Soul Mates

Nate reminded himself he wasn’t the same bitter, resentful kid who’d been spirited out of town in a patrol car sixteen years ago.

And Katy Bates sure wasn’t the same lively, optimistic teen beauty he’d left behind.

That thought diverted Nate from the townfolks’ taunts.

Suddenly his return wasn’t about proving something to himself and the citizens of Coyote Flats.

It was about bolstering the spirits of his first love.

Now was time to return the favor Katy had granted him sixteen years ago.

Nate made a pact with himself. Somehow, some way, he was going to put a smile back on Katy’s lips, to return the sparkle to her hypnotic blue eyes.

And prove to this woman he never forgot that he could be worthy of her love.

Dear Reader,

With spring in the air, there’s no better way to herald the season and continue to celebrate Silhouette’s 20th Anniversary year than with an exhilarating month of romance from Special Edition!

Kicking off a great lineup is Beginning with Baby, a heartwarming THAT’S MY BABY! story by rising star Christie Ridgway. Longtime Special Edition favorite Susan Mallery turns up the heat in The Sheik’s Kidnapped Bride, the first book in her new DESERT ROGUES series. And popular author Laurie Paige wraps up the SO MANY BABIES miniseries with Make Way for Babies!, a poignant reunion romance in which a set of newborn twins unwittingly plays Cupid!

Beloved author Gina Wilkins weaves a sensuous modern love story about two career-minded people who are unexpectedly swept away by desire in Surprise Partners. In Her Wildest Wedding Dreams from veteran author Celeste Hamilton, a sheltered woman finds the passion of a lifetime in a rugged rancher’s arms. And finally, Carol Finch brings every woman’s fantasy to life with an irresistible millionaire hero in her compelling novel Soul Mates.

It’s a gripping month of reading in Special Edition. Enjoy!

All the best,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

Soul Mates

Carol Finch

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed, and our children—Christie, Jill, Kurt, Jeff and Jon—with much love. And to our grandchildren, Brooklynn, Kennedy and Blake. Hugs and kisses!

Books by Carol Finch

Silhouette Special Edition

Not Just Another Cowboy #1242

Soul Mates #1320

CAROL FINCH,

who also writes as Gina Robins, Debra Falcon, Connie Drake and Connie Feddersen, has penned fifty-four novels in the historical romance, contemporary romance, mystery and romantic suspense genres. A former tennis pro and high school biology instructor, Ms. Finch devotes her time to writing and working on the family’s cattle ranch in Oklahoma.

Ms. Finch is a member of the Oklahoma Professional Writers’ Hall of Fame. She has received seventeen nominations and seven career achievement awards from Romantic Times Magazine for Historical Love and Laughter, Historical Adventure, Best Contemporary Romance and Storyteller of the Year.

Contents

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Prologue

You can do this, Nate. You’ve spent fifteen years planning and dreaming of this moment. Don’t wimp out now.

Nate Channing hauled in a bracing breath and exhaled slowly. He stood face-to-face with his lowly beginnings, and he was determined to lay the bad memories to rest—here and now, once and for all.

Removing his sunglasses, he reached across the bucket seat of his car to pat his dog on the head. “Come on, Taz, let’s get this done.”

Nate got to his feet, then turned to confront his unpleasant past. The ramshackle farmhouse with its surrounding pastures, where he spent his misbegotten youth, had tumbled down on itself, like the bitter memories that avalanched over him. Nate stared at the dilapidated house that was silhouetted against the blazing orange-and-yellow sunset, where rolling hills flattened into gray, arid plains. This was the rugged landscape where Nate had grown up like a wild weed.

He flinched when the sights and sounds of that night—fifteen years ago to the day—erupted in his mind. He could almost see the flashing lights of the squad car, see the crowd of bystanders closing in around him while he was read his rights, cuffed by Sheriff Fuzz Havern and stuffed into the back seat. As if it happened only yesterday, voices exploded around Nate.

“’Bout time we got No-Account Nate out of our hair,” someone had jeered at him.

