better than Mallery’s expert blend of emotional nuance, humor and superb storytelling.”—Booklist
This book is for Kristi.
Here’s what she asked that the dedication say:
I’d like to dedicate this to my mother, Doris, for teaching me the fun and value of reading and always having a good book for me. To my dear friend, Ann, who exchanges books with me and can laugh with me for no good reason and then do it again! To my husband, Kevin, you are the love of my life, keep me laughing and never keep me from a good read. Then to my dear daughter, Julie, who inspires me and I am so proud of you. I love you all, thank you for all the fun and laughter and the love of a good hat. oxox Kristi
ONLY IN FOOL’S GOLD would a Mercedes be brought to a stop by a goat. Rafe Stryker turned off the engine of the powerful sedan and climbed out. The goat in the middle of the road surveyed him with a confident gleam in her dark eyes. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she was telling him this was her road and if anyone was going to back down in this battle of wills, it would be him.
“Damn goats,” he muttered, looking around for whomever owned the wayward animal. Instead, he saw a few trees, a broken fence line and, beyond all that, mountains soaring up to the heavens. Some would describe this as God’s country. Rafe knew that God, being smart and all knowing, would have nothing to do with Fool’s Gold.
Hard to believe that a three hour drive west would return Rafe to San Francisco—land of fine dining, high-rise buildings and beautiful women. It was where he belonged. Not here, on the outskirts of some town he’d promised himself he would never set foot in again. And yet he had returned, drawn by the one person he could never turn his back on—his mother.
Swearing under his breath, he eyed the goat. He would guess she weighed about a hundred and twenty pounds, give or take. While he’d spent the past eighteen years doing his best to forget his time in Fool’s Gold, the lessons he’d learned on the Castle Ranch lived on. He figured if he’d been able to wrestle an adult steer as a scrawny fourteen-year-old, he should be able to take a goat now. Or at the very least, pick her up and move her to the side of the road.
He lowered his gaze to her hooves, wondering how sharp they would be and what they would do to his suit. He rested his elbow on the roof of his car and pinched the bridge of his nose. If his mother hadn’t sounded so broken on the phone, he would turn around and go back home. In San Francisco he had a staff, minions even. People who would take care of things like goats in the road.
He chuckled, imagining his starchy assistant facing down a goat. Ms. Jennings, a fifty-something powerhouse with an innate ability to make the most successful of executives feel incompetent, would most likely stare the goat into submission.
“You found her!”
Rafe turned toward the voice and saw a woman jogging toward him. She had a rope in one hand and what looked like lettuce in the other.
“I was so worried. Athena lives to get into trouble. I can’t find a gate lock that will keep her contained. She’s smart. Aren’t you, baby girl?”
The woman approached the goat and patted her on the back. The goat moved toward her, like a dog seeking affection. She took the lettuce and the rope around her neck with equal acceptance.
The woman glanced back at him. “Hi. I’m Heidi Simpson.”
She was maybe five-nine, with blond hair she wore in braided pigtails. A cotton shirt tucked into jeans showed him she was leggy and curvy, a combination that normally appealed. Just not today. Not when he still had to deal with his mother and a town he despised.
“Rafe Stryker,” he said.
The woman—Heidi—stared at him, her green eyes widening as she took a single step back. Her full mouth trembled slightly and she lost her smile.
“Stryker,” she whispered and swallowed. “May is your—”
“Mother. How do you know her?”
Heidi took another step back. “She’s, ah, at the ranch right now. Talking to my grandfather. There seems to be a mix-up.”
“Mix-up?” He used what Ms. Jennings referred to as his scary, serial-killer voice. “Is that how you’d describe what happened? I was thinking more along the lines of fraud and theft. Felony theft.”
* * *
THIS WAS BAD, HEIDI THOUGHT, wishing she could simply run for it. Not that she wasn’t one to face her problems. But in this case, she would feel a lot better facing them around other people, rather than on a deserted road. She eyed Athena, wondering if the goat would protect her, then decided probably not. Athena would be more interested in getting a taste of Rafe Stryker’s well-cut, obviously expensive suit.
The man standing in front of her looked seriously pissed. Pissed enough to plow her over with his big car and keep going. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes, and right now he looked angry enough to crush her with his bare hands. She had a feeling he was strong enough to do it, too.
She drew in a breath. Okay, maybe he wouldn’t crush her, but he wanted to do something. She could read that in his brown-black eyes.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she began.
“I doubt that.”
His voice was low, silky and made her feel unsettled. As though she couldn’t predict what was going to happen next and, whatever it was, it was going to be bad.
“My grandfather overstepped his bounds,” she began, thinking it wasn’t the first time Glen had given in to his “ask forgiveness rather than permission” philosophy of life. “He didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“He stole from my mother.”
Heidi winced. “You’re close to her?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Stupid question.” If Rafe didn’t take care of his mother, he wouldn’t be here now. Not that she was surprised. From what she could tell, May was a lovely woman who had been very understanding about the mistake. Although not understanding enough to keep her son out of it.
“Glen, my grandfather, has a close friend who was diagnosed with cancer. Harvey needed treatment, didn’t have insurance, and Glen wanted to help.” Heidi did her best to smile, but her lips didn’t feel as if they were cooperating. “So, um, he got the idea of selling part of the ranch. To your mother.”
“The ranch that belongs to you.”
“Technically.” Her name was the one on the bank loan. She hadn’t done the math, but she would guess she had in the neighborhood of seventy thousand dollars in equity. The rest of the ranch was tied up in her mortgage.
“He took two hundred and fifty thousand dollars from my mother, and in return she owns nothing.”
“Kind of.”
“Your grandfather has no way to pay her back.”
“He gets social security and we have some savings.”
