Wind River Ranch

When He Kissed Her Again, She Held Nothing In Reserve, Letter to Reader Title Page 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 Copyright

When He Kissed Her Again, She Held Nothing In Reserve,

not even a tiny part of herself, just in case this never went beyond tonight.

It was a risk for a woman like her, giving everything to a man who’d sworn off marriage for good. She knew it, too. She’d taken almost the same vow, but hers had been tempered with I will only marry again if I meet the perfect man.

Well, no one was perfect, but Ry Hardin was darned close. She was already feeling emotionally committed to him, and if he didn’t reciprocate, she could be in for some big-time heartache.

But what else was new? Wasn’t she so used to heartache that she wouldn’t know how to behave if it should suddenly disappear?

In the next heartbeat she wasn’t thinking about anything....

Dear Reader,

THE BLACK WATCH returns! The men you found so intriguing are now joined by women who are also part of this secret organization created by BJ James. Look for them in Whispers in the Dark, this month’s MAN OF THE MONTH.

Leanne Banks’s delightful miniseries HOW TO CATCH A PRINCESS—all about three childhood friends who kiss a lot of frogs before they each meet their handsome prince—continues with The You-Can’t-Make-Me Bride. And Elizabeth Bevarly’s series THE FAMILY McCORMICK concludes with Georgia Meets Her Groom. Romance blooms as the McCormick family is finally reunited.

Peggy Moreland’s tantalizing miniseries TROUBLE IN TEXAS begins this month with Marry Me, Cowboy. When the men of Temptation, Texas, decide they want wives, they find them the newfangled way—they advertise!

A Western from Jackie Merritt is always a treat, so I’m excited about this month’s Wind River Ranch—it’s ultrasensuous and totally compelling. And the month is completed with Wedding Planner Tames Rancher!, an engaging romp by Pamela Ingrahm. There’s nothing better than curling up with a Silhouette Desire book, so enjoy!

Regards,

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

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Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Wind River Ranch

Jackie Merritt

JACKIE MERRITT and her husband live just outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. An accountant for many years, Jackie has happily traded numbers for words. Next to family, books are her greatest joy. She started writing in 1987 and her efforts paid off in 1988 with the publication of her first novel. When she’s not writing or enjoying a good book, Jackie dabbles in watercolor painting and likes playing the piano in her spare time.

Prologue

Carrying her medical bag, purse and an assortment of file folders, Dena Colby walked into her primary place of employment, Meditech Home Care, which consisted of an office in the front of the building and a lab in the back. It was nearly six, and she was through for the day except for returning the files she had used for today’s appointments and checking her schedule for tomorrow’s. She was currently working days, although all of the employees’ shifts fluctuated on a twenty-four hour basis. Dena was an RN and enjoyed working for a company that supplied around-the-clock home nursing visits when prescribed by a physician.

There were only a few people in the office, one of whom was the receptionist, Gail Anderson. Gail was talking on the phone and she waved and motioned at Dena. “One moment, please. Dena just came in. I’m going to put you on hold while I transfer your call to her phone.”

Dena deposited her load on her desk. “Who is it, Gail?” Wearily she sank into her chair. It had been a busy day, and she was tired, definitely ready to go home, have a hot shower and put up her feet.

“A man named Ryson Hardin. He said it was urgent that he speak to you as soon as possible. He’s on line three, Dena.”

Dena frowned slightly. “I don’t know a Ryson Hardin. How urgent could a stranger’s call be?” She stared at the blinking light of line three on her telephone for a few seconds, then rather belligerently reached for the receiver. If Hardin was using “urgent” to try to sell her something, she was apt to let him know what she thought of such tactics. She spoke coolly. “This is Dena Colby. What can I do for you?”

She heard the man clear his throat. “Miss Colby, this is Ry Hardin. I used your father’s personal telephone directory to locate you. I... have some very bad news.”

Dena gripped the telephone tighter as a barrage of emotions and memories struck mercilessly. “What sort of bad news?” she asked, the sharpness of her voice caused by a sudden acute fear.

