LITMIR.BIZ

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saddle horn. She suddenly felt fear, something she’d thought she’d left behind.

      “Hello, maybe you can help me,” she said a little too breathless. “There’s a boy—”

      “You’re trespassing,” he interrupted.

      She blinked at his rudeness. “Not really,” she said, trying to recognize the man, but his sandy-brown hair and startling green eyes were unfamiliar. “I know the landowner. I’m more worried about the young boy I saw. I think he might be a runaway.”

      “I haven’t seen any kids,” he insisted. To her relief, he slipped the rifle back into the sleeve. “So you need to leave.”

      “I said it was okay, I’m Leah Keenan. John Rawlins has let me hike here to take pictures for years.”

      “That’s not going to be allowed any longer.”

      Leah wasn’t used to people around here being unfriendly. “And why is that?”

      “John died about six months ago.” She was close enough to see something flash in his eyes, sadness, vulnerability …

      Quick tears stung her eyes. “Oh, no, not John. I didn’t know.” The rancher had been about her father’s age. He was also someone she’d loved and enjoyed seeing and talking to.

      “Well, now you do.” He shifted the big gelding and pinned her with startling green eyes. “So you can leave the property.”

      “I can’t. There’s still a lost child. He could be hiding out in one of the caves. That could be dangerous.”

      “Then I’ll ride around and check it out.”

      His offhanded promise didn’t reassure her. “I know where all the caves are around here. I could help you look.”

      “I don’t need your help.”

      Leah worked hard to hold her temper. “There is no reason to be rude. I’m only worried about the child.”

      “That child is trespassing, and so are you. Now leave.”

      Her temper got the best of her and she jammed her hands on her hips. “Just who are you?”

      “Holt Rawlins.”

      Leah’s gaze combed over the shadowed face, and finally recognized the strong jaw and the familiar cleft in his chin. The difference was the sandy-colored hair, and those piercing emerald eyes.

      “John’s son,” she whispered. “I didn’t know John had a son.”

      A bitter smile creased his wide mouth. “That makes us even. For years I didn’t know I had a father.”

      Holt Rawlins slowly followed the intruder on horseback and watched as she made her way to the fence and climbed over it. Leah Keenan got into her car and finally drove off.

      He breathed a sigh. The last thing he wanted was another resident of Destiny telling him what a wonderful man John Rawlins was. If the man was so great why hadn’t he seen or spoken to his only son in nearly thirty years?

      Holt’s parents’ divorce had been a bitter one. For years his mother had told him that his father was a selfish man, that his family hadn’t mattered as much to him as his precious Silver R Ranch.

      With the notification of his father’s death four months ago, Holt had now returned to the place of his birth. To live on the land that rightfully belonged to a Rawlins.

      And he was a third generation Rawlins.

      He turned the chestnut gelding, Rusty, toward the picturesque waterfall, letting the tranquil sound relax him as he looked through the rows of aspen trees toward the majestic mountain range. Though he was a New Yorker who thrived on the energy of big city life, there was part of him that got a different kind of rush from this place.

      He attributed it to the fact that his life was in turmoil right now. He’d ended a long-term relationship with a woman whom he’d thought he wanted to be his wife. His career wasn’t the exciting challenge it once had been. So when the lawyer called and said his father had passed away and left him a ranch, Holt knew he needed to come back. At least to learn about the man who was his father. So far, all he’d discovered was that everyone around here had loved and respected the man. His chest tightened. Then why hadn’t he had time for his only son?

      Holt thought back to the numerous birthdays and Christmases when a small boy had waited for a present, or letter. Just a phone call. But there had been nothing…ever.

      He pushed aside the memories and glanced toward the road. All evidence was gone of the petite blonde with the big doe eyes. But something in those deep, chocolate depths told him she didn’t give up easily. He doubted he’d seen the last of her, or heard the last praise of a man who to Holt had been no more than a stranger.

      Leah drove down two-lane First Street, the main road through town, past the row of buildings that made up the small community of fifteen hundred residents. In the historical town square was the bank, the sheriff’s office, City Hall and the mayor’s office. Leah smiled. The mayor was her older sister, Morgan.

      Leah drove past the large tiered fountain that spouted clear mountain water…for now. Over the years the water mysteriously changed color according to any upcoming holiday.

      Not much had changed in the pleasant town she and her sisters had grown up in. That gave her comfort, comfort she needed to help heal her body…and her heart.

      She slowed at Pine Street and turned left. Just a block up the road she saw the huge brick and wooden structure she still called home. She pulled up in front of the decorative white sign posted in the yard of the historic bed and breakfast, the Keenan Inn, Tim and Claire Keenan proprietors.

      Leah climbed out of the car as her mother rushed out of the house. Right behind her was her father.

      “Leah, you’re home.” Claire Keenan wrapped welcoming arms around her daughter and held on tight. Leah fought her emotions as she inhaled her mother’s familiar rose scent.

      She kissed Leah’s cheek then pulled back to examine her again with concerned blue eyes. “You look tired—and you’re too thin.”

      Leah laughed and brushed away a tear. “Gee, Mom, thanks.”

      “Step aside, Mother, I need to hold this lass in my arms to make sure she’s really my baby girl.” Tim Keenan pulled her into a rough embrace and whispered in her ear. “You’re home now, Leah, and you’re safe. My prayers were answered.”

      Her father had always had the power to know what she was thinking and feeling. What she needed. The big, burly Irishman had dark good looks with an easy smile and big heart. And from the time Leah had noticed boys, she’d compared everyone to him. Not one of them had ever measured up.

      Suddenly Holt Rawlins came to mind again. There was something about the man she hadn’t been able to shake. As a trained photographer she’d prided herself on reading people, but not this man.

      “Tim, let the poor girl get a breath,” Claire said. “Let’s go into the kitchen.” She took her daughter’s hand and squeezed it as she blinked back tears. “It’s so good to have you home. You’ve been away too long.”

      “I know, Mom.”

      They walked up the steps to the Victorian house. The large porch was trimmed with baskets of colorful spring flowers. Two wooden swings hung by chains on either side of an oak door with the oval beveled glass inlays. She stepped across the threshold into a wide entry and honey oak hardwood floors. A burgundy carpet runner led to a sideboard that was used as the hotel’s front desk. The high white ceilings were trimmed in crown molding. The pocket doors to the parlor were partly closed, but Leah could see two guests sitting at the window enjoying their afternoon tea.

      Her mother said something to the girl behind the desk, then escorted Leah past the winding staircase that led to six guest suites upstairs on the second floor.

      They

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