Tanner Ties

Lauren,

Well, well, if it isn’t Randall Tanner’s whelp come home to roost. In the hunting lodge that’s no more yours than your daddy’s. The land and everything on it is Buck Tanner’s, God rest his soul. And before he passed, Buck made clear that no kin of Randall’s should ever live long on Buck’s land.

So first a warning or two, to let you know you ain’t wanted around Tanner’s Crossing.

After that, heaven help you.

Tanner Ties

Peggy Moreland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PEGGY MORELAND

published her first romance with Silhouette Books in 1989 and continues to delight readers with stories set in her home state of Texas. Winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, a nominee for the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award and a two-time finalist for the prestigious RITA® Award, Peggy’s books frequently appear on the USA TODAY and Waldenbooks’s bestseller lists. When not writing, you can usually find Peggy outside, tending the cattle, goats and other critters on the ranch she shares with her husband. You may write to Peggy at P.O. Box 1099, Florence, TX 76527-1099, or e-mail her at [e-mail].

Throughout our many moves over the years, we’ve been blessed with new friends, who made the adjustment of moving to a new area much easier. This book is dedicated to the McDaniels, a wonderful family, whom we met through a dog, of all things. Mike and Nancy, we treasure your friendship and look forward to spending many years as your “country” neighbors!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

One

The dog looked a lot like an overgrown Benji…or might, if a person could see beyond the clods of dirt and burrs that matted its long, shaggy coat. At the moment, the animal was loping along the shoulder on the far side of the road, its tail a plume of tangled fur held high like a sail.

Lauren felt the familiar tug of her heart at the dog’s bedraggled state and quickly stiffened her resolve. She couldn’t take in a stray. She had all she could say grace over without adopting a dog that looked as if it could eat her out of house and home in a week’s time. And she couldn’t afford a vet bill, either, for the shots and checkup a stray would require.

No, she told herself, and forced her gaze away from the dog to the road ahead. She couldn’t take the dog home with her. Even if she could afford to, where would she keep it? She and Rhena had carved out living space for themselves at the hunting lodge, but there wasn’t room for a dog. Especially not for one the size of a small horse.

A truck pulled from a side road into the lane in front of her, snagging her attention. She slowed the car, her gaze going instinctively to the dog.

“Stay where you are,” she urged under her breath. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Oblivious to her concern or the danger that lurked only a few feet away, the dog chose that moment to dart out onto the road. Her heart in her throat, Lauren whipped her gaze to the rear of the truck, hoping that its lights would flash red, indicating that the driver had seen the dog and was braking. When the lights remained dark, she stomped on her own brakes and squeezed her eyes shut, praying the dog had made it across the road. When she opened her eyes, the truck was a good two hundred feet down the road…and the dog lay in a crumpled heap on the pavement.

She quickly parked her car at an angle to block the dog’s body, so that another vehicle wouldn’t hit it, then jumped out. Her legs shook as she rounded the hood of the car and dropped down to her knees next to the animal.

“Hey, buddy,” she murmured, laying a hand gently on its side. “You okay?”

The dog lifted its head and gazed at her with the most pitiful-looking brown eyes she’d ever seen, then dropped its head back to the pavement with a muffled whimper.

Swallowing hard, she scooted closer. “I’m not going to hurt you, buddy,” she assured the dog. “I just want to see how badly you’re hurt.”

Lauren winced, when she saw the pool of blood that was spreading on the road. She needed to turn the dog over in order to determine the severity of its injuries, but she was afraid to move it, for fear she would cause the animal more pain.

She glanced around, hoping to find a house nearby where she could go for help. But the country road stretched for miles in both directions, with nothing but pastureland lining its sides.

Hearing the sound of an engine in the distance, she scrambled to her feet and ran to stand in the middle of the road. She waved her arms over her head to stop the approaching truck. For a moment she thought the driver intended to speed right past her, but he finally slowed the truck, then drew to a stop and lowered his window.

“I need help,” she gasped breathlessly. “Please.”

