A Family For Rose

She’s the prodigal daughter...

But can she truly go home?

Shannon McTavish returns to her father’s Wyoming ranch with her child, Rose, but it’s hardly the haven she expected. Her father and rancher Billy Mac are embroiled in a battle with a powerful wind company. Billy wants Shannon to stay. But is he asking because he needs her help to save the land—or because he wants to give Shannon and Rose a home?

NADIA NICHOLS went to the dogs at the age of twenty-nine and currently operates a kennel of twenty-eight Alaskan huskies. She has raced her sled dogs in northern New England and Canada, works at the family-owned Harraseeket Inn in Freeport, Maine, and is also a registered Master Maine Guide.

She began her writing career at the age of five, when she made her first sale, a short story called “The Bear” to her mother for twenty-five cents. This story was such a blockbuster that her mother bought every other story she wrote and kept her in ice-cream money throughout much of her childhood.

Now all her royalties go toward buying dog food. She lives on a remote solar-powered northern Maine homestead with her sled dogs, a Belgian draft horse named Dan, several cats, two goats and a flock of chickens. She can be reached at nadianichols@aol.com.

Also By Nadia Nichols

Across a Thousand Miles

Montana Dreaming

Buffalo Summer

A Full House

Montana Standoff

Sharing Spaces

Everything to Prove

From Out of the Blue

A Soldier’s Pledge

Montana Unbranded

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

A Family for Rose

Nadia Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08587-8

A FAMILY FOR ROSE

© 2018 Penny R. Gray

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2018-08-31

“You think me and Rose would be happy here. I think you’re crazy, cowboy.”

“Crazy about you, Shannon, that’s for sure, even if you are way out of my league.”

“I wish you’d quit saying that.” Shannon rose to her feet. “I have to tuck Rose into bed.”

“You could come back afterward,” Billy said. “Watch the stars shine down.”

She smiled, a sweet curve of her lips in the gathering twilight. “You really need to get some rest.”

“What I really need to do is kiss you.”

For a moment he thought she was going to leave. Just turn and walk away and leave him sitting there, like a rejected fool. Just as she had ten years earlier. But she didn’t. She bent over him, her fingertips touching his shoulders, her lips barely touching his. The gentlest of kisses, and far too brief.

Dear Reader,

This was a tough story to write. I left my home in western Maine seven years ago when the mountain where my father’s ashes were scattered was leveled to make way for twelve industrial-scale wind turbines. Several years later I went back to visit my old mountain haunts, but nothing was the same, and I didn’t stay long. John Muir said, “Going to the mountains is going home,” but I’ve since learned that mountains are not renewable, and going home can be a painful thing.

The characters in this story share many of the same experiences I did, viewed from opposite sides of the fence. Shannon McTavish believes wind power is green and good for the planet. Billy Mac sees it as an environmental disaster. To complicate matters, Billy works for Shannon’s father, who’s the only holdout among the major landowners who stand to make big bucks leasing their land to the wind power company. Battle lines are drawn, but there’s a whole lot more at stake than the outcome of a wind project. Hearts are on the line, as well as the future of Shannon’s little girl. Shannon has to decide whether to walk away, or try harder to protect what turns out to be the two most important things to all of them: home and family.

I love to hear from my readers. Contact me at nadianichols@aol.com and check out my author’s page on Amazon.com.

Nadia Nichols

For my father, who once told me that one of the hardest decisions we ever face in life is choosing whether to walk away or try harder.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

WYOMING WAS A far stretch from Nashville, but Shannon McTavish hadn’t forgotten the way home. Ten years had passed since she last drove down this long, lonesome stretch of road, but she remembered every curve, every hill and every gully. She knew the names of the mountains she was driving toward—Whiskey and Wolverine, Wolf Butte and Wind River. She knew the names of the creeks she crossed and how sweet the wind would taste when she rolled her window down to fill her lungs. She remembered the sound of the soul-deep thunder that the wind made when it blew across the wild wide open.

This was a big, empty land that looked as if nothing had changed, yet everything had. When Shannon left, her future had seemed so bright and she’d been so in love. Ten years ago she’d vowed never to return to the lonesome place on the edge of nowhere, yet now she couldn’t wait to get there.

Each mile brought her closer, but there were two more obstacles to overcome—and they had nothing to do with the miles or the mountains in between. Her father didn’t know she was coming home, and he was unlikely to welcome her.

Shannon glanced in the rearview mirror. “How’re you doing back there, Rose?”

