Candy Halliday - A Ranch Called Home

Calling Dessie a godsend would be an understatement.

She’d allowed Sara to work in the diner in exchange for a motel room and three meals a day for her and her son. And no money exchanged meant no payroll records to leave a paper trail behind. It had also been Dessie’s idea to fix up the storage room so Sara wouldn’t have to pay for child care for Ben.

“Keep your tips and get back on your feet,” Dessie had told her. “Until you do, we’ll keep the same arrangement.”

Sara had intended to do just that.

What she hadn’t intended was leaving Conrad so soon.

She glanced at the packed suitcases sitting beside Ben’s cot and felt like crying. The detective she’d been eluding for over a year had somehow managed to track her down again. As soon as the busy lunch shift was over, Dessie would be driving Sara and Ben back to her hometown of Houston. She and Ben would stay with her best friend Annie Riley for a few days until Sara could figure out where to go next.

And it was only fair that Annie should take them in.

Annie, after all, had been responsible for the detective being on Sara’s trail in the first place. Had Annie not run into her son’s father, Billy Coulter never would have known about Ben.

Billy Coulter, Sara thought. My first and last mistake.

She and Annie had been working the concession stand at the rodeo the summer before their senior year in high school when Sara met Billy Coulter. The handsome rodeo star had filled her head with empty promises then had ridden off with her innocence and not so much as a backward glance.

Sara had intended to keep it that way.

But in less than a week after big-mouth Annie told Billy he had a son, a private detective had arrived at Annie’s apartment complex asking questions. Fearing a costly custody battle Sara couldn’t afford, she’d taken Ben and left Houston before Billy could find them.

Then news of Billy’s fatal accident at the World Champion Rodeo Finals in Las Vegas had been plastered all over the papers and the television for days. She’d assumed the search for them would end after Billy’s death. But Sara really got worried when the detective tracked them down again in Fort Worth.

Someone was still searching for her son.

But she’d run forever if that’s what it took.

She’d never let anyone take Ben away from her.

Never.

GABE BRACED himself when the woman he’d come to proposition finally came around the corner and walked in his direction.

“What can I do you for, handsome?” she teased when she walked up to the table.

“That depends,” Gabe said.

She leaned forward, her hands resting on the table. And whether Gabe was interested or not, he had a bird’s-eye view of her more-than-ample breasts pressing against the thin fabric of her low-cut uniform.

She leaned even closer. “That depends on what, cowboy?”

“On whether your name is Sara Watson,” Gabe said.

The blonde gasped and jumped back.

“Sara!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Run!”

Gabe looked past the blonde. He hadn’t seen this waitress when he’d entered the diner. Staring back at him was someone who was anything but the type of woman he expected. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup and her dark hair was piled loosely on top of her head.

Beautiful—that’s what she was.

And her dark brown eyes were now wide with fear.

She looked at him a second longer, turned and ran.

“Wait!” Gabe jumped up from the booth.

Every man in the diner stood when Gabe did.

“I don’t want any trouble here,” Gabe said, looking around at the frowning faces.

“Leave the same way you came in,” a big guy near the front door said, “and there won’t be any trouble here.”

Gabe shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving until I talk to Sara Watson and her son.”

“Wrong answer,” the big guy said.

He took a threatening step in Gabe’s direction.

AT FIRST, Sara thought she’d seen a ghost.

The family resemblance was that frightening.

Same sun-streaked hair. Same piercing blue eyes. Same determined, square-cut jaw. Whoever the man was, he was a Coulter. And Sara knew he was looking for the Coulter she was running to find now.

“Ben, come with me,” she ordered, trying not to sound as frightened as she was when she hurried into the storage room.

Had it not been for the commotion going on in the dining room, Ben would have obeyed her. But raised voices and loud crashes were too much for any little boy to ignore. Before Sara could grab him, Ben jumped down from the cot and ran out with his toy horse under his arm.

Sara ran after him.

“Call the sheriff!” she called to Dessie as she hurried down the hallway past the kitchen.

“Sheriff Dillard’s on his way,” Dessie replied.

By the time Sara made it into the dining room, tables were overturned and all of the customers were on their feet. In a panic, Sara pushed through the crowd.

“Ben!”

“Over here, Sara,” someone called out.

Sara hurried toward two of the local men who were thankfully blocking Ben’s path. The concerned looks on their faces told her the intruder was still in their midst. Sara had no sooner uttered a grateful thank-you to her son’s protectors than someone else yelled, “Hit him again, Mack!”

Both men automatically turned back toward the action.

And Ben saw his opportunity to wiggle between them.

Sara’s grab for the back of Ben’s shirt came a second too late. Before she could stop him, her curious son darted into the center of the crowd. And when Sara pushed through after him, she found Ben standing above a man sprawled flat on his back.

“Are you hurt, mister?” Ben asked.

A hush fell, as if everyone awaited the guy’s answer.

He finally sat up, bringing himself to eye level with the little towhead staring at him. Instinctively, Sara stepped forward and pushed Ben behind her. Still, Ben peeped around her apron, staring at the stranger with the same startling blue eyes that this man had himself.

“You must be Ben,” he said, sticking his hand out. “I’m your Uncle Gabe.”

“Wow,” Ben said, stepping around Sara. He shook the hand he was being offered. “I’ve never had no uncles before.”

“Nice horse you have there,” he said.

“His name’s Thunder,” Ben said with pride.

“I like horses, too,” he told Ben. “I have a lot of horses on my ranch in Colorado.”

“Wow,” Ben said again, turning around to look at Sara. “Did you hear that, Mom? Uncle Gabe has lots o’ horses on his ranch in Col-dorado.”

Several people chuckled over Ben’s pronunciation.

But not Sara.

She placed her hand gently on Ben’s shoulder, nudging her son away from the man who was threatening to steal her sanity. “Go back to your playroom now, Ben, and stay there until I come for you,” Sara said sweetly.

The look she sent Uncle Gabe was anything but sweet.

How dare he introduce himself to Ben!

She looked at her son to find Ben’s mouth puckered in a little-boy pout. “Go now, Ben,” Sara repeated, and gave her son a gentle push.

“Okay, Mom,” Ben finally said, but he sent a small wave in his uncle’s direction. “Bye, Uncle Gabe.”

Gabe pulled himself up and dusted himself off.

“See you later, partner,” he had the nerve to say.

Over my dead body! Sara vowed.

The people suddenly parted and Sheriff Dillard walked up beside her. Howard Dillard was a big man, in his early sixties, and extremely fit for his age. People in Conrad called him Mr. Clean, not only because of his sterling reputation but also because he resembled the TV commercial character.