Silverleaf Rapids

Book 1: Ransom Canyon Novel

by Jodi Thomas

Genres: Westerns; Women's Fiction; Historical Fiction

Synopsis

The captivating prequel to Ransom Canyon, now a Netflix series starring Minka Kelly and Josh Duhamel!

Virgin River meets Yellowstone against the breathtaking, rugged backdrop of West Texas in this compelling, emotional origin story behind New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas’s Ransom Canyon saga—filled with love, challenges, and a timeless passion for the land and its people.

Deep in the heart of Texas, five generations of Kirklands built the sprawling Double K Ranch, battling fire and frost, outlaws and disease. It’s said the dirt flows through their veins as sure as Silverleaf Rapids flows through Ransom Canyon. But the canyon also had a way of becoming part of just about anyone who landed there . . .

19-year-old Staten Kirkland was studying at Texas Tech when he got the news that the grandfather who raised him, J.R. Kirkland, was fighting for his life. Now Staten would have to leave college behind, not to mention the girl he loved. And he’d have to grow up overnight. More than that, he’d have to become a boss—the boss—running thousands of acres of ranch. He’d always hated change. But change was barreling toward him . . .

Rootless and stuck in the dull routine that was her life, college professor Charlotte Lane escaped into fiction. But now she was restless for a change—in the form of being the new high school teacher at the small town bordering Ransom Canyon. Still, at this point in her life, what if she couldn’t change—or even remember how? Maybe she’d find others to show her the way . . .

The youngest of six, Peggy Warner came last in every way, not even worth sending to college. Now 27, she’s never left home and lives in service to her aging parents and her married siblings’ growing families. But she still has dreams—and under the big sky overlooking Ransom Canyon they may come true . . .

Release date: May 27, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 272

Sample

Fall in Sorrow

October 1991

For a moment, with his eyes closed, Staten Kirkland could see prairie grass spread out as far as he could imagine while wind whistled over land that had never been broken by a plow.

He thought back to the generations of Kirklands who had ridden over his land and been buried beneath it. They had bled as they’d built one of the biggest ranches in West Texas. And today as the chaos of reality rolled in, Staten feared it all might fall and he, at nineteen, couldn’t do anything to stop the panic.

At this moment the youngest Kirkland wasn’t on his land. He was fenced in with sterile white walls and huge lights above. The smell of sage had been replaced with cleaning products. No breeze. No stars. The sound of night was gone and rolling carts, clinking trays, and beeping machines seemed to bounce off the walls. He tried to think; he had to do the right thing.

Not quite a boy and not fully a man, Staten struggled to stop shaking as he tried to stand straight, alone, waiting.

His great-grandfather had fought outlaws and diseases that killed hundreds of cattle. His grandfather faced grass fires a mile long and a winter that froze the cattle as they stood on the plains.

In the 1920s the whole world seemed to turn brown. Livestock and people died. Ranchers and farmers had sorrow baked in their bones.

Staten rarely thought of the graves of the first settlers buried where they were on high land with the sounds of rapids below whispering in the wind. The first Kirklands rested near the back of the family cemetery now, shaded by hundred-year-old oaks and bordered by three other family plots where the neighboring ranches met.

Today, his grandfather James Ray Kirkland, known to most as J.R., had almost joined the family plot. With all the battles he’d fought, a stroke took the old man down at sunset after he’d worked a twelve-hour day.

Staten was told his grandfather stepped into the kitchen of his home and said, “I made it in before dusk, honey.”

Tabitha, his wife of forty-seven years, managed to reach James as he fell. She was screaming as he closed his eyes.

A hundred miles away Staten had just walked into his dorm at Texas Tech when he’d gotten the news. He’d run directly for his truck, knowing he had to get back to Crossroads as fast as he could, then turn on miles of rough road to make it to the headquarters of the Kirkland ranch, named the Double K.

He was raised on the ranch and it was changing. He hated change. Going to college or taking a vacation was fine, but he was always ready to turn around and head back home. Now, he stood perfectly still, wanting his life to settle.

Without a thought, the youngest Kirkland had rushed back to Crossroads. With the midnight dark smothering him, he’d raced at top speed, knowing the patriarch of the Kirkland clan was fighting for his life.

As he drove, he’d made a mental list. Whatever happened, Staten would have to be prepared. The work on the ranch had to continue. A dozen people needed to be notified before dawn.

As it happened, the old man had been fortunate his stroke hit today. The clinic’s pop-in doctor’s weekly visit had been extended while Betty Ann Hampton, the new banker’s wife, didn’t seem in any hurry to deliver baby number four.