Keeping his head down, the man snugged his cowboy hat lower over his brow, then opened his door and climbed down. “What’s the problem?”

“Dog,” she managed to get out, then shuddered, thinking of the blood, the pain in the dog’s eyes. She grabbed the man’s arm and tugged him behind her. “Over here. It’s hurt.”

When they reached the animal, she stood back, while the man hunkered down beside it. She could hear him murmuring to the dog as he ran his gloved hands over the animal’s body, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. She couldn’t see the man’s face, either, because of his hat, but she could see his mouth, which was set in a grim line.

She gulped and asked hesitantly, “Is it bad?”

“Bad enough. Pretty deep cut on his hip. Another on his rear leg. Can’t tell if there are any broken bones.”

She shifted her gaze to the man’s hands and the leather work gloves that covered them. “Maybe if you took off your gloves you could get a better idea.”

Ignoring her suggestion, he pushed his hands against his thighs and stood. “If you’ve got a blanket or something, I’ll help you load him into your car.”

She backed away, her eyes wide in horror. “Oh, no. I can’t. It—it’s not my dog.”

His lips flattened. “Well, it’s not mine, either.”

“You could take him to the vet,” she suggested hopefully.

“So could you.”

“I…I can’t.” She gestured toward her car. “I’ve got groceries in my trunk. If I drive back to town now, they’ll ruin.”

He shrugged and headed toward his truck. “Then I guess the buzzards’ll get him.”

Stunned by his callousness, she stared a moment, then ran after him. “But you can’t just leave him here to die!”

He opened his door. “Why not? That’s what you’re planning to do, isn’t it?”

She glanced back at the dog and wrung her hands. “I’m new to Tanner’s Crossing. Even if I didn’t have groceries to worry about, I wouldn’t know where to take him.” She dug her hand in her pocket. “If it’s the money you’re worried about, I’ll help with the expenses.” She thrust a wad of bills at him. “Fifty dollars. It’s all the cash I have with me.”

He hesitated a moment, as if not wanting to bother with the dog, then heaved a sigh and reached behind his seat and pulled out a horse blanket.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asked, following him as he returned to the injured animal.

“Load him into my truck.”

She hovered over the stranger, watching as he eased the blanket beneath the dog and picked it up. The dog let out a low whimper, the movement obviously painful. She ran ahead to open the passenger door of the truck, then stepped aside, giving the man the room he needed to lay the dog on the floorboard.

“You’ll take good care of him, won’t you?” she asked uneasily.

He tucked the blanket around the dog, then closed the door. “I’ll see that he gets the care he needs.”

Nodding, she offered him the money again. “I know it’s not much, but it’ll help with the vet’s fees.”

With his mouth set in a grim line, the man shoved her hand aside and rounded his truck. “Keep your money. Use it to buy yourself a new heart.”

Arriving home fifteen minutes later and still fuming over her encounter with the stranger, Lauren dumped the last grocery sack onto the kitchen counter. “And when I offered him money, he wouldn’t take it,” she said, continuing to relate the incident to Rhena. “He told me to use it to buy myself a new heart! Can you believe the nerve of the guy?”

Rhena plucked a gallon of milk from the sack and headed for the refrigerator. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. He took the dog, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but—”

“And that’s what you wanted him to do, wasn’t it?”

“Well…yes.”

Rhena set the milk in the refrigerator, then returned to the counter. “So what’s your beef?”

“He was rude! He all but called me callous and heartless.”

“What do you care what he thinks of you?”

“I don’t.”

Rhena pulled canned goods from the sack. “You’re just feeling guilty because you didn’t take the dog yourself.”

“I can’t afford to take in a stray. Even if I could, we don’t have a place to keep it.”

“So you did the next best thing. You found someone else to take the dog.”

Lauren sagged her shoulders miserably. “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?”

“Because you think he won’t take as good care of the dog as you would.”

She grimaced, because Rhena had spoken the truth. “You know me too well.”

