A Baby in the Bunkhouse
Книга "A Baby in the Bunkhouse", авторами которой являются Литагент HarperCollins EUR}, Cathy Thacker Gillen, представляет собой захватывающую работу в жанре Современная зарубежная литература. В этом произведении автор рассказывает увлекательную историю, которая не оставит равнодушными читателей.
Автор мастерски воссоздает атмосферу напряженности и интриги, погружая читателя в мир загадок и тайн, который скрывается за хрупкой поверхностью обыденности. С прекрасным чувством языка и виртуозностью сюжетного развития, Литагент HarperCollins EUR позволяет читателю погрузиться в сложные эмоциональные переживания героев и проникнуться их судьбами. EUR настолько живо и точно передает неповторимые нюансы человеческой психологии, что каждая страница книги становится путешествием в глубины человеческой души.
"A Baby in the Bunkhouse" - это не только захватывающая история, но и искусство, проникнутое глубокими мыслями и философскими размышлениями. Это произведение призвано вызвать у читателя эмоциональные отклики, задуматься о важных жизненных вопросах и открыть новые горизонты восприятия мира.
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Table of Contents
Cathy Gillen Thacker is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website at www.cathygillenthacker.com for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favourite things.
Chapter One
“I figured I’d find you here, burning the midnight oil.”
Rafferty Evans looked up from his computer screen to see his father standing in the doorway of the ranch-house study. At seventy-four, Eli Evans had finally agreed to retire. Which meant he had more time on his hands to stick his nose into his son’s business. Sensing a talk coming on he’d rather avoid, Rafferty grumbled irritably, “Someone’s got to do the books before the fall roundup starts.”
Eli settled into a leather club chair. “The last two days of rain has you chomping at the bit.”
Actually, Rafferty thought, he felt this way every November. Ignoring the flash of lightning outside, he went back to studying the numbers he’d been working on. “A lot to get done over the next six weeks.”
Eli spoke over the deafening rumble of thunder. “Including the job of hiring a new bunkhouse cook.”
“The hands chased away the last three with their incessant complaints. They can fend for themselves while I search for another.”
“You know none of them can cook worth a darn.”
“Then they should be more appreciative of anyone who has even a tiny bit of skill.”
Eli thought about pursuing the matter, then evidently decided against it. “About Christmas…” he continued.
Rafferty stiffened. “I told you. I don’t celebrate the holidays. Not anymore.” Not since the accident.
Eli frowned with the quiet authority befitting a legendary Texas cattleman. “It’s been two years.”
Rafferty pushed back his chair and stood, hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans. “I know how long it’s been, Dad.” He strode to the fireplace, picked up the poker and pushed the burning logs to the back of the grate. Sparks crackled from the embers.
“Life goes on,” Eli continued.
“Holidays are for kids.”
Eli fell silent.
Tired of being made to feel like Ebenezer Scrooge, Rafferty added another log to the fire, stalked to the window and looked out at the raging storm. Rain drummed on the roof. Another flash of lightning lit the sky—followed closely by a loud clap of thunder. Car headlights gleamed in the dark night and turned into the main gate.
Rafferty frowned and looked at the clock. It was midnight. He turned to his dad. “You expecting anyone?”
Eli shook his head. “Probably another tourist who lost his way.”
Rafferty muttered a string of words not fit for mixed company. The car wasn’t turning around. It was just sitting there, inside the ranch entrance, engine running.
His father came to stand beside him. “You want me to go out there, set ’em straight?”
Rafferty clapped a companionable hand on his dad’s shoulder, and tried not to notice how frail it felt. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost his dad, too. He pushed aside the troubling thought. “I’ll do it,” he said. Then ordered gently, “You go on to bed.”
“Sure?”
Rafferty knew this kind of damp cold was hard on his father’s arthritis. He shook his head. “I’m sure they’re just turned around. I’ll make sure they get back to the main road.”
“The news said the river’s rising,” Eli warned.
Rafferty grabbed his slicker and hat from the coatrack in the hall. Shrugging on both, he swung open the front door and stepped out onto the porch. The chill air and the fresh green scent of rain were invigorating. “I won’t waste any time making sure they get on their way.”
OF ALL THE THINGS Jacey Lambert had expected to happen to her today, coming to the end of the road was not one of them. But after miles of traversing an increasingly rough and narrow highway that had dead-ended into the entrance of the Lost Mountain Ranch, that was exactly where she was.
She had gotten completely turned around.
She was tired and hungry. Her car was low on fuel.
Worst of all, her cell phone hadn’t worked for miles.
Would it be rude to knock on the door of the sprawling adobe ranch house just ahead?
Before she could formulate an answer, she heard the sound of an engine starting.
She looked up to see a pickup truck headed her way. It stopped just short of her Volvo station wagon.
A cowboy in a black hat and a yellow rain slicker climbed out of the cab, strode purposefully over to the driver’s side.
