Page 1 of On His Ranch

Chapter 1

Chase Whitfield had been raised right. His grandfather had taught him the three rules of Cowboy Conduct, which he could recite before he was old enough to write his own name.

Rule One: Hard work comes before reward.

Rule Two: Always mind your manners—no exceptions.

Rule Three: Protect those weaker than yourself, whatever the cost.

He’d learned these valuable lessons at the right-hand tutelage of his grandfather, Robert Chase Senior, to the degree that they weren’t just head knowledge but had penetrated his very being.

His earliest memory was from when he was three years old. He’d woken and dressed before the first rays of sun broke across the dark velvet of the night sky. His uniform had consisted of a flannel shirt, a pair of tattered jeans, a Sherpa-lined jacket, and a pair of well-oiled cowboy boots completing his ensemble.

His mother was up, too. Whether she had been about to leave for her shift at the diner or just getting home, Chase didn’t remember. What he remembered was the way she had looked at him, blue eyes rounding with surprise.

“God, Dad, look at him.”

So Chase Senior had looked, a rare smile curving his lined mouth. “Yeah? What of it?”

“Well, he should be in bed, for starters. Where did he get those clothes? He looks just like…” She had trailed off with a sigh, shaking her head.

“This is what Senior wears to work the ranch!” he’d insisted, his young voice loud with dignity, doing his best not to whine lest his mom send him back to bed or diminish the pride his grandpa had in him.

“That’s right, buddy. Sure do. Let me polish off this here coffee and we’ll be on our way. Say, Patti, get the boy a cup.”

His grandfather’s words filled him with importance and he straightened his small frame to stand as tall as possible, mimicking the thumbs in the pockets stance Senior favored.

Patti Whitfield’s blonde brows had shot up darn near to her hairline, but she didn’t argue. She had surely learned that it was futile in this house where Senior made the rules.

“Come on then.” Senior nodded at the chair next to him and Chase made his way over to it.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said when his mother placed a dark blue mug in front of him.

Senior lifted his cup and air-toasted him before taking another sip.

From the first sip, Chase knew he’d been given more milk than coffee, but he didn’t mind. The only thing that mattered to him was that when Senior finished his cup, he’d be allowed to tag along.

Mere minutes later, the older man set his cup down with a definitiveplunkand wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well? You comin’?”

Chase had pushed his chair back already before his grandfather even finished speaking.

He heard an even rarer sound as his grandfather’s chuckle reached his ears, but neither of them spoke of it as they headed for the door.

“Say bye to your mama.”

“Bye, Ma!”

“See you later, Chase.” Her words sounded like one long sigh but he didn’t fret over it. There was work to be done, and for once, he was going to help.

Now, nearly thirty years later, he had kept to his earliest teaching. He still wore comfortable jeans—so much so that his mother kept trying to trash them and force him to go on the hunt for new ones—a flannel shirt, and boots that easily cost more than the other two put together. He still rose before dawn, but now he saved his coffee to go alongside his breakfast, which he waited to eat until after all his morning chores had been done. Rule number one: Hard work comes before reward. Besides which, he had discovered that eggs with a side of bacon tasted especially good after you’d worked up an appetite.

He worked his way around the ranch, first feeding the chickens, collecting the eggs, then milking the cows. This morning, there seemed to be something in the air, because he could feel a hitch in his giddy-up, something that made him pause and take it all in. He saw the first rays spread across the sky, the charcoal black giving way to purple and pink hues. A breeze whispered across his face and it smelled like fall.

Chase wasn’t a touchy-feely guy—far from it—but there was a spring in his step as he headed for the barn. He was a lucky guy, and glad to know it.

The horses were standing in their stalls waiting on him when he walked in. They were as accustomed to his schedule as he was, so this was not unusual.

“Mornin’, Chance,” he called out. “Hey there, Sassy. Howdy, Shadow.”

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