“Should. I’ve taken care of you since you were in diapers.”

Lauren scowled, remembering the man’s behavior. “The guy was weird. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. Kept his hat pulled down low, so I couldn’t see his face. He even had on gloves and refused to take them off when he examined the dog for broken bones.”

“Smart man,” Rhena said, with a nod of approval. “No telling what kind of diseases a stray might carry.”

“Weird,” Lauren repeated stubbornly. “Did I mention that he had on a long-sleeved shirt buttoned all the way up to his chin? Considering he had on work gloves, too, I’d say he’s either extremely modest or part of some religious sect that considers exposing flesh a major sin.”

“Maybe he was just trying to protect himself from the sun. People do that, you know. Skin cancer isn’t anything to sneeze at.”

“Why are you so determined to defend this guy?” Lauren asked in frustration.

“Why are you so anxious to hang him?” Rhena returned. “He took the dog, which is what you wanted him to do. You should be grateful.” She waved an impatient hand at the other sacks of groceries. “Now forget about the dang dog and help me put these away. We’ve got work to do, and standing around yapping isn’t going to get it done.”

“How’s the mutt doing?”

Luke glanced up at the sound of his boss’s, Ry Tanner’s, voice, then turned his attention back to the dog and finished spreading the ointment over the line of stitches that trailed down the animal’s leg. “Better. Still got a long way to go, though.”

“He’s in good hands,” Ry said. “You’ve got a gift with animals.”

Frowning, Luke picked up a cloth and began wiping the ointment from his fingers as he stood. “There’re times I wish I didn’t.”

Ry looked at him curiously. “And why is that?”

His frown deepening, Luke gestured to the dog. “I might’ve saved his life, but for what? His chances for survival are slim at best. If he doesn’t end up as road-kill, some rancher is going to shoot him, thinking he’s a danger to his livestock.”

“Strays are a problem for ranchers,” Ry reminded him. “We’ve lost our share of cattle to wild dogs. A rancher’s only defense is to shoot the strays.”

“Who should be shot are the city folks who dump their pets out in the country. Poor animals are just hungry and tryin’ best they know how to survive.”

“I can’t argue that,” Ry said. “But until someone comes up with a solution to the problem, people are going to continue to dump their pets in the country. There’s no way to stop them. There are no fines or regulations outside the city limits. Pet owners know that and take of advantage of it.”

Scowling, Luke screwed the cap back on the tube of ointment and set it on a shelf. “Doesn’t make it right.” He dragged his hands across the seat of his jeans and heaved a sigh. “Was there something special you needed? I’m about to head out. I’m supposed to meet Monty to mend some fencing.”

“As a matter of fact, there’s something I need to discuss with you.” Ry followed Luke from the feed room out into the alleyway of the barn. “A cousin of ours has moved into the old hunting lodge. She’s planning to convert it into some kind of bed and breakfast or something along that line. Never have quite understood what exactly. My brothers and I offered her our help, but she refused.” He shrugged as they stepped outside into the sunshine. “She’s stubborn. Always has been. But we’re worried about her. She’s had a tough time of it lately.”

Luke stopped beside his truck and looked at Ry in puzzlement. “What’s all this have to do with me?”

Ry reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. “She advertised in the paper for a part-time handyman. We’d appreciate it if you’d apply for the job.”

Luke stared at the clipping, his gut clenching in dread. “Is this a nice way of saying I’m fired?”

Ry choked a laugh. “Hardly. You know we couldn’t run the Bar-T without you, Luke. We just need someone to keep an eye on our cousin. Look out for her. The job’s part-time and probably short-term, which means, if you get the job, you’d work whatever days she needs you and work the rest of the time at the ranch. Once she no longer needs you, you’d be back here full-time.”

Luke scratched his chin. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “I’m not much on being around folks.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” His expression somber, Ry clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “We need your help, Luke. Ace, Rory, Woodrow, Whit—we’ve all talked about this, and we decided you were the best man for the job. You’re good with your hands. Can fix almost anything that’s put in front of you. But your most important qualifications are your honesty and your loyalty to the Tanners. We know that we can trust you to look after our cousin.”