“It’s about your father. Simon...died this morning.”

It didn’t sink in. Dena sat there statue still, holding the phone to her ear without saying anything.

“Miss Colby, did you hear what I said?” Ry asked. He’d expected shock, but he hadn’t anticipated total silence from Simon’s daughter. He hadn’t wanted to be the person to call Dena Colby, but the only other candidate for the discomfiting job was Nettie Bascomb, the housekeeper, and Nettie was up there in years and so shaken over Simon’s death she was all but incoherent.

Dena’s thoughts were beginning to coalesce. But denial was rampant in her system. This had to be some sort of cruel joke. “Who did you say you are?”

“Ryson Hardin. I’ve been the foreman on your father’s Wind River Ranch for three years, Miss Colby. I’m surprised my name isn’t familiar.”

He doesn’t know, Dena thought dully. Mr. Hardin did not know Colby family history. There were people who could have told him, Nettie for one. But maybe Nettie had left the ranch, for some reason, since their last correspondence.

“What happened?” Dena asked in a lifeless voice.

“To Simon?”

“Of course to Simon,” she replied impatiently. “Who else would I be asking about?”

“Sorry,” Ry said gently, realizing the shock he’d anticipated from Dena Colby was beginning to develop. “Dr. Worth thinks it was a cerebral hemorrhage. He can’t say for sure without an autopsy, which, of course, is your decision to make. The doc believes it happened some time this morning. Your father had taken a pickup truck and gone to the south end of the ranch early this morning. No one—the ranch hands, Nettie and myself—was alarmed when he wasn’t back by noon. Simon rarely announced or explained his plans for the day. By three I began wondering, however, and I asked Nettie if Simon had taken lunch with him. When she said no, I had everyone start looking for him.”

Dena’s voice had become quite hoarse. “And you found him dead.” In the far recesses of Dena’s mind was the fact that Nettie was still at the ranch. It was small comfort at this moment, but somewhat relieving regardless.

“Not me, personally, but yes.” Two of the hands had spotted Simon’s pickup from a hilltop. They were on horseback, and had ridden hard and fast from that hill to the truck. Simon was still in the driver’s seat, slumped over the wheel. Dr. Worth’s opinion was that he had died instantly. Ry didn’t think he needed to explain every tiny detail to Dena Colby during this call, figuring that she had enough to digest with what he’d already told her.

He couldn’t possibly grasp the true nature of Dena’s state of mind. She could just barely think; her heart was pounding hard enough to hear and her hands were shaking like twigs in a high wind. Her mouth was so dry that speaking was almost impossible.

“I—I’ll catch the first flight out,” she mumbled thickly.

“If you let me know your flight schedule, I’ll meet your plane, Miss Colby.”

“I...” She was beginning to crack. Her father had died without forgiving her. He was too young to die, barely fifty years old, and now there was no longer a chance of forgiveness, of reconciliation. “Th-thank you for calling. I’ll be in touch.” She put down the phone.

“Dena?” It was Gail, looking at her across several desks with a worried expression. “Are you all right?”

“My...my father died this morning,” Dena said in a choked whisper.

“Oh, Dena, I’m so sorry.” The phone rang and Gail sent it an irritated look before answering it.

There was a self-protective numbness in Dena’s system, which she knew had to be dispelled. She had to call the airlines for a flight from Seattle to Casper, Wyoming, and another from Casper to Lander... and rearrange her work schedule with Gail... and go home and pack. And all she wanted was to sit there and do nothing

These days Dena didn’t concern herself with the concept of pretty. She wore her nearly black hair short for the sake of convenience. Lipstick and blusher—used sparingly—were her only cosmetics. Her clothing was purchased with comfort in mind, and she didn’t even own a cocktail dress, as she had rarely dated since her divorce three years ago, and those occasions had always been strictly casual. She lived a quiet life with one all-consuming goal, to reconcile with her father, who had stated angrily, sternly and emphatically that he would never speak to her again when she had rebelled against his insistence she go to college and instead had married Tommy Hogan right out of high school. At the time she hadn’t cared how Simon felt about it. He’d been an overly strict parent with—in her opinion—unrealistic, old-fashioned ideas of how she should live her life.

