Lead Me Home

Do you need a cowboy fix?

New York Times bestselling author Vicki Lewis Thompson returns to Mills & Boon® Blaze® in 2012 with more

Sons of Chance

Chance isn’t just the last name of these rugged

Wyoming cowboys—it’s their motto, too!

Saddle up with

Long Road Home

Lead Me Home

Feels Like Home

Take a chance … on a Chance!

Dear Reader,

I’m no gourmet cook. In fact, not long ago while cooking for friends, I attempted to make green beans with almonds in a baking dish with a glass lid. As I lifted the lid to check the doneness (that’s a technical term known only to experienced chefs), I dropped the lid, which shattered into the beans. My dear guests ate the beans while picking out bits of glass.

Therefore, when I wrote about Aurelia Imogene Smith working away in the Last Chance Ranch kitchen preparing fancy French dishes with ingredients I couldn’t pronounce, you know I was living in a fantasy world. But what’s a fantasy without a cowboy, I ask you? So I brought Matthew Tredway, master horse trainer, right into that ranch kitchen to meet Aurelia.

We’ve all been told that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Must be true, because in no time Aurelia finds her way into Matthew’s heart, but she also manages to lure the rest of him, too. And I have to say, in the interest of full disclosure, that food isn’t the only thing Matthew is interested in.

If you’ve been a faithful reader of the SONS OF CHANCE series—and I hope you have!—you may wonder what Aurelia’s doing in a kitchen normally dominated by ranch cook Mary Lou Simms. Turns out that Mary Lou and Watkins, the ranch hand who was sweet on her, finally decided to tie the knot and are off on their honeymoon.

If that’s news to you, you need to come on out to the Last Chance, sip a cup of coffee on the porch, and catch up on the doings there. I know you wouldn’t want to miss a single thing!

Lipsmackingly yours,

Vicki

New York Times bestselling author VICKI LEWIS THOMPSON’S love affair with cowboys started with the Lone Ranger, continued through Maverick and took a turn south of the border with Zorro. She views cowboys as the Western version of knights in shining armor—rugged men who value honor, honesty and hard work. Fortunately for her, she lives in the Arizona desert, where broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboys abound. Blessed with such an abundance of inspiration, she only hopes that she can do them justice. Visit her website at www.vickilewisthompson.com.

Lead Me Home

Vicki Lewis Thompson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all the fabulous cooks I’ve known who have fed me terrific food that had the perfect mix of spices, wasn’t either burned or raw, and never had bits of glass in it. I have committed all those sins and more, and suspect it may be time to hang up my potholders and abandon the field.

Prologue

July 14, 1980, Last Chance Ranch

AFTER FORTY-FIVE YEARS of marriage to Nelsie, Archie Chance knew timing was everything, especially when dealing with a touchy subject like food preparation. Nelsie was possessive about her kitchen, always had been. She’d rejected every suggestion to hire some help, but this time, Archie was determined to convince her.

He waited until they’d settled on the front porch for their usual after-dinner cup of coffee accompanied by a look-see at the mountains. Then he pretended his next move was an afterthought. “You know what? I’m gonna get that bottle of Bailey’s and add a little to my coffee.” Setting his mug on the small wooden table between their rockers, he stood.

Nelsie glanced up at him with a smile. “What are you plotting now, Archibald?”

He should have known she’d suspect him of having ulterior motives, but he pretended innocence. “Not a thing. I just like a little taste of Bailey’s in my coffee now and again.”

She didn’t look convinced. “If you say so.”

“Be right back.” He walked inside and grabbed the bottle out of a cabinet he’d built years ago. From upstairs came the familiar sound of his son Jonathan and his daughter-in-law Diana having a row. Little Jack was crying, which any toddler would do if his parents yelled at each other like they had no sense.

Archie considered going up there and fetching Jack, but about that time the arguing stopped and Jonathan headed down the curved staircase holding his son.

“Taking Jack for a little ride.” Jonathan avoided his father’s gaze. “Won’t be gone long.”

“Okay.” Archie watched Jonathan stride out of the house, his back rigid with anger. The marriage was not going well, but Archie wasn’t surprised. Although Jonathan had made an effort because of the baby, he’d never been in love with that woman, and Diana wasn’t easy to love, anyhow. Archie didn’t know how to fix a problem like that.

