The Rancher's Secret Love (The Montana McGregor Brothers Book 2)

  The Rancher’s Secret Love

  A Montana McGregor Brothers Romance

  Paula Altenburg

  The Rancher’s Secret Love

  Copyright © 2019 Paula Altenburg

  Kindle Edition

  The Tule Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  First Publication by Tule Publishing 2019

  Cover design by Lee Hyat Designs

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-950510-20-7

  Keep Up with your Favorite Authors and their New Releases

  For the latest news from Tule Publishing authors, sign up for our newsletter here or check out our website at TulePublishing.com

  Stay social! For new release updates, behind-the-scenes sneak peeks, and reader giveaways:

  Like us on

  Follow us on

  Follow us on

  See you online!

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dear Reader

  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

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  The Montana McGregor Brothers series

  Excerpt from The Rancher’s Proposal

  More by Paula Altenburg

  About the Author

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for visiting Grand, Montana! It sits where the Tongue and Yellowstone rivers meet, not quite two hours from Billings.

  The McGregors are descendants of a pair of dark-haired, green-eyed, wild Irish brothers who came to Montana from the Old Country intent on making their fortunes. They followed the army, selling them goods (you can correctly interpret that as contraband) until they found the perfect place to call home. They built Grand with great expectations. The Wagging Tongue Ranch has been home to McGregors for six generations now.

  Jake, Luke, and Zack McGregor view themselves as caretakers, preserving the ranch for future generations. They’re currently bringing the family business into the twenty-first century. They can’t preserve a family business, however—or future generations, for that matter—if they don’t settle down.

  This is Luke’s story. Luke is the scholar. He’s the sensitive McGregor, the one easiest hurt, and the brother without a real goal in life. That is, until he meets Mara.

  I hope you love Mara—and Grand!—as much as Luke does.

  Chapter One

  Luke McGregor eyeballed the freshly painted pink walls.

  His mother had converted the former nursery into a sewing room twenty-five years ago, after the youngest McGregor graduated to a big boy bedroom. Now her sons were converting it back.

  Fat pink blobs of paint speckled the drop cloth Luke and his brother Zack, the big boy in question, had spread to protect the honey-colored hardwood floor. The sewing machine, plus their mother’s sewing supplies—the reams of fabric, the hundreds of buttons, the dozens of spools of thread—had been boxed up and donated to the local ladies’ auxiliary.

  Luke swallowed around the lump in his throat. Cleaning out this room was the hardest thing he’d ever done. It really drove home the fact that she wasn’t coming back.

  “Wow,” Zack said, his gaze sweeping the small room. A fine spray of pink from the roller he’d used on the ceiling dusted the deep reddish-brown of his hair. “That’s really pink.”

  “Yep. Just like the boss ordered,” Luke said.

  He tapped the lid closed on the paint can with the wooden tip of his brush. He had no quarrel with pink. His issue was with their older brother Jake’s automatic assumption that all little girls loved the color when there had to be at least a thousand alternatives to choose from. Or so it had seemed when he checked out the paint chips at the hardware store in Grand.

  But Lydia Williams—their twenty-month-old niece—was likely too young to care what color her new room would be, and Luke’s judginess about it might be because he disliked Jake making all the decisions. It was an ongoing theme in their thirty-one year relationship.

  And his biggest issue likely wasn’t even with Jake. A lot of shit had gone south in Luke’s life of late and Jake made a good target for his pent-up aggression. Luke had to force himself sometimes to remember that his brothers had both suffered big losses, too. Three family members were gone. Four, if he counted their brother-in-law, Blair. The hole they left inside him was enormous.

  But Denise showing up, pretending to care, and then walking away when he needed her most, was the worst kind of betrayal, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from that.

  “Now’s not the time to talk about marriage. I’m okay with you being in Montana for a few weeks to help your brother get the kids settled in,” she’d said, cool as could be. “But I’m not okay with you giving up a prime teaching position that you worked hard for so you can stay an indefinite amount of time. And I’m certainly not staying here with you. I’m truly sorry for your loss, but this isn’t our problem. The ranch and the kids belong to your brother. Our life is in Seattle.”

  Luke had thought it was, too. Right up until he’d gotten the phone call that his parents, his sister, and his brother-in-law had all died in a plane crash in Peru. The trip had been a birthday gift from Liz and Blair to their father. Liam McGregor had talked for years of his desire to see Machu Picchu someday.

  The dream had turned into a nightmare. One the McGregors would have to deal with as a family, because Luke had discovered his hard-earned, incredibly rare teaching position at the college wasn’t nearly as important to him as the people he loved.

  He loved Denise, too. Or at least the woman he’d believed her to be. It was possible he didn’t know her as well as he’d thought, because he couldn’t wrap his head around her refusal to stand by him right now. In his experience, it was what people who loved each other did.