“Good, Momma. I’m counting cows, like you told me to.”

“How many so far?”

“So many I can’t go that high,” Rose said, all blue eyes, fair skin and sweetness.

“We must be in Wyoming, then,” Shannon said.

“Are we almost there?”

“Almost, sweetheart. I’m going to stop for gas at this little store up ahead, and then it’ll be just a few more miles and we’ll be home.”

“Will there be horses there?”

“I don’t know, Rose. There used to be lots of them, and I hope there still are.”

Hope. The word mocked her. She’d done nothing but hope this whole long drive. Hope her father would be glad to see them. Hope he’d sell her that little piece of land she coveted, so she could build a house and haven for herself and Rose on that little pine-clad knoll above the creek near the ranch gate. Hope she could make a new life for herself and her daughter, and mend fences with her father.

Hope and pray Travis wouldn’t follow them here.

Shannon pulled alongside the gas pumps out in front of Willard’s General Store. The sign was a little more faded after ten years, but the store’s facade looked the same. The weathered bench in front of the store was empty, but it would be at four o’clock on a summer afternoon during haying time. She unbuckled her seat belt and got out, stretching cramped muscles. The air was warm and clean and smelled of sweetgrass and sage. She drew it into her lungs, remembering past summers, other times. The screen door opened with the familiar tinkling of the brass shop bell and Willard Jackson emerged, pulling on a pair of leather work gloves. Same old Willard. Gray hair and beard, wiry and spry, eyes bright behind gold-rimmed glasses. He started down the steps as the screen door banged shut behind him and then came to an abrupt stop when he spotted her.

“Shannon?” he said. “Shannon McTavish! Well I’ll be hanged. How are you, girl? It’s been a dog’s age since you went and got famous on us. Good to see you!”

Shannon had to restrain herself from hugging him, her reaction was that acute. She shook the hand he offered with a glad smile. “It’s good to see you, too, Willard. It’s been a while, for sure. I’ve come back to visit Daddy and my gas tank’s about empty. I’d appreciate if you’d fill it with regular. How are things with you? How’s Wilma?”

Willard began pumping the gas. “Oh, things around the store are the same as ever. Wilma’s fine. Not much has changed since you left.” He canted his head as if reconsidering what he’d just said. “Your daddy know you’re coming?”

Shannon shook her head. “I wanted to surprise him. Why? Is everything all right?”

“Well...” Willard began reluctantly, then stopped. His jaw dropped as he looked through the open car window at Rose. “By the sweet ever lovin’. Is that little’un yours?”

“She sure is. Rose turned six last month. Say hi to Mr. Jackson, Rose.”

“Hi, Mr. Jackson,” Rose said.

“Hello, Rose. You’re as pretty as your mother, you know that? You planning on staying awhile?”

“Momma says we’re gonna live here, and I’m going to ride horses every day,” Rose said.

Willard nodded. “Glad to hear it. Your momma sure could ride, before she got herself famous in Nashville.” He topped off the tank and replaced the gas cap. “You planning on moving back here for real?” he asked, that same cautious look in his eyes.

Shannon reached inside the car for her purse. “Willard, to tell the truth, right now I can’t say whether I’m coming or going. It’s been a long journey and I’m really tired.”

He nodded his understanding. “The ranch road’s gotten pretty rough since you been gone. There’re some washouts that fancy car of yours might not like. Things at your daddy’s ranch might look a little different now from what you remember.”

Shannon wondered what he was trying to tell her, then shrugged off her fears. “Everything changes, Willard. I’m just glad to be home.”

“We’re glad to have you. If you need any supplies out there, anything at all, just give me a holler. I’ll drive ’em out myself after closing time.”

“That’s kind of you, but I’m sure we’ll be okay.” Shannon counted off the bills for the gas and gave them to Willard. “Give Wilma my love.”

The ranch turnoff was less than a mile from the store, and the entrance to the ranch road looked pretty much the same. Same massive cedar poles set on either side, two feet in diameter and twelve feet tall, with the ranch sign up high, spanning the distance between them.

The sign was painted steel, rusting gracefully, with a cutout of a running horse. McTavish Ranch was lettered in gold against the dark red painted steel. Her mother had made the sign, using an arc welder to cut out the big silhouette of the running horse. When it first went up, folks had come from miles around to admire it, and after all these years it was still a handsome sign, welcoming her home and making her feel as though everything was going to be all right.

