The Wrangler's Last Chance. Jessica Keller

Cover

       Back Cover Text

       About the Author

       Booklist

       Title Page

       Copyright

      Note to Readers

       Introduction

       Dear Reader

       Bible Verse

       Dedication

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

      Wing Crosby wasn’t breathing.

      Shannon Jarrett had charged into the water and scooped out her beloved pet goose when she spotted him floating upside down in the small pond in front of the staff bunkhouses at Red Dog Ranch. Now she dropped to her knees on the damp ground and ran her fingers down the goose’s body. His little white-feathered head lolled to the side. His normally bright blue gaze was completely lidded.

      “No. Wing. Please, don’t do this.” Her fingers trembled as she tried to feel for a heartbeat near his keel bone, but her fingers were shaking too much. She couldn’t feel anything.

      “Please don’t die.” She croaked out the words. “I can’t lose you.”

      Not Wing. Not the little goose she had raised.

       Please don’t take him.

      After everything she had been through the past year, she couldn’t stand another loss. She wasn’t certain she could survive another heartbreak.

      Hot tears blinded her for a second.

      Was it possible to perform CPR on a goose? She knew their bones were different, hollow. If his heart wasn’t beating, could she give him chest compressions without shattering his sternum? She had no idea. Maybe she would make things far worse.

      Yet another situation in her life she would handle entirely wrong.

      She had collected a lot of those lately.

      A shiver rattled through her body. Being sopping wet at the end of March was a bad idea, even in Texas. But being cold was the least of her worries right now.

       Move. Do something. Save him.

      Blinking fiercely, she scanned the large ranch where most of her family lived. The ranch house was too far from where she was. Even if her eldest brother, Rhett, was inside, she would never make it to him in time. Not that he would necessarily know what to do anyway; he loved the dogs that hunted waterfowl, not the birds. Her brother Wade and his new wife, Cassidy, lived with their young daughter even farther across the ranch in the house they had recently finished building. Despite the fact that Wade only ever referred to Wing as Thanksgiving Dinner, she knew her twin brother would never hesitate to help her.

      But there was no time.

      In her haste, she had left her phone in her bunkhouse, or else she would have run a quick search on the internet for ideas. She had nothing. Nothing but the small body of her favorite little buddy dripping in her hands. He was dependent on her for his life and she was failing him.

      A door slammed nearby and Shannon whirled to see who it was. Two doors down from the bunkhouse she called home, a tall man carried a bag into a staff house that had been empty for most of the last year. He had to be the head wrangler Rhett had recently hired. Shannon hadn’t met him yet and didn’t know anything about him, but at the moment he was her only hope.

      Cradling Wing Crosby, Shannon rose and ran in the man’s direction. “Help! Please. Help me.”

      He dropped the bag and jogged toward her.

      “My goose. I need help.” Shannon held out Wing Crosby. “I don’t think he’s breathing.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know what to do.”

      The man’s electric-blue eyes latched onto hers. He nodded once and ripped off the coat he was wearing. He wrapped the fabric around Wing Crosby’s body before gingerly lifting the goose from her arms and then he dropped to a knee, Wing Crosby in his lap. Opening up the jacket, he pressed his ear to Wing’s chest.

      “Not breathing, but there’s a heartbeat.” He squinted. “It’s faint, but it’s there.” With a great amount of gentleness, the man opened Wing Crosby’s beak and swept the inside of the goose’s mouth with one of his fingers. “Did you see him choking on anything, or were you feeding him something when this happened?” The man kept his attention on Wing Crosby while he asked the question. His fingers combed over the bird’s white feathers for injuries.

      “I don’t know what happened.” Her voice took on a desperate tone. “I found him in the water. I didn’t see anything.”

      He wrapped the jacket back around Wing and tucked the goose into the crook of his arm so the bird was snug against his body like a football. With his head tipped down, the man’s dark hair fell across his forehead. The stranger rolled his shoulders as he took a deep breath.

      Shannon