Deb Kastner - His Texas Bride

“Buck, that was twenty years ago,” Ellie reminded him gently, her tone carefully neutral. Why did he want to dig up the past, when there was so much to deal with right now in the present?

“Still,” he drawled slowly, “you must want to know what happened back then.”

Ellie shrugged. “If you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”

Buck stepped back, looking stunned as if she’d slapped his face. “It didn’t matter to you that I left?”

Ellie frowned. “Of course it mattered. A lot of people in this town thought—I thought—you and I had a future together.”

Buck was silent, and Ellie wondered what he was thinking about. He shook his head but didn’t speak.

lives and writes in colorful Colorado with the front range of the Rocky Mountains for inspiration. She loves writing for the Steeple Hill Love Inspired line, where she can write about her two favorite things—faith and love. Her characters range from upbeat and humorous to (her favorite) dark and broody heroes. Her plots fall anywhere in between, from a playful romp to the deeply emotional.

Deb’s books have been twice nominated for the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Inspirational Novel of the Year.

Deb and her husband share their home with their two youngest daughters. Deb is thrilled about the newest member of the family—her first granddaughter, Isabella. What fun to be a granny!

Deb loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her by e-mail at DEBWRTR@aol.com, or on her MySpace or Facebook pages.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Therefore if you bring your gift to the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar, and go your way. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift.

—Matthew 5:23, 24

All my love to my dearest daughter Kimberly.

Your strength and courage inspire me.

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

Questions for Discussion

Mama loved carnations.

Buck Redmond gently laid the small, sweetly pungent bouquet of purple and yellow carnations against the headstone carved with his mother’s initials, careful not to disturb the freshly turned earth that framed the graveside. He brushed his suddenly tear-stung eyes with his thumb and forefinger and, for the hundredth time that morning, wished he’d come home even a day sooner.

He’d never planned to return home at all. But for his mother’s funeral, he’d had no choice. Despite the rift he’d created between them, Buck loved his mother, and now he’d never be able to tell her just how much.

But there was no use thinking about things that could never be. Buck had learned that the hard way. He’d make arrangements to sell his mother’s property and get out of town as fast as he’d had to return. His childhood home, once a horse ranch and now Esther’s House of Crafts, held few good memories for him, anyway.

Buck stood and replaced his black Stetson on his head. Then, feeling like he should say a prayer for his mother but not knowing how, he turned away.

Right into the arms of Ellie McBride.

Ellie.

The last person on earth he wanted to see right now.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she said softly, placing her palms on his elbows as if to balance him.

Buck took an unconscious step backward. If he was going to fall down—and he wasn’t—a small, raven-haired wisp of a woman like Ellie wouldn’t have been able to keep him vertical. Besides, he still felt that little zap of electricity whenever she touched him. It hadn’t gone away, not in twenty years.

He was thirty-eight years old now, not an awkward teenager anymore. He and Ellie had both moved on with their lives. He pulled the brim of his hat down low over his eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked. His words came out a bit more gruffly than he’d intended, but he didn’t apologize.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said simply.

“Why?”

“I’m holding a reception for your mother’s passing at my….” She hesitated, stumbling over her words.

Buck wondered why, but he didn’t ask. He had no intention of going to any reception in this town, but telling Ellie that without hurting her feelings was another thing entirely.

“At…at my ranch house,” she concluded, gushing out the words. “The whole town is there, Buck. They want to pay their respects to you—and your son. Where is Tyler, anyway?”

That was exactly what Buck was afraid of, the whole town being there, especially where his son, Tyler, was concerned. He would have left twelve-year-old Tyler with someone—anyone—if there was anyone to leave him with, which there wasn’t.

“Tyler is waiting in my truck,” he said, choosing to answer the obvious and avoid the rest for as long as he could.

“Oh, good. I didn’t get the chance to meet him at the funeral,” she said, her voice husky as she tried for a light tone but didn’t quite succeed.

Ellie reached out and touched Buck’s arm again, this time sliding her hand down his forearm to reach for his palm. Buck had forgotten how tiny her hand felt in his, and he simply stared at their hands as their fingers met.

“I couldn’t even get close to you,” she said softly. “You took off right after the funeral this morning without a word to anyone.”

That much was true. He simply nodded, unable to speak for the well of emotion in his throat.

“I wanted to tell you and Tyler how sorry I am about the loss of Esther,” she continued in her high, lilting voice, unashamed of the tears that coursed down her cheeks. “You know your mother was always like a second mom to me. I will miss her desperately. I can’t imagine how you feel.”

