Saving Hayes Ranch

Saving Hayes Ranch

Becca Hayes thought New York City would be everything she'd ever dreamed. What she didn't anticipate was the pleasures of small town life coming back to haunt her in the big dog-eat-dog world.

A bad break-up with her boyfriend leads her back to Heighly, the town of her youth, after many years. Now she must try and mend the familial bonds she broke so long ago.

One thing she didn't count on, however, was slick new ranch manager Kyle Hammond and his judgmental stare. His dark blue eyes both arouse and infuriate her, and it doesn't take long for frustration and passion to come to a head...

Chapter One

It was everything she'd ever dreamed of. The lights, fast pace and dog-eat-dog atmosphere of the city came as natural as breathing to her. And why shouldn't they? Rebecca (Becca, to nearly everyone) had fought tooth and nail to get to the place where she was. She had left everything she had behind in the small town she grew up in, and the night she had walked out, her parents had told her she was making a mistake.

And they were right.

But they hadn't been seven years ago.

Then, it was like the city had been laid out before her, ripe for the taking. When Becca had first arrived in the Big Apple, it had been like something out of a fairy tale. Born and bred in a small town in Colorado, she'd never seen anything as unfathomably huge as the megacity that was New York.

But, she'd always been clever, hadn't she? Graduated at the top of her class both in high school and at the small community college she'd attended.

She always had big dreams.

Standing, Becca crossed the carpeted floor of her pristine fortieth floor office, gazing down at the hustle and bustle of the city below. It was almost ten in the morning, which meant there were still a choice few patrons rushing to reach work. The streets were just beginning to clear of the morning crush, and the moneyed stay-at-home moms were emerging from their penthouses to mingle with the common folk.

She pressed perfectly manicured fingers against the glass of the window before her. Would she be happier if she were one of those spectacularly moneyed women? Or perhaps if she was a hot dog vendor on the street? Hell, perhaps she'd be ecstatic as a dog walker.

But no. In her heart of hearts, she knew what the problem was.

It was this city.

Turning away from the window, the young woman gazed over the expanse of her corner office. Books on self-help crowded the shelves above modern black furniture and her sleek desk, atop which rested the laptop she couldn't live without. The room was decorated stylishly, if minimally, and she remembered a time when simply entering it reminded her of the success she'd worked so hard for. Now, she dreaded coming to the office in the mornings.

It had taken her a while to reach this point.

When she'd first come to the city, she'd been brimming with hope and excitement, despite the rough parting she'd had with her parents. They'd spent weeks trying to convince her to stay in her small hometown, miles away, even, from any decent civilization. They'd warned her that the city would chew her up and spit her out and her mother, particularly, wasn't so keen on Becca learning such harsh lessons so early.

She had barely paid them any heed.

A very well paid intern had visited her packed classroom of 100 at her community college in her freshman year. That girl, with her perfect French manicure, northern accent, and aura of power, had forever separated Becca from the idea of staying in Heighly forever. She wanted what that intern had – the confidence and easy beauty. She'd always been a rough and tumble girl, running after boys and riding horses bareback across the ranch that had been in her family for years. She could milk a cow in minutes and round up thirty chickens and their eggs in less than an hour – and up until that point, those things had been her pride and joy.

Now, this was what she was most proud of- or should be, anyway.

Her corner office on 32nd street, in one of the most prestigious business buildings in the city. Becca had worked many hard nights, shed blood and tears and taken chances she thought she never would, but she'd made it in one of the toughest cities in the world.

And now she felt as if her life was crumbling around her; and it wasn't because she was struggling in her day-to-day life, or that her salary wasn't enough. It wasn't that New York had failed to meet her expectations or that she hadn't made something of herself.

It was simply because she missed home.

She missed her family, her parents, and the easy camaraderie that had come from living in a town of 400. In the city, she'd had to put on a pretty face for friends she was sure would disown her if they heard she'd once wrangled horses. There was no one she could talk to in the work place because everyone there was a competitor. There were few places she could go to relax the way she had when the sun had set over the peaceful quiet of the ranch.

It had been seven years since she'd left Heighly. She had slid out of her twenties with as much grace as she could muster and now found herself facing her thirty-second birthday. More than anything, she wanted to be able to voice her doubts to someone.

