Darlene Graham - Dreamless

Cassie nodded, then shook her head as the tears came. She swiped at them and glanced up at the rooftop, where the wiry young carpenter who’d handled the hotwire was standing, braced at the edge, staring down at the two of them. She turned her face away from the house so the men couldn’t see, and Jake pulled her around in front of him, shielding her from view with his huge shoulders….

“Look, I don’t want to add to your stress today,” he offered gently. “We can finish our business another time.”

“Okay,” Cassie said. But she was so upset that she couldn’t even recall what business, exactly, they’d been discussing. Dynamite. Oh, damn. She’d blurted that word out like a threat. And she hadn’t remained civil as she’d planned, not at all. And now she’d started to shake and cry like a fool because one of her men had got hurt. Jake Coffey had certainly seen her at her worst, and now she’d have to face this man—this handsome, intimidating man—in civil court the day after tomorrow.

Seeing him again felt like the last thing she needed. And yet, as she watched him walk away, it felt like the only thing she wanted.

Dear Reader,

This book is set in an area that is suspiciously similar to my hometown. Locals will recognize a few landmarks, but none of the people. The characters come straight from my imagination.

I want to emphasize that because, though my father taught me much about the home-building business, he is nothing like the character Boss McClean in this book. My father is the most honorable and loving father any daughter could ever ask for.

Though I create my characters from scratch, they do experience the same joys and struggles we all share.

Jake Coffey and Cassie McClean must each find a way to forgive the past in order to embrace the bright future that beckons them. I loved writing this story because forgiveness, I sometimes think, is the most beautiful word in the English language. Well, maybe forgiveness is the second most beautiful word. The most beautiful word in any language is, of course, love.

Keep your cards, letters and e-mails coming. They feed my spirit and inspire me to be a better writer.

P.O. Box 720224, Norman, OK 73070

www.superauthors.com/Graham

My best to you,

Darlene Graham

Dreamless

Darlene Graham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This story is dedicated to Jennifer Leigh Gardenhire

My dear daughter

And my precious “first fan”

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CASSIE MCCLEAN had just about had her craw full of Mr. Jake Coffey.

She removed her soiled leather work gloves finger by finger with vicious precision, squinting out over the Ten Mile Flats and watching that hated man’s pickup jolt up the narrow gravel road that shot straight toward her like a mile-long arrow.

That road, that ridiculous…cow path of a road, was the most recent spear Jake Coffey had chucked into their escalating series of skirmishes. In the spring, it had been the watershed. In the dry weeks of August, the grading dust. With him, it was always something.

Her plans would be unfolding perfectly by now were it not for Jake Coffey.

Ten Mile Flats lay below her in a gentle sea of green winter wheat, a marked contrast to the high, darkly wooded ridge that she had christened The Heights. With its brick and wrought-iron gates, its curving concrete streets and newly installed underground utilities, The Heights was as sophisticated as the Flats were rustic. And that’s exactly what Cassie had envisioned.

She had counted on the fact that Ten Mile Flats would never change. Out there, horse-farming operations with miles of white fencing and pristine barns had been producing their champions since the turn of the century. And as long as the horse farms were there, those bottomlands would spread forth like a hazy patchwork quilt, meeting the curve of the South Canadian River, creating an unobstructed, timeless view, complete with breathtaking Oklahoma sunsets. The future homeowners of The Heights were willing to pay a fortune for that view. Yes, everything was perfect. Everything except Jake Coffey.

She bit her lip and whacked her gloves against her palm. That man.

She had jumped through hoop after hoop to appease the landowners out on the Flats. Many of them had come to consider Cassie’s exclusive, luxury housing addition as a welcome cushion between their peaceful farms and the urban sprawl creeping westward from the city of Jordan. All of them had come to accept, grudgingly, that The Heights was a quality development of classic homes.

All but Jake Coffey. Owner of the nearest, the largest, the most productive of those horse farms.

What was that man going to complain about now?

At the base of the hill, where the pricey lots were pocked with massive red rock formations that veered into a narrow creek, the noise of rock crushers cracked the morning calm, answering Cassie’s question.

Of course. Undoubtedly he’d gripe about the rock crushers and the track hoe hammer and the bulldozers making so much noise as they cleared the lower lots.

Well, wait till the dynamite started!

The noise was certainly going to be the next thorny issue with her nearest neighbor, Cassie was sure. She wondered if he was going to overreact, as he had over the road access. A temporary restraining order, for heaven’s sakes! Forcing Cassie’s grading equipment, her delivery vehicles, and now her concrete trucks, to drive all the way around on Troctor Avenue. Five long miles out of the way, each way, when his road through his dadblame antiquated horse farm was an easy shortcut from Highway 86.

The elderly sisters who’d previously owned Cassie’s land had held an easement to use the road through Cottonwood Ranch—mostly to haul feed to their wild goats in their rattletrap Toyota pickup. When Cassie bought the land, she made sure she got the easement in the deal. She thought everything was fine and that she could pass through Cottonwood Ranch until the interstate loop under construction to the north was completed.

But Jake Coffey had claimed that the easement allowed for light traffic only and that Cassie had “so changed the use of the easement that it had become an excessive burden on the road.” Or, rather, his lawyer had claimed that. And now, the man was seeking a permanent injunction. Permanent.

Well, with that nasty maneuver, Louis Jackson Coffey had turned their peevish little telephone feud into all-out legal war. Cassie had contacted a lawyer and filed a counteraction of her own.

And right now it looked like the whole thing was about to get up close and personal.

Fine. C. J. McClean was more than ready to take on Louis Jackson Coffey.

When the crushers ceased their pounding for a moment, she slapped the gloves against the leg of her overalls and turned to holler up at the foreman from Precision Stone. “Darrell! This limestone looks perfect. Let’s get that chimney rocked up today.”

Darrell Brown, husky, middle-aged, hardworking and brutally honest, gave her a salute from high up on the twelve-pitch roof. “Yes, ma’am!”

Darrell’s crew and a couple of the framing carpenters were hammering away, nailing toe boards and protective wood planks over shingles still slick with morning frost. “Just so long as you’re happy with the quality, Ms. McClean,” he called over the noise. “I don’t want to be knocking no low-grade limestone off of this monster.”