The Ranch She Left Behind - Kathleen O'Brien Mills & Boon Superromance

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Lydia. First of all, where did Lydia come from? From Max’s own foolish, lusty youth. From his inability to tell the empty shell from the decked-out facade.

      And, even more important, why should Lydia’s influence have prevailed over his?

      Because he’d abdicated, that’s why. He’d opted out. He’d failed.

      But not anymore. He looked at his little girl, at her brown hair that used to feel like angel silk beneath his hands. He remembered the dreams he’d built in his head, as he walked the floor with her at night. He remembered the love, that knee-weakening, heart-humbling rush of pure adoration....

      “We’re going to have to make some serious changes,” he said. His tone was somber—so somber it seemed to startle her, her eyes wide and alarmed.

      “What does that mean?”

      “I’m not sure yet,” he said. “But you should brace yourself, because they’re going to be big changes. We’ve gotten off track somewhere. Not just you. Me, too. We have to find our way back.”

      She swallowed, as if the look on his face made her nervous. But she didn’t ask any further questions.

      Which was good, because he didn’t have many answers. Only one thing he knew, instinctively. He couldn’t do it here, in Chicago, with the traffic and the malls and the Stephanies. And the memories of Lydia around every corner.

      He had no idea how, but he was going to fix this. He was going to stop giving her money, stop assuaging his guilt with presents and indulgence. He was going spend time with her, get to know her and teach her those hard but wonderful life lessons his grandparents had taught him.

      And maybe, along the way, he’d relearn some of those lessons himself.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Two months later

      SILVERDELL, COLORADO, HADN’T changed much in seventeen years. Penny had noticed that last year, when she came back as the dude ranch idea was first being considered, and then again when her sister Rowena got married.

      But on this visit, she was particularly struck by the snow-globe effect—perhaps because her own world had changed so dramatically. She drove slowly down Elk Avenue, noting how many stores remained from her childhood, and how many of the replacement shops had maintained the feel of their predecessors.

      August. Early fall in Silverdell. She remembered it so well. And here it all was. Same big tubs of orange and gold chrysanthemums on the sidewalk, same colorful awnings over shovel-and ski-jacket-filled windows that warned of the winter to come.

      Same park square, roiling with what might easily have been the same laughing children.

      She slowed now, watching them kick piles of leaves into tiny yellow storms and chase each other, squealing, until someone fell, then got up, giggling, with grass stains on elbows and chin.

      She and her sisters, Rowena and Bree, had rarely been part of all that. In fact, she used to watch those mischievous kids and wonder where they got the courage to be so naughty. Didn’t their fathers have tempers, too?

      Their fathers...

      She knew she ought to go to the ranch. Or at least by her new duplex.

      But she knew she wasn’t ready. It didn’t make any sense, but she needed more time to come to terms with being in Silverdell again—and with the big changes that were coming.

      It didn’t help to remind herself that they were changes she’d wanted. Changes she’d chosen. Suddenly the changes seemed more than “big.” They seemed crazy. Risky. Terrifying.

      Annoyed with herself, but unable to break through the emotional paralysis, she found a parking space and headed into the ice-cream shop. She was hungry and nervous. Even before she had grown a full set of teeth she’d learned that a banana split could make everything better.

      Her father and Ruth would both have been horrified—ice cream before lunch? Instead of lunch? But they weren’t here. And she wasn’t a child. Surely this one tiny act of independent thinking wasn’t too much for her, even today.

      Baby steps.

      “Hey!” The string-bean-shaped young man behind the counter tossed down his magazine and stood at attention, apparently delighted to see her. The shop was empty, so maybe he really was. “What can I get you?”

      She glanced at the calligraphy on the menu over his head. “I’d love a banana split. Double whipped cream.”

      “Awesome!” He grinned as if she’d said the magic words and began pulling out ingredients. “It’s getting nippy out, and we don’t get much business once it turns cold. We sell hot chocolate, but it takes a lot of hot chocolates to pay the rent, you know?”

      She smiled, thinking how close her calculations had been when she decided how much rent she’d need to ask for the other side of her new duplex.

      “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

      “About a hundred million,” the young man said, inserting his knife into a banana as carefully as if he were performing surgery. “Plus, there’s no art to making a cup of cocoa. Not like a good banana split.” He arranged the slices into the curved boat, tossing away a couple of bruised bits. “Now this is something you can get creative with.”

      A warmhearted ice-cream artist who worried about making the rent but couldn’t force himself to serve a bruised banana. She made a mental note to come in as often as she could. Her sweet tooth didn’t know seasons.

      She smiled. See? She hadn’t taken a single bite, and she was already feeling better.

      “Go ahead and grab a seat,” he said. “I’m Danny. This is my shop. I’ll make you something special, and bring it to you.”

      She arranged herself by the window, dropped her purse on the other side of the table and pulled out her legal pad and pen. Maybe if she worked on her list, she would retrieve her courage, and she could head to Bell River.

      She flipped over a couple of pages, filled to the margins with practical information about who to call if the water wasn’t hooked up, or the electricity went wonky. All that was important, but not right now.

      The third page... That’s the one that mattered. She tapped her pen against her lips and read what she’d written so far.

      The Risk-it List.

      The very words looked good, in her favorite turquoise ink, against the yellow lined paper. Last night, when she’d stopped—not wanting to arrive in Silverdell after dark—she had worked on the list. Right before she fell asleep, she’d doodled a small bluebird in the upper right corner of her paper.

      The bluebird of happiness. That’s what Ro used to call it. Ro and Bree used to take Penny “hunting” in the woods, with butterfly nets that supposedly were magical, nets that could catch the bluebird that would make everything at Bell River right.

      Obviously, they’d never captured one. But Penny had drawn birds, photographed them, been fascinated by them, ever since. This one was fat and contented, and smiled at the list below him.

      The Risk-it List. She’d decided it should be twelve items long. She had six entries so far, and two check marks.

      Sell town house. Check.

      Buy place in Silverdell— Don’t let Bree and Ro overrule. Don’t tell Bree and Ro until purchase complete! Check.

      Host a party...wearing a costume.

      Learn to juggle.

      Learn to dance.

      Cut hair.

      Seven...Seven...

      Penny chewed on the end of her pen—a habit she’d never been able to break—and tried to make up her mind what number seven should be.

      Ben had been right, of course.

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