Rudy's Heart

by Laurie Ryan

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

Hope brings broken souls together.

An uncle-turned-father, terrified he'll screw up, enlists the help of a burned-out, empathic woman with an oh-so-rightful chip on her shoulder.

Emotionally shattered from her hospice work, Aubrey Gannet journeys to a Montana ranch looking for peace and quiet to rekindle her grieving spirit. But will she be able to forgive the man who deserted his only sister when she needed him the most?
 
Stuck with an angry horse no one can get near and a child who refuses to speak, loner Beck Hawthorne is desperate to get through to them and hoping Aubrey holds that key. Only together can they break the bonds of sadness and find a brighter future.
 
Emotional. Sensual. Standalone. A romance novel that includes a wonderfully intuitive horse name Rudy and a six-year-old who will wrap herself around your heart.

Release date: October 24, 2019

Publisher: L&M Enterprises

Print pages: 167

Sample

Chapter One

Tail flying high, the horse raced to the far end of the corral and reared when the fence prevented his escape. He whirled around, kicking at fence boards that bounced with the force of the blow but withstood the battering. Once, twice, three times he kicked. When he finally dropped to four legs, he stood there shivering, his coat glossy with sweat.

Beck Hawthorne settled a booted foot on the lowest board and leaned on the fence, wondering for the thousandth time in the last month why he’d taken on this horse. Brought to Beck from an abusive situation, Rudy wouldn’t let a soul near him. He’d bitten two of Beck’s men and tried to kick a third when they’d moved him from the trailer to this corral. When they’d tried to bathe him, he’d fought until they were forced to stop or risk injury, to the horse or to them. Rudy had been so terrified, Beck couldn’t put him through that again. Now, Beck wouldn’t let any of his men near the horse. He alone set out food and mucked out the lean-to at the end of the corral, the one they’d built so Rudy would have more shade and a place to eat. Not that he’d gotten any thanks for it. Nope. Nothing but angry puffs of air from the far side of the corral whenever he entered with food or pitchfork. Rudy ate the feed, but only after Beck retreated from sight.

How could he get through to this animal? Everything he’d tried so far had dismal results. And now his young niece seemed taken with the horse. Damn it. Beck slapped the fence and the horse jumped even with the distance between them. He yanked his hat off and wiped sweat from his brow with his arm.

“Beck?”

Cassidy, the face of Hope Ranch and Beck’s go-to for all things organizational, stood several feet back, toying with a strand of kinky hair that had four or five colors woven through it, colors that complemented her dark skin. She eyed the horse as she held out a phone. “Mara’s asking for you and won’t take no for an answer.”

Mara. His favorite cousin, even if she was a royal pain in the ass. Okay, his only cousin. With a last glance at the horse, Beck thanked Cassidy and took the phone.

“Hey, Mars.”

“Yeah, and that nickname never gets old,” she drawled. “How’s my favorite little girl doing?”

Dani. The niece he’d been given sole custody of. The worry knot in Beck’s throat tightened. “She’s no better, no worse. She’s healthy, fed, seems content. I just can’t get her to open up, to tell me how to help her.”

“Give it time,” Mara said. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been months.”

“Not very many, though. Grief takes its own time. She’ll let you know when she’s ready to talk. In the meantime, just love her and let her enjoy the ranch. By the way, where the heck were you hiding? I could have painted my nails and dried them in the time it took your assistant to find you.”

“I live on a ranch now, remember? Nothing’s a short walk. You know that.” He nodded to Cassidy, thinking that would act as a dismissal, but she stayed where she was. Beck should have known better. His ranch manager’s daughter kept this place running smoothly, though her attitude got a bit proprietary at times.

“Yes, dear cousin, I do,” Mara said. “Speaking of which, how’s everything going?”

Beck headed back toward the house. When Cassidy fell in step beside him, he glared at her, but he knew she wouldn’t budge. If she wasn’t so good at her job ...

