Raising The Rancher's Family - Patricia Thayer

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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 passed the library with the fireplace and the big comfortable, overstuffed wing chairs and the shelves loaded with books. Next was the formal dining room with the floral wallpaper and oak wainscoting. Several tables were already set for tomorrow’s breakfast with fine china and silver and colorful napkins.

      They walked into the kitchen. This room was different from the rest of the house, mainly because it was strictly for family. No guests were allowed in this area. The same went for the Keenans’s living quarters on the third floor

      Her father led her to the big table in the alcove lined with windows facing the backyard. “Now, tell us about your travels.”

      As Leah sat down she felt her heart begin to pound, but before she could speak, her mother spoke up. “Tim, leave the child alone. She hasn’t even had a chance to catch her breath.”

      Leah touched his rough hand. “Dad, I want to know about what’s been going on here. That Morgan was elected mayor is so cool. I bet that ruffled good old Hutchinson’s feathers.”

      The Hutchinsons had always been the wealthiest family in town. It was their great-grandfather, Will, who first struck it rich with the “Silver Destiny Mine,” and had helped found the town.

      Claire looked sad. “I think Lyle is more concerned about his father. Billy Hutchinson is failing badly. It’s a shame he had to be put in the nursing home.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that.” Billy Hutchinson had to be well over eighty.

      Her father stiffened. “Well that didn’t stop his son, Lyle, from trying to undermine the election, by strong-arming his employees to vote for him. Lyle wants what’s good for himself.” Tim nodded. “Morgan will do what’s good for the town.”

      Claire carried a big tureen of potato soup to the table, then filled bowls for everyone. She handed the first one to Leah.

      “I have to say, Mom, I’ve missed your cooking,” Leah said.

      Claire beamed. “Well, I hope that convinces you to stay longer. Both you and your hotshot lawyer sister.”

      Leah didn’t want to talk about leaving again. She just wanted to think about pleasant things. Like home, and family. “How is Paige? I haven’t been able to e-mail her in months.”

      “She works too hard,” her mother said, “but we’re hoping to get her home for the celebration.”

      The familiar voice called out from the hall. “Hey, where is everyone?”

      “We’re

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