That feeling lasted until she saw the new house that was being built not a stone’s throw from the ranch turnoff, on the banks of the Bear Paw, smack-dab on the spot where she used to wait for the school bus.

She braked abruptly, her fingers tightening around the wheel, and for a moment she couldn’t believe her eyes. It was as if someone had found her childhood diary with the drawing of her little dream house in it, the house she’d planned to build in this very same spot one day. Only nobody knew what her dream house looked like. She hadn’t told a soul she was coming back. Nobody would’ve built that house for her on the little knoll overlooking the creek.

“I don’t believe it,” she said aloud.

The building was a small, story-and-a-half ranch with a wide porch across the side facing the creek. Simple and pleasing to the eye. The structure was framed up and closed in, sheathed in house wrap, but the roof was only half shingled and the siding wasn’t on yet. No windows had been installed in the framed-out openings. No doors. She could see a generator under a lean-to near the house. Stacks of roof shingles and lumber were neatly arranged in the yard.

“Are we there, Momma?” Rose asked from the back seat, perking up.

“No, honey, not yet.”

“Why’re we stopped?”

“I’m looking at a house.”

Rose hitched up in her seat to see out the side window. “Who lives here?”

“Nobody...yet. It isn’t finished.” Shannon was still trying to process it all. Was it possible that her father was building this place for her and Rose? Was it possible that, all along, he’d been waiting for her to come home? Hoping that she would? Awaiting the day? Had she been wrong about him, thinking that all these years he was still angry with her, that he never wanted to see her again? Could this little house be proof that he really loved her and hoped she’d come back?

“No,” Shannon concluded with a shake of her head. “Never in a million years would Daddy be building that house for me.”

The final stretch of road to the ranch was worse than rough. One of the first things she’d have to do would be to trade her Mercedes for a pickup truck. If her father let her stay, that was.

But she might have destroyed all chances of that ten years ago. Daddy’d warned her about quitting school and running off with Travis Roy. The day she’d left home they’d had a terrible fight, said terrible things to each other, things they could never take back. Shannon figured he’d get over his big mad, but he hadn’t, not even after ten years. Hadn’t answered any of her letters, hadn’t asked her to come visit or expressed any interest at all in his granddaughter. Worst of all, every single thing he’d warned her about had come to pass. He might not have spoken to her in forever, but for sure he’d say these four words to her when she came crawling home. He’d say, “I told you so,” and he’d be right.

“Momma, I have to pee,” Rose said from the back seat.

“Hold on, sweetheart, we’re almost there.”

Shannon crested the height of the land where she could see the ranch spread out in the valley below, surrounded by mountains that looked close enough to touch and were crowned with sailing-ship clouds scudding across the wide-open July sky. She stopped the Mercedes. “See, Rose? Down below us in that valley? That’s the McTavish Ranch. That ranch has been in our family for a long, long time.”

Rose’s face scrunched up in pain. “Momma, I really have to pee.”

Shannon got out, freed Rose from her seatbelt and helped her from the back seat.

“Go behind those bushes. I’ll wait right here.”

Rose obediently walked to the side of the road and looked behind the bushes. “Momma, there’s no bathroom here.”

“If you want fancy indoor plumbing, you’ll have to hold it till we reach the ranch.”

“I’ll wait,” Rose said with a pained look and turned toward the car.

Shannon leaned against the car door. It seemed as if the wind was clearing away the weary fog that muddled her thoughts and sapped her energy. Wyoming wind was a yondering wind. She’d always loved its wild, far-flung power, and right at this moment, standing in the shadow of those rugged mountains, she felt young again, as if her dreams were still within reach and life was just beginning.

“Momma?”

Rose’s plaintive voice interrupted her reverie, reminding her that ten years had passed and she was now the mother of a six-year-old girl who really had to pee.

The rutted dirt road serpentined a slow descent into the valley and their car kicked up a plume of dust that would announce their arrival minutes before they pulled in to the yard, assuming anyone was looking.

Shannon noted the sad condition of the fences and gates on the ranch road. Willard had warned her, but it looked like Daddy hadn’t done any maintenance since she’d left. It was ominous that the gates were ajar, all three of them, including the main gate just off the black road. The cattle and horses could wander clear to the Missouri River if they had a mind—unless there weren’t any left to wander. Maybe Daddy had sold all the livestock. Maybe he planned to sell the land off in ten-acre parcels. Mini ranchettes. Maybe that little house being built on the Bear Paw River was the first of many.

