Chapter 1 of SADDLE UP MY HEART

Chapter 1

 

T

HE WIND CUT sharply across the Texas hills, snapping the prayer clean out of Chance Grant’s mouth.

He stood at the split-rail fence, boots sinking into thawing mud, the old ranch spread before him like both a promise and a punishment. Double Grace Ranch—his father’s dream, now his responsibility—stretched wide against a sky painted with the last pale brushstrokes of dawn. The barns needed fresh paint. The fences sagged. The horses in the pastures were pathetic examples of equine flesh.

Every board, every post, every acre whispered the same thing: Don’t fail us.

Chance gripped the fence rail until his knuckles ached. It was easier to feel the wood cut into his palm than to let memory cut into his heart. The sound of breaking timbers. His father’s shout. The silence after. If Chance had been quicker, smarter, braver, then Pa would still be here.

Now it was up to him to hold the line, to keep his brothers from tearing the ranch apart and to prove that Double Grace could survive the debt, the droughts, and the dispute with cousin Glen.

The ranch dog trotted up, tail wagging, breaking his brooding. Chance crouched and scratched the mottled fur behind the animal’s ears. “Guess it’s you and me, Shep. And my feisty brothers, I suppose. The world doesn’t stop for grief, does it?”

The sound of an incoming vehicle drew his gaze toward the main drive. A battered SUV eased onto the yard, dust trailing behind like ribbons. Chance grumbled under his breath. They didn’t have anyone scheduled.

A woman stepped out, tugging her jacket close against the cold. Wind teased strands of silky black hair across her face, but her stride was steady as she glanced around the ranch. City car, city clothes—tailored skirt and ankle boots—yet something about the way she lifted her chin said she wasn’t afraid of wide-open spaces. And big sky and expansive land were what this sprawling cattle ranch had plenty of.

Chance narrowed his eyes. Trouble had a way of driving right up the lane uninvited. He sensed it.

Still, when she caught sight of him by the fence and offered a small, hopeful smile, something in his chest budged—like the faintest crack in the walls he’d built so high.

And he hated himself for noticing how attractive she was. Shep seemed to agree. The old collie trotted up to her and accepted her quick greeting of a pat after he’d sniffed her hand.

“Nice dog.” The woman shaded her eyes against the rising sun.

Chance squared his shoulders. “Can I help you?”

Her smile faltered at his gruff tone as she took a few more steps closer. “I hope so. I’m Jeannie Ferguson. The regional hospital told me to come here for the clinic—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “We’re not running a clinic. Must be a mistake.”

Unruffled, she tightened her grip on the worn leather satchel slung across her body. “You mean, not yet. I’m here to work with your horses. Equine therapy. Healing Hooves?”

The name sounded ridiculous to him. Healing Hooves had been his aunt’s idea, one he’d reluctantly agreed to only because the bank wouldn’t be patient forever. Still, hearing it from a stranger felt like she was prying into the family’s wounds.

“That program’s still in its infancy,” Chance said, crossing his arms. “We don’t need extra hands complicating things.”

For a heartbeat, she simply studied him. The wind lifted her hair, revealing eyes the color of a summer lake. “I don’t think the children who’ll be coming here will see me as a complication. They’ll see me as hope.”

Her words hit harder than he expected. He took a couple of steps and turned his gaze back to the pasture, to the mare limping near the fence line, rescued only weeks ago, the gelding with the open wound, and the pony with the untrimmed hooves. Broken creatures, all of them—man and beast alike.

“Hope doesn’t pay the feed bills,” he muttered.

She didn’t flinch. “Neither does shutting people out.”

Shep barked, as if applauding her boldness. Chance bit back the curse that rose to his lips. Whoever this woman was, she had no idea the problems she’d just stepped into.

Chance let the silence stretch, the kind that usually sent visitors scurrying back down the drive. Jeannie Ferguson didn’t budge. She stood there in the dust with her satchel and her stubborn chin, like she belonged already.

A sliver of admiration slipped past his defenses.

“Look,” he said, voice low. “We’ve got enough on our plate without strangers marching in with ideas. Double Grace is hanging by a thread, and I’m not about to risk more than we already have.”

Her gaze followed his to the mare in the pasture. The horse shifted her weight, favoring the injured leg, and something softened in Jeannie’s face. Not pity—understanding.

“Sometimes the broken ones are the most worth saving,” she said quietly.

The words pressed against the scar tissue inside his chest. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, turning away so she couldn’t read him.

“That horse isn’t the only one limping around here,” she added, her voice carrying across the cold air.

Chance stiffened. What was she talking about? He didn’t limp, but every morning he opened his eyes and remembered the look on his father’s face that last day, and his heart broke again.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he said, forcing calm into his tone. “Five minutes on this ranch, and you think you can size me up?”

Jeannie didn’t apologize. She didn’t back down either. “No. But I do know grief when I see it.”

