The Ranch Solution

Trading his laptop for a…saddle?

Widower Jacob O’Donnell has to snap his teen daughter out of her rebellious ways. And his last resort to do so means temporarily swapping his Seattle boardroom for a Montana ranch. It should be simple, but nothing prepares him for the realities of a working ranch…or for Mariah Weston. This rugged country can only be paradise to someone like Mariah, whose can-do attitude and sizzling-hot temper throw Jacob harder than any horse ever could.

Yet maybe a strong woman like Mariah can get through to his daughter. One thing is for sure—Mariah is definitely getting through to Jacob! And the closer she gets to his heart, the more Jacob wants what he knows might be impossible.

“So why didn’t you get married?”

Jacob raised one eyebrow and continued, “Maybe I’m not the only one concerned about losing someone special. Is that why you got engaged to a man you didn’t really love? No one could blame you after the way your mother and father died.”

Mariah had never slapped a man, but she was within inches now. Jacob didn’t have any place questioning her relationship with Luke, or bringing up her parents.

“Back off,” she ordered furiously, without letting Jacob say another word.

The repair of the fence took less than five minutes and she efficiently replaced the tools in Shadow’s saddlebag.

“We’re done,” she said shortly.

“No ‘we’ about it. You wouldn’t let me help.”

“Don’t push me, Jacob,” she warned. “I may not have liked the city, but I took self-defense classes when I lived there and you wouldn’t enjoy being on the receiving end of what I learned.”

To her utter aggravation, he just laughed.

Dear Reader,

A friend used to speak longingly of the Amish lifestyle, believing it was less complicated and stressful than our fast-paced world. She would often say, “Maybe I’ll become Amish someday.” I’d smile and think of her sporty red car, passion for movies and lattes, and the ultra modern home she shared with her husband.

Still, the happiest summer of my life was spent in the mountains living in a tent cabin and cooking on a wood stove. I quickly discovered the satisfaction of chopping firewood, living close to nature and taking pleasure in simple entertainments. Yet the adjustments I went through are nothing compared to what I ask of my hero when I send him on a ranch vacation with his rebellious fourteen-year-old daughter.

Imagine a wealthy, city-loving businessman who finds himself sleeping in a tent, riding horses and dealing with a stubborn redhead who isn’t the least bit impressed with his money. Mariah is nothing like the gentle wife Jacob lost over ten years before. The only reason he stays is his troubled daughter, whose outrageous behavior has finally gotten her expelled from school. Jacob will try anything to help Kittie and he sees the ranch as a last resort.

I hope you have fun reading about Jacob and Mariah and their families—it was loads of fun writing about them. I also enjoy hearing from readers! Please contact me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, ON M3B 3K9, Canada.

Wishing you all the best,

Julianna Morris

The Ranch Solution

Julianna Morris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julianna Morris has an offbeat sense of humor that frequently gets her in trouble. She has also been accused of being interested in everything. Her interests range from oceanography and photography to traveling, antiquing, painting, walking on the beach and reading (mysteries and most other fiction and nonfiction). Julianna loves cats of all shapes and sizes. Her family’s feline companion is named Merlin, and like his namesake, Merlin is an alchemist—he can transform the house into a disaster in nothing flat. And since he shares the premises with a writer, it’s interesting to note that he is particularly fond of knocking books onto the floor.

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

To my talented sister, who is also my best friend.

And to the memory of my parents, two extraordinary people who taught their children to love books and the world around us.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

“THANK YOU FOR COM—”

The door of the conference room opened, interrupting Jacob O’Donnell’s opening remarks to his executive board. His eyes narrowed until he saw it was his assistant. The look on Gretchen’s face said it all—his daughter, Kittie, was in trouble. Again.

“No injuries,” Gretchen whispered in his ear. “Accidental fire. Girls’ locker room. But both fire and police departments had to be called.”