So he decided to concentrate on the problem he could fix, or at least try to. Carrying the Bailey’s, he walked back out to the porch, unscrewed the cap and held the bottle toward Nelsie. “Want some?”

“Think I will, after all.” She held up her mug and he poured about a jigger’s worth into it. She sighed heavily. “I hate it when they fight.”

“Me, too.” Archie doctored his coffee and put the cap back on before reclaiming his rocker. “But they’re the ones who have to figure it out.”

“I know. I just wish …”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence for Archie to know what she wished—that Jonathan and Diana had been in love when they’d made that baby, so that getting married would have been a joy instead of an obligation. He took a sip of his coffee and was glad he’d added the Bailey’s to soften the sharp edges of reality.

Pretty soon Jonathan came out of the barn leading Scout. He put Jack on first before mounting up and riding slowly across the meadow, holding Jack on the saddle in front of him. In spite of everything, Archie couldn’t help smiling. That kid loved being on a horse as much as his daddy had at that age. Jonathan had tried teaching Diana to ride, but the effort had been doomed from the start.

“The mountains are pretty tonight,” Nelsie said. “I love it when they get that pinkish glow.”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Gradually Archie’s spirits began to lift, as they always did when he took time to appreciate his surroundings. The view from the porch was spectacular, and he could see it whenever he took the time. Besides that, he had a wife he cherished beyond belief, a devoted son, and the most amazing grandbaby in the world. All in all, he was one lucky SOB.

He’d finished about half his coffee when he decided to broach the kitchen-help idea. At least Nelsie had some Bailey’s in her, which tended to mellow her out a bit.

“I can hear the wheels grinding over there,” Nelsie said. “You might as well spit it out.”

Archie looked over at her and grinned. She always could read him like a book. “All right. You’ve been against this in the past, but we’re feeding quite a few cowhands at lunch these days, and—”

“Archie, you know I hate the idea of a stranger in my kitchen, not to mention the expense.”

“But you’re working yourself to a frazzle.”

“If only Diana would—”

“Well, she’s not going to, and we might as well accept the fact that she’s not domestic.” Archie hadn’t figured out what Diana was good at besides shopping for clothes in Jackson.

She and Jonathan fought about her spending habits, but whenever Jonathan refused to give her money, she threatened to divorce him and take Jack. She would get that baby, too. Courts usually found in favor of the mother unless she was a drunk or a drug addict, and Diana was neither.

Archie peeked over at Nelsie to gauge her mood. He’d bet she was thinking about those shopping trips, too, judging from the way her mouth was set in a ruler-straight line.

But wishing for a different kind of daughter-in-law wouldn’t get them anywhere. He pressed on. “I heard about someone who’s looking for work. She came here from Nebraska with some guy who left her high and dry. She’s been helping Edgar and Madge Perkins at the diner and they love her, but they can’t give her enough hours because they already have a cook.”

Nelsie turned to him. “Why doesn’t she just go home to Nebraska?”

“Apparently she’d catch grief for her decision to leave in the first place. Besides that, she’s become fond of our little town. Edgar and Madge said working for us would be the answer to her prayers.”

Nelsie’s expression softened. “So you’ve come up with a young woman who needs a helping hand.”

He sensed victory. “It seems like we should at least try her out since we need a cook and she needs a job.”

“You always did know how to get around me, Archibald Chance.” She met his gaze. “I guess you’d better ask this girl to come out and talk with us. What’s her name?”

“Her last name is Simms.” Archie paused, trying to remember. “Her first name has two parts, like Mary Jane, or … no, wait, it’s Mary Lou. Mary Lou Simms.”

“Mary Lou Simms.” Nelsie seemed to be trying out the name on her tongue. “You know, it might be nice to have another woman around the place.”

Archie didn’t miss the note of longing. Nelsie had dreamed of a daughter-in-law who was also a friend, but that hadn’t happened. Maybe she’d find that female friend in Mary Lou Simms.

