Book 5 in the Witching Well series.
I've had the idea for this book for some time. Years ago, so long ago I'm not even sure where I can find the account, I read in one of my ancestor's personal histories that a leader of our church traveled to Wyoming (where my ancestor had a sheep ranch) and prophesied that one day the arid land would one day be worth millions. My ancestor (I suppose I really should find out who) faithfully held onto his ranch land. Years later, oil was discovered on the neighboring ranch.
Last week, I visited Cowley, Wyoming--home of my grandparents' sheep ranch and my parents' hometown.
In The Rancher's Romance, Brad West's business, due to poor speculation, is on the verge of bankruptcy. His wife wants a divorce. Life looks grim. The Witching Well, he decides, is the answer. He learned that his great, great grandfather had once owned oil-rich Wyoming land, but he sold it before the oil discovery. Brad's plan is to travel back to the 1930s, buy the land, and secure the deed.
But, of course, Wyoming in the midst of the Great Depression, isn't a walk in the park. And buying the sheep ranch isn't as easy as Brad had thought it would be. And things get a lot more complicated when Mia shows up with divorce papers...
CHAPTER ONE
BRAD
Brad leaned against the
bar, one ankle crossed over the other, surveying the gathering. How typical of the
Fleurs to throw a wedding at a barn. Jason was as rich as Hades and Joel’s
cosmetic company was an overnight sensation. Either one of them could have
thrown a wedding worthy of the society pages and yet, here they were eating
pigs in a blanket in a barn to celebrate their mom’s wedding. Ridiculous.
Jason caught his eye and
strode his way. Brad tried to tamp down his rivalry toward his younger cousin. Their grandmother had always favored Jason, probably because with his dark
Mediterranean coloring coupled with his startling blue eyes, he looked like the
West side of the family. Brad, on the other hand, was more the color of dirt—brown eyes,
brown hair. And now, thanks to a sad turn of fate, he was also dirt poor. While Jason not only had financial success, but also Celia, Mia's sister…Brad cut off his dark thoughts and plastered on a smile.
“You’re brave being here.”
Jason pointed his glass at Brad. His tone carried wonderment tinged with a hint
of admiration.
“What can I say? Claudette
loves me.” Brad strove to sound nonchalant, even though the last few hours had
greatly pained him. Watching Mia with that stuffed shirt Darrel Doyle had been
like sitting through church with a burr stuck on his butt, an irritation it
would have been rude to scratch or inspect. Not that he wanted to reflect on his
relationship with Mia. He tried not to think of her, but that endeavor was
going about as well as his failing business.
“Celia tells me you refuse
to sign the divorce papers.” Jason sipped from a champagne flute and watched
Brad over the rim.
“Is that the story Mia’s
telling?” Brad pulled away from the bar and headed for a corner table near some
stacked hay bales. Mason jars filled with sunflowers sat in a ring of strewn sawdust
on each table. He didn’t know if Jason would follow him, or not, and he also
didn’t care. He not only didn’t want to think about Mia, he also didn’t want to
discuss her.
“Are you saying it’s not
true?”
Jason must have followed,
because his voice was at Brad’s back—hitting him squarely between the shoulder blades
like a well-placed knife.
Brad sat at the table in
the shadows and sent up a silent plea that Jason would join him. After the Clinton
property debacle, Brad had one last scheme on how to save his company and it
was not only a long shot but also just one brush away from hair-brained. Just
thinking of what Mia would say if she knew made him inwardly cringe.
He shouldn’t care what she
thought. But he did.
Jason braced his hands on
the back of a chair. “Look, I love you, but I’m also a member of this family—”
“Claudette invited me,
okay? I wouldn’t have come if she hadn’t. If Mia has an issue with my being
here, she should bring it up with her grandmother.” Brad dropped his voice so
it was barely audible above the sound of the string quartet playing across the
barn floor. The quartet had stuck with classical music before the ceremony, but
since then they’d abandoned pretentiousness and had been playing Blue Grass for
the last twenty minutes. Brad wasn’t sure how much more he could take.