“Things are slow,” he told Mara. She had a right to know. She’d been there to help for the first couple weeks after he’d bought the place. “The barn is ready and I’m searching for the right quarter horses to begin the breeding program. Since it could take years for that to be profitable, I hope to bring in several hundred head of cattle this fall, which means we’re working on fencing.”

“And the house?”

“The bed and breakfast is a low priority, but it’s coming along.”

“Good, because I’ve got your first customer, a woman I know.”

“Mars, we’re not open yet.” The B&B idea had been Cassidy’s. Beck had thought her nuts, but anything that would make some money for the pit into which he’d sunk a huge chunk of his finances couldn’t be a bad idea, right? Now, he was back to thinking it was crazy.

“It will be a good run-through for the guest part of your ranch. And she’ll be no trouble. She just needs a place to rest for a while.”

Rest? How old was this woman? “Absolutely not. I don’t even have the rooms furnished yet. The furniture doesn’t arrive for another two weeks.”

“Then move a bed, dresser, and chair from the bunkhouse to that room at the front. It’s the quietest and has the best view.”

Instantly, Beck regretted Mara’s visit to the ranch after his niece came to live with him. She’d been a huge help, but the woman remembered too much.

“Come on, Beckett. She needs a break and you need a test guest. It’s a win-win.”

The sting of hearing that name punched Beck in the gut. He hadn’t gone by that in years. Since college, to be exact. Since his father, Beckett, Sr., had died, along with Beck’s mother. Beckett brought back too many memories, some of which were tied to fresh wounds.

“We could bring furniture up, but— ”

“Good, because her name is Aubrey Gannet and she’s already on her way.”

“What?”

“Yep. I saw her off this morning. Figured you’d come around and recognize the benefit for both of you. She’s driving from Seattle and isn’t a speedy traveler, so it’ll be three days before she arrives. She won’t stay long. I promise. Just a few days.”

Great. Some old woman who drove fifty miles per hour on the freeway. Beck pictured her on Montana’s highways, a line of traffic honking behind her. “That’s not enough time,” he told Mara.

“Sure it is. But Becky?”

And there it was. The other name he preferred to never hear again. He hated that childhood name, gifted to him by the one and only Mara. If she weren’t the one person he could count on, he’d give her an earful.

“Take it easy on her, okay? She’s had it rough and really needs to rest.”

“Who are you sending me? Someone who’s sick or something?”

“Not sick. Tired.”

Great. Not only a guest he wasn’t ready for, but a guest with issues. Beck glanced back at Rudy, who’d moved to his fresh food. In the opposite direction, Dani stared through a window, another lost soul, her eyes riveted on that damn horse. The look of longing on her face was something Beck didn’t need words to decipher. Grief had turned his six-year-old niece into a silent ball of sadness. She seemed lonely, too, though she was rarely alone. Now, some old lady who’d probably need more help than Mara thought was on her way to join them. From Seattle. Where Dani had lived until coming to live with him.

Somehow, he’d become a home for wounded souls. Beck clicked off the call with Mara and handed the phone to Cassidy, who’d kept pace with him.

“It seems we’re about to have company. Have someone bring up the best bed and dresser from the bunkhouse and put it in the front bedroom upstairs.”

“Who’s coming?”