1

Present Day

FOOD WAS IMPORTANT to Matthew Tredway. He loved the taste, texture and smell of good food, and at six foot five and 220 pounds, he required a lot of it. But due to a series of air-travel snafus between Richmond, Virginia, and Jackson Hole, Wyoming, he hadn’t had a decent meal all day.

Jeb Branford, a lanky, red-haired cowboy, had picked him up at the Jackson airport for the hour’s drive to the Last Chance Ranch, where Matthew was scheduled to train a problem horse named Houdini. The potentially valuable stallion had never been ridden, let alone used as a stud. Matthew had been hired in a last-ditch effort to salvage the ranch’s investment.

As a bonus, he looked forward to some down-home ranch cooking during the week or so he’d be at the Last Chance. Jeb had offered to stop somewhere for a bite to eat, but Matthew didn’t want to look at another restaurant menu if he could help it.

“I’ll just wait until we get to the ranch,” Matthew said. “I’m ready to kick back with a cold beer and some home-cooked eats.”

“I really think we should stop somewhere.” Jeb scanned the area as they headed out of Jackson. “About a mile down this road there’s a burger joint that serves really—”

“No, thanks.” A burger would do in a pinch, but Matthew longed for something that hadn’t been part of an assembly-line operation. “I’m sure leftovers from the ranch kitchen will beat your burger joint, hands down.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Mr. Tredway.”

“Matthew.”

“Okay, Matthew, although it feels funny calling you that.”

“Because I’m so old?” Matthew pegged the cowhand as early to mid twenties, and at that age, a thirty-five-year-old like Matthew probably seemed ancient.

“Heck, no!” The kid’s blush nearly obliterated his freckles. “Because you’re famous, Mr. Tred—I mean Matthew. You’ve been on TV and everything! I have your book, Think Like a Horse, and I’ve about worn it out. I lobbied for the chance to pick you up at the airport.”

“Well, thank you.” The concept of having fans always made him uncomfortable. Fame was a byproduct he hadn’t counted on when he’d set out to do the work he loved. “I’m glad the book has been useful.”

“Oh, definitely. Although we finally had to give up on Houdini, which is kind of cool since he’s the reason you’re here. I’m actually grateful to that horse for being a pain in the ass if he brought you here.”

Matthew laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Ultimately, if my program is a success, I’ll work myself out of a job.”

“I doubt that will ever happen. There’ll always be people who mess up a horse one way or another and need you to straighten things out. But listen, I really think you should eat before we get back to the ranch. We’ve passed up everything in Jackson, but Shoshone will be coming up in forty minutes or so. We could stop at the Spirits and Spurs or the Shoshone Diner.”

“Why are you so dead set on feeding me before we get to the ranch?”

“Because the food there is terrible.”

“Terrible? I find that hard to believe on a ranch the size of the Last Chance.”

“It didn’t used to be terrible. Mary Lou fixed great spreads.” Jeb spoke in a worshipful tone. “Fried chicken with her special batter, amazing ribs, potato salad seasoned just right, stew with lip-smacking gravy, biscuits that would melt in your mouth … man, what I wouldn’t give for some of that grub right now.”

Matthew had a bad feeling about how this story would end. “Don’t tell me Mary Lou up and died.”

“No, not that bad. She got married.”

“And left you high and dry?”

“For a little while, yeah. Mary Lou and Watkins, one of our top hands, are on a three-week honeymoon cruise, and nobody saw that coming because first of all she said she’d never marry him and second of all she’s not much of a traveler. But the upshot is we’re stuck with Aurelia Imogene Smith for the duration.”

“That’s quite a handle.” Matthew pictured a sour-faced woman who insisted everyone address her with the whole blessed thing.

“Yeah, well, she told us that her mother gave her two fancy names to offset the boring last one. I don’t know if those fancy names went to her head or what, but she claims to be a gourmet cook.”

“Oh.” Matthew smoothed a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. Most cowhands weren’t big on gourmet vittles.

“The hands might be able to tough it out, but I feel especially sorry for the kids. Did anybody tell you about that program?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. You’ve got, what, eight teenaged boys for the summer?”