  Instead, she’d boarded her flight to Seattle without once looking back, leaving Luke to question his values and what was important to him, something he’d never had to consider before.

  “We could add a wallpaper border,” Zack said.

  “What?” Luke had lost the thread of their conversation.

  “A border. You know—with teddy bears, or dolls, or something.” Zack stretched his neck muscles, rolling his shoulders. “Maybe Disney princesses. Little girls love that crap.”

  No way was Luke supporting gender stereotypes. Let Lydia grow up to be a free thinker. She was a human being with a mind of her own. “Maybe we should wait and see what she likes rather than stick her with something she might end up hating.”

  “It’s a nursery, not a prison cell. When she’s old enough to have her own room, she’ll be able to tell us how she wants it to look.” Zack examined the wall. His blue eyes, the same shade as their mother’s, held a frown. “But until then, we should do something to offset all this pink. It looks like the inside of a wad of cotton candy in here. It’s making
me nauseous.”

  “Everything makes you nauseous.”

  Zack’s weak stomach was a family joke that dated back to a long car ride to Nevada when they were kids. But in this instance, Luke couldn’t say he was wrong.

  The paint was really, really pink.

  Rooms for ten-year-old Mac and five-year-old Finn had been easier to prepare. Luke had taken pictures of their man caves in New York and he and Zack had recreated them here as best they could.

  Lydia, however, still shared her parents’ bedroom, so they’d had nothing to guide them. He and Zack knew squat about little girls and even less about babies. Their sister, Liz, had been the eldest McGregor sibling, and growing up, she’d fit right in with the boys.

  Guilt punched Luke in the gut. He’d been so obsessed with earning his PhD and landing a teaching position, he’d neglected spending time with his niece and nephews. Other than the funeral, he’d last seen them for a few days at Christmas five months ago. Visiting them once a year wasn’t enough to form a solid relationship with them and things were about to change. They deserved the happy childhood their mother had planned for them, and now, it was up to her brothers to make it happen.

  But putting Jake in charge… What had Liz been thinking?

  Jake was the responsible McGregor, yes. No arguing that. He wasn’t the fun uncle, however. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Luke and Zack had to step up or those poor kids were doomed.

  “We don’t have enough time,” Luke said. “We can’t put a border on until the paint is set, and Jake and the kids should be here sometime tomorrow.”

  Jake was driving from New York City to Grand, Montana rather than flying, as he’d planned. Something about Finn having a meltdown at the airport—which came as no real surprise. Finn was five and he’d just lost his parents and grandparents in a plane crash. Reasoning with him wouldn’t have been an option.

  Bet that threw Jake.

  “Maybe it will look better once the furniture’s in place,” Zack said, focused on the paint, but the expression on his face disagreed with the hope in his tone.

  “There’s only one way to tell.” But Luke didn’t think it would, either.

  They stripped the tape from the trim and the fixtures, then spent the next hour assembling a practical white crib and matching change table. Luke spun the last screw, then the brothers righted the table and set it across the room from the crib. Shoulder to shoulder, arms folded, they studied their handiwork.

  “Want to talk about it?” Zack asked.

  “What’s there to talk about? The walls are still pink,” Luke replied.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Luke avoided looking Zack’s way, not wanting his pity. “I know what you meant. The answer is no.”

  Denise had left three days ago, right after they’d agreed their long-term goals were no longer in sync. There wasn’t much more to say about it that Zack couldn’t figure out for himself. He’d been there. Besides, it wasn’t as if Luke’s crushed life dreams were the worst thing that had happened in this family of late.

  “If you change your mind, I’m here for you,” Zack said.

  Luke had to get out of the house. He needed some time alone. He loved his brother, but the guy was crossing personal boundaries. Since when did they discuss feelings?

  “It’s my turn to buy groceries, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Zack got the message. “Yeah. Can you add fennel to the list? I found a focaccia recipe I want to try for supper tonight.”

  Luke had no idea what fennel was, or focaccia either, for that matter, but he wasn’t asking for clarification. Zack liked to cook, and if given the chance, he could launch into long explanations.

  Now Luke understood how first-year computer science students felt when he rambled on about code.

  He tilted his wrist. His sleeve rode up his arm to reveal the gleaming, rose-toned, diamond-studded, stainless-steel watch his parents had given him when he’d received his PhD last September. He had a little over an hour before his shift in the dairy barn began. Even though his relationship with Jake could often be tense, the eldest McGregor brother had enough on his plate and Luke wouldn’t add to his worries.

  When Jake arrived home with the kids, he’d find everything at the Wagging Tongue Ranch in order.

  *

  Mara Ramos spotted the newcomer the minute he walked through the automatic sliding glass doors.

  He was so very pretty, no one could miss him.

  She’d traveled the world for many of her twenty-six years, and spent almost two of them as a dancer for one of the hottest new names in pop music—the bastard—so she was no stranger to good-looking men. In her experience, men this pretty turned out to be gay.