Shep barked again, circling them like he could sense the charge in the air.

Chance exhaled through his nose, long and slow, forcing the tension from his shoulders. He wasn’t about to argue with a stranger in the front yard. Aunt Rose would be out any minute, and she’d scold him for scaring off the very help she’d prayed for.

He turned back to Jeannie, jaw tight. “Fine. You want to try your hand with Healing Hooves, you’ll answer to my aunt. You can find her in the house. But don’t expect me to hold your hand while you play nursemaid to half-broke horses and hurting people.”

Her small smile returned, but this time it carried a hint of a challenge. “Good. I don’t expect you to hold my hand. Just don’t get in my way.”

Don’t get in her way? She walked past him toward the house, her decision already made. Chance watched her go, torn between irritation at her words and admiration for her nerve.

But Double Grace Ranch had no room for more complications.

With the wind snapping at his collar and Shep wagging his tail in approval, Chance had the sinking feeling that Jeannie Ferguson was one beautiful complication.

Jeannie’s footsteps crunched across the gravel toward the house, her silhouette swallowed by the long shadow of the barn. She stopped, waylaid by Shep for a more thorough job of petting.

Chance dragged a hand over his face, wishing he could scrape away the memory that clung like burrs. Maybe that was why her words stung—because they were true. He carried grief, as sure as the dust trailed a rider—always behind, always there.

His gaze drifted up to the weathered barn roof. The boards were replaced where Pa had fallen through. Chance could hear it as clear as if it were happening again—the crack of timber, the hollow thud, his father’s cry cut short.

“Chance! Ladder’s slipping—”

He should’ve steadied it. He should’ve climbed up himself. Instead, he’d been too slow, too sure Pa didn’t need his help. One heartbeat of hesitation, and the world had buckled. By the time he reached him, Pa’s chest was still. Chance had pressed his hands hard against him, begging, ordering, praying. Nothing had worked.

The sheriff had called it an accident. His brothers had called it bad luck. But Chance? He called it failure.

And as if the devil himself wanted to twist the knife, Ma’s mind had crumbled under the shock. Her Alzheimer’s had been stealing her in pieces, but that day it felt like the whole woman vanished. She’d looked at him through the blur of her tears, asking where her husband had gone, and he’d had no answer.

It was Chance who signed the papers at the memory care facility. Chance, who packed her belongings, folded her sweaters, and left her quilt on the bed she couldn’t remember was hers. Chance, who walked out of those locked doors with her cries echoing behind him.

He pressed a palm against the fence rail, head bowed, the cold seeping into his skin.

That’s why he didn’t have room for newcomers and pretty words. Why he had no patience for strangers who thought they understood grief.

He knew what it cost to fail the people you loved. And he would hold that guilt forever. He glanced back at the woman who was giving his dog a final rub, telling him what a good boy he was. Shep let her walk on, trotted back to the fence line, and nudged Chance’s leg with a wet nose. He gave him a rough pat, forcing the memories back into their box. He glanced toward the house; Jeannie Ferguson was almost there, likely to make herself right at home. Aunt Rose would fuss over her and say it was God’s providence that she came. Chance wasn’t so sure.

The screen door creaked, then banged shut, and Aunt Rose stepped out onto the porch, apron dusted with flour, her brown and gray-flecked hair tied back in a knot that refused to stay neat.

“Well, you took your sweet time,” she greeted the woman, her voice like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “I was wondering when we’d see you.”

Jeannie paused mid-step, clearly caught off guard. “Oh—you were expecting me sooner?”

“Expecting and praying. Praying every night since we posted that notice for help. And expecting you since my friend over in Honeyridge let me know she was sending us someone who loves horses and kids.” Rose came down the steps with surprising energy, wiping her hands on her apron before grasping Jeannie’s in both of hers. “You must be Jeannie. I’m Rose Grant. Welcome to Double Grace Ranch.”

Jeannie’s demeanor relaxed. “Thank you, Mrs. Grant. It’s good to be here.”

“Rose, dear. Just Rose. Never been married. Now come inside and let me pour you some coffee before that one, my nephew, Chance—” she tipped her chin toward Chance, still standing at the fence. “—scares you off with his scowls.”

Jeannie’s gaze flicked to him, questioning. Chance stiffened, bracing for a sneer. But all she gave him was a small, steady look, like she’d already seen through the armor and wasn’t afraid of what was underneath.

He didn’t know whether to be grateful or furious.

Rose clucked her tongue at him. “You could at least say hello properly. The poor girl’s driven all this way, and so early, too.”

“Hello,” he muttered, but it came out more like gravel than a greeting.

Jeannie’s lips curved—just a fraction, just enough to tell him she wasn’t easily rattled.

Rose looped an arm through Jeannie’s and steered her toward the porch. “Don’t mind him. He’s better with horses than people these days. We’ll fix that soon enough.”

Chance turned back to the pasture, jaw clamped tight, but Rose’s words trailed after him.