With effort Jacob kept his expression neutral. Fire. That was worse than anything Kittie had done before, though she’d done plenty. He looked at the men and women seated around the long table. “I apologize, but something urgent has come up that needs my attention.”

Right.

Something urgent.

A fourteen-year-old daughter who was single-handedly trying to destroy the civilized world.

Jacob cleared his throat. “So I’ll have Cara Michaels take over from here,” he continued. “Thank you, Cara.”

His vice president of Acquisitions nodded calmly. Of course she was calm—her kids were already grown. She had raised three and lived to tell about it—he didn’t have a clue how she’d managed such a feat. As much as he loved his daughter, sometimes he hated being a parent. These days it seemed like a never-ending cycle of worry and self-doubt.

“What’s the damage?” he automatically asked Gretchen as the door closed behind them.

His assistant patted his arm. “It isn’t that bad—some paper, a wood bench and cabinet, cleanup and new paint. But the principal is hopping mad—I didn’t realize his voice could get that high. Mr. Williams shrieked that setting fire to a building rates more than a suspension, no matter how liberal their rules might be. I’m afraid Kittie will be expelled this time—she seems to have exceeded even his tolerance.”

“Maybe I can pay for a new swimming pool to go with the tennis courts I donated the last time. Money talks,” Jacob said with a heavy dose of cynicism.

Gretchen shook her head. “I wouldn’t try it. You didn’t hear him. I’m lucky my eardrums didn’t burst the way he was yelling.”

“At least there are only a few weeks left in the school year.” Jacob pulled his keys from his pocket.

“Er...why don’t you take the limousine?” Gretchen suggested, probably because the last time Kittie was in danger of being expelled, he’d turned too sharply in the parking garage and creased the fender of his Mercedes.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered. He didn’t like using a chauffeur, preferring to be the one in control.

“Okay, but my car is on the same level as yours, and I’m really fond of that Saturn.”

“It’s safe. I only hit concrete dividers, not other vehicles,” he said, teeth gritted. He didn’t want to say something he shouldn’t...which unfortunately he’d already done a few times over the past few months. Jacob hurried to the stairs, his head pounding. What a nightmare. Kittie had gone from being a normal high-school freshman at the beginning of the year to a teenager-from-hell at the end.

Was it his fault?

Was it drugs?

The possibility haunted him. Kittie’s mother had become dependent on medication by the time she died. A muscle ticked in Jacob’s jaw as he remembered how the pills had made Anna so dazed she’d barely recognized anyone. They had hoped a donor heart would become available in her rare blood type, but she hadn’t lived long enough for a transplant.

At Kittie’s school, Jacob parked in front of the administration building and went to the principal’s office; he’d gone there so often lately he could have made it blindfolded. Kittie sat in her usual chair, arms crossed over her abdomen, looking angry and defiant.

“I didn’t try to burn down anything,” she announced, her body language screaming that she didn’t care whether he believed her or not.

“That’s right, she just tried to hide the cigarette she was smoking without putting it out,” said a grim Mr. Williams. He was a liberal administrator, but everyone had their limits.

“Smoking?” Jacob asked incredulously. “We’ve talked about this. I thought you had better sense.”

“Like it matters.” Kittie sank deeper in her chair. The private school she attended didn’t have a uniform, and she’d pushed the envelope on their loose dress code in so many ways that the envelope looked more like a punching bag.

He hadn’t put an end to the nonsense because the school psychologist had advised him to let Kittie “express” herself.

Well, hell.

The experts obviously didn’t know what they were talking about. Not one of those experts had come up with a decent explanation of what was going on with his daughter, and they certainly hadn’t done anything to help make things better.

Jacob listened to twenty minutes of Mr. Williams’s ranting about out-of-control teens, silently accepted his daughter’s expulsion and endured an “interview” with the police detective who’d investigated the fire. Officer Rizzoli didn’t crack a smile the entire conversation, and Jacob’s nerves were wound to the breaking point by the time he returned to his Mercedes with Kittie in tow. She slumped into the passenger seat and scowled at her belly button.