  Her radar was good though, and the newcomer, despite the fluid, elegant lines of his movements, didn’t give off that vibe. So maybe pretty wasn’t quite the right word for him.

  But neither was handsome.

  He was tall, at least six feet, likely more. Thick brown hair that nudged the edges of black hung a little long in the front. It flipped over a pair of eyes so green she could identify the color from three aisles away. He wore a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar unbuttoned. The tails dangled, untucked. He had long, muscled legs wrapped in a pair of skinny, hipster jeans that screamed this was no cowboy. Untanned, smooth-skinned, long-fingered hands confirmed the disclaimer. He wasn’t used to manual labor.

  He had the look of an academic.

  Mara, who’d grown accustomed to the plethora of tempting cowboys in Grand, was intrigued by this outlier. He strolled through the glass doors as if he’d done so his entire life, clearly at home here, and yet, there was no way he belonged. She worked her way closer, pretending to check out the baking supplies next to the spices, where he’d come to a halt.

  Concentration—or maybe confusion—pinched his eyebrows together.

  “Can I help you find something?” she asked.

  Mr. Pretty glanced her way, but his gaze didn’t linger. He went right back to perusing the spices, his attention fully engaged in his mission.

  “Any idea what fennel is?” he muttered, more to the shelves than to her.

  Mara didn’t consider herself vain, but if she were, she’d now be disabused.

  “Yes, but it depends on what you need it for,” she replied. “You’ll find fennel seed here, but if you want it fresh, you should check out the produce aisle.”

  “I need it for focaccia,” he said. “And, no, I don’t know what that is, either.”

  The last comment was delivered with an upraised eyebrow and a hint of self-deprecating humor. Green eyes—so, so pretty—swiveled toward her. Not even a flutter of interest marred the cut of those gems. Maybe he was married. She checked his left hand. No ring, but fine dots of pink paint freckled the backs of his fingers.

  Mentally, Mara examined the evidence. He’d been painting. He was shopping for ingredients she could only assume someone else would be using to cook, since he had no idea what he was doing.

  What a shame. He wasn’t single.

  While she wasn’t interested in forming a lasting relationship with any one particular man, a temporary diversion would have been welcome. Grand was a small town, its sources of entertainment restricted, and the nights could be lonely and long. Cowboys, however, tended to be a tad too possessive when it came to the women they slept with and she liked her freedom. It made it so much easier to move on when the time came.

  “Focaccia is a type of bread. If that’s what the fennel is for, then I recommend fennel seed. You sprinkle it on top of the dough and drizzle it with olive oil before you bake it.” She reached around Mr. Pretty, plucked a small jar off the shelf, and handed it to him. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nope. Not even a teensy bit of interest.

  She was about to move along and finish her own shopping when Diana O’Sullivan, pretty as a picture, rounded the corner and entered the aisle, a six-month-o
ld in a baby carrier strapped to her chest. She pushed a loaded grocery cart with a three-year-old boy riding shotgun in it. Her eyes widened with pleasure when she spotted Mara.

  And then Mara realized Diana was focused on Mr. Pretty, not her.

  “Luke McGregor,” Diana exclaimed. She hurried toward them. “I was so, so sorry to hear about what happened to your parents and Liz. How are you all holding up? How’s Jake?”

  “Jake’s being his usual hardheaded, competent self,” Mr. Pretty replied. “He’s supposed to arrive home with the kids sometime tomorrow.” He ruffled the hair of the wide-eyed, somber child in the shopping cart. “Hey, Marcus.”

  Mara taught dance lessons in Grand so she heard her share of its gossip. The pieces fell into place. Mr. Pretty, potential underwear model, in reality was Dr. McGregor, local boy genius. He taught computer science at a college in Seattle.

  She began edging away, intent on minding her own business. Even if Dr. McGregor turned out to be single, he was no more her type than a cowboy would be. She was no scholar. Not even close.

  He was also grieving, meaning he most likely had issues. She could do without those.

  “Hi, Mara,” Diana said, acknowledging her presence with a radiant smile that cut off Mara’s escape. “Sorry to interrupt. I didn’t realize you and Luke knew each other.”

  “We don’t,” Mara said. “He was looking for fennel.”

  “Zack’s making focaccia for supper,” Luke added.

  Zack being the third McGregor brother, so Luke wasn’t grocery shopping on behalf of a girlfriend or wife, which changed nothing. The McGregors had suffered a tragedy, and even without the life lessons she’d learned about needy men, Mara wasn’t so crass as to intrude on his grief.

  “Mara is Grand’s one and only dance teacher. She gives Zumba classes, too.” Diana jiggled the restless baby strapped to her chest. “She used to be a dancer for Little Zee. You can see her in his video ‘Hot Like This.’”