“I have no idea. Mara sent her. Some lady who needs to rest. Apparently, we’ve turned into a recovery home for the aged. And the young. And horses.”

~~~

“What have you gotten me into?” Aubrey Gannet muttered, and not for the first time, to the woman listening on the other end of the phone, the culprit behind her predicament.

“This will be good for you,” Mara said. “You need to get away for a while.”

“I need to relax, not disappear. I just left Butte, and it already seems like I’m in the middle of nowhere.” She’d left her comfort zone way behind. It had been a while since she’d traveled anywhere except to visit patients, and now, she was two states away from home and lost. It had taken her until well past noon to find the motivation to get going, which left zero time to un-lose herself. “Plus, didn’t you say it would be temperate this time of year?”

A sheen of sweat covered the tops of her hands and her palms stuck to the steering wheel. Aubrey peeled them off and wiped them, one at a time, on her jeans. Sweat was her nervous release, though it generally made matters worse rather than better. Still, today was sweltering. Her old car overheated without much convincing. Not wanting to break down on the far side of nowhere, she’d opted for windows-down air conditioning, though that resulted in the scent of sun-baked everything permeating the air inside her car.

“If there’s nothing around you, you must be close, which means you’re going to lose cell service soon.”

“Lose cell service?” Oh, this was so going from bad to worse.

“Yes ... remember ... relax and don’t ... anyone ask you ... help. Tell ... him ... be nice. Goodb— ”

With that unfinished word, Aubrey’s cell cut out, apparently for the duration of her visit to Nowhere, Montana.

Running a hand along her neck, Aubrey yanked her ponytail, a miserable failure at keeping her cooler, over her shoulder. She sighed. How had Mara talked her into this? A week ago, she’d shown up at Aubrey’s apartment with a bottle of wine. By the end of that bottle, she’d elicited a promise from Aubrey—a mandatory vacation—and had held her to it. Her friend had taken total advantage of her moment of weakness.

Aubrey needed a break. She knew that. Too much death had visited her of late. Normally, she handled that a lot better. As a hospice social worker, she considered it an extraordinary privilege to help patients cross that final threshold in as peace-filled a way as possible. That never used to get to her. Hope’s passing had broken her, though. Work, life, everything – it all seemed so futile.

Hope Jones, the dark-haired, thirty-one-year-old with brown, soulful eyes, had handled her cancer with quiet calmness, her entire focus on her young daughter. Seeing that relationship, Aubrey had longed for her own family, her own children.

Then Hope died and the little girl drew into herself. Nothing Aubrey did brought the girl out of her shell. She’d tried over several days to help the silent sadness in the six-year-old’s face, to no avail. Aubrey had considered trying to fast-track a foster-parent application.

That’s when the child had disappeared. Whisked away by some relative Hope had only mentioned once, and even then, she’d barely said anything. A brother. He’d never come to visit Hope in the months Aubrey had been part of her life. And Hope’s no-account ex-husband had disappeared before the positive symbol on the pregnancy test had become clear. Hope had confided in Aubrey that the man had sent papers giving up all his rights to his daughter in the same envelope as the divorce papers.

Had Hope asked her no-account brother to take the child? Aubrey had a hard time believing she would do that. Aubrey had tried to find the six-year-old. No matter how much Aubrey begged child services, no one would tell her where the brother lived. Even Mara, the girl’s cousin, had been close-mouthed, giving Aubrey some cockamamie story that she needed to heal herself first.

After that, her job became more burden than blessing. She’d tried to give her patients the best care, to hide her tears for the families and friends. She’d buried her own emotions pretty well, she’d thought. Until her boss put her on a mandatory leave of absence.

“Get your head back in the game and your heart out of it.” Gwen said the words with gentle effect, and then reminded Aubrey how good she was at hospice work and that they’d hate to lose her.

“Burnout is real,” Gwen said.

So, after two weeks of Aubrey barely sleeping and eating, Mara had shown up at her door.

Aubrey glared at the semi-arid, empty landscape passing by her car window. Friend or no friend, when she got home, she would pound Mara.

After another mile, fenced fields appeared on both sides of the road. Then, finally, the typical tall wooden and metal structure that heralded the entrance to a ranch. Aubrey turned off the road and stopped. A mailbox had the name Hawthorne on it. That’s the name Mara had given her. Her gaze moved up to the sign swaying in the welcome breeze.

Hope Ranch.