“I’m getting my nose pierced,” she declared.

“Over my dead body.”

They argued all the way home.

When they finally arrived, Kittie disappeared upstairs into her bedroom; a few seconds later her music roared to life.

God in heaven.

Head pounding, Jacob looked wildly around the living room as if an answer could be found in the furniture. What was he going to do?

Smoking?

Fire in the girls’ locker room?

What was next?

Specters of teen pregnancy, STDs and drug overdoses raced through his mind, turning his stomach to ice. He’d tried grounding Kittie, taking away her computer, TV and various other privileges.

There didn’t appear to be anything physically wrong with her according to the doctors they’d seen. The counselor he’d consulted seemed baffled, and the only advice she’d had for him was to give it time. His own parents had told him to be patient, that all kids went through a rebellious stage, but he didn’t think this was normal rebellion.

Besides, he’d passed the expiration date on his patience; he was now operating on raw nerve.

Jacob headed for his home office. Like the living room, the office provided broad windows, overlooking a panorama of Lake Union. During the day he could sit and watch the seaplanes arrive and depart and the sailboats skim across the water, while at night the surrounding hills glistened with city lights. The stunning view usually pleased him, a reminder that he had succeeded and could afford to give Kittie the best of everything.

Yeah, the best.

At this rate he was going to need the best lawyers to defend her.

Jacob considered pouring himself a drink. Instead, he sat down in front of the computer and typed in the website address his friend Gene had given him. He stared long and hard at the travel-agency home page before clicking the U-2 Ranch link. When Gene and his wife were having trouble with their son, they’d taken him for a ranch vacation in Montana. Since then they’d raved about the U-2, claiming the experience had done wonders for Wes...sort of a boot camp for kids with problems. They’d even taken it in stride that Wes had broken his arm on the trip.

Jacob pressed his thumbs to his aching temples. Was he desperate enough to try something that could put Kittie in harm’s way? They’d always lived in the city, and the description of the ranch didn’t thrill him—five miles from the nearest town, gravel road into the ranch, guests slept in tents, everyone worked, food served communally, no designer coffee...

He grimaced He was addicted to good coffee, but if it helped Kittie, he’d live without the stuff forever.

Then he read the next part.

No smoking.

No exceptions.

Before he could change his mind, he took out his credit card and started typing.

CHAPTER ONE

“WE’RE ALMOST THERE,” Jacob said, glancing at Kittie, garbed entirely in black, including her nail polish and lipstick. He’d decided to deal with her abysmal wardrobe later; getting her out of Seattle had been a big enough struggle.

She blew a bubble with her gum and stared ahead silently.

“You’ll be able to ride horses there. You used to enjoy riding. Remember?”

“Whatever.”

He gave up and checked the GPS for how much farther they had to go. They’d flown to Billings, Montana, in an O’Donnell International company jet. Upon arrival Jacob had rented a car for the rest of the trip.

Along with losing her MP3 player, Kittie’s punishment for smoking and accidentally setting fire to the girls’ locker room was having to pay for the damages out of her allowance and composing a written apology to the school. An acceptable written apology, since Kittie could easily make an apology sound more like an insult.

Oh, yeah, and she was grounded for life, plus ten years. Jacob had told her if she shaped up during their trip, he might shave a few years from that part of the punishment.

Kittie hadn’t even blinked.

Tough love sounded clichéd, but he was desperate. He’d try anything.

Guided by the GPS, Jacob turned onto the U-2 Ranch road and after a mile came over a hill. Laid out in a shallow valley were the ranch buildings and, on the opposite slope, an array of white canvas tents. He winced—he hadn’t slept outdoors since he was a boy. A ranch vacation was a far cry from the Caribbean resort where he’d taken Kittie for Easter a year ago.

Jacob pulled to a stop in the parking area. There was plenty of space, likely because the school year hadn’t ended for kids who were still attending classes instead of being expelled.

