Back in the Saddle: A Novel (Double S Ranch, Band 1) - Softcover

Logan Herne, Ruth

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0735290652 ISBN 13: 9780735290655

Verlag: Multnomah, 2017

Inhaltsangabe

The Prodigal Is Coming Home

It’s been a long time since Colt Stafford shrugged off his cowboy legacy for shiny Manhattan loafers and a promising career on Wall Street. But when stock market manipulations leave him financially strapped, the oldest son of legendary rancher Sam Stafford decides to return to the sprawling Double S ranch in Gray’s Glen, Washington. He’s broke, but not broken, and it’s time to get his legs back under him by climbing into the saddle again.
 
He doesn’t expect to come home to a stranger pointing a loaded gun at his chest— a tough yet beautiful woman that Sam hired as the house manager. Colt senses there’s more to Angelina Morales than meets the eye, and he’s determined to find out what she’s hiding...and why.
 
Colt’s return brings new challenges. Younger brother Nick, who’s longbeen Sam’s right-hand man,isn’t thrilled when Colt inserts himself into Double S affairs. And the ranch’s contentious relationship with the town’s people forces  all the Stafford men to reconsider what it truly means to be a neighbor.  As Wall Street recovers, will Colt succumb to the call of the financial district—or stay in the saddle for good?

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Ruth Logan Herne has more than half a million books in print, including fifteen Love Inspired contemporary novels. Back in the Saddle is the first book in her western romance series. Ruth is a founding member of Seekerville, a popular writing collective blog. A country girl who loves the big city, Ruth and her husband live on a farm in upstate New York.

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Acknowledgments and sincere thanks
 

No book is the act of one person, and this one is no excep- tion. Thank you to my son, Luke Blodgett of Angelo Gordon in New York City, for his expertise regarding Colt’s life, work, and position in Lower Manhattan. Hedge-fund managers don’t often talk about their work, so having raised one gave me an inside look at the workings of big finance. Luke, I appreciate your help, your time, and the coffee! I love you, kid! To Shannon Marchese of WaterBrook Multnomah for her straightforward humor and the opportunity to give my cowboys — and me! — a chance. This delightful series of books wouldn’t have happened without her input and her seal of approval.
To the Washington Cattlemen’s Association in Ellensburg, Washington, for their excellent website and referenced websites that helped formulate initial research, and to Mary and Ivan Connealy for their firsthand knowledge of running a solid cattle operation. Thank you for always answering whatever questions I might have. I love coming to visit the cows!
To Cle Elum for being just the kind of town I wanted Gray’s Glen to be: close-knit, part of the whole, and welcoming to strangers. We loved stopping in various shops, and the maple bars at the bakery won my heart!

Huge thanks also to Natasha Kern for her candid observations about Central Washington: climate, flora, fauna . . . all the little things a person knows about her place.
And to Lissa Halls Johnson whose candid advice helped shape and define the final product so beautifully.
And a final and righteously sincere knuckle bump to God, the Ever Present, the Most High, who granted me the talent . . . and the time . . . to see this happen. Well played, my Lord!

ONE  
The sharp metallic click meant one thing.
Someone had  a  gun   pointed   in  Colt   Stafford's  general direction.
 
He sucked  a breath and  realized two  other  things. First, these might  be the last two thoughts he'd  ever have-and that would be a downright shame, wouldn't  it?
Second?
 
It was clear he'd been away from the Double S too long when he couldn't tell what kind of gun it was by the sound of the mechanism. Was it his father's Ithaca Deerslayer or the vintage Remington short barrel?
He  put his hands  high, figuring  this was about  as good a wel­ come as he could  expect after being gone  nearly  nine  years. "I'm unarmed and  this is my home.  Kind  of. Who in the  name of all that's good and holy in the West has me at gunpoint?"
An explosive stream of Spanish brought him two more thoughts. The  person speaking wasn't  his sick father-  the  man  he'd come home  to help. It was a woman,  and  not too tall gauging from the direction  of the Hispanic tongue-lashing being laid down.
He turned his head slightly.
 