“Yeah, all he does is raise hell and howl at the moon, like the rest of the prairie wolves that prowl around Coyote Flats,” somebody else yelled smugly.

“Whaddya expect? The kid’s daddy is a jailbird, and his mama boozes it up and runs around with any man who’ll give her a second look.”

“Good riddance, loser. Now you won’t have to visit your worthless daddy in prison. You’ll be right there with him!”

The sneering comments chased one another around Nate’s head as he strode purposefully toward the run-down shack that was overgrown with weeds and sagebrush. He took one last look at the broken front steps, shattered windows and chipped paint on the wood-framed home, and he saw nothing that he was going to miss.

This was the best of his childhood memories, he thought with a snort. Hell of a childhood he’d had.

Nate reached into the pocket of his slacks to retrieve a lighter, then set the overgrown weeds aflame. The dry branches popped and crackled as orange flames consumed and devoured the shanty. A plume of dark smoke rose in the twilight, drifting down the rock-strewn hill in the light breeze.

Nate stood there, purging himself of his bad beginnings, watching his bitter memories burn to cinders. Now he owned the deed to this property that his family had rented all those years ago. Now this drafty, leaky shack was his to destroy—and rebuild. He was going to make something from nothing, something worth remembering.

Nate continued to stand there for the longest time, listening to the forlorn howls of a pack of coyotes that trotted west across the tabletop flats that were skirted by deep, winding ravines. He felt intense heat radiating from the roaring blaze that engulfed the shack and the caved-in barn that had become little more than a pile of rotted wood through the years. Smoke rolled, and flames reached up with orange-tinged fingers to claw at the gathering night.

Nate blinked back the tears that welled up in his eyes, assuring himself that it was just the pungent whiffs of smoke that caused the watery reaction.

“It’s done,” he murmured, then glanced down at his faithful companion. “Come on, Taz. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Chapter One

One year later

“Nate Channing is back in town.” John Jessup plunked down in the front booth at the Coyote Café and stared grimly at the man across from him.

Lester Brown slumped against the red vinyl headrest, his jaw scraping his chest. “The hell you say!”

“The hell I do say. Saw him with my own eyes, Lester. He climbed out of a shiny black Lincoln, wearing one of them expensive Army suits, or whatever you call ’em. He swaggered into the post office. I was still in the barber shop when he walked out and headed for the bank.”

Lester scratched his hairy chest and muttered under his breath. “Can’t believe that hoodlum has the gumption to show his face in Coyote Flats after all these years. But he won’t hang around here long, I guaran-damn-tee, not if I have anything to say about it.”

“You might not have a say, Les.” John stared grimly at the leathery-faced rancher. “According to the gossip at the barber shop, Channing is the one who bought the property and built that fancy palace on the farm where he used to live.”

Lester snorted sardonically. “Yeah, right. Like that no-account could afford that sprawling mansion that’s been under construction for nine months. Pull my other leg, why don’tcha, John.”

“No kiddin’,” John insisted. “The news broke today, right there in the barber shop. Old Sheriff Havern is the one who made the announcement that the house and land belonged to Nate Channing.”

“What!” Lester crowed as he bolted upright in his seat. “You swear?”

John bobbed his bushy gray head.

Lester swiveled his barrel-shaped body on the seat to address the other patrons in the café. “Y’all hear that? The terror of Coyote Flats is back in town. Nobody around here has to guess where he got the cash to build that ritzy house. Drug money. You can bet your bottom dollar on it. But no matter how fancy No-Account Nate dresses these days, you can’t make silk from a sow’s ear. That bad boy is bad news. Always was. Always will be.”

While the pillars of Coyote Flats society—such as they were—speculated on Nate Channing’s reasons for setting up a base of operation in his hometown, Katy Bates-Butler sat frozen in the corner booth of the café, listening to a half-dozen conversations taking place simultaneously. Memories she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on for more than a dozen years spiraled around her, smothering her with their intensity.

Nate Channing was back in town….

