Parker

The Long Road Home

Maddie James

The Montana McKennas
, Book Three

Copyright © 2015, James, Maddie

Parker: The Long Road Home

Media > Books > Fiction > Romance
Novels

Keywords: romance, contemporary, western
romance, romantic heroes, cowboy, second chance, reunion romance,
baby

Digital ISBN: 9781622374328

Digital release: July 2015

Editor, Wendy Williams

Cover Design by Calliope-Design.com

Stock art photos by thinkstockphotos.com

All rights reserved. The unauthorized
reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or
part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and
forbidden.

This is a work of fiction. Characters,
settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s
imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or
dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of
resemblance are purely coincidental.

This edition is published by agreement with
Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC, PO
Box 43958, Louisville, KY 40253-0958.

People die, people change, and sometimes
both happen and people fall in love.

When Parker McKenna’s father dies, he
expects life on the ranch to change—whether he wants it to or not.
Parker is unsure how much his stepmother Liz has influenced his
father’s final wishes. Although Liz has been a part of his life for
years, he knows her goals for the ranch are different from his. All
Parker wants to do is continue his way of life—running the working
Montana cattle ranch until the day he dies, just like his
father.

What Parker doesn’t expect is for Reba
Morris to walk into his life the day of the funeral.

Having recently relocated to Montana, and
living in a small cabin near the McKenna Ranch, Reba decides to do
the neighborly thing and help at Parker’s house when everyone
gathers after the funeral. With her late husband’s passing several
months ago on her mind, she knows how difficult it can be handling
the small things, so she steps up to the plate. What Reba doesn’t
expect is for Parker McKenna to knock her socks off with his
drop-dead gorgeous, cowboy goodness. After all, she is a recent
widow and shouldn’t be thinking about things like how sexy he looks
in his Wranglers. Right?

Prologue

Friday, June 5

Watching them put his father in the ground
was the hardest thing James Parker McKenna had ever done. Against
the advice of everyone who mattered to him, he stayed until the
last shovel of dirt was in place and his father was nothing but a
heavy hole in his heart.

No. He was a lot more than that. He was the
leader of their family, and Parker would be damned if he’d let
anyone forget that.

Now what?
What happens now?

Parker stood fast against a brisk summer
breeze coming down from the north. Looked like a storm on the
horizon. “You keep living,” his dad would have said. “You get up
every day, put your boots on, and you go to work.”

Work is better therapy than any goddamned
shrink
, James McKenna always said.

“And that is what I’m going to do. Work.”

He turned, wincing at the ache in his gut.
His father was gone, and that meant he had to pick up the reins. He
was the oldest. The senior member of the family now at thirty-five.
And he’d keep running McKenna Ranch just like his father had run it
for the past forty-five years.

It was his legacy. His duty and honor.

Thank God he had Callie and Murphy at his
side.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he reached
the side of his truck. There was only one thing wrong with that
line of thinking, and he knew it.

Knew it better than he knew the back of his
hand.

Liz.

Chapter One

Late Friday afternoon, after the funeral

As he rounded the last curve toward home,
Parker observed the string of traffic lining his parking area and
circling around the barn. Turning onto the dirt road leading up to
the house, he attempted to settle the quiver of anticipation in his
gut. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with people right now,
even though they came to pay their respects to his father. Most
everyone in the surrounding area, plus those they knew real well
from Livingston, would be waiting for him to make an
appearance.

Why had he insisted this gathering be at his
house and not Liz’s? Well, he’d had his reasons, and he didn’t want
to think of those at this moment.

Parker was not one for crowds, especially
crowds in his living room and kitchen.

He was a private man. Pretty much a loner. He
didn’t like to be on display, and he never wanted to be the center
of attention. That’s why ranch life suited him to a T. He could go
about his business on a daily basis without seeing a soul, or only
those people who really mattered. That’s why working on the dude
ranch or in a hotel or in any other damn service industry would be
torture for him. Not an option. Couldn’t Liz see that?

He pushed all of that aside. Not going there.
Not now.

Glancing into his rearview mirror, he watched
the dust trail billow up behind him. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes…
This day was just too surreal.

He made his way toward the barn and pulled
around behind it. He had half a notion to steal away on his horse
and take an hour or two up on the mountain. Alone.

He was restless. Needed time. To think.
Reflect. He wouldn’t though. The community was here. And he’d do
his part.

Mercer and Callie had everything under
control inside. They were in charge of the food brought in from,
what seemed like, every corner of the state of Montana. The only
thing to do now, except eat, was sit around and talk pleasant to
the guests.

Of course, they were all coming to support
the family, pay their respects. He understood that. But that didn’t
mean he wouldn’t be ready for them to leave as soon as
possible.

There was a small group on the back porch,
and he nodded with minimal eye contact as he threaded his way
through. Once inside the kitchen, he realized, quite unexpectedly,
it was empty. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. Spotting the
half-f carafe still sitting in the coffee maker, he strolled
across the room, poured himself a large mug, stuck it in the
microwave and nuked it for two minutes.

He waited, watching the cup turn round and
round on the carousel. It was a mindless act and a welcome one. He
didn’t want to think right now. Finally, the machine binged, and he
retrieved his cup.

He turned to find an attractive woman
standing behind the butcher-block island, tearing a head of lettuce
into pieces and tossing them into a bowl. She stared back at him
with the largest green eyes he’d ever seen. Was she there when he
came in?

“They never bring salad,” she said.

