A Family for the Rugged Rancher (Rugged Ranchers, 4, Band 4251) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Since 2006, New York Times bestseller Donna Jones Alward has enchanted readers with stories of happy endings and homecomings that have won several awards and been translated into over a dozen languages. She’s worked as an administrative assistant, teaching assistant, in retail and as a stay-at-home-mom, but always knew her degree in English Literature would pay off, as she is now happy to be a full-time writer. Her new historical fiction tales blend her love of history with characters who step beyond their biggest fears to claim the lives they desire.Donna currently lives in Nova Scotia, Canada, with her husband and two cats. You can often find her near the water, either kayaking on the lake or walking the sandy beaches to refill her creative well.

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"Are we here, Mama? Is Daddy here?"

Emily smiled, though Sam's innocent question made her heart quiver. Sam looked for Rob everywhere, never giving up hope no matter how often he was disappointed. "Yes," she replied, "we're here. But Daddy's not coming, remember? I'm here to start a brand-new job."

She touched the brake pedal as she entered the farmyard of Evans and Son. It was bigger than she'd imagined, sprawling across several acres criss-crossed with fence lines and dotted with leafy green poplar trees. She slowed as she approached the plain white two-story house that rested at the end of the drive. It was flanked on one side by a gigantic barn and on the other by a large workshop with two oversized garage doors. More outbuildings were interspersed throughout the yard, all of them tidy and well-kept. The grass around them was newly clipped and the bits of peeling paint made for a broken-in look rather than broken-down.

Evans and Son looked to be doing all right in the overall scheme of things—which was more than Emily could say for her family. But she was going to change all that. Starting today.

She parked to the right of the house, inhaling deeply and letting out a slow breath, trying to steady herself. When she looked into the back seat, she saw Sam's eyes opening, taking a moment to focus and realize the vehicle had stopped.

"But I want to see Daddy."

"I know, baby." Emily told herself to be patient, he was only five. "Once we're settled, I'll help you write a letter. Maybe you can draw him a picture. What do you think?"

Sam's eyes still held that trace of confusion and sadness that had the power to hurt Emily more than anything else. Sam had been clingier than usual lately. It was hardly a surprise. She'd put the house up for sale and their things in storage. She'd announced that they were leaving the city, which also meant leaving playschool friends and everything familiar, and a five-year-old couldn't be expected to understand her reasons. But the house in Calgary held too many memories—happy and devastating by turns. Both Emily and Sam were stuck in wishing for the past—a past that was long over. Rob had moved on, withdrawing not only his financial support but, more importantly, severing emotional ties with both of them.

Emily would never understand that, especially where his son was concerned. But now it was time to let go and build a new life. One where they could be happy. One where Emily could support her son and find her own way rather than wishing for what should have been. There was a certain freedom to be found in knowing she could make her own decisions now. Her choices were hers to make and hers alone. A massive responsibility, but a liberating one, too.

She reminded herself that a happier life for the two of them was why she was here. "Wait here for just a moment while I knock on the door, okay? Then we'll get settled, I promise."

"It's quiet here."

"I know." Emily smiled, trying to be encouraging. "But there is still sound. Listen closely, Sam, and when I get back you can tell me what you heard."

Sam had only ever lived in the city, with the sounds of traffic and sirens and voices his usual background music. But Emily remembered what it was like to live outside the metropolitan area, where the morning song wasn't honking horns but birds warbling in the caragana bushes and the shush of the breeze through poplar leaves. For the first time in months, she was starting to feel hope that this was all going to turn out all right.

"Wait here, okay? Let me talk to Mr. Evans first, and then I'll come for you."

"Okay, Mama." Sam reached over and picked up his favorite storybook, the Dr. Seuss one with the tongue twisters that he'd practically memorized. Emily paused, her tender smile wavering just a little. Sometimes Sam seemed to see and understand too much. Had the breakdown of her marriage forced her son to grow up too soon?

"I won't be long, sweetie." Emily blew him a kiss, shut the car door and straightened her T-shirt, smoothing it over the hips of her denim capris. It was really important that everything got off on the right foot, so she practiced smiling, wanting it to seem natural and not show her nervousness. She climbed the few steps to the front porch, gathered her courage and rapped sharply on the door.

No one answered.

This was not a great beginning, and doubts crept in, making her wonder if it was a sign that she was making a big mistake with this whole idea. Selling the house and uprooting the two of them was a bit of a radical move, she knew that. She glanced back at the car only feet away and saw Sam's dark head still bent over his book. No, this was best. Her experience as a mom and homemaker was what made her perfect for this job, she realized. She'd loved being a stay-at-home mom, and being with Sam was the most important thing.

Maybe Mr. Evans simply hadn't heard her. She knocked again, folding her hands. It was a bit nerve-wracking being hired for a job sight unseen. She'd interviewed at the agency but this was different. She'd have to pass Mr. Evans's tests, too. He had the final say. When was the last time she'd had a real interview? All of her resumes over the last year had been sent out without so much as a nibble in return. No one wanted to hire a lab tech who'd been out of the work force for the past five years.

She forced herself to stay calm, stave off the disappointment she felt as her second knock also went unanswered.

"Can I help you?"

The voice came from her right and her stomach twisted into knots as a man approached from the shop, wiping dirty hands on a rag. This was Mr. Evans? He looked younger than she was, for heaven's sake. He wore faded jeans and dusty roper boots, his long stride eating up the ground between them. His baseball cap shaded his eyes so that she couldn't quite see them. The dark T-shirt he wore was stained with grease, stretched taut over a muscled chest. All in all he had the look of honest work about him. And honest work ranked high on her list of attributes lately, she thought bitterly. Good looks didn't.

"I…I'm Emily Northcott. I'm here from the agency?" She hated how uncertain that sounded, so she amended, "From Maid on Demand."

There was a slight pause in his stride while Emily went back down the steps. They met at the bottom, the grass tickling Emily's toes in her sandals as she held out her hand.

The man held up his right hand. "Luke Evans. I'd better not. You don't want to get grease on your hands."

Embarrassment crept hotly up her cheeks, both because she knew she should have realized his hands would be dirty and because of his flat tone. Emily dropped her hand to her side and tried a smile. "Oh, right. I hope we…I…haven't come at a bad time."

"Just fixing some machinery in the shed. I heard the car pull up. Wasn't expecting you though."

"Didn't the agency call?"

"I'm not often in the house to answer the phone." He stated it as if it were something obvious that she'd missed.

Emily frowned. His communication skills could use some work. Didn't he have a cell phone like most normal people? Or voice mail? Or was he being deliberately difficult?

"I was specifically given today as a start date and directions to your place, Mr. Evans."

He tucked the rag into the back pocket of his jeans. "They probably called my sister. She's the one who placed the ad."

"Your sister?"

"My sister Cait. They might have tried there, but she's in the hospital."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I hope it's nothing serious." His answers...