The Rancher's Return. Kathy Douglass

       Chapter One

      Everything looked the same. After ten years away, ten years when he’d wondered if he would ever see the ranch where he’d been born and raised again, Donovan Cordero was home.

      He was surprised that not one thing had changed. The large house was still painted the white color his mother loved. The shutters were still black. The simple backdrop was perfect for showcasing the flower gardens on either side of the stairs where his mother had spent hours each day. His earliest memories were of pulling weeds beside her, learning how to care for a variety of plants and flowers.

      When he’d gotten older he’d begun to trail his father around their one hundred seventy-five acre ranch. He’d felt guilty for turning his back on his mother, but when he’d apologize for leaving her behind and offer to stay with her, she’d only laugh and shoo him away. After spending the day learning how to care for horses and cows, he’d race into the house and to his mother, who would always give him a big hug and kiss. Later he’d begun hanging out with his three best friends, Tony Wilson, Billy Campbell and Jericho Jones on the Double J Ranch. No matter how late he returned, his mother was always waiting with open arms to welcome him home.

      Would she be as welcoming now? She’d spent the past ten years believing he was dead.

      Fearing for her life and those of others he’d loved, he’d let her go right on believing that. He’d been young and frightened back then, too afraid to think of any option other than running. After seeing Karl Rivers kill a man in cold blood, where could he turn? The sheriff? Not likely since the sheriff had been beside Rivers, watching the entire thing. No doubt he’d helped with the cover-up.

      To this day he still remembered the fear that had filled him when they’d spotted him. He’d pleaded for his life, promising never to tell a soul what he’d seen. He’d thought for sure they were going to kill him. Then Rivers had lowered his gun. Rivers had told Donovan that since he had always protected his son Carson from bullies, he was going to let him live. But there was a condition: Donovan had to leave town immediately and never come back. If Donovan stayed in town or breathed a word of what he’d seen, Rivers would kill not only him and his parents, but his girlfriend, Raven Reynolds, too. The dead body on the ground in a pool of blood left no doubt that Rivers was serious. He’d kill them all.

      Karl Rivers was a powerful man in the state of North Carolina. A big political donor to Democrats and Republicans alike and cousin to the governor and a US senator, he had reach that Donovan could only imagine. As a teenage son of a simple rancher, Donovan had been no match for him. So he’d run. He’d left his parents and Raven behind for their good as well as his own.

      Three days ago the major networks had carried the story of Rivers’s death from a heart attack. Donovan had watched in anger as politicians from one end of the country to the other gave tribute to Rivers, speaking of him in glowing terms. No one would ever know what a monster he’d been. But then a sense of relief replaced the anger. Donovan could go home without risking the lives of those he loved.

      So he’d quit his job on the ranch where he’d worked under a fake name for the past seven years. Though he liked Della and Gabe Turner, he didn’t give them the notice he would have if he were leaving for any other reason. He’d wanted to get home as soon as possible. He’d said goodbye to the men and women on the cattle ranch who had become his friends, loaded up his truck and driven east.

      He checked his watch. Five fifty-eight. He’d been sitting in his truck for the past three minutes. Now that he was home, his knees felt weak and his heart thudded in his chest. He’d been in the area for almost ten minutes but he’d driven around trying to get rid of his sudden anxiety. He’d been fine as he’d driven Interstate 20 across several states. But as he’d crossed into North Carolina, he’d gotten anxious. The closer he got to home, the more jittery he’d become.

      Dinner had always been at six o’clock in the Cordero home. Donovan’s mother had designated that hour as family time and it was sacred; Donovan’s father had never once been late, no matter how much work remained. So Donovan knew he was about to see both of his parents within a matter of minutes.

      Breathing hard, Donovan got out of the car and sprinted across the driveway and up the stairs. Never in the nineteen years that he’d lived in this house had he rung the doorbell and it felt strange to do it now. But after being gone all these years, he didn’t feel right strolling into the house and asking what was for dinner. As the doorbell pealed, his heart sped up. He heard footsteps. As they got closer, his anticipation grew.

      “Yes?”

      At the sound of his mother’s beloved voice his eyes filled with tears. He looked through the screen door. “Ma?”

      His mother gasped. Visibly shaken, she staggered back. For a second he thought she might pass out, but with a strength he remembered, she grasped the door and stared. Tears filled her eyes and ran down her smooth, brown cheeks. “Donovan. Oh, my sweet baby boy. You’re home. My baby boy is home.”

      He yanked open the door and pulled his sobbing mother into his arms. “I’m home, Ma. I’m home.”

      “Lena, who is that showing up at dinnertime?” Donovan’s dad asked, coming into the entryway.

      Donovan looked up, not releasing his mother from their embrace. “It’s me, Dad.”

      Donovan’s father stared at him for a moment. The look on his face was that of a man whose every dream had just come true. He gave a shout of joy then crossed the room in long strides, taking Donovan and his mother into his arms. “Son. You’re home. I’ve waited ten long years for this day to come.”

      As the family hugged, a sense of relief and joy that had been a decade in the making filled Donovan. They held on to each other for long minutes before separating. They didn’t fully break contact but rather leaned on each other as they walked into the living room and sat on the familiar striped sofa his mother had fallen in love with on sight at the store.

      Donovan took a quick look around the room. Everything was blessedly familiar. The furniture was in the exact same arrangement as it had been when he’d last seen it if a bit more worn. The same family photographs hung over the fireplace, freezing them in time.

      “I knew you would come home,” his mother said, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with the hem of her white blouse. “Everyone told us that you were dead and that we needed to move on, but I knew better. I knew you were alive. A mother’s heart knows.”

      “As does a father’s.”

      Watery laughter burst from Donovan’s mouth. Mario Cordero had always insisted that a father could love just as strongly as a mother and that a dad possessed the same intuition when it came to his children.

      “And you’re just in time for dinner.” Donovan’s mother rose and, grabbing his hand, led him to the kitchen.

      After washing his hands, Donovan sat at the familiar table in his usual seat. There was something comforting about having everything the same as he remembered. His mother had made a roast with vegetables, one of his favorite meals. He had to admit that no matter what she’d made, he would have been ecstatic. Over