Aubrey’s heart pounded, her hand the only thing keeping it from thumping right out of her chest. The name brought all the pain and grief, never far from her mind, roaring to the forefront. She looked at the address Mara gave her. The same numbers were screwed to the fence post in front of her. This was the right place.

Had Mara known? Aubrey swiped at the tears that fell unbidden. Hope. Too young to have her life snuffed out. The pain was real. Her gut spasmed as she thought of the last moments in her friend’s life. And now the grief surged, being here, at a place with her friend’s name on the front gate. She got out of the car and walked to the fence, looking each way at the long stretch of board and post that followed the road until she couldn’t see it anymore. Her hand hovered over the wood for a long moment before resting on its roughness.

Hope.

I miss you so much.

How had Mara found this place? Sent her here? Aubrey couldn’t do this. Couldn’t stay where everything would be wrapped around memories of her lost friend. She got in her car, resolute about turning around, heading back to Butte. Grabbing the steering wheel, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on her hands.

It hurt so much. Everything hurt. How was she ever going to be happy again?

She gazed up at the stylized sign, remembering how Hope had whiled away hours with pen and paper in her hand, doodling those same types of curly-cues. She’d gifted Aubrey with one of her pages of doodles. Tesla would have been proud of the freehand designs. And she treasured the gift, which lay framed and safely tucked in her suitcase.

If she turned around and went home, she’d have to listen to Mara’s consternation for days or weeks on end. Maybe she should spend a night, check it out. Then, Mara would get off her case and she could get back to the rightful depression she’d been mired in.

The sun was well on its way down the westward path to setting, so she might not make it back to Butte by nightfall. Driving solo on a pitch-black, lonely road wasn’t a smart choice. So be it. Aubrey straightened. One night. Anything could be tolerated for one night, right? She started the engine and, since she only had a short way to go, she put the windows up and turned on the blessed air conditioning.

As she headed down the winding driveway, she followed fencing that separated pastures into a perfect, idyllic setting, just like in the movies. This ranch used blond wood fencing that seemed to melt into the view, not stand out. It looked right. On one side, several horses stood, enjoying the late afternoon heat. One neighed, making Aubrey smile as she remembered riding all those years ago. She’d planned to have her own horses by twenty, but life had taken her in a more urban direction. Living in Seattle had left no room for equestrian hobbies. As she neared the ranch house, Aubrey noticed a lone horse in a fenced area on the other side. Aubrey squinted to get a better view in the sunshine. A brown and white, very dirty horse watched her with troubled, soulful eyes while she drove past.

She parked in front of a two-story, sprawling house. Having never been on a ranch before, Aubrey only had movies to guide her perception. This didn’t stray far from those ideals. With a wrap-around porch and siding that looked like reclaimed barn wood, it didn’t look old. Rather, it looked homey, with brushes of color in standing and hanging flower pots. Chairs, gliders, and small tables dotted the porch and an American flag hung from a small post jutting out above white-washed stairs that invited you to enter.

Stepping out of the car, Aubrey took a deep breath. At that moment, as she gazed around, peace filled her to the point she didn’t want to move. To stay here, to feel a tranquility foreign to her these days, was a blessing. Aubrey closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, accepting the heat as part of what made this moment feel good.

She couldn’t stand there forever, though, so she popped the trunk and pulled out her suitcase, closing it quietly. She didn’t want to disturb the serenity. Before she headed inside to locate someone, she looked back at the lone horse. He stood on the far side of the pasture and she could see him shivering. She set her suitcase down, her feet drawn toward the fence, her eyes focused on the horse. Something had hurt him. She could sense the pain, feel the fear.

The horse held her gaze as she reached for the wood fence slat. She stood there, silent and still, waiting. It took a while, but the horse stepped in her direction, moving toward her like one of those slow-motion commercials with Clydesdales. Except this was no workhorse. This boy was sleek and dappled in the white and brown striations of a pinto. Aubrey couldn’t remember anything or anyone looking as handsome as this guy, even though the matting and mud-caking of his hair had turned the white patches to a dull gray.

The strangest sensation filled her as the horse got closer, as if she was coming home. When the horse stopped in front of her, Aubrey reached out her hand.

“Stop!”