Actually, Ellie could imagine just that, Buck thought, if anyone could. Ellie had been close to his mother, ever since Buck and Ellie had first started dating in his junior—her sophomore—year of high school. Ellie’s own mother had died when she was a small child. Perhaps that was the reason Buck’s mother and Ellie had formed such a strong, loving bond.

And maybe that was what made it so much harder to imagine returning home at all.

Buck didn’t really want to think about that right now. He pulled his fingers from her grasp. “I appreciate the sentiment,” he said roughly, his throat closing around the words, “and I’m sure you went to a lot of trouble for the reception, so I’m sorry to say Tyler and I won’t be able to make it.”

He wasn’t sorry, but it seemed like the polite thing to say. But in his years away from Ellie McBride, he’d apparently forgotten one of her more annoying qualities—her stubborn nature.

“Of course you’re going to the reception,” she replied in a no-nonsense voice that brooked no argument. “Buck, your mother just passed. You may not care about the people in this town, but they care about you.”

Ellie glared at him, daring him to argue with her. When he didn’t speak, she continued her tirade as if she hadn’t even paused. “And they cared about your mother. It would be good of you to allow them to express their grief at her loss.”

“I don’t owe the people in this town a thing,” he bit out, shaking his head.

He believed his own words. The town he’d been born and raised in had betrayed his trust in everything he’d believed in. They’d sold their souls to the almighty dollar.

Ellie.

Even his own mother.

Why should he care what the town folks of Ferrell thought about him? He should get out of town right now, while the getting was good.

“Larry Bowman is there,” Ellie went on, obviously ignoring the fact that Buck had pulled away from her yet again. “I’m sure he’d be willing to talk with you about your mother’s will as soon as the reception is finished.”

Buck groaned aloud. With grief shrouding his thoughts, he’d temporarily forgotten he would have to take care of his mother’s estate before leaving town. He wanted to leave now. Grief washed through him once again, shadowing his other feelings.

He was his mother’s only child, and no doubt the sole beneficiary of her will. He needed to speak with Larry Bowman, the town lawyer, sooner or later; at the moment, his heart was voting for later rather than sooner.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he said, his voice gruff and low. He pinched his lips together. He hadn’t meant to say the words aloud.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” Ellie said in an equally low tone, repeating her earlier sentiment. “I know this is a rough time for you. If it helps, I’ll be at the reading of the will.”

Buck’s head jerked up, and he looked Ellie straight in her deep violet eyes for the first time. He was thoroughly shaken by the amount of warmth and compassion he read there—he’d expected more anger, he supposed—but even so, it was her words that unsettled him the most.

“Why would you be there?”

Ellie shook her head, looking away from his gaze and squeezing her eyes closed for a brief moment. Buck wondered if she had something to hide—something she wasn’t telling him. Not that he would ask.

“I just know I’ve been asked to attend,” she said, opening her eyes and once more making eye contact with him. “And I thought it might help if you had a—a friend,” she stammered awkwardly, “by your side through all this.”

Buck turned away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. Ellie had been a friend, the best friend he’d ever had. But she had been so much more than that.

His first love.

Puppy love, some might have called it, but Buck knew better in his heart.

Ellie McBride had been his first love—if he were completely honest with himself, his only love.

But that was a long time ago, in another lifetime. Too much had happened since then, for them both. He was amazed she would still consider herself to be anything to him, much less call herself his friend.

At long last he sighed and turned back to her. “All right,” he said, surrendering to the inevitable. “I’ll go to your reception. But I’m not sure what to do with Tyler. He doesn’t want to be here at all. I don’t think he’ll be keen on meeting the folks of Ferrell, Texas. Especially right now.”

Ellie nodded, her beautiful violet eyes gleaming. “I understand. I wouldn’t want to be around a bunch of strangers if I were grieving for my beloved grandmother, either. And twelve is a tough age for a boy.”

Buck barely held back his disbelief. What would she know about twelve-year-old boys? Buck’s mother, on her brief visits to see Buck and Tyler on the west side of Texas, had mentioned more than once that Ellie had never married—not that he had asked. But he knew why his mother had persisted in bringing the subject up: always in the hope he would return to Ferrell, something he’d long since vowed never to do.

Until now.

“Listen, I think I can handle Tyler,” Ellie said, brushing her long, thick, straight black hair back from her forehead with her thumb and middle finger. “Why don’t we head over to the ranch, and I’ll see what I can do?”

Buck knew any overtures to Tyler on Ellie’s part would be met with resistance by his surly son. Tyler was a handful, with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas itself.