By the time Staten parked and ran into the clinic, the doors five feet away had been closing. He was left alone in what looked like a hallway. The emergency doors on one side had signs that read DO NOT ENTER. On the other side were a few folding chairs. A small desk with a wire basket had another sign that read FILL OUT FORM BEFORE RINGING BELL.

Staten wouldn’t have been surprised if he saw DON’T DIE OR BLEED ON THE FLOOR WHILE YOU WAIT.

Muffled sounds and commands came from the two tiny emergency rooms beyond the doors. He smacked the DO NOT ENTER sign with the palm of his hand. He might be only a freshman in college, but he was tall and football player solid.

Staten took one step inside and immediately spotted his grandmother. She had ridden in the ambulance, refusing to part with her husband as the EMTs struggled to keep the only father Staten had ever really known alive.

Moments later every nurse within yelling distance was ordering Staten as well as his grandmother to leave the ICU.

He looked at his granny. As always, she faced trouble with her chin high and her eyes without tears. “I’m staying with my James,” she told the nurse.

Amidst the chaos Staten lifted the corner of his lip in a tiny grin. No one fought Granny. The nurse backed off. Maybe she didn’t want to argue with someone twice her age or maybe she feared being beat up by a senior citizen.

“Let her stay,” the doctor said as he came through the door. “Mrs. Kirkland knows more about doctoring than all of us put together. She was a nurse in the war. Delivered half the babies in the county before we got a clinic, and she did everything right on their ride in from the ranch.”

“She was a nurse in Vietnam?” someone piped up. “I thought she was a history teacher.”

“No, before that. Now, shut up and get to work.” The doc glanced at Staten. “Get out, kid. Unless you’ve got some kind of medical training I don’t know about, you don’t need to be here.”

Staten moved toward his grandmother.

One nurse rushed forward but just as she started to speak, Granny cut in. “I’m not leaving him tonight, but, Staten, you have to. The men will need orders before dawn.”

Staten wanted to protest, but he recognized the steel in her eyes. “I’ll be home before dawn, but I’ll be waiting out in the hall for the next few hours. Keep me informed.”

Granny gave a two-fingered salute. She was wearing her “everything is going to be all right” smile, but this time the message didn’t reach her eyes.

He paced in the tiny emergency room hallway for hours before the doctor finally came out.

Staten didn’t even notice the doctor coming in until his hand was on Staten’s shoulder. “Son, your grandfather is going to pull through, but he won’t be the same. He had a stroke and needs to rest now, but you can visit him tomorrow.”

Staten nodded as if he understood what the doctor was saying. As if he understood anything that was happening.

When the doctor walked away, Staten stood and turned to face the glass door. He stared at the darkness before dawn. He repeated the words that his grandfather said every morning, “It’s time to saddle up. There’s work to do.”

He silently added to himself, “But what to do first?”

He still had not figured out the answer to that question, when a tall, thin cowboy stepped through the doorway, a dusty hat in his hand and spurs clinking with every move. “How’s J.R.?”

“The doctor says he’ll be fine and Granny’s staying here with him.”

Jake Longbow looked down and twirled his hat with his scarred and calloused hands. “It’s almost dawn, and there’s work to do. We got cattle to move. The trucks are lined up at the corrals and every hand on the place is wearing out the clinic’s grass outside.”

For a minute the two men looked at each other. Jake was the foreman of the Double K and had been as long as Staten could remember. Jake knew what to do but he waited for a Kirkland to make the order.

A part of Staten wanted to run or cry or break down in tears, but he couldn’t do any of that. It was time to grow up. The boss of the Double K had always been a Kirkland and Staten was the only one around to take up the reins.

He nodded grimly and walked to the front door with the old cowboy by his side. Thirty men waited outside, still in their work clothes from yesterday and worry in their tired eyes. Staten took a deep breath and pushed on the door, which felt heavier than usual.

Jake put on his hat and said in his low tone, “I got your back, son, and I always will. Right now you’re the boss until J.R. recovers. Somebody has to run the ranch. And there’s no days off to think about it.”

Staten nodded again and stepped out into his new world whether he was ready or not.

His voice was strong as he faced the men waiting outside. “Thanks for coming out and showing your support. My grandfather is resting. In stable condition for now.”

The cowboys whooped with the news. In the distance Betty Ann screamed and a baby started crying. The head nurse yelled out the window for them to be quiet or she’d come out and pop their hats off, and she wouldn’t care if their heads were still in them.

As the noise died down, Staten went on. “While he’s out of the saddle, we’ve still got cattle to load.”

He moved to the side and let Jake give the individual orders.

