Leigh Bale - Healing The Forest Ranger

Rancher To The Rescue

When wild mustangs threaten someone’s life, rancher Cade Baldwin springs into action. But he’s not pleased when he sees the beautiful woman he’s saved is the town’s new forest ranger. Lyn Warner is determined to round up the wild horses he loves so much. But she’s also the woman who makes him smile like no one else. After her husband died in a car crash, Lyn turned her back on her beliefs and focused all of her attention on her injured daughter. But Cade’s strong faith and steady love might be exactly what they all need to create an unbreakable family.

Cade cut Lyn off with a wave of his hand. “Forget it. I’ve heard it all before, and I doubt you have anything new to add that’ll make a difference to me.”

“Have it your way.” With a simple shrug, she kept walking. No argument. No blustering anger. She seemed easygoing and laid-back. Disarming in her candor. And he couldn’t help wondering about her ideas. For the first time, he really wanted to know. But asking her to explain seemed a bit like admitting defeat right now.

They soon arrived at her truck, her boots and pant legs covered by a thin sheen of dust. As she unlocked and opened the door to the driver’s seat, she tilted her head to look up at him. “We might have conflicting opinions, Cade, but I can make a big difference here in Stokely. And I intend to do just that.”

She climbed inside and reached for the armrest to pull the door closed. Before she did so, she gave him a smile so bright that it made his jaw ache.

LEIGH BALE

is an author of inspirational romance who has won multiple awards for her work, including the prestigious Golden Heart. She is the daughter of a retired U.S. forest ranger, holds a B.A. in history with distinction and is a member of Phi Kappa Phi Honor Society. She loves working, writing, grandkids, spending time with family, weeding the garden with her dog, Sophie, and watching the little sagebrush lizards that live in her rock flower beds. She has two married children and lives in Nevada with her professor husband of thirty-one years. Visit her website at www.LeighBale.com

Healing the

Forest Ranger

Leigh Bale

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and love, and of a sound mind.

—2 Timothy 1:7

For Wilma Counts, a dear friend and confidante. Super woman in disguise.

And a great author in her own right.

And many thanks to the U.S. Forest Service

and the Bureau of Land Management for the tremendous work they do in conserving our national resources. Our natural resources would be in a huge mess if it weren’t for these highly trained and experienced professionals. They’re ordinary people with a gargantuan and sometimes impossible job to do. We’re lucky to have them.

Thanks also to Sara Goldberg,

a prosthetist with Hanger Clinic.

Her kindness in answering my questions about prosthetics and amputees saved me from embarrassment. Thanks for taking precious time out of your busy day to help me, Sara. You rock!

And much gratitude to Rachel Burkot for lifting my spirits sky-high when I was at the lowest of lows. And you did it without even knowing what it meant to me. I appreciate you. More than I can ever say.

Note: Any errors or opinions in this book are mine alone and not meant to offend anyone in any way.

Contents

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

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

They didn’t know she was watching. Lyndsy Warner crouched low behind a rock outcropping. Prickles of excitement dotted her arms. She held her breath, hoping the wild horses wouldn’t catch her scent and bolt. At least not yet.

Overhead, a hawk spiraled through the azure sky. The late April weather had been unseasonably warm. Tufts of green grass and red paintbrush trembled as the breeze whispered past, carrying the earthy smell of dust and sage.

Letting her camera hang limp from the strap around her neck, Lyn reached up to remove the bronze shield pinned above the right front pocket of her forest ranger’s shirt. A glint from the afternoon sun might give her presence away to the mustangs in the valley below.

After tucking the badge into her pants pocket, Lyn reached for the camera again. Holding it up to her eyes, she adjusted the focus and studied the herd through the lens. Five mustangs, led by a handsome buckskin stallion. The stud’s black mane and tail stood out against his golden coat. The band included three mares and a black foal with a white tail and mane. Not really black, but almost, with just a bit of white on her hind left foot and on her right, under the flank and in her mane and tail. Not a true pinto, either. Very unique coloring and absolutely stunning. The filly’s spindly legs looked long and strong, a foreshadowing of the beautiful mare she’d become. Wild and free.

Lyn snapped a quick series of pictures, wishing she could share this moment with Kristen, her ten-year-old daughter. Like most girls, Kristen loved horses. But these mustangs carried a deeper meaning for Lyn—a reminder of the night her husband died.

The bony rib cages of the horses seemed too lean, an indicator of sparse forage on the range. As the herds increased, there just wasn’t enough for them to eat, not to mention the other wildlife roaming this area, or the beef cattle the ranchers paid the government to graze.

Lyn zoned in on the stallion she’d named Buck. This wasn’t the only herd foraging in Secret Valley. Lyn had named all the stallions living among the mountains of McClellan National Forest, but not their mares and foals. She didn’t want to become more attached to them than she already was. Especially if she was forced to round up some of them for removal.

A low nicker drew Lyn’s attention to the plateau overhead. A smaller dun stallion stood gazing down upon the tranquil family of mustangs, his cream coloring similar to Buck’s except that tiger stripes circled his front legs. A throwback from prehistoric horses. Probably a bachelor stallion, with no mares of his own. His ears pricked forward with rapt attention, and Lyn knew he wanted Buck’s mares. Or at least one of them.

“Don’t do it, buddy. Buck’s a lot bigger, and he’ll hurt you if you try to steal one of his girls.” The warm breeze stole Lyn’s whispered warning.

While Buck’s lead mare kept watch, two of the other mares dipped their noses into the murky water of the shallow spring. No vegetation grew here, with the banks beaten down and churned to mud by too many tromping hooves. By mid-May, Lyn figured the water would be gone. Dried by the baking sun to nothing but cracked earth. The horses needed this water. Desperately. Without it, they’d have to journey across the mountains to Cherry Creek, a thin stream nine miles away. An arduous trip that would sap their energy, keep them from feeding, and weaken their foals.