She closed the gates, one after the other, two sagging on broken hinges, the last hanging from a rotting fence post. Her parents had taught her always to close the gates and keep them closed, so she did. It would’ve felt wrong to leave them open.

She parked in front of the house beside the faded blue pickup that was her father’s, the same pickup he’d had when she left. Ford half ton. It had been starting to rust then and it was a whole lot rustier now.

The house looked weather-beaten. Shabby. The roof needed shingling, the windows needed a good cleaning. There were a couple of soda cans under the wall bench on the porch, an oily rag on the bench itself next to a greasy jug of winter-weight chain saw oil.

She did a quick assessment of the rest. Porch could use a good sweeping. House needed a fresh coat of paint. Gardens were gone. Her mother’s beautiful roses and peonies had long since succumbed to years of neglect in a harsh land. Barns and outbuildings were desolate. Corrals were empty. It looked as if nobody had ever cared about the place and nothing good had ever happened here.

But Shannon knew better. The ghosts of the past weren’t all dead. She and her parents had had good times here. Until her mother died.

She cut the ignition. “You wait right here, Rose.”

The wind lifted a dust devil as she climbed the porch steps. “Daddy?” She rapped her knuckles on the doorjamb and peered through the screen door into the kitchen. “Daddy, you home?”

She heard the slow click of approaching paws and she peered through the screening. An ancient border collie crossed the kitchen linoleum toward her in a stiff arthritic gait. For the second time that day, Shannon felt a jolt of shock down to the soles of her feet.

“Tess?” She stared in disbelief, then opened the screen door as the dog approached, blue eyes milky with cataracts. The border collie sniffed her outstretched hand and after a moment her tail wagged and her blind eyes lifted, searching. Shannon dropped to her knees and enclosed the frail dog in her arms, overcome with emotion.

“Tess,” she choked out as her throat cramped up.

“She waited a long time for you to come back,” a man’s voice said.

Shannon knew that gruff voice as well as she knew the old dog she held in her arms. She looked up, blinking through her tears. Her father stood in the doorway, folded-up newspaper in one hand. She rose to her feet and swiped her palms across her cheeks to blot her tears.

“Hello, Daddy.”

His expression was chiseled in stone. For the longest moment Shannon thought he wasn’t going to respond, but then he gave a curt nod. “Fool dog still looks for you every afternoon, about the time the school bus used to drop you at the end of the road. She never stopped waiting for you to come home.”

His words were like a knife twisting in her guts, but of course, that had been his intention. To hurt her. Shannon would’ve dropped down beside the old dog and bawled her heart out if he hadn’t been standing there.

He was thinner, older, but still tough. A couple days’ worth of stubble on his lean jaw. His hair had gone completely gray and was cut short, like he’d always kept it. Neatly trimmed mustache. Sharp blue eyes that could still make Shannon feel guilty about things she hadn’t done and never would. Blue jeans, worn boots and a reasonably clean white undershirt. Handsome in a steely-eyed, weathered way.

“You might’ve let me know you were coming. Phone still works,” he said.

Shannon shoved her hands into her pockets and lifted her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry. It was a spur-of-the-moment trip. I brought Rose with me, Daddy. I thought you might like to meet her.” She raised her voice and turned toward the car before her father could send them both packing. “Rose, come on and meet your grampy.” The car door opened. Rose stepped out and stood in the dust of the yard, staring up at them. To her father, Shannon said, “She’s a little shy with strangers, but it doesn’t last long. C’mon up here, honey. It’s all right.”

Rose just stood there, watching them.

“Where’s Travis?” her father asked in that same flat, hard voice, eyeing the car.

“I left him, Daddy. I should’ve done it a long time ago. We’re divorced. It’s over. I guess that’s why I’m here. I didn’t know where else to go. Come on, Rose. It’s okay.”

Rose climbed the porch steps one at a time, holding on to the railing. She stared gravely at her grandfather with her dark blue eyes. Peaches-and-cream face. Tawny curls. How could he not fall in love with her? Shannon thought. How could this sweet little girl, his own flesh and blood, not melt his heart?

“Hello, Grampy, I’m Rose,” she said, and, like they’d rehearsed, she held out her small hand to him.

He took it in his strong, calloused one after a startled pause. “Hello, Rose,” he said, and released her hand awkwardly. Shannon was relieved to see his expression had softened.

“Is this your dog?” Rose asked him.