It was only later on, when Tommy had proved to be the lazy, immature and not very honest person that Simon had declared him to be, that Dena realized in this case her father had been right. The whole Hogan family—dozens of them—were cut from the same cloth. Regardless of the many clashes with her father, Dena had absorbed Simon’s ethics and standards. The Hogans, including Tommy, had had no ethics. It had been quite a blow for Dena to look at her husband one day, who’d been unshaven, out of a job again and hanging around their pathetic little house in town drinking one can of beer after another, and realize what a horrible mistake she had made. Tommy was not going to change and suddenly turn into the kind of man she had thought him to be before their marriage.

Or maybe she hadn’t thought at all, beyond his handsome face and happy-go-lucky personality, she had decided with a sick feeling in her stomach.

That very day she had driven out to the ranch with the intention of making amends with her father. She had walked into the house, and Simon had immediately left it without a word. Nettie had smiled weakly. “Hello, honey. How are you?”

Dena’s knees had given out, and she’d folded onto a chair. “He hasn’t forgiven me, has he?” she’d said to the housekeeper. “Will he ever?”

Nettie had looked as though she didn’t know where to put herself. Finally she had offered what she’d obviously thought was consolation. “Give him a little more time, honey.”

Time had done nothing. In almost five years, while Dena had been getting her life on track, obtaining a divorce—which had infuriated the Hogan clan to the point of some of them telling terrible lies about her that had gotten back to Dena—leaving Winston, the small town where she had attended school and then lived after her marriage, moving to Seattle and entering a nursing program while holding down a job to support herself and her education, and finally receiving her nursing certificate and acquiring her present position with Meditech, she had tried contacting her father too many times to count. Her letters had not been returned, but neither had they been answered. Simon had never come to the phone when she’d called the ranch. True to his word, he had not spoken one syllable to her, either aloud or by mail.

And now he was gone.

Nausea roiled in Dena’s stomach, and she also felt cold and sweaty. She knew the signs; if she didn’t do something she was going to faint. Pushing her chair back from the desk, she leaned over and put her head between her knees. Vaguely she registered Gail saying goodbye to whomever she’d been talking with on the phone.

Then Gail was next to her, squatting to be on her level and rubbing Dena’s back. “You’re white as a sheet. I have some water. Can you take a drink?”

Slowly Dena sat up. “Yes, thanks.” Accepting the paper cup of water, she sipped. “I felt as though I was going to black out.”

Gail’s expression was sympathetic. “I know.”

“I’m okay now. I... I have to call the airlines.”

“I’ll do it for you. When do you want to leave?”

“Tonight, if possible.” She and Gail were friendly enough for Gail to know that she was from Wyoming. But she hadn’t told anyone about the heartrending break with her father, or the details of her unhappy and truly ludicrous marriage. Dena sometimes wondered why she had rebelled against her only living parent to the point of hurting herself, but it wasn’t a subject that she could discuss with even her closest friends.

“Seattle to Casper, right?” Gail asked.

Dena nodded. “Then Casper to Lander.”

“You just sit there and get yourself together. I’ll call the airlines right now.” With an air of efficiency—which was completely sincere as Gail Anderson was an extremely competent woman—the receptionist returned to her desk and began looking through the phone book.

Dena still felt numb, and maybe it was best, she reasoned. If her emotions started running wild, she might not have the strength to see this through.

And strength, both physical and emotional, was going to be crucial in the next few days. As dull-witted as her mind seemed to be at the present, she at least knew that much.

One

Returning to Wyoming was traumatic for Dena. It was something she had wanted to do for so long, and to be going now under these conditions was almost incomprehensible. Anxiety ate at her during the flight from Seattle to Casper, and again on the much smaller plane bound for Lander. For some reason, she couldn’t picture the ranch without her father. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Ryson Hardin—no one would be so cruel as to call a woman with a lie of that nature—but envisioning the place without Simon was next to impossible.

