Reuniting with the Rancher. Rachel Lee

      Chapter One

      Holly Heflin walked into the lawyer’s office in Conard City with more uncertainty than she had felt in a long time, and she was used to facing some pretty ugly situations. But this was different—the reading of her great-aunt’s will. She was, as far as she knew, the only heir, so her concern didn’t lie there.

      But she had arrived in Denver after a red-eye flight, hopped into the cheapest rental car she could find and driven straight here to make this meeting. She felt tired, grungy and most of all overcome by memory. Facing this meeting seemed so final.

      Returning to Conard County wasn’t easy, but she had the fondest memories of visits to her aunt’s from childhood and early adulthood. They had begun washing over her from the instant the surrounding country began to look familiar, and with them came the numbness she had been feeling since the news of Martha’s death had begun to give way to a deep well of grief.

      The last of her family had died with Martha, and a sense of her solitariness in the world had been striking her in an utterly new way.

      But she shoved all that down as she spoke to Jackie, the young receptionist. Get through this. Get to the funeral home to watch Martha’s ashes placed in a mausoleum. Martha had always used to say she wanted to sprinkle her ashes around the ranch, but apparently that wasn’t allowed, because the attorney had been quite definite, and Martha had paid all the expenses in advance.

      God, the ache was growing. The reality was beginning to settle in, tightening her chest.

      The receptionist ushered her into a spacious but ancient-looking office. She supposed the balding man behind the desk was the attorney, but then she saw the cowboy in one of the chairs facing the desk.

      Her heart immediately jammed into her throat. Cliff Martin? Here? Of all the people on earth she never wanted to see again, he topped the list. She’d been busily burying her memories of him for nearly a decade now, trying to forget, trying to forgive herself. Apparently she hadn’t succeeded.

      He had always been attractive, but at thirty-two, Cliff Martin had become attractive to the point of danger. Weather and those ten years had etched themselves a bit on his face. Age had taken away any softness and his face now looked hard and chiseled. Those eyes were the same, though, an incredible turquoise that would make him a standout anywhere.

      An instant shaft of remembered passion pierced her numbness, arrowing straight to her core and causing her insides to clench. She’d never wanted to see this man again, but apparently her body had other ideas. She glanced quickly away.

      Both men rose immediately at her entrance, a courtesy that seemed quaint after the life she had been living. She tried not to look at Cliff, but couldn’t help noticing that he seemed taller. Was that possible, or had her memory shrunk him? Broad shoulders, narrow hips... Stop, she ordered herself. Just stop it now. She didn’t need this.

      She immediately shook the lawyer’s hand as he introduced himself. “John Carstairs,” he said. “Good to see you, Ms. Heflin. And you remember Cliff Martin.”

      She turned to Cliff, wishing he didn’t look as if he had just stepped out of a movie poster or ad. Darn, his dark hair didn’t even show a thread of gray, unlike hers.

      Cliff Martin. The man who had been helping her aunt keep the place up the past few years. The man who leased most of her aunt’s grazing land. The man she had ditched. Her hand trembled a bit as she offered it.

      He spoke. “So you finally got back here.”

      It sounded so much like a criticism that she had to bite back an angry retort. All she could do was drop her hand, turn away and take the empty chair. Working on the streets with troubled kids had taught her to be wary of how she responded to