Lost and Found Groom McLinn, Patricia (love books to read .TXT) 📖

LOST AND FOUND GROOM

A Place Called Home series

Book 1

Patricia McLinn

*

A Place Called Home series

Lost and Found Groom

At the Heart’s Command

Hidden in a Heartbeat

Copyright © Patricia McLinn

ISBN: 978-1-939215-10-9

Kindle Edition

www.PatriciaMcLinn.com

*

Dear Readers: If you encounter typos or errors in this book, please send them to me at Patricia@patriciamclinn.com. Even with many layers of editing, mistakes can slip through, alas. But, together, we can eradicate the nasty nuisances. Thank you! – Patricia McLinn

*

To Celeste Hamilton and J.P., who have the wisdom to know the right words to say at the right time, and the unfailing generosity to always say those words.

The author is very grateful to pilots Abbie Fridell and Tom Buckman for their generosity and insights in answering her many questions. They truly helped this story take off.

And many thanks to Jenni Sapp for her winning contest entry that gave this book a name.

*

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

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

Epilogue

A Place Called Home series

About the Author

PROLOGUE

Twenty years ago,

Far Hills Ranch, Wyoming

“Tell us the Far Hills legend, Aunt Marti,” urged eleven-year-old Kendra Jenner.

Before Marti Susland could respond, Dale Sinclair, who wasn’t even part of the family, scoffed with all the disdain of a thirteen-year-old, “We don’t want to hear that old story again.”

“Yes, we do,” Amy asserted staunchly. Although Marti’s half-sister was a few months older than Kendra, she always followed Kendra’s lead.

Twelve-year-old Ellyn Neal backed their vote up with a nod.

“Aw, only girls and babies want to hear that story, right, Grif?” Dale appealed to the oldest, consigning to babyhood the youngest of the gathered youngsters, Luke Chandler, son of the Far Hills foreman.

At fourteen John Griffin was noticeably more serious and silent than in previous summers. He looked at each of the faces around the campfire until he came to her. Marti looked back at the only child of her oldest sister and felt a renewed ache of loss at Nancy’s death three years ago.

“I’d like to hear it, too. One last time.”

Marti’s breath hitched. It was as if the boy had read her mind. Or shared her premonition. Was this last campfire of the summer also the last for this gathering? Could she truly feel the ties that bound them to this place and these summers unraveling?

All these children had spent summers at Far Hills all their lives. Even after Father remarried and had Amy, Marti’s older sisters, Nancy and Wendy, had returned to the ranch with their husbands and children. At least for a while.

First, Father and his second wife, Cindy, were killed in that hotel fire, leaving Marti, at twenty, to take over Far Hills and raise her infant half sister.

Then Wendy’s pilot husband, Ken Jenner, was reported MIA.

Soon the strain in Nancy’s marriage to Lt. Col. John Griffin Sr. became too obvious to miss, followed by her diagnosis and long, losing fight.

But even with the adults scattered, Marti had begged, cajoled and badgered them into sending their children–Nancy’s son Grif and Wendy’s daughter Kendra–each summer to the ranch that was their heritage.

Each summer, with Kendra and Grif joining Amy and Luke in living at the ranch while their friends Dale Sinclair and Ellyn Neal spent more time here than at their homes in town, Far Hills Ranch was nearly what Marti had always dreamed it could be. Unclouded by the past.

A past embedded in the legend these innocents considered a thrilling story heard around a campfire. No, she wouldn’t tell it this time, because if she did–

“Please, Marti,” whispered Amy.

Marti looked at her half-sister and relented. As always.

“It happened right here, in 1878,” she began, using the familiar words she first heard from her grandmother. Every face turned toward her. “The campfire burned for four days and four nights on that outcropping on Crooked Mountain that lets you see all over Far Hills, until Charles Susland–your great-great-grandfather Kendra and Grif,” she broke off to explain, as if they hadn’t heard this too many times to count.

“And our great-grandfather,” supplied Amy.

“That’s right. That fire burned for four days and four nights after Charles Susland turned Leaping Star away from the house, until, finally, he rode up the mountainside. He only did it then to still his new wife Annalee. If she hadn’t been expecting a baby he’d have ignored her blathering and vapors. She’d given him one son already, but he wanted many sons.

“The Crow woman rose slowly when he rode into her camp and spoke to her.”

From long custom, Marti automatically dropped her voice to gruffly speak her ancestor’s part.

“ ‘I told you when you came to the house–you have no place here.’

“ ‘This is my place, my only place, my people’s place,’ Leaping Star told him. ‘They brought you to it when you took me as wife. They helped you. And you took our place.’

“ ‘Far Hills is mine. I built it. Your people didn’t make anything of this land, I did. And now your place is the reservation. Go back, Leaping Star.’

“ ‘Your children die there. White Deer and Yellow Sky died at the full moon. Runs At Dawn is very weak.’ ”

Amy drew in an audible breath of sympathy.

“ ‘Then go take care of her.’

“ ‘There is nothing left in me. Only enough to come to you, Charles Susland. Care for our daughter or she will die.’

“ ‘I can’t go running off leaving Far Hills. And I have a son now. A white son. He’ll learn to build something on this land instead of roaming like a pack of animals.’ He pivoted his horse.

“ ‘Charles Susland.’

“He would have kept riding if he could have, but Leaping Star’s will was too strong.

“ ‘You turn away from your children, so your blood will be alone. You turn away from my people, so your blood will have no home. You turn away from me, so your blood will be lost. Only when someone loves enough to undo your wrongs will the laughter of children live beyond its echo in Far Hills.’ ” Marti paused. As she always did here.

“One more night the fire burned