Born to Be a Cowboy Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Ruth Ryan Langan

  Cover photography by Rob Lang. Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes. Cover copyright © 2019 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  First ebook edition: November 2019

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  ISBNs: 978-1-5387-1119-4 (mass market), 978-1-5387-1121-7 (ebook)

  E3-20191003-DA-NF-ORI

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Dolly’s Diner Famous Meat Loaf

  About the Author

  Also by R. C. Ryan

  RAVES FOR R. C. RYAN’S NOVELS

  Bonus Novella: Cowboy to the Rescue

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Acknowledgments

  Discover More

  About the Author

  Look for more A.J. Pine books!

  Looking for more cowboys? Forever brings the heat with these sexy studs.

  To families, whether by birth or choice.

  To my own crazy family, who make me so very proud.

  And of course, to Tom. Always to Tom, the great love of my life.

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  Prologue

  Haller Creek, Montana—Seventeen Years Ago

  Stupid horse,” ten-year-old Finn Monroe muttered after he was tossed from the saddle. He slumped in the tall grass by the edge of Haller Creek, his backside thoroughly bruised, his faded jeans soaked.

  Free of its inexperienced rider, the roan gelding, Beau, stepped into the creek to drink.

  Mackenzie Monroe, Finn’s adoptive father, brought his own mare to a halt and dismounted. “Old Beau throw you again, son?”

  “I’m not your son.” Finn’s knee-jerk response was spoken through clenched teeth.

  His older brothers, Ben and Sam, might be fooled by this rancher’s soft words and kind eyes, but Finn knew better. He’d been through enough foster homes to know that sooner or later every adult he trusted would eventually turn on him. If they weren’t rationing food as punishment for some infraction of their cherished rules, they were writing scathing reports about his foul language, his unwillingness to handle the required chores, or his quick-trigger temper. And one, a hulk of a bully named Horace Fredlubber, had actually used his fists on him, leaving Finn so bloodied that he had vowed he would do whatever it took to escape that hellish existence.

  And now here he was. In the middle of Nowhere, Montana, expected to muck stinky stalls and herd dumb cattle. Today he was being forced to ride to high country on the back of a horse that wouldn’t follow behind the others and constantly veered off the path to make its own way. Finn had been slapped in the head with low-hanging branches, had nearly toppled headfirst down an embankment, and was now soaked clear through, while his brothers were far ahead, playing at being cowboys and laughing like loons.

  Mac reached out. “Give me your hand, Finn.”

  “I don’t need your help.” Ignoring the outstretched hand, he got to his feet and let out a string of curses at the discomfort of waterlogged jeans weighing him down.

  He enjoyed a moment of satisfaction at the frown that appeared on Mac’s handsome face. His adoptive father had made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate coarse language in his presence, and to reinforce the issue, saw to it that a chore was added each time one of the boys violated that rule.

  “You’ll take Sam’s chore tomorrow. Mucking stalls.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Bring it on.” Finn knew it wouldn’t be long until this man would be like the others before him, resorting to physical punishment when he’d had enough.

  Mac reached out and Finn ducked, only to realize the man was just taking hold of the horse’s reins, which were dangling in the water.

  Seeing the boy’s reaction, Mac deliberately kept his tone easy. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Finn and his brothers brace themselves for physical punishment, something that was abhorrent to Mac.

  “Beau’s testing you, Finn. A horse can sense a novice rider. If you want him to do things your way, you need to learn how to be firm without yanking on the reins and hurting him. Each time you pull too hard, he’ll go the other way just to show you he’s bigger and, therefore, in charge.”

  “He’s always going to be bigger than me. How can I ever take charge?”

  “By learning patience. Try liking him. Animals respond to kindness. Then give him a chance to like you, too.” Mac paused before adding, “I see something special in you, Finn.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “A bright, inquiring mind.”

  “I’d rather be as big as Ben, and as tough as Sam.”

  “Being smart is even better than being big and tough.”

  “Why?”

  “Because a smart man can win every fight without resorting to violence. When you use that brain instead of your fists, you’ll win every time. Just ask Zachariah York about the many battles he’s won in the courtroom.”

  Finn thought about the lion of a man who lived with them and used big, fancy words that only a genius could understand. “That fussy old geezer?”

  “That fussy old
geezer is one of the most brilliant lawyers in the country. And he never had to resort to his fists to win a case.”