All Staten could think about was that there was someone else who should be stepping into his grandfather’s boots. Staten’s father, Samuel Kirkland. All the old guy ever said about his only son and the ranch was that Samuel hadn’t taken to ranching. Staten always grinned when his grandfather usually went on to add plenty about the women his father married.

Staten’s dad had been too busy to make the trip home from Austin last night, but he promised to show up if the old man was still alive by the weekend.

“Okay,” Staten yelled. “We’d better get back to the cattle or my grandfather will be cussing mad if we don’t keep the ranch running.”

Now that his panic had subsided, Staten needed to go somewhere to be alone and let the world slow down.

He hated change. He hated when his father remarried or when his friends moved away. He even hated when the seasons shifted. And he was definitely hating it that his grandpa was suddenly out of commission for an unknown amount of time.

Staten took a minute to go back and wave to his grandmother through the emergency room’s window, then he squared his shoulders and went to work.

He got in the old pickup that his grandpa had taught him to drive when he was ten. Staten had done his duty. He’d given the orders and Jake would fill in the details, but Staten knew as long as he was home, he’d be the first up and the last to turn in. He was Boss.

Movement caught Staten’s eye as Dan Brigman seemed to come out of nowhere and grab the pickup’s door before it could swing closed. Adrenaline woke Staten’s tired body.

The seventeen-year-old Eagle Scout stared with authority. “Your grandfather going to be all right, Kirkland?”

“I think so.” Staten didn’t have the energy to say more.

“Good.” Dan patted the pickup like it was a horse. “Now on the drive home keep it under seventy. The sheriff told me to tell you that your grandfolks are going to need your help. No wrecks.”

Staten almost laughed. Dan’s voice hadn’t fully changed, but he already sounded like an officer of the law.

“Will do, Scout.” Staten waved and headed home. Dan might be a couple years younger than he was, but he wore a badge and that demanded respect even if he was a junior deputy.

Fifteen minutes later, as Staten pulled up to the barn, Jake had beat him home. He was standing with a paint already saddled. “Kid, your grampa likes to ride the land when he has thinking to do. So, I readied your horse just in case you’d like to do the same. We’ll handle things here until you get back. I told the cook to keep food hot all day. We’ll work in shifts.”

Without a word, Staten swung into the saddle and took off at a full gallop, no speed limit to worry about now. He wasn’t sure why, but he rode out to the highest ridge on the Double K Ranch. He’d heard his grandfather say many times that the first Kirkland men liked to watch dawn on that spot where Ransom Canyon shone in all its glory. He’d said that one piece of dirt was their cathedral.

Staten could see the river that cut through the otherwise unbroken land. He could see the pastures and the family cemetery. But best of all, he could watch the sun come up over land that had belonged to five generations of Kirklands. His grandfather said the people had Ransom Canyon dirt in their blood. Deep down Staten knew he and Amalah, his girlfriend since the second grade, would rest here together forever in the cemetery on the hill shaded by huge oaks.

As Staten stepped down off the paint and dropped the reins, he wasn’t surprised the horse stayed ground tied. Jake Longbow had always been great at training horses. Staten had only been away at school a little over a month and Jake had done wonders with the wild paint.

Staten walked out on the ridge to face the sun and breathed deeply for the first time since he got the call from his granny that the man who’d raised him had collapsed.

As he took a deep pull of dawn air, Staten’s muscles relaxed. He didn’t have to be a man yet. The fate of the ranch wasn’t on his shoulders. J.R. was going to pull through. He had to. Staten had to have time to get through college and see the world with Amalah before he settled down to work with his grandpa.

Though over six-four and solid as a rock, there was still a boy in Staten that believed the old man would live forever, but the man in him knew one day his hero wouldn’t. Then, James Ray Kirkland would sleep with the ancestors.

No Roots

October 1991

Charlotte Lane drove through the tiny settlement of Crossroads, Texas. Like many areas in rural America, it was a town where most travelers wouldn’t bother even to slow and look for the town’s name. But this was her new home. She’d only visited it once while passing through on a research trip, but something about Crossroads had stuck with her.

All her life she’d lived in books, not in places, and she guessed here would be the same. What did it matter where she worked or lived? The minute she rested, she stepped into her real home: Fiction. Classics. Love stories. Science fiction. Mysteries. And her true love, Westerns.

She smiled a sad smile, thinking that she was like the town. Nothing to see. Small and ordinary. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Middle age.

When she was little, she thought her parents gave her a plain name to match her face. All through school they told her how smart she was. Not once had they said she was pretty. She was plain, and now she lived in a plain town. A plain main street. One water tower. Two churches across from one another, and the local sheriff’s office located beneath the local judge.