“That’s right. This philanthropist named Pete Beckett came up with the idea of using the ranch for a residential summer program for teenage boys. They’ve been labeled troublemakers, but I guess they like being on the ranch, because they haven’t caused a single problem. I worry about this food thing, though. Teenagers need regular food. They don’t want to complain, but I can see it in their faces that they don’t like it.”

“So what does she serve that’s so bad?”

“Escargot.” Jeb said it with a groan.

“Hmm. Pricey.” Matthew wondered what sort of bills Aurelia Imogene was running up.

“It’s snails, man! You don’t eat something that crawls on the ground with slime coming out its ass! But she served a plate of those varmints and expected us to eat ’em. I don’t think so.”

“So you left them on the plate?” Matthew happened to love escargots and hated to think of that delicacy going to waste.

“Hell, no. That would have been rude. We scooped ’em out of the shells like we planned to eat them. By now we know to bring plastic bags in our pockets when we come up to the main house for lunch, which is the only meal we eat there. Mornings and evenings we fend for ourselves down at the bunkhouse with stuff like canned chili. We always used to fill up at lunch. But now we’re starving to death.”

“What’d you do with the snails?”

“Gave ’em to the dogs.”

Matthew winced at the travesty of that. Of course, maybe the snails weren’t any good. Just because someone claimed to be a gourmet cook didn’t mean they were.

“Some stuff’s so bad even the dogs won’t eat it.”

Matthew was hardwired to solve problems, and this was one he had a stake in because he did love his food. “Can’t you talk to somebody? Either her, or whoever hired her?”

“That’s just it. She’s Mary Lou’s niece, and Mary Lou invited her to come and fill in. Nobody wants to offend Mary Lou because she’s been good to us, and to be honest, I don’t know what the Chance family thinks about the food because they’ve never said anything.”

“So maybe they like it.”

“I’d be surprised. I think they’re just trying to ride it out like the rest of us. Plus, Aurelia’s sweet as can be, and I’m sure she doesn’t mean to make us gag. Nobody has the heart to hurt her feelings. In fact …” He glanced over at Matthew before sighing and turning his attention to the road again. “No, I can’t do it. It’s not fair to you.”

“What’s not fair?”

“One of the guys came up with the idea that you could pretend you were on a special diet or something, which she’d have to accommodate because you’re an honored guest, and we’d all climb on board and say we’d eat the same thing to make life easier for her.”

“I’m not going to lie to her about some bogus special diet.”

“No, I don’t think you should, either,” Jeb said quickly. “I told the boys that. Bad idea.”

“But I’d like to help. I’ve had some experience with fine dining, so maybe if I show that I appreciate what she’s trying to do, I can make some subtle suggestions that would turn things around.”

“Now that’s more like it! But I still think we should stop for food before we get to the ranch.”

Matthew shook his head. “That makes no sense. Before I can discuss food with her, I have to eat something she’s made.” He glanced at the clock on the truck’s dashboard. They wouldn’t arrive at the ranch until around seven, which was nine his time. By then he might not care what he ate.

“You’re a brave man.”

Matthew laughed. “That bad, huh?”

“I have two words for you. Goat cheese.” Jeb made a face. “Find out if she’s made something with goat cheese, and if she has, don’t eat it. I guarantee you’ll want to puke your guts out.”

Matthew decided not to admit he was fond of goat cheese, too. Demand for his training skills now brought him offers from around the world. He’d learned to appreciate all sorts of food, assuming it was prepared well.

“So I should drop you at the main house?” Jeb asked.

“Right. I need to check in with Sarah Chance, anyway. If you’ll take my duffel to the bunkhouse, you can put it on whatever bed you want me to use. I’ll unpack after I’ve had something to eat.”

“I hope you don’t mind being down with us, but it’s that or sleep in the main house with eight teenagers. I hear they’re behaving themselves, but still.”

“No worries. Bunkhouses are amongst my favorite places to sleep.” Matthew gazed out at the majestic Tetons in the distance and the grassy meadows bordering the road. After spending the past few weeks in the manicured pastures of Virginia, he relished the rugged landscape of Jackson Hole especially on a warm July day. Born not far from here in Billings, Montana, he was a Westerner at heart.