  Leading Beau to dry land, Mac surprised the boy by tethering the animal before choosing a sunny spot in the grass to sit, as though he had nothing more important to do than sit and talk.

  Mac whipped off his wide-brimmed hat and wiped an arm across his forehead before glancing up. “A good day to ride. Look at that. Not a cloud in the sky.” Mac waited until Finn followed his lead and settled in a warm, dry spot. “My wife, Rachel, used to say a day this perfect was proof that God’s in His heaven and all’s right with the world.”

  Finn shot him a quizzical look. “What the fu…” He caught himself in time to avoid another chore. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I like to think it means that on a day this perfect, we can trust that there’s a Higher Being watching out for us.”

  “Yeah?” Finn’s scowl deepened. “Where was your Higher Being when horrible Horace Fredlubber was beating me senseless?”

  Mac went very still, as he always did when one of his boys revealed a hint of the unbearable pain they’d endured before coming into his life. These three brothers usually guarded their secrets like hoarders, and Finn, the youngest, most of all.

  Mac chose his words carefully. “I believe that even at our lowest point, when we feel we can’t take anything more, goodness finds a way. Maybe it’s just a hint of a smile when our eyes are filled with tears. Or maybe it’s three ragged boys, bent on stealing, who showed a glimmer of light in the darkness.”

  Something in the way he spoke had Finn looking at him more closely. “Oh, man. Are you crying?”

  “Even grown men cry, son.” Mac swiped an arm across his eyes and got to his feet before offering a hand to Finn.

  This time the boy accepted his help and stood quietly while Mac pulled himself into the saddle and led Beau toward Finn.

  Without a word Finn mounted.

  As he followed behind Mac’s mare, Finn found himself comparing the life he had now with the life he’d lived before coming to this ranch. It was true that he and his brothers were expected to work alongside Mac and the three old men who lived here. Roscoe Flute was an ancient cowboy. He only had a couple of teeth, but he had a killer smile—and he seemed to always be smiling. Otis Green was a black man from the south side of Chicago, who should have been a fish out of water on a ranch in Montana but managed to fit right in, raising a variety of fruits and vegetables in his carefully tended garden behind the barns. And Zachariah York was a prim and proper retired lawyer who did most of the cooking, while the others handled the ranch chores. Mac called the old man brilliant. Finn decided to pay more attention to what he had to say.

  Finn had to admit that here in this place he and his brothers routinely did things a city boy like him had only dreamed of doing. But they were constantly exposed to something else they’d never had before—books and respect. Teasing and laughter. So much laughter that sometimes Finn forgot for hours the miserable life he’d left behind. The laughter was contagious. He found himself wanting more of it.

  As for the books, he often got lost in them, especially if Zachariah was the one reading aloud before bedtime.

  There was a gentle kindness in this place. A special kind of respect for one another he’d never experienced before.

  He was intrigued to learn that Mac thought he had a good mind. Nobody had ever encouraged him to be smart. Was it possible he could one day be as smart as Zachariah?

  Maybe, Finn thought as he caught up with his brothers, he’d give his adoptive father and life as a rancher a real chance.

  Hell, what did he have to lose?

  Chapter One

  Haller Creek, Montana—Present Day

  Finn Monroe unlocked the door to his law office and tossed his battered attaché case on the desk. He then removed his fringed buckskin jacket and draped it on the back of his chair. Both the attaché and the jacket had been gifts from his mentor, Zachariah York, when Finn had passed the bar. They’d been the old lawyer’s trademark and were now Finn’s daily uniform, as was his longer-than-typical hair. He figured if Zachariah could look like a lion in court, he could, too.

  He’d begun his practice here in the little town of Haller Creek by accepting every legal request that came his way, from an arrest for impaired driving to settling neighbors’ property disputes. Recently he’d snagged the attention of the national media by winning a case against the county for the largest monetary award ever, for a rancher who had suspected county officials were blocking his herd’s access to his water supply. There was now talk of submitting Finn’s name for a city office, even though he insisted it wasn’t his dream.

  Finn ignored all the background noise of politics and continued to go about his business.

  Hearing the door open behind him, he glanced over his shoulder.

  “Mr. Monroe?”

  The feminine voice was soft, tentative.

  He tried not to stare, but the women who usually came to his little office here in Haller Creek didn’t look like corporate executives.

