Roping Ray Mccullen. Rita HerronЧитать онлайн книгу.
was the perfect son who’d stayed and run the ranch, and Brett was the big rodeo star who’d accumulated fame and money—while he was the bad seed. The rebel.
The surly one who’d fought with their father, left home and never came back.
“Ray?”
The weak sound of his father’s voice forced his feet into motion, and he crossed the room to his father’s bedside. God, he didn’t want to do this.
“Ray?”
“Yes, Dad, I’m here.”
Another cough, pained and wheezy. Then his father held out a shaky hand. Ray’s own shook as he touched his father’s cold fingers.
He tried to speak, but seeing his father, a big brawny man, so thin and pale was choking him up. Joe McCullen had always been larger than life. And he’d been Ray’s hero.
Until that day...
“Thank you for coming, son,” his father said in a raw whisper.
“I’m sorry it’s like this,” he said, and meant it.
His father nodded, but a tear slid down his cheek. “I’m sorry for a lot of things, Ray. For hurting you and your mama.”
Ray clenched his jaw to keep his anger at bay.
“I know I put a heavy burden on you a long time ago, and it drove a wedge between the two of us.” He hesitated, his breathing labored. “I want you to know that your mama forgave me before we lost her. I...loved her so much, Ray. I hated what I did to her and you.”
Grief and pain collected in Ray’s soul, burning his chest. “It was a long time ago.” Although the hurt still lingered.
“I wish I’d been a better man.”
Ray wished he had, too.
“When you find someone special, Ray, love her and don’t ever let her go.”
Yeah. As if he would ever tie himself down or fall in love. His heart couldn’t handle loving someone else to only lose them.
His father coughed, and Ray swallowed hard, the weak sound a reminder that this might be the last time he saw his dad. He wanted to tell him that nothing mattered, that he wasn’t ready to let him go yet, that they still had time.
But he’d been called home because they didn’t have time.
“The will...” his father murmured. “I tried to do right here, tried to take care of everyone.”
Ray tensed. “What do you mean—everyone?”
Joe squeezed his hand so tightly, Ray winced. But when he tried to pull away, his father had a lock on his fingers. “Ray, the ranch goes to you boys, but I need you to explain to Maddox and Brett. I owe...”
His voice cracked, his words fading off and he wheezed, gasping for air. A second later, his body convulsed and his eyes widened as if he knew this was his last breath.
“Owe what?” Ray asked. Did he tell Maddox and Brett about his other woman?
“Dad, talk to me,” Ray said, panicked.
But his father’s eyes rolled back in his head and he convulsed again, his fingers going limp.
Ray jerked his hand free, then rushed toward the door shouting for help. Maddox barreled inside the room and hurried to the bed.
Grief seized Ray as his father’s body grew still.
He bolted and ran down the steps, anguish clawing at him.
Damn his father. He’d done it to him again.
Left him holding the secret that could destroy his family forever.
Two weeks later
Scarlet Lovett parked in front of the sign for Horseshoe Creek, a mixture of grief and envy coiling inside her.
This was Joe McCullen’s land. His pride and joy. The place where he’d raised his family.
His real family. The one with his three beloved sons. Maddox. Brett. Ray.
Maddox was the oldest, the responsible one who was most like Joe in his devotion to Horseshoe Creek. He was also the sheriff of Pistol Whip, Wyoming.
Brett was the handsome, charming bull rider who was most like Joe in his flirtatious smile, his love for women and chasing dreams.
Ray was the youngest, the angry one who looked most like Joe, but he resented his father because he’d walked in on Joe with Barbara and knew about his indiscretion.
Scarlet watched a palomino at the top of a hill in the pasture as it stood alone, seemingly looking down at three horses galloping along together. Just like that lone horse, she had stood on the periphery of the funeral a few days ago, her heart aching, her anguish nearly overwhelming her.
Yet she’d felt like an outsider. She hadn’t spoken to the brothers. Had sensed they wouldn’t want her to share their grief.
She wasn’t part of that family. No, she’d lived with Barbara and Bobby, the other family Joe had kept secret.
The one the McCullen boys knew nothing about.
Well...except for Ray. And he didn’t know about her or Bobby...just Barbara.
Still, Joe had been the closest thing she’d ever had to a father.
She swiped at a tear, her hands trembling as she unfolded the letter he’d left for her before he’d passed.
My dearest Scarlet,
I was blessed to have sons, but I never had a daughter—until I met you.
My sweet girl, the moment I saw you in that orphanage and looked into those big, sad, blue eyes, you stole my heart. I admired your strength, your spunk and your determination to make it in this world, no matter what hard knocks life doled out for you.
You taught me how to be a better man, that family is not all about blood.
I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to tell my sons about you and Barbara and Bobby when I was alive. In my own way, I thought I was protecting them, and protecting the three of you by keeping the two parts of my life separate.
Truthfully, Barbara and I...we were over a long time ago. She knew that and so did I. But I’m trying to do right by all of you now.
If you’re reading this, you must have received the envelope I left for you. I have willed you a sum of money to help you make a fresh start, and a piece of ranch land with a small cabin on it for your own home.
Bobby will also receive a share, although you know that he resents me, and he’s had his troubles, so I have placed stipulations on his inheritance.
But you...my dear, I know you will use your inheritance to further our work at The Family Farm and help the children, and that you will treasure everything Horseshoe Creek has to offer.
Ranching and living off the land has always been in the McCullen blood, and in our hearts.
Know that you are in my heart, as well.
Love always,
Joe
Scarlet folded the letter again and slipped it inside the envelope, then shifted her Wrangler into Drive and wove down the path to the farmhouse Joe called home.
She wiped at a tear as she parked, and for a moment, she sat and admired the sprawling house with the big porch. It looked so homey and inviting that she could easily picture Joe here with his sons, enjoying family time riding on the land, big dinners over a table piled with homemade food and fishing in Horseshoe Creek.
But she had a bad feeling