Parker leaned into the counter and lifted the
cup to his lips. Hot. “Who never brings salad?”

“People. When someone dies and people bring
food, they never think about bringing salad.” He watched her reach
into a grocery bag and pull out two ripe tomatoes. She rinsed them
in the island sink to her left and then started chopping them up
there on the counter. “I mean, they bring lasagna and meatloaf and
hash brown casseroles and ham and baked beans and deserts—but they
never think to bring salad.”

“Oh,” Parker said.

“That’s why I always bring salad. People need
vegetables at a time like this. People don’t really think about
what they are eating. Or if they are eating at all.”

“I see.” Parker was sure he had not eaten
today.
Not important.
He brought the cup to his lips and
tried the coffee again, slightly annoyed at having to make
conversation, but also semi-amused at the diversion she offered.
“And you are?”

“Oh! I am sorry. I should have introduced
myself. You were busy with the coffee when I came in. I was in the
pantry.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel, tossed a long, auburn
ponytail over her shoulder, rounded the island, and thrust out her
hand. “I’m Reba Morris. Reba is short for Rebekah. I bought the
Crandall place over the hill. Been there about a six weeks. It’s
small but it’s home. I never met James McKenna, but I’ve heard so
much about him and the family, so I thought I would pay my
respects, being a new neighbor, and all.”

The Crandall cabin. He’d wondered who bought
it. If he’d had the money, he would have snatched up those one
hundred twenty acres for himself. But times were a tough for most
everyone around here, that’s why the Crandall’s were selling off
their smaller parcels of land.

He took her hand. Soft. But her handshake was
firm. “I’m Parker McKenna.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr.
McKenna. I didn’t mean to rattle on like that. Sometimes words just
fall uncontrollably from my mouth. I’m sure this is a horrible day
for you, and I am so sorry for your loss….”

“Parker. Call me Parker.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He dropped his gaze slightly. “Thank you,
ma’am, for your kind words. And thank you for the salad. I’m sure
we are all going to appreciate it.”

“Ma’am?”

Hell, he offended her. “I didn’t mean…”

“Just call me Reba,” she said.

He almost chuckled. “Sure. Thank you, Reba,
for…” he glanced about, “for the vegetables.”

She smiled. “I should probably get back to
it. There are a lot of hungry people in there.” She cocked her head
toward the living room. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I hope you don’t mind if I just
stand here and drink my coffee.”
And watch you.

Shit
. Where did that come from?
And
where did you come from?
She
was
pleasant to watch.
Probably his age, perhaps a little older. Thin and tall, with
pretty red hair pulled back and really black eyelashes surrounding
those green eyes. Why he noticed the lashes, he wasn’t sure.
Perhaps it was the way she blinked when talking in run-on
sentences.

She went back to her vegetables. “Long
day?”

“You could say that. Even longer week.”

“I understand. When my…” She started chopping
and assembling.

Parker wondered what she was going to say but
let the unfinished sentence hang between them.

She lifted her gaze, gathered the salad bowl
in her hands, and said to him, “Will you please bring the
dressing?” She nodded toward a couple of bottles on the island.

Parker set his coffee cup on the butcher
block and said, “Of course. Lead the way.”

****

A few hours later, Reba Morris put the last
foil-wrapped casserole dish in the freezer and had Tupperwared the
remaining leftovers in the refrigerator. As she wiped down the
counter, she glanced at the kitchen clock.
Later than I
thought.
It would be dark soon and high time she headed over
the hill toward home.

Just as she was turning to gather her things,
the two McKenna sisters pushed through the kitchen door.

“Whoa.” The blonde stopped short and glanced
about the kitchen. “I was sure this place was a disaster area.”

The other sister, the one with the long
brunette hair, did a double take. “Me, too. What the hell?”

Their gazes both landed on Reba. She slowed
her swiping, tossed the dishrag in the sink, and then wiped her
hands on her borrowed apron. “Well,” she said, approaching the two,
“I’m sorry we have to meet like this, but I’m your new neighbor,
Reba Morris.”

The sisters looked at each other.

“I’m Mercer,” the blonde one said and pushed
out her hand.

Reba shook it and then looked to the
brunette. “So you must be Callie.”

Callie dropped her head in a quick nod. “I
am. And I can’t believe that you cleaned all of this up!”

Reba shrugged. “It was the least I could do.
You all have enough on your hands right now. We’re neighbors, and
that’s what we do. I’m happy to help.”

With that, Mercer moved to the table and sat
in a chair with a huge sigh. “I could kiss you. I am so tired.”

Reba figured they both were. Smiling, she
said, “Why don’t you both sit and let me tell you what I have done.
Can I get you a drink?”

Callie joined Mercer at the table. They both
shook their heads.

“I’ve drank so much tea this afternoon I
think I could float away.” Mercer grimaced.

Reba glanced out the window and continued,
“It looks like the last of the visitors are leaving and I should be
too.” She stepped to the refrigerator. “There’s more iced tea in
the refrigerator in the pantry. I made some fresh so it would be
good through tomorrow. There were a lot of eggs in the fridge close
to expiration, so I made a breakfast casserole for in the morning.
Not that you needed any more food, but I hate to waste…. ” She
opened the refrigerator door and pointed. “Anyway, it’s right there
with the foil on top. Just bake at 375 degrees for approximately 45
minutes. I actually wrote the directions on the foil with a marker.
If the cheese starts to brown too much, take it out.