Luke wanted to refuse. Agreeing to the proposition would mean talking to a woman, spending time around one, something he avoided at all cost. But he owed Ry. If not for Ry and his skill as a surgeon, Luke might’ve lost the use of his hands, and without his hands…well, they might as well have shot him and put him out of his misery, ’cause he was no good without them.

“All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “I’ll apply for the job. But don’t blame me if she turns me down,” he added.

“And why would she do that?” Ry asked. “You’re more than qualified for the job.”

Luke tipped back his hat and pointed a finger at his face. “Most women find this a bit hard to look at.”

Luke put off paying a visit to the Tanners’ cousin until the next afternoon. He would’ve put it off longer, if Ry hadn’t asked him at breakfast that morning if he’d talked to her yet. Knowing there was no sense in avoiding the “interview” any longer, he made the drive to the hunting lodge.

Upon the death of Buck and Randall Tanner’s father, the Bar-T—the Tanner ranch—had been divided between the two brothers. Buck, the older of the two, had received the bulk of the land, and Randall had inherited the lodge and the five hundred acres of land surrounding it. Luke had heard that Buck, Ry’s father, hadn’t been pleased with the split, which was ridiculous, considering Buck had inherited the lion’s share of the sizable Tanner estate. Rumor was, Buck had tried to buy the property from his brother and when Randall refused to sell, Buck had never spoken to him again.

Luke shook his head sadly as he parked his truck in front of the old lodge. Buck Tanner had been a stubborn man, one whose life was filled with more drama than all the soap operas on television put together. And he had been mean. He was probably rolling in his grave right now at the thought of his brother’s daughter moving into the old lodge.

With a sigh, Luke climbed down from his truck, snugged his hat low over his brow and walked to the front door. Freshly turned earth marked a long trench that ran from the well house to the lodge, suggesting a plumber had recently laid new lines. Making a mental note to report the repairs to Ry, he rapped his gloved knuckles against the thick cedar door, then waited, silently praying that his knock wouldn’t be heard and he could leave with a clear conscience, knowing he’d at least tried. He was just about to turn for his truck, when the door swung open with a creak.

“Can I help you?” a woman asked.

Luke stole a glance at the woman from beneath the brim of his hat and was surprised to find that she was a good deal older than he’d expected.

Keeping his gaze cast down, he drew the classified ad from his shirt pocket. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve come about the ad you ran in the paper.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Do you have any remodeling experience?”

“Not specifically,” he admitted. “But I’m good with my hands. I can handle a saw and hammer well enough, and I can fix just about anything that’s broke.”

“Do you drink?” she asked bluntly.

He glanced up in surprise at the question, then quickly dropped his gaze again and shook his head. “I enjoy a cold beer every now and then, but I’m no alcoholic, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Do you have a police record?”

He bit back a smile at the woman’s persistence, thinking the Tanner brothers were wrong about their cousin. There wasn’t a doubt in Luke’s mind that this woman could take care of herself. “No, ma’am. Last traffic ticket I received was for speeding, and that was a good five years ago.”

Still eyeing him suspiciously, she stepped aside. “All right. You can come in.”

He didn’t look up at her but stepped inside, wondering if this meant he had the job. The room she led him into was the main room of the lodge and probably forty feet square. It was obvious that more repair work was going on inside, as the room was bare of any furnishings. Paper covered the floor and crackled with each step he took as he followed the woman across the room. The odd lengths of electrical wire scattered about indicated an electrician had been working on the wiring.

“Lauren is out back,” she said, gesturing to a set of French doors. “Working on the porch. She’s the one who’ll decide whether or not to hire you.”

Luke stared at the retreating woman in confusion. “You’re not the one who placed the ad?”

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “No. Lauren did. Lauren Tanner. She’s the owner.” She gestured toward the doors again. “Go on out and talk to her. See what she has to say. Chances are she’ll hire you. She could definitely use the help.”

