The Rancher's Reunion. Tina Radcliffe
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“What are you running from?” Barely a whisper, Will’s question floated to her.
Silence stretched between them.
Annie tipped her head back against the seat. Running? The man thought he had all the answers. This time he was much too close to the truth. “Will,” she pleaded.
“Okay, you’re right. Now isn’t the time.” He let out a breath. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll say you are,” she said, taking a light tone again. “One sorry Sullivan.”
“Hey, I’m trying to apologize here.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me. Keep shooting straight. I count on that from you. Give me a few days. Let me rest, clear my mind and sharpen my wits, then we can have this conversation. Deal?”
“Always have to have the last word.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then clamped her lips shut.
Will laughed.
The sound warmed her like a quilt as her gaze found the May moon.
TINA RADCLIFFE
has been dreaming and scribbling for years. Originally from western New York State, she left home for a tour of duty with the Army Security Agency stationed in Augsburg, Germany, and ended up in Tulsa, Oklahoma. While living in Tulsa she spent ten years as a Certified Oncology R.N. A former library cataloguer, she now works for a large mail-order pharmacy. Tina currently resides in the foothills of Colorado where she writes heartwarming romance.
The Rancher’s Reunion
Tina Radcliffe
MILLS & BOON
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Take thereof no thought for the morrow:
for the morrow shall take thought of the things of itself.
—Matthew 6:34
To my husband, Tom, my sister Anne, my parents, Joseph and Teresa Russo, and to Tim, Mike, David and Amy—thank you all for understanding this writing thing of mine (or pretending to!).
I love you.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my editor Melissa Endlich, for helping me to become a better writer, and for the wonderful opportunity to be part of the Steeple Hill family.
To Meredith Bernstein, thank you for your patience.
A final thank-you to my writing friends for their support and encouragement: The Seekers (www.seekerville.blogspot.com), Sharon Sala, Jordan Dane (and the OKRWA Chapter), and my longtime writing bud, Rogenna Brewer.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
“You look awful.” Will Sullivan shoved his hands into the back pockets of his Wranglers and continued his intense scrutiny.
“Well, you haven’t changed a bit,” Annie Harris said with a laugh. Leave it to Will to cut to the chase.
In truth, he hadn’t changed. He was everything she remembered. Hatless today, his blue-black hair was clipped short to control the unruly curls. Will thought he could control everything. Standing inches over six feet tall in a faded blue oxford shirt, jeans and scuffed boots, he scowled.
Annie took an unsteady breath. Oh, how she had missed that scowl.
She gripped her cane tighter and glanced around the busy Tulsa airport. Had it really been two years? For only a second did she allow her thoughts to drift back to when she made the decision to leave for Kenya. The same day she realized she was in love with Will Sullivan.
“Sit down for a minute,” Will said, interrupting her thoughts. “You’ve got to be exhausted.”
“I’m okay. Really. The hospital wouldn’t have okayed me to travel if I wasn’t ready. Come on. Let’s get my luggage and get out of here.”
“Your leg? Maybe I should get a wheelchair?”
“Oh, I don’t need a wheelchair.” Determined, she grasped her cane and broke out in what she knew was a clumsy stride.
“Boy, you haven’t changed much either, have you, Annie?” His long legs easily closed the distance between them. “Still think you have to do it all yourself.”
Annie ignored the comment. She’d been traveling since she left Africa two days ago and was not prepared for a round of verbal sparring with Will.
They continued to walk down the large corridor until it forked. Annie stopped and rested her weight on her good leg while she read the signs overhead.
“This way.” Will nodded to the right and walked in front, clearing a path in the hurried, late-afternoon crowds of the terminal. “Slow down,” he admonished, as she caught up with him and began to take the lead.
She tried to accommodate, but her pace continued to increase, driving her. Excitement bubbled over. All she wanted was to get to Sullivan Ranch.
“So how was the flight?”
“Much too long.” Looking around, she couldn’t stop smiling. Her senses greedily feasted on the American sights and sounds. It was the simple things she’d missed; the twang of an Oklahoma accent, the U.S. flag hanging high in the terminal, a sign advertising Mazzio’s pizza, the chatter of the crowd in English, and American food.
The tantalizing aroma of a bagel kiosk caused a pause in her steps. Onion, chive and garlic. They all called out to her.
“Want one?”
“I do. But not one. At least six.”
“Six it is.”
When Will stepped toward the kiosk, she laughed. “I’m kidding, Will. I don’t want to eat anything until we get to the ranch.”
“All right,