Better with horses than people. Maybe. But even the horses looked to him for more than he was sure he could give.

He readjusted the Stetson hat on his head, watching Jeannie disappear inside with Rose. Trouble, he’d told himself. But deep down, something else stirred. He’d better follow them inside.

 

                                         ***

Inside, the kitchen smelled of cinnamon and wood smoke. Same old farmhouse table scarred with years of use, same copper kettle hissing gently on the stove. Nothing had changed, except… everything.

Chance hung back in the doorway, arms folded, while Rose poured coffee for Jeannie like she’d known her all her life. Jeannie set her notebook on the table, the corners of a resume peeking out, but Rose waved it away.

“Paper doesn’t tell me half of what I need to know,” Rose said cheerfully. “I want to hear your story. What brings a young woman out to Honeyridge, Texas, when she could be in some city office with polished floors and steady pay?”

Jeannie hesitated, eyes dropping to her cup. “I… needed a fresh start.”

Her voice was quiet, but the mystery behind it tugged at Chance like a lasso. He shifted his stance, uncomfortable with how much he wanted to know more.

Rose nodded knowingly, as if fresh starts were a language she spoke fluently. “Well, do-overs are our specialty around here.”

Chance snorted before he could stop himself. Both women looked up.

“Something funny?” Jeannie asked, brow arched.

“Depends what you call funny,” Chance muttered. “We take in broken horses, half-starved strays, and the occasional runaway goat. Doesn’t exactly sound like the place for a fresh start.”

Her eyes didn’t waver. “Maybe it’s exactly the place. Horses heal, strays eat, the goat finds a home. They all get a clean slate.”

For a moment, the air between them crackled, like two flints striking.

Rose clapped her hands, breaking the tension. “Good. That’s settled. Jeannie, you’ll stay in the guest cabin. Chance, you’ll show her around before supper. And no excuses.”

“Aunt Rose—”

“No excuses,” she repeated, steel in her tone that dared him to argue. “You may be in charge, being the oldest son and all, but I’m your elder, and I know my brother taught you to respect your elders.”

Chance pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to dig in his heels. But Rose wasn’t one to budge, and truth be told, something in Jeannie’s steady gaze made him curious despite himself.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yes, ma’am.” He eyed Jeannie. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. This ranch has a way of chewing people up.”

Jeannie closed her notebook, her chin lifting. “Consider me warned. But just so you know, I’m tougher than I look.”

That pulled something unexpected out of him—a spark of respect. And, again, the tiniest flicker of admiration.

 

                                         ***

Outside, the sun was arguing with the clouds, painting the valley in splashes of gold. Horses grazed in the distance, their outlines against the rolling hills steady and sure in a world that had crumbled beneath Chance’s feet this year.

He led the way across the yard, Jeannie walking a few steps behind.

The barn loomed ahead—its roof patched where his father had fallen. Chance’s throat closed, and he almost cursed aloud. But Jeannie’s voice broke through his thoughts, soft yet firm.

“Tell me about them,” she said, nodding toward the herd.

He followed her gaze. The horses. Always safer ground. “That one’s Doc,” he said, pointing to a chestnut with scars on its flank. “Came in wild. Took me weeks before he’d let me near him.”

“And now?”

“Now?” Chance watched as Doc lifted his head, ears flicking toward him. “Now he trusts me. Some days.”

Jeannie smiled, the kind that didn’t pity or prod, but simply understood.

Chance wondered if maybe he wasn’t the only broken soul looking for a fresh start.

They reached the paddock just as the wind shifted, carrying the scent of rain. Chance leaned on the top rail, hat brim shadowing his face, while Jeannie rested her notebook against the wood.

“You really love them,” she said quietly, eyes following the horses.

He almost told her the truth—that the horses were the only ones who didn’t look at him with blame in their eyes. But before he could answer, Doc tossed his head, nostrils flaring. The rest of the herd bumped each other uneasily.

Chance stiffened. Horses didn’t spook for no reason.

Then he saw it.

A dust cloud on the ridge, just beyond the property line. A truck slowed, parking where it had no business being. The driver killed the engine, and for a long moment, the vehicle sat there, watching.

Jeannie noticed his silence and followed his gaze. “Someone you know?”

Chance’s lower jaw stuck out. He knew exactly who it was—his cousin Glen, come sniffing around like a wolf at the edge of camp.

He forced his voice to sound nonchalant. “Yeah, nothin’ to worry about it.”

But his stomach coiled, because Glen wasn’t just here for a friendly visit. And if Chance was right, the ranch—and maybe Jeannie too—were about to be caught in the crosshairs of old grudges and new battles.

The truck engine roared to life again, dust swirling, but the unease it left behind didn’t fade.

Chance pushed off the fence. “Come on,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “Storm’s coming.”

He wasn’t sure if he only meant the weather.

[end of chapter 1 - pre-order now: SADDLE UP MY HEART ]