Apparently, Nate had returned to Coyote Flats the same way he’d left—in an uproar.

Forbidden and doomed were the first two words that popped into Katy’s head. Lord, she thought she had adequately buried all those feelings and sensations attached to Nate Channing’s name. Yet, emotions stirred and shifted inside her. Heartache, outrage, despair…and love. Those poignant feelings were still there, churning, threatening to crumble her carefully controlled composure.

Katy clasped her trembling hands around her coffee cup, as if it was her salvation, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Nate…” she whispered shakily.

To Katy, thoughts of Nate were synonymous with a time in her life that bubbled with dreams, promise, adventure, innocence—and torment. She could almost see Nate Channing leaning leisurely against his rattletrap car, wearing a dingy white T-shirt and faded jeans. She remembered how his shaggy hair shone like a raven’s wing, how his midnight-black eyes twinkled down at her with that endearing hint of deviltry….

That boy has a heart as black as the devil’s, and he has a soul to match. That’s what Katy’s father had said—repeatedly. Stay away from that cocky juvenile delinquent. He’s bad news, nothing but trouble.

But Nate Channing hadn’t looked like trouble to Katy. He had been her forbidden first love. In some ways he represented all those defiant, rebellious feelings that Katy had experienced when dealing with a domineering father who picked her dates and friends and demanded that she live up to his lofty expectations.

No one in this dried-up, windblown West Texas town had realized Katy and Nate were kindred spirits, even if they had been raised on opposite sides of the tracks. But Katy knew, remembered with vivid clarity, the kind of connection she’d felt to Nate. While he struggled to overcome his bad reputation and bad breeding, Katy had struggled for her independence. Nate fought back the way she’d wanted to when her father handed down his unreasonable dictates.

The night Nate was hauled off in the sheriff’s squad car, ridiculed and scorned by the citizens of this rural town, Katy had stopped believing that standing up for herself and battling her father’s high-handed decrees were worth the effort and frustration.

When Nate Channing left town he took the sunshine from Katy’s life, and she plunged into endless nightmares. Those nightmares still ruled and dictated her life.

Willfully, Katy battled for composure as she polished off her coffee, then left a tip for her lunch. She felt the desperate need to scurry from the café and take refuge in her private sanctuary before Nate Channing showed up. She couldn’t bear to have him see what had become of her after all these years. She was a shriveled mass of emotional and physical scars. Discovering what her father had done to Nate had been her unending torment. The life the dictatorial, judgmental Judge Dave Bates had imposed on Katy was nearly unbearable, but what he did to Nate was unforgivable!

Although Katy wanted to bolt to her feet and counter each one of Lester’s snide insults, to defend Nate’s honor, she had been taught the importance of not calling attention to herself, not arguing or debating, for fear of the painful consequences. A riptide of emotion bombarded Katy as she came to her feet.

With head downcast, Katy skulked toward the exit, trying to ignore the hidebound old fools who were verbally crucifying Nate Channing. She just wanted to scurry back to her office at the library and shut herself off from the world the way she usually did….

“Katy…? Kat?”

Oh, God, no! Kate froze in her tracks when his voice, like rich velvet, rolled over her. Katy reflexively shrank deeper into herself, feeling the spotlight of attention beam down on her. All conversation in the café died a quick death. Heads turned in synchronized rhythm to gape at the tall, darkly handsome man who blocked Katy’s escape route.

“Katy Bates?” he murmured. “It is you, isn’t it?”

Katy Bates was dead. Katy Bates-Butler merely existed, a fuzzy shadow of herself, one so thoroughly crushed by her nightmarish past that she had become an unperson. Lord, she would have given anything for Nate not to see her like this. Ah, if only he could have remembered her as she had once been, not as she was now!

“Remember me, Katy?”

As if she could ever forget!

It was only that gentle, caressing tone of voice that whispered from the distant past that gave her the will to look up, meet those cocoa-brown eyes and drink in the sight of olive skin and high cheekbones that denoted a mixture of Native American, Spanish and white heritage.