“Hello, there,” called a voice as Jacob opened the trunk of their rental. The speaker was a white-haired man who looked older than the hills. But the weathered cowboy had steel in his face; he might be a worthy match for a surly teenager. “I’m Burt Parsons. Welcome to the U-2 Ranch. You must be the O’Donnells.”

“Duh,” Kittie said sarcastically.

Burt didn’t seem surprised. “And you have to be Kittie.”

Without a word, she spit her gum to the grass.

Before Jacob could say something about it, Burt gave her a stern look. “We don’t allow littering here,” he informed her. “Put it in the trash.”

Kittie didn’t move.

“Pick it up, young lady, unless you’d rather shovel horse manure from the barn.”

“Dad.”

“Better get the shovel, Burt,” Jacob suggested, taking their new sleeping bags from the trunk. It was hard letting someone else discipline Kittie. He had a hunch that tough love might be rougher on him than on his daughter.

Glaring at them both, she picked up the wad of gum and threw it in a barrel marked for trash.

“You folks are later arriving than we expected,” Burt said, stepping forward to help with the luggage. He read the baggage tag on Kittie’s neon-pink duffel, pushed it into her arms and went ahead of them with an easy stride, carrying the sleeping bags. Jacob followed with his own suitcase.

Kittie trudged next to him with an aggrieved mutter, but as they passed the largest barn, a young man came out and she stopped dead in her tracks. “Uh, hi,” she said, without even a touch of sarcasm or disdain—like his old Kittie.

Jacob stiffened. At first sight the guy appeared to be in his early twenties, but on closer inspection he was clearly younger. Great. That was all his daughter needed—a crush on another messed-up teenager.

The boy checked Kittie up and down. “You’re that city kid we’ve been expecting.”

“I’m not a kid, but I am from Seattle. My name is Kittie O’Donnell...uh, that is, I prefer Caitlin. Who are you?” She smiled shyly.

“Reid Weston. You’ll scare the horses in that getup,” he said.

He walked away and Jacob realized Reid Weston wasn’t a troubled teen—he was a cocky, underage cowboy. Kittie’s devastated expression showed he’d flattened her ego with a single comment. And what was that bit about Kittie wanting to be called Caitlin? It was the first he’d heard of it.

“Reid and his family own the ranch,” Burt explained, as if nothing had happened. “You’ll be seeing a lot of them.” He motioned them toward the hillside studded with tents.

The tents were utilitarian at best, with mattresses laid out on each side of a canvas partition, along with lanterns, a small bedside table and sturdy army-green footlockers.

“We don’t recommend keeping food in here.” Burt tossed a sleeping bag onto the mattresses. “We have the usual critters who’ll want to share it, but if you do have any snacks, be sure to put them in your locker and fasten it tight. Better yet, store all food in your car.”

“Hear that, Kittie?” Jacob asked his daughter. Kittie had a thing for red licorice. He’d bet a thousand bucks she’d filled her duffel bag with the revolting stuff.

She just stuck out her chin.

“The lanterns are rechargeable,” Burt went on. “Bring them to the mess tent in the morning if they need a charge, otherwise you’ll be taking care of business in the dark. No candles—it isn’t safe. Flashlights are okay if you’ve got ’em. The bathrooms and laundry and other facilities are in the buildings to the left, and the mess tent is over there.” He pointed to a large tent with smoke rising behind it. “Folks are mostly gathered for supper already—we start serving in thirty minutes.”

“Thanks, we’ll be there.”

“No hurry,” Burt said. “Take your time and get comfortable. We don’t stand on formality.” With a short nod, he ambled toward the ranch house.

Jacob shot a look at Kittie. She’d assumed her defiant attitude, apparently having recovered from Reid Weston’s snubbing remark.

“I’m not shoveling any horse poop,” she announced and disappeared into her side of the tent.

* * *

MARIAH WESTON STALKED into the ranch house and slammed the door. She leaned against it and took several deep breaths.