Backlit from the foyer light, her features were hard to make out.

Her silhouetted frame said she was petite and most assuredly feminine.
The gun, however, wasn’t.
“I’m Colt Stafford, Sam’s son, and I told Dad I was coming home to help. Whoever you are, let me turn around, and you can see who I am.”
She paused, then issued a command. “Darse la vuelta.”
Which he would have gladly obeyed if he’d taken Spanish in high school and understood her request. But he hadn’t. He’d taken Latin because he thought it sounded cool to say he’d taken Latin. That was only one of many stupid moves he’d made over the years. “I have no idea what that means.”
Would his confession earn him a bullet? And where was his father? Why hadn’t Sam Stafford stormed down the massive rustic front staircase and welcomed his prodigal son with a nice beef barbecue after all this time? Didn’t anyone around here read the Bible anymore?
Dude, your mother was the churchgoing member of the family. Dad? Not so much. The whole prodigal’s great return thing might be lost on him.
“Turn around.”
That he understood. The thick accent disappeared with the deliberate shift to English, leaving only a hint of Latina. He turned slowly, respecting the size of the weapon and the temerity of the woman holding it.
“Turn on that light behind you. Please.”
Please? Did she just add “please” to her direct order, as if she might believe him? He’d hold back on the humor of the situation because either the Remington or the Ithaca would make short work of him at this range, and his pricey wardrobe was about the only accessible tan- gible he had left after years of hard work and financial ladder climb- ing. Bullets rarely hit seams, and fixing a hole in the middle of his lapel would be impossible, even for the best Manhattan tailors.
He hit the switch but kept his focus on the woman. When soft light flooded the area, his heart hit pause.

Untraditional beauty.
He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe some aged abuela working to earn money for her family. Streams of Central American immigrants came north to work the vast fruit orchards of Washing- ton. Some stayed, sending money back home to help those still south of the border. His smattering of Spanish came from working along- side some of those laborers as a kid.
But the woman facing him was nobody’s grandmother. Angular planes lent a hint of Native American attributes to her exquisite face, perfectly sculpted brows deepened the angles, and eyes the color of dense, dark smoke appraised him.
And in that gaze? She found him lacking. So what else was new?
In Stafford-speak, you toed the line and lived for the ranch. Sam Stafford was an all-or-nothing guy, and Colt had broken the rules. Now it was time to eat crow, humble pie, and anything else they served prodigals these days since the fatted calf refused to make an appearance. “I’m Colt.” He gestured toward the picture on the far wall. “I’m on the right, next to Nick and behind Trey.”

 
 
“I’m not blind.” She stared hard at him and slowly lowered the gun. “You have been away many years and have no use for your father. This I know well.”
“Good.” A quick chill climbed his back. “That saves us the customary exchange of pleasantries. And you are?”
“Angelina Morales.” She said the name with unusual crispness. “I am your father’s housekeeper and cook.” Her tone softened, but her expression stayed tough. “I help keep things running smooth. And” — she sighed, and her posture said she didn’t like admitting this next part — “I am sorry I pointed a gun at you. It’s late and I heard a strange noise.”
“I tried calling. No one answered.”
She flushed. “I was away this evening. The men were off, and your father is having tests in the hospital. I stopped to see him, then ran errands in town.”
“Hospital? How bad is he?” Colt moved closer and relieved her of the gun. He unloaded the Ithaca bent barrel, his father’s favorite, then set it back above the fireplace, old-style. “He told me he’s been losing strength, but my father isn’t exactly an old man.” He studied Angelina’s face. “Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s not okay. You know he is a private man and will want to tell you things himself.” She motioned toward the stairs of the classic western home, her expression serious....

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Multnomah
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2017
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0735290652
• ISBN 13: 9780735290655
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 304
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar