Susan Fox - The Wife He Chose

When he continued, his voice was low and rough, almost a rasp. “I planned never to marry. I don’t believe in love, not the hearts and flowers kind. But I changed my mind about marriage today. The kids need stability. You love them like I do….”

Colleen sensed what was coming then, but couldn’t believe it. Cade was right, he was shocking her.

“I think we should marry, Colleen.”

Her heart gave a huge leap. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. This had to be a dream. They barely knew each other—how could they possibly consider marriage?

A man with a big heart and strong arms—someone tough

but tender, powerful yet passionate….

And where can such a man be found?

Marriages made on the ranch…

Susan Fox lives with her youngest son, Patrick, in Des Moines, Iowa, U.S.A. A lifelong fan of Westerns and cowboys, she tends to think of romantic heroes in terms of Stetsons and boots! In what spare time she has, Susan is an unabashed couch potato and movie fan. She particularly enjoys romantic movies and also reads a variety of romance novels—with guaranteed happy endings—and plans to write many more of her own.

The Wife He Chose

Susan Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

IT HAD taken months to recover from the terrible car crash that had killed her sister. And yet, fully recovering from either her sister’s death or her own injuries might never be possible.

Even now, as Colleen James drove down the Texas highway, she suffered the constant ache and weariness of a body that had been broken and traumatized, that was still far from healed after multiple surgeries and months of therapy.

The wreck was also responsible for the frequent headaches she got when she was overtired. She was still weak on her right side, and when she was tired or upset, she was even more unsteady on her feet. The feminine grace and ease of movement she’d taken for granted before the crash were now no more than a golden memory. Her awkwardness embarrassed her. The slim, black cane she hated to use was a necessity and might yet be for weeks or months more.

But the emotional injuries were the most formidable. She couldn’t seem to shake the depression that clung to her and made her days gray and trying. The terror of driving a car, or even riding as a passenger in one, had been debilitating. Only after days of determined practice with a rental car had she overcome her fear of driving enough to make the two-hour trip from San Antonio to the Chalmers Ranch.

Because it was imperative that she speak to Cade Chalmers. She’d sent a handful of letters to him, including flowers and condolences for the recent death of his brother, Craig. This past week, she’d phoned him three times, including the call this morning just before she’d left San Antonio. He hadn’t responded to any of her letters and he’d never returned her calls.

She’d decided a try at a face-to-face meeting with him was preferable to contacting him through a lawyer, which he might resent, but time was running out.

Her late sister’s three-year-old son and infant daughter—had now also lost their father. Craig Chalmers had drowned accidentally a month ago, and permanent custody of the children should soon be decided by a judge. The fact that their Uncle Cade currently had custody of them made it imperative that she speak to him.

Colleen was certain he’d given no thought to her regarding visitation, or that he’d even considered granting her access to her late sister’s children. That’s why she’d made the difficult trip, to both remind Cade Chalmers that she existed and to demonstrate to him the level of concern she felt about his apparent indifference to preserving the children’s tie to her.

She couldn’t successfully petition the courts for the privilege of raising them herself because of her limitations, but she wanted to have some part in their lives.

Cade’s late brother, Craig, had also been indifferent to her, and he’d blamed her for the fact that she’d enabled Sharon’s trial separation from him by allowing her and the children to live with her while they decided whether or not to divorce. His refusal to respond to her letters or calls after Sharon’s death was proof of that.

And Colleen had been the one who’d been driving when Sharon was killed. Thank God the children had been safely at home in her apartment with a sitter. There’d been no way to avoid or escape the semi-trailer truck that had all but run over their car in a busy San Antonio intersection. The setting sun had blinded the truck driver to their car until it was too late. His frantic effort to stop the turning vehicle had been hindered by the powerful momentum of the loaded trailer.

Though she remembered nothing of the wreck or that last day with Sharon, she’d later seen the newspaper reports of it that had been saved for her, and the traffic reports, along with the trucker’s and witness’s statements. The terror she had now was the result of the horrifying nightmares that resulted.

A fresh sheen of perspiration sent a chill over her skin and her palms were suddenly slick on the steering wheel. The two-lane highway in front of her seemed too narrow to safely navigate, and every time she saw a semi hurtling in her direction in the oncoming lane, she felt a jolt of fear. The nausea was overwhelming.

If the turnoff to the ranch hadn’t finally come into sight, she might have had to find another place to pull off the highway. What should have been a two-hour trip to the ranch had lengthened to more than four because of the occasional stops she’d had to make to calm herself. There’d been times that day when only her desire to see her niece and nephew again had made her go on.

Once she turned off onto the ranch road, she brought the car to a halt and tried to recover. A headache thumped at her brain, and it seemed to take forever before the nausea calmed. Her hands still trembled and she had a cautious drink of bottled water to soothe her dry mouth.

Finally settled enough to drive on, Colleen started down the ranch road. The car’s slower speed on the gravel and the absence of traffic helped put her at ease. Over the last long, slow rise of road, the main house came into view.

The Chalmers Ranch headquarters was impressive, even against the rugged backdrop of massive rangeland. The fact that the Chalmers measured their vast land acres by the tens of thousands was still an overwhelming notion to someone who’d been born and raised in the city.

The main house held its own among the barns and buildings and the network of corrals that spread out behind it. The house was a huge, single-story adobe built in a C that faced away from the road and boasted a red tile roof and a deep front veranda with adobe arches. The shade beneath the veranda roof promised a cool haven from the heat of a Texas afternoon.