His gaze slid to Mia and
Darrel. They sat on the other side of the barn, but despite the distance
between them, the music, the clinking of forks against plates, and dozens of
conversations flitting in the air, he could still hear her laughter. And it
still pained him.
Brad straightened his
shoulders and gave himself a mental pep talk. He would say what he needed to
say and leave. “To be perfectly honest, I probably wouldn’t have come, but I
have to know. Are the stories about the Witching Well true?”
Jason blinked at the sudden
change of subject and settled into a chair across the table from him. “I told
you what happened to me and Celia.”
Brad sipped his champagne
and felt the tingles tickle his nose. His gaze kept slipping to Mia. When she
wasn’t glaring at him, she was so beautiful it made him ache. He stared into
his drink. “Do you think it could work for me?”
“What?”
Brad looked up with a
glare. “You heard me.”
“No,” Jason said without
hesitation. He braced both hands on the table as if to push himself to his
feet. “It won’t work for you.”
Brad grabbed Jason’s wrist.
“Why do you say that?”
Jason shook him loose.
“Because whatever you have planned, it’s a bad idea.”
Brad leaned back in his
chair and laced his fingers together behind his head. “You don’t know what I’m
planning.”
“I don’t have to. I know
you. You’re infamous for your bad decisions.”
Brad dropped his hands.
“That’s not fair.”
“You let Mia go.”
Brad let out a long breath.
“My plans have nothing to do with Mia, by the way.”
Jason rocked back in his
chair. “You’re not planning on going back in time and trying to salvage your
marriage?”
“No. I won’t even see Mia.
I’ll be far, far away and years before her birth.”
Jason brought the front
legs of his chair to the earth, leaned forward, and studied Brad. “Why?”
Brad swirled his champaign
flute and watched the bubbles turn into a mini whirlpool. “I’ll tell you if
you’ll tell me how it can be done.”
“There are no guarantees,
you know.” Jason’s gaze turned to suspicious slits. “What are you up to?”
Brad sipped his drink and
swallowed before speaking. “This benefits you just as much it does me.”
Jason cocked his eyebrow
but didn’t say a word.
Brad sucked in a deep
breath. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me. In fact, please don’t. I’ll find a
way to make it happen on my own, and then I won’t share the spoils.”
“Spoils?” Jason asked. “What
sort of spoils?”
Brad tapped his fingers on
the tablecloth. “The well is around here somewhere…”
“What are you planning?”
Jason put his hand flat on the table. “You know it can be dangerous, right?”
“How so?” Maybe if he could
keep Jason engaged in the conversation, his cousin would slip up and offer a
clue.
“You could end up anywhere,”
Jason said. “Besides, Celia has a theory that it can only happen to members of
the Fleur family.”
“You went, and, supposedly,
so did Becca Martin.”
“Not all of the theories
hold—pun intended—water.”
Brad scratched his chin,
thinking. He’d really rather have Jason’s help than attempt this on his own,
but, knowing his cousin, he had to spin it the right way. “Do you want in, or
not?”
“What are you trying to do?”
Jason asked. “I’m only asking because if something happens to you, I don’t want
to face Aunt May’s wrath.”
“Mom will be fine.”
“You’re her only child.”
Brad rubbed his hands
together. “Which makes it all the sweeter. We have less people who’ll want a
cut.”
“A cut of what?”
Brad propped his elbows on
the table and leaned forward. “You know Great Grandpa West owned a sheep ranch
in the Big Horn Valley.”
“In Wyoming,” Jason said.
Brad nodded. “Today, that
land is worth millions.”
“What?” Jason looked as if
he couldn’t believe what Brad was telling him.
“Oil fields.” Brad steepled
his fingers and tapped them together. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“Does this have anything to
do with the Clinton property?”
Brad waved his hand as if
he could make the Clinton’s disappear. “That’s old news.” Or so he hoped. “I’m
going to convince Great, Great Grandpa West to sell that land to me.”
Jason let out a huff of
disbelief and shook his head. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Why not?”
