Healing the Rancher
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Melinda Curtis
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15,4K
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26
HarlequinPROLOGUE
I CAN RIDE the creek trail faster than you!
Nine-year-old Kendall Monroe had told her two older brothers that last night after they’d boasted about their race times at dinner. This summer, she’d decided she wasn’t going to be left behind or counted out because she was little. And she wasn’t going to stick to horses who were nags. Monroes were tough. She wanted to prove it.
I can ride the creek trail faster than you!
She was eating those words now.
Kendall trudged toward the pasture gate, where her father’s runaway horse stood waiting for her, reins dangling to the ground, hooves caked in mud. Kendall didn’t look much better. Her shirt was untucked, one sleeve torn and her boots muddy. The closer Kendall got to the gate, the more the tears threatened to return.
Do not cry.
Holden and Bo would never let her forget it.
As if on cue, her two older brothers came out of the barn on the other side of the fence, spotted her and started to laugh. Their laughter undercut her pride until she felt small and useless and wanted to go home.
Home was thousands of miles away in Philadelphia in a grand mansion that made the ranch in Texas seem shabby.
Ginger, the old ranch hand who was in charge of the Monroe kids this summer, strode out of the barn with that bowlegged gait of hers and a scowl. “What in the world...”
Chin thrust in the air, Kendall snatched Brandy’s reins and stifled a groan of pain.
Her backside hurt where she’d fallen. And that wasn’t all. Her body ached all over. It hurt just to reach for the reins. Plus, her forearm was scraped and it stung, along with a welt on her palm where a fire ant had bitten her. She’d lost her cowboy hat and her nose felt like it was getting sunburned, despite it being early in the morning. The Texas summer sun was as cruel as the creek trail.
“That horse better not be injured.” Ginger opened the gate and took Brandy’s reins. “I can tell from the way you look that you did something foolish. I don’t care if you do something foolish on foot but leave the horses out of it.” She led the mare away.
Kendall shut the gate.
That’s when her older brothers closed in.
“Where did you fall? Jumping the creek, I bet.” Holden laughed. He was fifteen and a stick-in-the-mud, practically perfect in the eyes of the family and, unlike Kendall, was transitioning easily from life in Philadelphia to summers in Texas. “You can’t just look like you’re a good rider, Ken. You have to work at it.”
She sucked her lips into her mouth, trying not to say a word. Or worse, sob, because tears backed up in her throat thicker than too much peanut butter on a dry cracker.
“I bet you got dumped at Rattlesnake Bend.” Bo was thirteen and found everything Kendall did amusing. He grinned at her. “Wow, Ken. Were you dragged through the creek bed?”
She had been, although thankfully not far before her boot slipped free of the stirrup. Still, Kendall refused to answer Bo. She needed a shower, a clean set of clothes and a hug, not teasing or laughter at her expense.
Mom appeared on the front porch, looking like she was headed into town, what with her high heels and high hair.
“Don’t tell Mom you fell,” Holden whispered, leaning closer. “We’re supposed to be watching out for you.”
“And don’t you dare cry.” Bo turned, facing Kendall as he walked backward toward the house. “You were warned. Ginger told you to practice more in the arena before gallivanting around.”
Kendall hated practicing, if only because she was the youngest and everyone was quick to point out how unskilled she was.
“I can’t wait to tell the Monroe cousins.” Bo was absolutely gleeful. “They’re coming tonight.”
Nine more kids to tease me? Ugh.
Mom caught sight of them and gasped. “Kendall! Are you okay?”
“Ye-e-es.” Kendall plodded forward, trying once more not to cry.
When she reached the front porch, her mother did a quick examination—feeling Kendall’s head for bumps, holding out her arms to check for wounds and bruises, gently prodding her ant bite. “You’re showing some wear and tear,” Mom said finally and with a sigh. “But I think you’ll live.” Mom drew Kendall into a make-it-better hug that didn’t judge.
The tears came then.
“What’s this?” Grandpa Harlan opened the screen door, a concerned expression on his tanned, wrinkled face.
“This...” Mom stood, placing one hand on Kendall’s shoulder. “This is a strong young woman. Someday, she’ll be one of the most important Monroes. She’ll do important things. I can’t wait.”
Kendall nearly burst with pride. She scrubbed away her tears.
Grandpa Harlan nodded. “She’s tough, that one. Full of potential.”
“That she is.” Taking Kendall’s hand, Mom led the way to the bathroom, where she ran a hot bath and brought Kendall clean clothes. She didn’t lecture. She didn’t hover. But she was there in case Kendall needed another hug, which she did.
Later that morning, Kendall stood inside the living room, watching her brothers riding in the arena.
Grandpa Harlan came to stand next to her, smelling like he’d just finished smoking a cigar. He looked into Kendall’s eyes. His gentle smile was framed by bushy gray sideburns that ended halfway down his chin. “Are you still mad at the boys for teasing you?”
Kendall shrugged because even at nine she knew the teasing was just the half of it, but she wasn’t quite sure what the other half that upset her was.
“You know, being family involves a little sacrifice and a little forgiving, and that includes forgiving yourself.” Her grandfather spoke in a low voice meant just for her.
And she knew... She knew there was more to what he was telling her. But she didn’t get it. Her body hurt and her feelings hurt—all because of the horse and her brothers. What had she done that she needed to forgive herself?
“Give yourself time,” Grandpa Harlan said, further complicating his message as he added, “Do you know the secret to my success?”
Kendall shook her head, taking note of her grandfather’s faded checked shirt and his worn blue jeans. “Is it because you don’t buy fast cars?” She’d heard her father say that once.
His smile spread. “No.”
Kendall peeked out to where the boys were riding in circles with Ginger shouting instructions from the center of the arena. She sighed. Circles were boring, Ginger was too strict and Kendall had no idea how her grandfather had become a gazillionaire. “Is it because you bought a lot of houses?” She’d heard her uncle say that once.
“No.” Grandpa Harlan chuckled. “My secret is knowing how to pick myself up after things don’t work out...with a smile. I don’t let my pride get in the way.” He bent until his face was level with hers, placing his hands on his knees. “I’ve never done anything perfect the first time around.” He gave the ends of Kendall’s long black hair a gentle tug, before turning his head and glancing outside.
He’s gonna make me get back on a horse!
Kendall grabbed hold of her grandfather’s bushy sideburns and brought him back to face her. “I’m not going riding again.” Because she may only be nine, but she knew what talks alone with Grandpa Harlan meant—you had to forget about whatever bad had just happened and try again. “I’m done with horses and mud and—” her throat nearly closed “—being laughed at.”
He covered her hands with his, still smiling. “Being good at something takes practice. And if you stumble—”
“Or fall, they’ll laugh at me.” Kendall slid her hands free and leaned on the windowsill. “I don’t like being teased.”
That was it. From now on, she was going to be perfect.
