hot fall afternoon would normally relax her. The drone of insects and the crunch of dry brush under Dakota’s hooves melded in a soothing rhythm that should have made everything feel hopeful and okay. But the tension that had been buzzing in the back of her brain ever since her father moved away clamped claws onto her shoulders, making them ache.

Taking over the ranch had been so much harder than she’d ever imagined. She had a lifetime of experience and a degree in animal husbandry, but that hadn’t prepared her for the pressure of making all the decisions, every day. She’d always respected her father, but that respect had grown tenfold since she’d tried to fill his shoes these past couple of months. She rolled her shoulders, wincing at the stabbing pain. Her well was dry and damn, she needed that water.

Dakota took them over a rise, and Lori turned her onto a faint path that meandered along the summit. From up here, Lone Mountain Ranch looked tiny, a distant patchwork quilt rather than the busy operation it really was. But it wouldn’t be busy if she didn’t have water. Panic threatened again and Lori bit it back. She looked up at the mountains instead, their fierce grandeur a reminder to keep her problems in perspective.

And then she saw it, on the next hill over. Something white and shining—and unfamiliar. The closer she got, the more it took shape—a large metal water tank, brand-new and gleaming in the sun.

“What the...” She stood up in the stirrups, trying to get a sense of the size and scope of the thing. And then she jerked Dakota to a halt at the sight of barbed wire. They’d reached the rusted old fence marking the far northern boundary of her family’s ranch. The new tank was on the other side. On Marker Ranch. The Hoffmans’ land, abandoned for the past decade.

But apparently not abandoned anymore. She stared at the overgrown pasture. Native shrubs had overtaken most of the grass. Marker Ranch hadn’t been maintained when the Hoffmans lived here, and ever since they’d run off, nature had been busy reclaiming the land.

But now they were back. Or someone was. She glanced down the hill. Far below, she could see the top of her tank, downstream from this new one. Typical Hoffman underhanded behavior. They’d drilled a well and stolen her water.

She stared out over the parched landscape. It didn’t make sense. Why would the Hoffmans come back? Everyone said they were hiding down in Mexico ever since they fled arrest for drug dealing years ago. They couldn’t come back.

Could it be Nora or Wade? The two younger Hoffman kids had stayed away from the shady family business. Nora had left for college and Wade had followed his older sister a few years later.

Lori shivered despite the heat. She wasn’t going down that road—wasn’t going to think about Wade Hoffman. She made a habit of not thinking about him every day. The jerk had stolen her heart, her pride and her happiness. She’d often wished he’d just followed family tradition and swiped her car instead.

The tank squatted in the field, all shiny and new. If she had her gun, she’d shoot it. Lori ran a hand over her eyes, but when she opened them, the tank was still there. This was really happening.

No. It wasn’t happening. Memories and old hurt turned to outrage. This couldn’t happen—wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t allow it. Lori turned Dakota and pressed her into a jog, heading back along the ridge.

Thoughts swirled in circles of fury. She’d worked for years so she’d be ready to take over Lone Mountain Ranch. She’d pushed herself on every exam, every paper and every lab in college. She’d handled all the challenges life had thrown her way. And worst of all, she’d put herself through a heartbreak so big that it still ached. All so she could achieve her dream of running this ranch and her father could retire and finally find some peace.

And now that dream was in serious peril. No water on her upper pastures meant half her grazing land would be useless. Which meant she’d have to sell off her cattle. Which would mean that all she’d gone through, all she’d sacrificed, would have been for nothing.

They passed her empty storage tank and picked their way back down the hill. Lori asked Dakota for a lope the moment the mare’s hooves hit the packed dirt road at the bottom. She was going to take care of this today. Somehow.

I can do this. It had been her mantra for months, but this was her biggest test. No way was she going to fail it. She faced down bulls, delivered calves and took care of herds of cattle every day. She dealt with disapproving ranch hands who questioned her every move. Compared with all that, a little chat with the lowlife, water-stealing Hoffmans would be easy.

CHAPTER TWO

EVEN THOUGH MARKER RANCH was just down the road, Lori had never actually been there. She’d grown up with Wade and wasted her teenage years in the throes of a tortured crush on the bad boy he became. But no one she knew had ever set foot on his family’s ranch. Wade’s dad and older brothers hadn’t exactly encouraged visitors. In fact, they’d been downright scary.

She squinted at a weathered sign nailed to a post at the start of the driveway. The faded black letters read Keep Out. Lori wasn’t usually one to break the rules, but today was different. Her ranch was at stake.

Her truck pitched and bumped through the minefield of potholes that passed for a driveway. The place was a mess. One entire pasture was filled with rusted-out cars. The main barn was leaning and sagging, tired and gray, its paint long gone. The farmhouse was in a similar state. Roof shingles were missing and the porch looked like it was about to fall right off the house. It was a shame because it had obviously been a lovely home long ago.

The place looked deserted. There was none of the bustle you’d find around a typical ranch house. No dogs barking, chickens fluttering or livestock clamoring for dinner. The silence made her uneasy, and suddenly she wondered if she should have brought someone with her. She stepped out of the truck, keeping one hand on the door. “Hello?” she called.

Her voice disappeared into the dry heat of the late afternoon. “Hello?” she tried again.

She shut the door and took a few steps toward the house, but a noise coming from a ramshackle plywood shed to her left stopped her in her tracks. There was a clanking and a scraping, and then a skateboard came flying out the shed door and landed in the grass with a thud. As Lori watched in amazement, a Weedwacker followed. Then a chain saw. Then another.