“Problems, dear?” asked her grandmother.

“Nothing a two-by-four making contact with a certain cowboy’s privates wouldn’t fix. Hurt a guy where he lives and maybe you’ll get his attention.”

Dr. Elizabeth Grant Weston smiled resignedly. “Lincoln must have broken another heart.”

“Yes. We have yet another departing guest who hoped Lincoln had fallen in love with her and wanted to get married. For crying out loud, Linc keeps a supply of condoms in his shirt pocket! It’s pretty obvious what his intentions are. Did she really think he was going to change his ways and decide that wearing a wedding ring is better than being a carefree bachelor?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“Cowboys don’t change—they just get older and stop having luck with the opposite sex.”

“Goodness, you’re in a mood today.”

“Can you blame me? I found Ms. Bingham smoking in one of the barns, so upset she almost set fire to the place.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Oh, dear. We don’t allow smoking. I wish we could extend the ban to chewing tobacco, but the ranch hands practically mutinied on the no-smoking rule.”

“I reminded her about the rules when I grabbed the cigarette and doused the smoldering hay. She apologized and the whole story spilled out in a hysterical swoop. Lucky me. I guess she just needed to tell someone. Linc always breaks things off at the last minute, but the women usually don’t take it this hard. Why are people so blind?”

“Patience, dear,” her grandmother urged.

Mariah rubbed her aching temples.

Patience wasn’t one of her strongest qualities. She did well with animals, not so great with people. Animals were straightforward; their emotions weren’t illogical. She felt sorry for Diane Bingham, but she honestly wondered how the woman could have imagined things working out with a cowboy. Diane was a born-and-bred city dweller with a taste for fast cars, sushi bars and nightclubs. She’d come to Montana on a whim and nearly gone crazy with the quiet before getting hot and heavy with Linc.

Linc had grown up on a horse, had never lived in a town with more than five hundred residents, probably thought sushi had something to do with sex and drove a decrepit truck from the 1970s that couldn’t reach fifty on a paved road.

The difference between ranchers and cowhands and most people was just too big. You might have a casual vacation affair, but you never expected it to become permanent. Mariah had learned that when she was fifteen and discovered that summer promises were too easily shattered...along with hearts.

Elizabeth patted her arm. “I’ll have your grandfather speak with Linc.”

“No, it’s okay, Ms. Bingham admitted Linc didn’t make any promises. But from now on he’s only working with family groups. We’ll keep him so busy that his sorry ass is too tired to do more than crawl into bed.”

“That’s usually where the trouble starts,” Elizabeth said drily.

“Don’t remind me. And they say country dwellers are naive. Is Reid in the office?”

“I think so. I just got home myself.”

Mariah headed to the back of the house, weary though it was only the beginning of the season and she ought to be brimming with energy. Ranching wasn’t easy. There were droughts, floods, lightning storms, disease, harsh winters, ornery cattle, unstable beef prices and a wealth of other problems to juggle. Yet those problems seemed minor compared to managing a bunch of greenhorn visitors and cowboy wranglers.

“Hey, Reid,” she said, stepping into the office. Their parents had converted a storage room into work space when they’d started the ranch vacation business. Originally they’d needed only a phone, a desk and a file cabinet, but the business had changed over the years, as had technology. Now the office was cramped with the newest equipment.

“Hey,” her brother said absently. He was bent over a book, reading intently.

“Studying?”

“Not exactly.” He looked up and pushed back from the old desk. “The travel agency phoned while you were out. Amy is waiting for the computer repair service to arrive, so I cross-checked the reservations that came in this week to be sure they were confirmed.”

“I appreciate your doing that, but I could have taken care of it later and let her know,” Mariah murmured. “Amy works evenings.”

Amy Lindstrom was a neighbor and ran her agency from home, largely through the internet. Initially it had stung Mariah to be charged for a job she could have kept handling herself, but Amy had significantly increased the U-2’s bookings.