Chance's Joy. Patricia Thayer

      “Chance!” Joy gasped. “What are you doing here?”

      “It looks like I’ll be sleeping here tonight.”

      “There isn’t room in the bunkhouse?” she asked.

      “Yes, but how could I tell the men I couldn’t sleep with my wife? Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

      “You can’t. You have to be on a horse tomorrow. You take the bed.”

      “You need your rest, too, Joy,” he said. “I’ve slept on the ground before.”

      Stubborn man. “Chance, it’s a large bed. I don’t see anything wrong with you sleeping on top of the covers—on your side.”

      “Lady, you’re playing with fire.”

      “Not if we don’t let anything happen. All I’m offering is one side of the bed.”

      He watched her for what seemed like an eternity, then said, “I’ll take it.”

      Chance’s Joy

      Patricia Thayer

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To My Nieces and Nephews

       Nora, Danielle, Sarah, Lydgia, Judy, Hannah, Malachi, Stephen, Arron, Hannah and little Josh. Nikki, Travis and Anthony. You too, Glenn.

      You’re a great bunch, and I had a wonderful time getting to know you

       all. Thanks for hanging out with your Aunt Pat. See you at the next Greiner wedding.

      PATRICIA THAYER

      has been writing for fourteen years and has published over ten books with Silhouette. Her books have been nominated for the National Readers’ Choice Award, Virginia Romance Writers of America’s Holt Medallion and a prestigious RITA Award. In 1997 Nothing Short of a Miracle won the Romantic Times Magazine Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Special Edition.

      Thanks to the understanding men in her life—her husband of twenty-eight years, Steve, and her three sons—Pat has been able to fulfill her dream of writing romance. Another dream is to own a cabin in Colorado, where she can spend her days writing and her evenings with her favorite hero, Steve. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 6251, Anaheim, CA 92816-0251.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      Chance Randell had waited a long time for his dream. He just had to be patient a while longer. But patience had never been easy for him, he thought, as he rode his buckskin horse, Ace, along the fence that bordered the Circle B Ranch to the deserted Kirby place.

      He looked out over the rolling hills of West Texas. Last week’s rain had only added to the rich, emerald hue of the lush spring grass. Ancient oak trees spotted the landscape, their large branches capable of shading herds of mama cows even on the hottest June and July days.

      Chance pushed the Stetson back from his forehead as he shifted in the saddle. “Sure is some prime grazing land,” he said into the warm April breeze. “And soon, it’s gonna be mine.”

      Just months ago, Chance had learned from Lillian Kirby’s lawyer that her only nephew had died, but the search was on for other relatives to stake claim to the place.

      If there were any, Chance bet they’d be city folk who didn’t want any part of running a cattle ranch. And he was going to make damn sure when—or if—anyone showed up, he’d be first in line to make an offer on the ranch. One way or the other, he was going to get this place. Yeah, that was his plan all right.

      For as long as he could remember, Chance had wanted his own ranch. Most of his life he’d lived on the Circle B. Ever since Hank Barrett had seen fit to drag him and his incorrigible brothers from a life in the foster-care system.

      A slow smile creased Chance’s mouth as he thought about the man who had believed in those wild Randell brothers. Their mother had died several years ago, and they hadn’t had any options until Hank had opened his home to all of them. It had been the last chance for the trio everyone else had given up on.

      Back then Chance had had more attitude than brains. Some people thought he still did. For the most part, Chance never cared what other people thought. They were going to think the worst just because he had the last name Randell. It didn’t matter that he’d been the Circle B’s foreman for the past ten years, or that he’d trained some of the finest quarter horses in the area. There were people who’d never forgotten that their father, Jack Randell, had been sent to prison. Chance and his brothers had spent most of their lives trying to pay for their father’s sins.

      “To hell with them all,” he cursed, and Ace danced sideways sensing his rider’s mood swing.

      Wait until he had his own place. He’d show everyone. Determined to have his dream, Chance had managed to save nearly everything he’d made over the years.

      Even though Hank had always wanted the brothers to think of the ranch as their home, Chance wanted something of his own. At nearly thirty-four, he wanted a home. Not that he had anyone to share it with. His thoughts drifted back to a time when he’d thought that love was possible. But Belinda Reed had had other ideas. Her only interest had been to have a good time with one of the wild Randell boys.

      Chance tightened his grip on the saddle horn as he thought about the fateful summer he’d been made a fool of. It had taken him years, but he’d learned all kinds of tricks to keep his emotions under control. And his practiced stony gaze could shield his hurt from just about everyone. He wasn’t going to let anyone get close enough to hurt him again.

      He pushed away the memories and gave Ace a slight nudge. He rode through the gate and stopped at the barn about a hundred yards from the old house. Might as well check on the winter feed. A few years back he’d arranged a deal with Lillian Kirby to use her barn to store feed. It had also been an excuse for Hank or Chance to check up on the old woman who’d lived here alone until her death about twelve months ago.

      Chance swung his leg off his horse and tied the reins to the rusted metal fence. He glanced toward the house and saw that the paint was faded and starting to peel. He could easily take care of the problem in a few days. Some scraping and prepping, and the house could be ready to paint. White. He’d always wanted a white ranch house. The big wraparound porch sagged a little, but that could be taken care of, too.

      He walked around to the barn door and discovered it open. Great, had kids been in here again? Inside, he examined the bags of feed and found them untouched. That was when he heard the noise.

      It was more of a cry. Like an animal in pain. He moved down the aisle between the empty stalls toward the tack room, where the noise got louder. Carefully and slowly, not wanting an injured animal to attack him, he opened the door. What he saw was a shock. A woman. A very pregnant woman doubled over in pain.

      Joy Spencer’s timing couldn’t have been worse. She’d thought she had everything figured out. But her plans