She took a few steps toward the shed. A car wheel rolled out of the dim interior, and she dodged out of its path. “Hey!” she yelled. “Anyone in there?”

There was silence, then the crunching of boots on gravel. A man stepped out of the shadows, and Lori’s heart hit her stomach with a soft, sickening thump of recognition. Wade Hoffman.

He had the same dark brown hair, but it was shorter now. The same dark eyes and high cheekbones. She’d traced her fingertips along them the night they’d spent together. Don’t think of that. She bit down on her lip, the sharp pain a reminder of all the pain he’d caused. Don’t ever think of that.

“Lori?” he asked, and his voice sounded kind of hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know you were back.” And then she felt the impact of her own words ramming into her chest. “How long have you been here?”

“About six weeks.”

It stung. She shouldn’t care what he did. Or where he went. But it stung. He’d come home and hadn’t even bothered to get in touch. For six weeks.

He reached up on the door, pulled a battered straw cowboy hat off a nail and clapped it on his head. Then he walked around the scattered junk to stand in front of her. Close up he was bigger than she remembered. He’d always been several inches taller than her—most people were. But now he was so solid that even through the faded gray T-shirt she could tell he was all muscle. As a teenager he’d been good-looking. Since then he’d gone from good-looking to gorgeous.

She didn’t want him to be gorgeous. This day was getting worse, if that was possible.

He was waiting for her to say something, but it was hard to think when his eyes were the same deep brown she remembered. They’d gone almost black when he’d kissed her. Her voice came out as a weird squeak. “You’re here to stay?”

“Yup.” He looked wary, his jaw set with tension. But she knew that if he gave one of his rare smiles, it would change everything. Light him up. It always had.

Don’t think about his damn smile. He’d been here long enough to build a giant well above hers. Long enough to use up all her water. And he’d never once contacted her.

“Oh.” It was all she could manage and still get oxygen. He’d always done that. Crowded her, sucked up all the air just by standing close.

“You hadn’t heard?” he asked. “Did the Benson gossip machine break down while I was gone?”

She gave the expected smile, but it felt stiff. “I haven’t been to town much the past month or so. My dad retired to Florida. There was all the packing to get him ready and then...” How to explain the last couple of months? She’d dropped into bed exhausted every night. There’d been no time to go to town and hear the gossip. “Well, it’s been busy, what with all the fall cattle work starting.”

“I’ve got a few cattle of my own here now,” he offered.

“Really?” She made a mental note to count her stock very carefully when she collected them from the mountains. Wade used to be the lone honest Hoffman son, but things could change.

“Yup. I’m planning on fixing this place up...turn it into a real working ranch.”

“Oh.” What was she supposed to say to that? “That’s great.” Suddenly the last bit of the resilience that had kept her going over the past hard months melted away. She had an overwhelming urge to lie down in the oily dust of Wade’s junkyard ranch and give up. Wade was her permanent next-door neighbor? Who’d taken her water? She knew life wasn’t fair. But sometimes it doled out bits of unfairness so cruel they felt like cuts to the soul.

“You okay, Lori? You look kind of pale.” Wade stepped forward and put a hand on her upper arm as if to support her. But the strength of his fingers, and the memories they sent burning to the surface of her mind, had the opposite effect. Her knees felt shaky and she pulled away from him.

“I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. This wasn’t okay. Wade, here, was not okay.

“Let me get you some water,” he offered.

Her laugh wheezed like a mule’s bray. “Water. Yeah, I’d love some water. My water.”

Wariness crept like a cloud across Wade’s eyes. “I’m missing something here, Lori. Look, you need to sit down.”

He obviously thought she was crazy. She felt crazy. Felt like she’d crossed through some time warp and crashed right into that naive girl she’d been back when she’d slept with him.

“I’m fine, really.” She forced her back muscles straight, her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms so the pain would wake her up, sharpen her traitorous mind. “I’m here because you built a well. And ruined mine.”

He stared at her. “How...”

“Up on the southern edge of your ranch? Well, the way our boundaries are, your property is above mine. So your well is uphill from my well. And mine dried out.”

“Oh, crap.” He had the grace to look stricken.

She nodded. “That just about sums it up.”

“What do we do now?”

At least he wasn’t going on the defensive, trying to deny it or bully her or any of the other worries she’d had on the drive over. “Shut it down and give me my water back.”

He looked past her, uphill and south, in the direction of the new tank, though they couldn’t see it from here. “I can’t do that. I spent most of my combat pay on that thing.”

“Combat?” Pieces of this new version of Wade—the muscles, the poise, the calm, curt way he was speaking—all fell into place. “You were in combat? Fighting?”

“Yup.”

He didn’t say more and she didn’t ask. How did you ask about something like that? And it was none of her business, anyway. He’d made that clear by his silence in the weeks since he’d come home.

That silence hurt, but maybe the hurt was good. It would add another layer to her carefully honed resentment. A resentment and a regret that had carried her through so many hard times it had become a part of her. A strong part, kind of like a second skeleton. “Look, I’m sorry you spent your money on that well. You should have checked with me first. That water belongs to my ranch.”

“I looked into that. You don’t own the rights.”

His words were little earthquakes, shaking her world. She’d always assumed her father had taken care of that when he first drilled. “That can’t be true.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I’m not saying you would.” She studied the ground at her feet, frantically going through her options. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“I didn’t mean to cause you harm, Lori.”

“Ha.” She blurted it out without thinking. He was walking, talking harm. She swallowed hard, getting her misfiring mind under control. “I’m sure. But here’s some advice. It’s best to check in with your neighbors before you start a big project like that. We’re all connected out here.”