  Instead of boots, denims, and a T-shirt, she wore heels, a sleek dress, and a matching jacket. Her blond-streaked hair fell in soft waves around a small, heart-shaped face. Except for the nerves that had her wringing her hands, she was almost too perfect to believe.

  To put her at ease, Finn stepped around his desk to offer a handshake. “My friends call me Finn. Finn Monroe.”

  “Jessica Blair.” She paused and tried to smile. It had her lips quivering. “My friends call me Jessie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jessie. You’re not from around here.”

  “I grew up in Arvid. It’s a little town about a hundred miles from here.”

  He nodded. “I’ve heard of it. Lots of great cattle ranches. Did you grow up on a ranch?”

  “Yes. My aunt Nola, Nolinda Blair, raised me on her ranch after my parents died when I was five. She’s the only family I’ve ever had.”

  “You’re lucky to have family willing to take you in. It sounds as though you love her a lot.”

  Her eyes filled, and Finn had to resist an unnatural urge to wrap his arms around her and offer her comfort.

  Instead he indicated the chair facing his desk. “Why don’t you sit and tell me why you’re here.”

  As she sat, she said, “Please, give me a minute.”

  He rounded his desk and took a seat facing her. To give her time, he asked the first question that came to him. “Is your aunt’s ranch big?”

  Jessie nodded. “Big enough to provide a comfortable life for us, and for four previous generations of Blairs.”

  “I bet she and her husband needed a big family to keep it all going.”

  “Aunt Nola never married. There were just the two of us. And a team of loyal wranglers who’d been with her for years.”

  “So you worked the ranch with her?”

  “I did until I left for college. And even then, I came back every chance I had, and every summer. I’ve always loved living on her ranch.”

  Seeing the glint of fresh tears, he gave her time to compose herself. “I know what you mean. My family has a ranch outside of town. When I’m not here, I’m at home on a tractor or riding in the high country with the herds.”

  Her eyes brightened. “You’re a rancher? Then you understand how important the land is.”

  “I do.” He folded his hands, hoping to ease her into the reason for her visit. “If you grew up in Arvid, why are you here?”

  “When I went on the internet and researched the town of Haller Creek, yours was the only law office listed.”

  “Why Haller Creek?”

  “My aunt mentioned it. She said that’s where her new wrangler had once worked.”

  “Does your aunt want me to look into this wrangler’s background?”

  She shook her head. “I’m here because…” Again that threat of tears. When her lower lip quivered, she bit down before speaking. “I believe my au
nt is in some sort of serious trouble. All because of a smooth-talking cowboy. She’s disappeared without a trace.”

  Finn let out a slow breath. “So your aunt’s missing?”

  She nodded.

  “And this wrangler…?”

  “Wayne Stone.” She lifted a handkerchief to her nose as if she’d just smelled something distasteful.

  “Wayne Stone is the smooth-talking cowboy?”

  Another nod while she twisted the handkerchief around and around her fingers.

  “Have you gone to the police with your suspicions?”

  “Yes.” She lifted her head. “They looked into it. They said the marriage was valid, and there was no sign of foul play.”

  “Wait a minute.” He held up a hand to stop her. “Marriage? When did your aunt marry him?”

  “Two weeks ago. Even though she barely had time to get to know him.”

  “That must have been a surprise. Did she tell you about it before the wedding?”

  “She called me the day they were getting married, on the way to town. She said after the wedding they were leaving for a honeymoon. And there hasn’t been a word from her since.”

  “I’m guessing your feelings were hurt that she waited so long to let you know.”

  “This isn’t about my hurt feelings.” A big tear rolled down her cheek and she brushed it aside. “It isn’t like Aunt Nola to do something like this. This is completely out of character.”

  “It may not be usual, but a woman has the right to share her life with someone. And going on a honeymoon isn’t a crime.”

  “You don’t understand. She couldn’t bear to be away from the ranch for more than a few days at a time. And now she’s been gone for two weeks without a word. I just know something’s wrong.”

  Finn steepled his hands on the desk. “Miss Blair, you don’t need a lawyer. If the police won’t help, and you want to pursue this further, I’d suggest a private detective.”

  “I hired one.” She dug into her pocket and held out a business card.

  Finn took it and read the name. “Matthew Carver. Retired FBI agent.” He looked over at her. “Are you happy with his work?”

  She nodded. “He called to say he had some news. He sounded…agitated. We were supposed to meet yesterday.”