Jillian Hart - Wyoming Sweethearts

Her cane.

She stared at the snazzy pink length of metal—she’d gone for the bright, cheerful color, hoping to jazz up the fact of her disability—and the fizz evaporated from her stomach. The smile died on her lips. She knew full well Sean Granger hadn’t spotted her cane in her car or he never would have taken the time to talk with her. This she knew from personal experience.

“Well, duty calls.” Sean pushed away and offered her a dashing grin, making time stand still. She sat captivated by the wholesome goodness of the man as he tipped his hat to her. “I’ll see you around, Eloise Tipple.”

“Bbb—” The closest thing she could manage to goodbye, but he didn’t seem to notice her jumbled attempt at speech. He loped away with a relaxed, confident stride and hopped into his truck.

It wasn’t until Eloise had pulled onto the street heading away from town that it struck her. Sean Granger had remembered her name.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Wild Horse, Wyoming. I hope you have been enjoying the Granger Family Ranch stories as much as I have loved writing them. This time cousin Sean has hired on at the ranch to help out. He is recovering from a broken engagement and has decided that no woman is ever going to threaten his lone-wolf status again. Until he meets Eloise, who is in need of a horse trailer, and he can’t say no to helping her. While the two of them rescue homeless horses, what are the chances that God will rescue their hearts, too?

In these pages, I hope you have fun visiting returning characters, both human and animal, and lose yourself in a small-town rural way of life. Once again I have tucked favorite things from my childhood into this story—leisurely horse rides, pet cows and chocolate ice-cream cones—and I hope you are reminded of some of the golden memories from your childhood. Thank you for journeying to Wild Horse, Wyoming, with me.

As always, wishing you love and peace,

Wyoming Sweethearts

Jillian Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I will sing to the Lord,

because He has dealt bountifully with me.

— Psalms 13:6

To Keneta

“Do you know what your problem is, Eloise?”

“I didn’t know I had a problem, Gran.” Eloise Tipple held the diner’s heavy glass door for her frail grandmother and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her helpful gran had been doling out a lot of advice over the past three months, ever since Eloise returned home to the small town of Wild Horse, Wyoming. “When I look at my life, I see blue skies. No trouble of any kind.”

“Then you aren’t looking closely enough, my dear.” Edie Tipple padded by, the hem of her sensible summer dress fluttering lightly in the wind. “Your life has been derailed. I intend to fix that.”

“It wasn’t derailed, Gran. I had a car accident, not a train accident,” she quipped. She let the diner’s door swoosh shut, adjusted her pink metallic cane and followed the sprightly elderly lady toward a gleaming 1963 Ford Falcon. She hoped humor would derail her grandmother because Eloise knew precisely what track Edie was on. “Are you going to stop by the church before you head home?”

“Don’t try and change the subject on me.” Gran hauled open her car door. “It wasn’t fair the way you lost your career and your fiancé.”

“We had only discussed marriage, he hadn’t actually proposed to me.”

“That’s still a big loss. It cost you so much.” Gran rolled down the window, cranking away on the old-fashioned handle. “I have a solution in mind.”

“A solution?” Oh, boy. She gave her long blond hair a toss. The car accident had ended her ice-dancing career, a career she had desperately loved, and her heart had been broken by a man who left her for someone else. At twenty-four, a girl didn’t want to feel as if the best part of her life was behind her. She didn’t want to think there were no more dreams left in store. “You don’t mean another blind date?”

“There’s nothing blind about it. I know the boy’s grandmother. He’s the one for you, Eloise. I can feel it in my bones.” Gran folded herself elegantly behind the wheel, diminutive in stature but great of spirit. Her silver curls fluttered with the brush of the breeze as she clicked her lap belt.

“I don’t want to go on another fix-up.” Eloise gently closed the heavy car door with a thud. “The last twelve have been complete disasters. I don’t want to be tortured anymore.”

“How hard can it be to have a nice dinner with a young man?” Gran recovered her car key from behind the visor and plugged it into the ignition. The engine roared to life with a rumble and a big puff of smoke. “His name is George, and he’s an up-and-comer. I have it on good authority that he’s a hard worker and very tidy. That’s important when you’re considering a man as marriage material.”

“Sure. I’ll make a note of it.” Eloise, unable to stop herself, rolled her eyes.

“I saw that, young lady.” Gran chuckled. “You don’t want to work at the inn for the rest of your days, do you?”

“I don’t know. I like my job. I’m trying not to look too far ahead. My future may be an endless line of one blind date after another. Scary. Better to live in the moment.” She pushed away from the car door. “Thanks for meeting me for lunch, Gran.”

“Then I’ll tell Madge to tell George it’s a date.” Gran put the car into reverse. “Friday night at the diner. Don’t frown, dear. Hebrews 11:1. Believe.”

“I’ll try.” At this point, she was a skeptic when it came to happily-ever-afters. She was recovering from a broken heart. Love hadn’t turned out well for her. Could she endure one more blind date?

She simply would have to find a way. The hot, late May sun chased her as she circled around to her car, slipped behind the steering wheel and dropped onto the vinyl seat. Hot, hot, hot. Eloise rolled down the window and switched on the air conditioner, which sputtered unenthusiastically. She swiped bangs from her forehead and backed out of the space.

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. That was the verse Gran had referenced, and it stayed on her mind as she drove down the dusty, one-horse main street. The precise stretch of sidewalk-lined shops, the march of trees from one end of town to the other, hadn’t changed much since she was a child.

Way up ahead on the empty street, a pair of ponies plodded into sight, ridden by two little girls heading toward the drive-in. They were probably getting ice cream. Memories welled up, good ones that made her smile as she motored toward the library.

She caught sight of the grill of the sheriff’s Jeep peeking around the lilac bush next to the library sign. Sheriff Ford Sherman had his radar set up and was probably reading a Western paperback to pass the time between the span of cars.

She glanced at her speedometer—twenty-four miles an hour. Safe. She waved at the sheriff who looked up from his book and waved back.

Ice cream. That was an idea. There was nothing like the Steer In’s soft ice-cream cones. Her mouth watered, clinching her decision. She had plenty of time left on her lunch hour and the temptation was too great to resist.

She hit her signal, crossed over the dotted yellow line and rolled into the drive-in’s lot. The girls on their ponies had ridden up to the window in the drive-thru lane and one of the animals looked a little nervously at the approaching car’s grill, so she slipped into a slot and parked beneath the shady awning. A brightly lit and yellowed display menu perched above an aging speaker. She rolled her window down the rest of the way and hot, dry air breezed in, no match for the struggling air conditioner.