At sixteen, he’d hired on at a working ranch outside Billings. There he’d discovered his gift for working with difficult horses when he’d befriended a mare that previously had trusted no one. His boss had been a talkative man, and soon Matthew had been in demand throughout the state.

When he’d transformed a Montana senator’s unruly horse into a mount children could ride, he’d earned a national reputation for being a miracle worker. Many people had encouraged him to write a book about his methods, and that book had brought international attention to his training ability. He enjoyed the travel opportunities, but he welcomed a return to more familiar surroundings.

Jeb seemed happy about Matthew’s fondness for bunkhouses. He glanced over with a smile. “We have a card game going most nights, in case you’re interested.”

“Deal me in. Once I assess the food situation, I’ll be headed down there ready to play.” He looked forward to spending a week at a place where Stetsons and hand-stitched boots were the norm. Jackson Hole felt a lot like coming home.

SPINACH SOUFFLÉ. Aurelia had spent the past hour sitting at the kitchen table going through her cookbooks in search of something spectacular for tomorrow’s midday meal. The house was quiet for a change, because Pete Beckett had taken the teenagers to the Shoshone Diner to give Aurelia a break.

Aurelia appreciated the gesture. She enjoyed the kids, but they did make a racket, so the peaceful interlude was a good time to concentrate on her menu-planning. Going the soufflé route would be tricky with a crowd, but how gratifying if she could pull it off!

The big dining room sat thirty-two, but she wouldn’t be feeding quite that many. The eight teens took up one of the round tables. The hands and whichever members of the Chance family showed up would occupy two more tables. She didn’t have the baking dishes to make twenty-four individual soufflés, but since she didn’t have an exact head count, several bigger ones everyone could share would work better, anyway.

Or maybe she should make ratatouille, instead. She leafed through another cookbook and found the recipe for that. She’d need eggplant, but she could run into town tomorrow and pick some up. Reading through the list of ingredients, she lifted her thick hair off the back of her neck to catch the evening breeze coming in the kitchen window. The ranch didn’t have air-conditioning because it wasn’t needed often in Jackson Hole, but they could have used some AC today.

Aurelia’s boss, Sarah Chance, had apologized for the lack of cooling and had brought a fan into the kitchen while Aurelia was fixing brochettes aux rognons, de foie et lardons for lunch. Apparently this July had been warmer than usual, although it didn’t seem bad to Aurelia, who was used to Nebraska’s summers.

This was her first trip out of Nebraska, and although she was enjoying the chance to try recipes and cook for a crowd, she couldn’t imagine doing it on a regular basis. She’d happily go back to her stress-free routine of working at the bank and cooking for herself and her friends on her days off.

As she puzzled over whether to serve the ratatouille or the spinach soufflé the next day, she heard voices coming from the hallway that led into the large dining room. One she recognized as Sarah’s, but the deep baritone didn’t sound like any of Sarah’s three adult sons or Pete, who had recently become Sarah’s fiancé.

As the voices drew closer and Aurelia heard Houdini’s name mentioned, she figured out the horse trainer had arrived. And he’d probably arrived hungry if Sarah was bringing him back to the kitchen. Happy anticipation made Aurelia smile. She loved feeding people.

A moment later Sarah walked into the kitchen followed by a very tall man with shoulders a mile wide and eyes bluer than the center of a gas flame. Aurelia caught her breath as she stood to greet the most imposing cowboy she’d seen since setting foot on the Last Chance. And that was saying something, because the ranch was chock-full of good-looking cowboys.

The horse trainer held his tan Stetson in one hand. He’d obviously been wearing it all day because his wavy brown hair bore the crease of it, along with a faint pink mark on his forehead, which she found endearing. His face and throat were bronzed by the sun, which presented a nice contrast to the blue denim Western shirt he wore. She didn’t allow her gaze to travel lower in case he’d think she was giving him the once-over. She’d save that for when he wasn’t looking right at her.

Aurelia’s boss wasn’t small at five foot nine, but this man made Sarah Chance look dainty. Sarah tucked her sleek bob, which she’d allowed to turn its natural white, behind her ears as she smiled at Aurelia. “Here’s the magician who’s going to solve our problems with Houdini. Matthew Tredway, may I present our cook, Aurelia Smith.”