The Rancher's Homecoming. Anna Stewart J.

       CHAPTER TWO

      “OOH, DADDY! LOOK! Horsies! They’re everywhere!” Rosie’s excited squeal from the back seat of the minivan announced his daughter was wide-awake. After four days on the road—because making the twenty-hour trek from LA in one stretch would have been a recipe for disaster—he was ready for a break. Given Rosie’s earsplitting tantrum at the motel last night, he wasn’t the only one.

      Not that Falcon Creek, Montana, was going to give him anything close to a respite. Driving through town had already been like sliding through a time portal. Near as he could tell, nothing had changed. Other than a new coat of paint on the diner and new planks on the walkways. A shiny new sign over Brewster’s. Sure there were some new businesses and shops and, undoubtedly, new people. Everything else... Exactly. The. Same.

      “Do you see the horsies, Daddy? Oh, they’re so pretty. Can I ride one, please, Daddy?”

      “I think they’re a bit too big for you, Bug.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. His heart swelled at the excitement shining in his little girl’s eyes. “But I bet Aunt Katie will be able to find you the perfect pony.” Katie had always been magic with horses.

      “Oo-o-oh, a pony.” Rosie rolled her head against the back of her car seat and kicked her pink-booted feet against the back of the passenger seat. “I’ll get my very own pony?”

      “We’ll have to see.” Chance winced as the headache throbbing in the back of his head shifted to his temples. He’d run out of coffee—and thus, caffeine—about two hundred miles ago, and judging by the ache in his jaw, he’d grind his teeth to dust before they reached the ranch. “For as long as we’re here at least, I think we can work something out.” Chance shifted his attention back to the endless dirt road.

      He slammed his foot on the brake.

      Rosie squealed as if they’d just taken a dip on a roller coaster. Chance’s hands gripped the steering wheel as his heart hammered in his chest. The iconic gateway to the Blackwell Family Ranch loomed overhead. Its rusted, weathered sign—nearly as old as the ranch itself—welcomed visitors and guests.

      And nearly had Chance turning around and heading home.

      Nausea churned in his stomach. What was he doing here?

      “Do that again, Daddy!” Rosie ordered.

      “Once was enough.” He powered down his window and allowed himself his first breath of Montana air in more than a decade. The combination of pristine oxygen, green grass and leftover moisture from last night’s storm hung slightly tinged with manure and hay. Or maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him. It had taken him years to forget the smell of the ranch, as if it had seeped into his blood the day he’d been born. He shifted the minivan into Park and unhooked his belt.

      “Are we here?” Rosie shifted in her seat, turning her head so fast her red curls slapped her cheeks. “Are we at Grampy’s?”

      “Almost.” He never should have told her they were going to visit her grandfather. It seemed every word out of Rosie’s mouth in the two weeks since Ty had delivered his invitation of doom had been to ask about Maura’s father. Every word was like a knife to Chance’s heart.

      He couldn’t care less what Lochlan Montgomery thought of him. But if Ty was right, if the old man was dying, Lochlan deserved to see his only grandchild once before he met his maker. If for no other reason than it was what Maura would want.

      But if the old man did or said one thing that gave Rosie a moment’s sadness or despair...

      Chance slipped out of the van, his sneakered feet hitting the dirt road with enough force that dust immediately covered him. The silence hurt his ears as it shouted its welcome. He stretched, groaned and waited for his muscles to stop screaming at him as he tried to shake feeling back into his extremities.

      The midafternoon sun was still moving toward its peak, but was beating down hard enough to remind him that he—and Rosie—would be needing hats. He’d left his Stetson—the one Big E had given him on high school graduation—on his bed when he left the ranch for good. No doubt one of his brothers had found use for it. It would fit one of them better, anyway. “You want to get out for a while?” He rounded the minivan and slid the door open, only to find Rosie standing on the floorboards. She grinned up at him. Chance bit back a sigh as he reached down and picked her up and got bopped in the face by Clyde. “When did you start unbuckling your belt?”

      Rosie grinned and hugged Clyde against her chest. “Surprise!”

      “You are full of them.” He pressed a kiss against the side of her head and lowered her to the ground. “Let’s not do that again, okay?” The second her feet hit the dirt, he swore the earth quaked. She darted to the fence line and stared out at the endless pasture dotted with horses and cattle.

      Chance lost his breath. His little girl barely reached the middle section of barbed wire, but the sight of her standing before the Montana sky, the Rockies framing her in purple-hazed perfection, her new jeans and bright yellow shirt shining and the sunlight catching against her hair, he wondered where the time had gone. Had it really been almost five years since the doctors had first set her in his trembling hands? Chance took a long, deep breath. Whatever the next few days, weeks or years brought, this was what he needed to remember. This moment. This sight.

      Not that he was already counting the minutes until he could leave. Frustration edged its way around the calm. What was he thinking, letting Ty goad him into coming back? There was nothing for him here. Nothing except bitter memories of a place where he never belonged and a family he’d never fit into. Forget being a square peg in a round hole. For Chance, he’d always felt like a banjo in an orchestra. How many times had his brothers and grandfather teased him that he was, in fact, the worst cowboy to ever saddle a horse?

      Now, as irony often snagged the last word, it would be up to him what happened with the place? As far as he was concerned, they should sell to the highest bidder and be done with it. It would ease the financial pressures building up on him and possibly help him decide which school Rosie would attend next year. Although Felix had high hopes this place would reignite that creativity he’d been thirsting for.

      Yep. He stared out at the emptiness of the land. They needed to sell.

      Which meant this was going to be a very short visit.

      Besides, he had three weeks before Felix was back from making the rounds on his search for new talent. If Chance had new material by then, his star just might rise again. If he didn’t...

      His career would be over.

      The land stared back at him, accusing. He didn’t want the memories. Not of his brothers, or the parents he barely remembered, not to mention his grandfather, who had only berated or ignored Chance’s interest in music. He certainly didn’t want to think of Maura and how she was as ingrained here as much as she was in his heart.

      But it was the thought of his late wife that loosened the tension in his jaw. For an instant, he could all but see her, red hair flowing behind her, as she rode Fairweather, her favorite horse, across the rolling hills, her laughter ringing in the air like wind chimes in a summer storm. Huh.

      Chance blinked and pulled out the notebook he kept close at hand. He scribbled down the thoughts, on the off chance they might lead to something productive. Something that would ease Felix’s doom-and-gloom protestations that Chance’s career might never resurge.

      “Daddy, look!” Rosie’s cry shot him out of his reverie. He looked