Before Luke had a chance to say anything more, the woman stepped into another room and closed the door behind her.

Wishing he could head back to the ranch and forget his promise to Ry, Luke heaved a sigh and strode for the door. Once outside, the sound of hammering drew him to the far end of the porch. A pair of beat-up tennis shoes and denim-covered legs were his only view of the person swinging the hammer from a ladder perched against the roof of the house.

“Ms. Tanner?” he shouted, in order for her to hear him above the banging noise.

The hammering stopped and a head appeared below the edge of the roof. Luke bit back a groan when he found himself looking at the woman who had dumped the dog on him. The family resemblance was so strong, he was surprised he hadn’t made the connection the day she stopped him on the road. She had the Tanner eyes, blue as a summer sky. And her hair was the same inky black as the Tanner brothers.

Although he was careful not to expose his face, she must’ve recognized him, too, because her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. “Did you change your mind about taking my money?” she asked irritably.

“No, ma’am.” He pulled the classified ad from his shirt pocket again. “I’m here about the job.”

She hesitated a moment, then stomped down the ladder, making the metal rungs sing. “Have you done any remodeling before?”

“Yes, ma’am, though not on a regular basis.”

Reaching the ground, she yanked off her gloves. “Do you have any experience with woodworking equipment?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Masonry?”

“Some.”

“What about roofing?”

He stepped out into the yard and looked up at the roof to judge his abilities. Finding it was a tin roof, he breathed a sigh of relief. Tin he could deal with. If it had been a tile roof, that would’ve been a different matter. “I can make what repairs are needed.”

“What about water wells? Do you know how to deal with them?”

“I couldn’t dig one, but I can keep a well pump running.”

“Do you have any references?”

He panicked a moment, but decided honesty was the best policy, even if he did sort of stretch the truth a bit. “I’ve done work for the Tanner brothers. I suppose they’d vouch for me.”

The mention of the Tanner brothers didn’t seem to please her. Scowling, she stuffed her gloves into the rear pocket of her jeans. “The pay is minimum wage and the work back-breaking. Twenty hours a week is all I can afford, and when the remodeling’s completed, the job is over. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do.”

“I expect you here by seven each morning. It’s cooler then. You can leave at noon, and not a minute sooner. I expect an honest day’s work from you, and I won’t accept sloppy craftsmanship. Any job worth doing is worth doing right.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

“Do you have a preference for what days you work?”

He lifted a shoulder. “No, ma’am. Like I said, I’m flexible.”

“Then we’ll play it day by day. See what works best. You can start tomorrow. Seven sharp.”

She started up the ladder and Luke turned away, figuring the interview was over and the job was his.

“How’s the dog?”

He turned back, surprised that she cared enough to ask. “As good as can be expected, I guess.”

“Were any bones broken?”

“No, ma’am. Took thirty-two stitches to close the wounds, but nothing was broken.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank God,” she murmured, and started up the ladder again.

Anxious to leave, Luke headed for the side of the house.

“Hey!” she called, stopping him.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Luke. Luke Jordan.”

She opened her mouth as if she intended to ask him something else, but clamped her lips together and stomped up the ladder to the roof.

After his interview, Luke drove straight back to the Bar-T and knocked on the back door of the ranch house.

“Door’s open!” Ry called.

Dragging off his hat, Luke stepped inside. Ry sat at the table, reading the evening paper. Kayla, Ry’s wife, stood before the stove, stirring something in a pot. The aroma drifting from it made his mouth water.

She glanced over her shoulder and offered him a bright smile. “Hi, Luke. How’re you doing?”

That she could look at him without wincing never ceased to amaze Luke. Never once had she shown any sign of disgust. Not even prior to the surgeries Ry had performed to repair the burns to his face and hands had she ever appeared repulsed by his scarring.

He offered her a smile in return. “Fine, ma’am.” He turned his attention to Ry. “I got the job. Start tomorrow.”