At the same time, sitting stiffly in her seat, Dena wondered why she wasn’t weeping. Her throat had felt tight and achy since Mr. Hardin’s call, but she had not shed one tear. Unquestionably she suffered the sorrow one would expect to feel from such news, and yet she wasn’t able to release the tight grip she had on her emotions. In truth, she felt as though she were trapped in some sort of terrible nightmare, and in the back of her mind was the childlike knowledge that nightmares lasted only a short while. It was such an inane sensation—she was an intelligent woman and fully cognizant of the difference between a nightmare and reality—and yet she couldn’t eradicate it.

The plane landed at the Lander airport at three in the morning. She should have been exhausted and wasn’t; obviously she was running on adrenaline.

Deplaning with the handful of other passengers arriving in Lander at this unholy hour, Dena walked through the gate and glanced around, ardently hoping to see Nettie. She had called the ranch, once she’d known her flight schedule, and Ry Hardin had answered almost immediately, as though he’d been sitting near the phone waiting for it to ring. Dena had been hoping to hear Nettie’s voice, but when she’d asked about the older woman, Hardin had said she was in her room, ostensibly lying down.

“This has hit her pretty hard, Miss Colby,” he’d said.

“Maybe...maybe she will feel up to meeting my plane,” Dena had said unsteadily. But then she’d told Ry Hardin her arrival time, and he had said that he would be at the terminal.

Nevertheless, the hope that she would see Nettie instead of a stranger waiting for her was still with her. That hope faded away as she saw a man walking toward her. Without a dram of genuine interest in Hardin himself, she took in his physical appearance. He was a tall, rugged-looking man with dark hair and eyes. His clothing was jeans, boots and a hat that he removed and held in his right hand as he approached her. He looked as much like a rancher as any man she’d ever seen.

“Dena Colby?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Ry Hardin. Do you have luggage?”

“One bag.”

“We’ll collect it and be on our way. You must be tired.”

“No...no, I’m fine.”

Ry looked at her curiously. She was an attractive woman, small and slender, dressed in navy slacks, a white blouse and a navy cardigan sweater, unbuttoned. She did not appear to be devastated, as he’d thought nught be the case, although her eyes were a little too bright. Feverishly bright, he amended in his private assessment of Simon’s daughter.

They walked to the baggage department, and Dena’s one suitcase appeared almost at once. Ry carried it and escorted her outdoors to his vehicle. Rather, it was a ranch vehicle, Dena realized when she read the sign on the door: Wind River Ranch. It was then she remembered that all of the ranch’s vehicles bore that same sign.

She also realized there were many details about her home that she hadn’t thought of in years. Her concentration regarding anything in Wyoming had been focused almost entirely on her father. She bit down on her bottom lip painfully hard. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to walk into the house she’d grown up in and feel its emptiness.

They were well under way before either said anything. Ry spoke first. “Nettie said you’re a nurse.”

Dena jumped and turned her gaze to the man behind the wheel. She had actually forgotten he was there. “Pardon?” she said.

Ry repeated himself and added, “Nursing is an admirable profession. One of my sisters in Texas is a nurse.”

Dena tried to think of a response. She liked making new friends, and Ry Hardin seemed like a nice guy. But these were not ordinary circumstances, and there was no way she could concentrate on small talk.

She quietly murmured, “That’s nice,” and then unconsciously turned her face to the side window, again immersed in the agony of why she was in Wyoming in the middle of this dark night.

Her spiritless reply relayed her state of mind to Ry, who decided to say no more. If she instigated a conversation during the drive, he would, of course, participate. But he didn’t expect that would occur, and he drove with his gaze straight ahead on the road.

After a few miles, however, he did say something else. He’d gone through the same shock and grief that Dena Colby was suffering right now with each of his own parents, and he wanted to let her know that he, too, was affected by Simon’s sudden death. “I’m very sorry about your father, Miss Colby. I liked working for him. And I respected him.”