The summer weather had been hot and dry, leaving what had grown in spring already dead and turning brown.

Charlotte slowly passed a few dozen homes huddled together on short streets with bare trees out front. A ten-by-ten-foot shed of a post office, with a huge American flag waving at what had to be the center of nowhere. North, south, east, and west. The same view, no matter which direction you faced. Only four roads to escape.

She read that there was a lake nearby but she couldn’t see it. And judging by the dead plants, she doubted the place saw much rain. She heard there was a canyon out here somewhere, too, but that was nowhere in sight either. It was flat land as far as she could see.

“It would be hard to get lost in this town,” she said to her cat, Baylor, riding shotgun.

Charlotte made it a habit to name her cats wherever they were found. Denver, a midnight tomcat, moved in when she was growing up while her parents taught at the University of Denver.

When she moved to Sul Ross, she picked a white cat, named him Sul and lived with him while she got an undergrad degree. The day she packed to move, Sul decided to stay and disappeared. She waved as she drove away, but she didn’t see him wave back.

Five years ago, she picked up Baylor while teaching a summer class in Waco. She talked to him, but he usually appeared bored or irritated that she was living in his house.

Baylor didn’t even bother to look at her most of the time.

Charlotte gave up talking to the cat and mentally mapped the town. She drove ten miles an hour and took in Crossroads. If she was lucky the tour might last five minutes. The one main street had five open businesses. A café across from the post office. A funeral home with a TWO FOR ONE banner. A hardware store with overalls hanging in the front window and farm equipment spilling out the back. The bank was so small they probably had only one teller.

A short street behind Main had a two-door fire station and a clinic. Both looked more like storage buildings than emergency and rescue. The clinic had a five-foot sign that said OPEN 24 HOURS EXCEPT SUNDAY.

Half a mile down East Road was a big gas station. Charlotte thought of not bothering with it, but she decided she’d take the whole tour. Outside, the gas station had six vacant pumps. Inside there were restrooms, a lottery machine, and anything a traveler might need. Food, candy, hats, and stuffed animals.

As she walked down the back aisles, Charlotte was surprised to see canned goods, bread, wine, and even a long line of coolers with milk, ice cream, butter, and beer.

A man hovering near the 32-ounce drinks looked like he’d been living in the store for years. “Can I help you find something, sugar? I’m the owner of this place. I got anything you need. Got to drive thirty miles to find a Walmart to get something we don’t carry. I’ve even got a hot bar up at the front. Got corn dogs already fried, barbecue, and tamales.”

She thought about telling him that she was a vegetarian, but he really didn’t look like he cared. Besides, she was a frequent backslider on her belief. Now and then she’d have to eat a cheeseburger with all the trimmings. She considered she was only half wrong; after all, the cow was a vegetarian.

Charlotte bought a Diet Coke and a small bag of popcorn. It was time to move along and find the house she’d bought from the town’s only Realtor. As she headed off to first locate the school, she had to laugh. She must be crazy. She just uprooted her entire life, her career, and probably her sanity. For all she knew, everyone in this town was as crazy as the old man who’d just tried to sell her a day-old hot dog.

It was Miss McBride, the Realtor, who’d contacted her when she’d taken the job as the new high school English teacher. Miss McBride said she had the perfect house for Charlotte. Near school. Red door she couldn’t miss. Furnished. Special price for teachers.

In the oil boom days of early Texas, school districts offered free or discounted housing to get teachers to come to isolated locations. Maybe Miss McBride found one still standing. Or maybe the house was so bad, the one Realtor in town always started there.

Charlotte slowed so she could find her new home. Third house from the school. Red door. After teaching at Texas A&M in College Station, one of the biggest universities in the U.S., this place seemed like a porta-potty.

But she couldn’t stop smiling. She turned down West Road and saw a sign that announced the school zone. Behind the sign stood Crossroads’s only K–12 school. Three stories of red brick and glass. But this town had something College Station didn’t.

Peace, she thought.

The three-story school put her in mind of a mother hen with little houses around like chicks. A gym, an outdoor covered patio, a football field, and slides and swings for the younger grades. Bike racks for the middle grades and a parking lot full of more pickups than cars.

For years she’d taught English at the graduate level. The pace had been fast and exciting until one day she’d shattered and decided to take time to breathe. The truth was she’d been teetering on the brink of a breakdown for a while.

She’d started her teaching career at a little high school. She’d loved it but everyone had encouraged her to climb. She took summers of grad classes until she moved to a small college. Then a few years later A&. . .