Mercy, he was breathtakingly attractive. He had matured magnificently, and he looked better than any man had the right to look. The tall, thin boy she remembered from the past now possessed a well-defined, athletic build. There was a dynamic aura of power and strength radiating around him. He had traded his hand-me-down clothes for an expensive three-piece suit, Italian loafers and gold Rolex watch. His lustrous black hair boasted a stylish cut that accentuated his rugged features. Everything about Nate Channing shouted wealth, prestige and success.

Wow! Could he possibly look any better?

Damn, could she possibly look any worse?

Katy stood there like a tongue-tied doofus, wearing her drab green feed-sack dress that drooped past her knees and effectively downplayed her femininity. Her mousy blond hair was shoved back in a severe knot at the nape of her neck, and several flyaway strands fell around her face. She only wore enough makeup to conceal the half-moon scar under her chin. In comparison, she resembled a lowly peasant eclipsed by a magnificent Roman god.

With all her heart—or rather what was left of it—Katy wished a hole would open beneath her feet so she could drop out of sight.

“Katy…”

She died a thousand times when his gaze flooded over her, taking in her flagpole figure and unflattering clothes. She knew what he was thinking, could almost hear him thinking it. He was thinking the same thing her deceased husband had voiced a trillion times, right to her face.

You’re an unperson with no brains and no body. You’re just a scrawny, homely nothing who takes up breathing space.

The hateful words tumbled over her, and Katy’s shoulders slumped another notch as her gaze plunged to the floor. Her husband and father had humiliated her countless times, and she had endured, but having Nate see her like this cut all the way to her shattered soul.

Nate stood in the doorway, stunned clean to the bone, watching in astonishment as Katy zipped around him and limped away. Seeing her had been no small shock, because she was a startling contrast to the mental picture he had carried around with him for years.

My God, what in the hell had happened to Katy? He remembered her as the essence of spirit and beauty. He had lived for her dimpled smiles and ringing laughter. Now she refused to meet his gaze for more than five seconds before scuttling out the door, as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. He had expected a rude reception from everyone else in Coyote Flats.

But not from Katy Bates.

“Well, well,” Lester Brown mocked sarcastically. “Who are you supposed to be? The new drug lord in town, what with all your fancy duds and expensive car? You think that will impress us? Think again, No-Account Nate.”

Very slowly, very deliberately, Nate pivoted on well-shod heels to confront the unsympathetic jury of citizens who had condemned him years earlier—and still condemned him now. A dozen disparaging glares horned in on him like laser beams, not the least insulting of which was Lester Brown’s.

Nate made quick note of Lester’s rotund physique, doughy face, full jowls and that protruding lower lip that gave the man the appearance that he was perpetually pouting. Lester looked just as Nate remembered him, though age and additional weight had not been particularly kind to him.

Nate could understand why Lester held a grudge. His son had been one of Nate’s running buddies in the old days. When Nate had been arrested, Sonny Brown had been in the car with him. Lester had no intention whatsoever of forgiving Nate for soiling his son’s reputation, refused to believe that it wasn’t Nate’s influence that had been Sonny’s downfall.

Sonny hadn’t needed an ounce of help to stray from the straight and narrow. All by himself, he had dreamed up the trouble that Nate hadn’t even contemplated when he was a teenager. The kid had been every bit as worthless as his old man, as Nate recalled. And a weasely coward to boot.

Although Lester wouldn’t admit it, not in a million years, he was responsible for the way his son had turned out. But that admission would force Lester to accept blame for all his shortcomings as a man, as a father. It was never going to happen because Lester couldn’t see over, around or through his inflated ego.

Squelching his bitterness and resentment, Nate nodded at the burly farmer who was sprawled carelessly in the front booth. “Hello, Lester, nice to see you again.” Head held high, Nate ambled toward the counter to order a Coke.

“Better get that drink to go,” Lester sneered. “Folks around here don’t take to fraternizing with pond scum. And that’s all you are, no matter how fancy you wrap the package.”