Drawing a breath, Dena pulled herself out of the doldrums enough to answer. “Thank you. And call me Dena,” she said. Colby was her legal name again, as she had petitioned the court for resumption of her maiden name at the tune of her divorce, which had further infuriated the Hogans, who had already been incensed over the divorce. That was when she’d started hearing some of the completely groundless lies they had been spreading around town about her, and it was also when she’d made her decision to leave Wyoming. There’d been no chance of a career in any field in Wmston, and she had wanted to make something of her life. She remembered now that she had also hoped that her leaving the area would shake her father’s determination to disown her.

It hadn’t worked.

As for Ry Hardin liking and respecting Simon, she didn’t doubt it. If memory served her correctly, Simon had usually gotten along with his hired hands. In fact, he had gotten along with most people. It was only with her, his daughter, his only child, that he’d been so hard and unyielding.

Dena released a long sigh of utter anguish and stared through the window again. The countryside was familiar even in the dark, and she attempted to force herself to concentrate on landmarks. Anything was better than thinking of her reason for at long last coming home.

But thoughts of home and the past would not be squelched, and she finally stopped fighting them. Besides, not all of her memories were painful. Her mother, for instance, had been completely kind and loving. While Opal Colby had been alive, Dena had been a happy child.

And Simon had been a happier, more just man. Yes, now that she thought about it, he hadn’t been so strict and demanding while his wife had lived.

And neither had Dena been so rebellious, she had to admit. In retrospect it seemed that once Opal’s sweet and gentle ways were no longer a buffer in the family, there was no family. Simon went his way every day, detouring only long enough to make sure Dena was behaving herself, which meant no makeup, the right kind of reading material and television programs—only his opinion counted, of course—very little time on the phone and a dozen other symbolic slaps in the face.

At least that was the way Dena had interpreted her father’s harshly issued orders and oft-repeated remarks of disapproval. For a girl in the throes of puberty who had so recently lost her mother, life was miserable. Many times she had muttered to herself that she hated her father, which had not been the truth at all. What she’d wanted so much she had ached from it was for him to hug her, speak kindly to her, tell her he loved her and even tuck her into bed at night as he had sometimes done before her mother’s death.

Now, as an adult with medical training, Dena knew that when her mother died Simon hadn’t been able to overcome his grief. He’d become hard because of internal misery, and as he hadn’t understood the emotional ups and downs of a teenager, he had continued to treat Dena as the child she had once been. He could handle a child; he hadn’t known how to deal with a budding woman. Dena had written of these things in her letters, but to her knowledge Simon had never read one of them. It was heartbreaking to envision him having destroyed or discarded her letters without opening them, but what else could she think?

The lights of Winston—still some miles ahead—gave her a jolt. She sat up a little straighter, wishing there was a way to reach the ranch without driving through the town. There were so many bad memories connected to Winston—her marriage, the Hogan family and their lies, her divorce, the fact that everyone in town knew her father would not say hello to her should they meet on the street. It was the way of small towns everywhere: everyone knew everyone else’s business. She had not once missed Winston or anyone living there, and she felt no guilt over feeling that way, either.

Ry noticed her more alert attitude and thought it a good sign. With her having been raised on a ranch, Winston was the closest thing she had to a hometown. His own past was similar; he’d grown up on a ranch in Texas near a town that was about twice the size of Winston, and he had many fond memories of his school years in that town.

Ry slowed down to the speed limit as they passed the town limits. Not a car was moving on the main street, not a person was in sight. The windows of some buildings were lighted. Winston was beginning to wake up, but it was still so very early, just approaching dawn.

“You must have gone to school here,” Ry said.

“Yes,” Dena said, offering no further information.

Ry sighed inwardly, but he couldn’t take offense at Dena Colby’s reticence. She had to be hurting, and since she hadn’t come home to visit her father during Ry’s employment at the Wind River Ranch, he really couldn’t begin to guess what was going on in her mind. Guilt, perhaps? He was suddenly curious about something he’d never even thought about before. Why hadn’t Dena come home for three years? It might have even been longer than that, as his knowledge of Dena’s absence was limited to his employment on the ranch.