“Why would he sell you the
land?”
“Why not? I’m going to
offer him twice whatever he sold it for back in the thirties.”
“You know, Western Wyoming
during the Great Depression wasn’t exactly a party place.”
Brad rubbed his forehead.
“I’m not the partier Mia says I am.”
“That may or may not be
true,” Jason said, “But never the less—”
“Come on, Jason. Don’t you
see? That land could-have-should-have belonged to us.”
“We’re not entitled to
anything—” Jason bit back his anger. “Listen, I’m not going to help you because
I personally don’t believe in chasing the easy buck.”
“Oh, man. Can you listen to
yourself? Can you get any more self-righteous?”
Jason stood and strode away
from the table without saying another word.
Brad watched him go, his
emotions waffling. Part of him knew he didn’t need Jason’s cooperation or his
blessing. He’d find some way to get to 1932 Wyoming with or without his
cousin’s help.
A hand fell on his
shoulder. He looked up to see Lacy Harmon, one of Celia’s best friends. She
squeezed his shoulder and offered him a smile. “It’s good to see you, Brad. I
miss you seeing you in the studio.”
Before the split, Mia had routinely
dragged him into Lacy’s Yoga Go Go. His willingness to follow Mia into the studio
was evidence of his love—not for the practice, but for his wife. Not that he
minded being surrounded by dozens of nimble yogis—most of them scantily clad
females who were, for the most part, as lovely as Lacy—but he preferred to work
out on the basketball court or the football field. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed
yoga, but he’d gone mostly to be with Mia.
He gazed at Lacy. With her
blonde hair, blue eyes, and rosebud lips, she was a pretty little thing, but
she reminded him of a piece of dandelion fluff. Wispy, insubstantial, and about
as deep as a mud puddle.
She dropped into a chair
beside him and pinned him with her gaze. “How are you?” Her focus slid across
the room to Mia before returning to him. “Is this hard for you? Seeing your ex
with someone else?”
Brad swallowed. He wasn’t
about to open himself up to Lacy and he bit back the urge to tell her to go
down-dog herself. “I’m fine.” The words sounded harsher than he’d intended. He
softened his tone and tried to practice sincerity. “How are you?”
Lacy flushed and a light in
her eyes lit. “I’m good, thanks for asking.” She reached out and fiddled with a
piece of sawdust. “I’m thinking of selling my studio.”
Aw. That was it. She wasn’t
really interested in him. She just wanted him to list her property. Why did
that hurt? He wasn’t interested in Lacy, either, so why would it hurt when she
reached out with a business proposition?
Maybe because he wasn’t
someone who wasn’t his mother to care.
“You know it used to be my
grandfather’s cigar shop,” Lacy was saying. “And even after all these years, I
can still smell the smoke. Could you come by and tell me what you think I could
sell it for? I don’t know anything about real estate.”
“Sell your shop?” It was a
prime downtown Woodinville location. He could sell it in a heartbeat, but what
about Lacy? Where would she go?
Lacy nodded. “I’m thinking
of—” She broke off her sentence, stood. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll call you
tomorrow.” She scurried away without a backward glance.
That was weird, but then,
Lacy had always been a little off. He stared at her retreating back, puzzled.
A hand dropped on his
shoulder. He twisted to see Mia standing behind him. The late afternoon sun
streaming through the barn’s massive doorway backlit her, giving her a halo
around her beautiful strawberry blonde hair. Even when she scowled she was
beautiful. “Hey,” he said softly.
“Did you sign the papers?”
she asked without preamble.
“Yeah,” he lied. “They’re
at my apartment.” That, at least, was true.
Her expression brightened
and Brad’s heart twisted. Why was she so eager to end their marriage? To sever
what little they had left together?
“I’ll be by tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
“What time works for you?”
“I’ll be out in the
morning. Will the afternoon work?”
She gave him a rare,
beaming smile. “Sure. Thanks, Brad.”
“Anything for you,
sweetie,” he said.
Brad had no intention of
being anywhere Mia could find him or the papers.
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