The self-esteem Nate had spent years cultivating wobbled on its foundations. He had convinced himself, promised himself, that he would stand firm against the anticipated ridicule. Unfortunately, his pride was taking a beating on the first official day of his return to his hometown.

“You hear what I said, boy?” Lester taunted unmercifully. “Get it to go, and don’t come back. You aren’t wanted here.”

The teenage waitress glanced uneasily at Nate as she set the soft drink on the counter. “That’ll be seventy-five cents, sir.”

“Don’t waste your breath calling him sir,” John Jessup said. “Channing doesn’t deserve consideration or respect. Just treat him like the mongrel he is.”

Nate endured the insults without flinching. He tossed two dollar bills on the counter for an extra tip, then turned to face Lester and John’s condescending glowers. He was not going to stoop to anybody’s low expectations of him ever again, he promised himself resolutely.

Although he had been in and out of enough hot water as a teenager to pass as a load of laundry and had been picked up for assault, battery and destruction of personal property, Nate had spent his adult life working toward acceptance and respectability. He had surrounded himself with symbols of power and wealth to insulate himself against inferior feelings planted by men like Lester Brown and John Jessup. But damn, standing here, confronting the unwelcoming faces from his misguided youth resurrected all those unproductive feelings he thought he’d overcome.

Nate knew the folks in Coyote Flats were still seeing and judging him by his parentage and his past mistakes. They were not prepared to accept him for the solid citizen he had become, for the dramatic attitude adjustments he’d made. To these people, he was the same as he had been sixteen years ago, the same wayward youth who’d gone bad.

You can’t go home again…

The negative thought skittered through his mind, but Nate rejected it, even while he was being judged and rejected. Somehow, he would earn the trust and respect of these dogmatic folks in this dying Texas town. He would not let them get the better of him, and he would give them no reason whatsoever to compare him to the troubled, hurt, neglected kid he had once been.

Clinging to his battered pride, Nate exited the café, feeling the condescending gazes stabbing him in the back. The minute he stepped outside, he realized he had been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly, congratulating himself for passing the first of what he predicted would be many tests of self-control and character. He hadn’t lowered himself to Lester Brown and John Jessup’s rude, disrespectful level. He had been polite, not belligerent. He had treated the men with courtesy, even though it hadn’t been reciprocated.

Nate’s tension ebbed and an amused smile pursed his lips when he noticed that Millie Kendrick was waddling toward him. Leaning on a grocery cart for support, Millie toddled across the town square, which was surrounded by shade trees. She circled around the fountain where a statue of a coyote sat on a rock, its concrete head thrown back in an eternal howl.

Millie and her shopping cart had logged many a mile on these streets, he recalled. The old woman looked exactly as Nate remembered her. Millie was dressed in her usual attire of a flowery cotton smock and tattered straw hat that was adorned with plastic bluebirds, cardinals and sunflowers she had glued to the floppy brim. Folks in Coyote Flats claimed Millie was touched in the head, that she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. But nonetheless, folks tolerated her presence in town.

Unfortunately, the citizens of Coyote Flats had zero tolerance for Nate Channing—the hoodlum who had bad blood pumping through his veins. Nate, they had concluded, would never overcome his lowly raising. He was destined for trouble.

Millie halted ten feet away from Nate, propped her elbows on her shopping cart, then angled her head to look him up and down—twice.

“Nate Channing, ain’t it?” she panted, out of breath from her long hike.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said politely.

“Didja come back to kick some butt?”

Nate met the spry old woman’s mischievous grin and felt himself relax for the first time all day. Millie was one of the few people in his hometown who had ever bothered to give him the time of day.

“No, ma’am,” Nate replied. “I gave up on kicking butt and taking names years ago. It just never seemed to do much good.”

She appraised his appearance carefully, then said, “Pretty fancy duds for a kid from the poor side of town. Didja steal ’em?”

“No, ma’am. Paid in cash,” he assured her, smiling in response to her gruff, no-nonsense interrogation.