The intercom on her desk buzzed and she sank down at her desk, pressing the answer button.

Yes, Helena? The office secretary was known for her persnickety attitude and perfectionist take on the office rules. Therefore, dealing with her with kid gloves was the best policy. If one didn't, you might find your messages misplaced or half a cup of sugar dumped in your morning coffee.

Becca, there's a David Perkins here to see you.

A smile spread across Becca's face at the statement, and her heart lightened. Though the city had begun to bog her down recently, there was one aspect in which it had performed overwhelmingly wonderfully, and that was in leading her to David.

The young woman had met him not even a year after moving to the city, when she'd still been struggling for a decent job and attended six to seven interviews a day. When she'd looked up to see him entering the coffee shop with his polished good looks, slicked back hair and devil-may-care smile, she'd been hooked. Always one on the proactive side of things, she'd offered to buy his coffee and, after that, things had been history.

Being a lawyer in a growing firm downtown meant that David had as much respect for the complex inner workings of the city as she did. He had found out how to work the system after years of living here, but he too was a transplant from a smaller city in the southeast. Though he had quickly adopted the skills needed to keep afloat in New York, his casual southern drawl had never quite faded; something Becca found adorable and sexy all at once. David had helped her find the job that had led her to where she was now.

He had also become to love of her life, supporting her through all the trials and tribulations she'd faced. She didn't know what she would do without him, and now that he was here...perhaps it was a good time to speak with her about the doubts that had been plaguing her for the past six months or so.

Thank you, Helena. The relief was palpable in her voice. Please buzz him in.

Of course.

Rising from her desk, Becca fluffed her dark hair in anticipation. She caught view of her image in the mirror across the room and, for the umpteenth time, was struck by how much seven years had changed her. Raven colored curls that had once been shoved carelessly into a ponytail day after day had been permanently straightened, drawn back into a careful chignon. Deep green eyes were enhanced by just the slightest hint of makeup – enough to look professional without over doing it – and freckles honed by the sun were erased by the help of heavy-duty concealer. The few extra pounds she's always carried thanks to her mother's wonderful cooking were gone, replaced by a slim, stick-thin figure that was best flattered in suits and stovepipe pants with high heels. In short, she looked every inch the Manhattan businesswoman she was.

And she was miserable.

When the door to her office opened, she stepped from behind the desk, ready to greet her boyfriend with a smile and an ardent hug. David? Her arms encircled his thin neck and she felt the firmness of his tall form against hers. He always smelled of his favorite Calvin Klein cologne and carried himself ramrod straight – however, when he hugged her, she felt it was just the tiniest bit stiffer than usual.

When she pulled back to take in his handsome face, the smile faded from her lips. The man's expression was flat and displeased. David?

Becca. When he greeted her, his voice was cold and dispassionate. We need to talk.

Her stomach immediately clenched itself up in knots. While she and David had rarely fought when they'd first started dating, it seemed that the arguments came more and more frequently lately. They couldn't agree on where to live, what car to buy, where and when they should be seen; these things, David insisted, were of paramount importance to New York socialites; but as Becca found herself caring less and less for the priggish falseness of the city, she wanted less and less to argue about penthouses on fifth avenue and simply sought quiet evenings at home with the man she loved.

Of course. It...couldn't wait until I got home tonight? Her words were hesitant – something no client would ever hear.

No, it couldn't. Now David's tone was almost sharp as he took a seat in one of the high-backed chairs facing her desk. Can you get me a drink, please? He was irritated, barely civil; and though any other man would have gotten the brunt of Becca's quick temper, this man was one she had come to depend on.

And so she simply poured him a double bourbon on the rocks, like she knew he liked. When she handed the glass to him, he gestured for her to sit across from him, as if it were his office and not hers. Slowly, Becca sat, her stomach churning. Now, Becca, why didn't you renew our lease on the Battery Park apartment?

Was that what he was angry about? He'd been talking for weeks about how the place was too small to suit their needs and how they'd only moved there to be closer to his firm. So, naturally, when it had come time to do the paperwork for another year, she'd chosen not to renew. David had been too busy for her to consult.

You said it was too small – that it was only convenient to your workplace. Haven't you been talking about moving uptown for a year?

The man tossed back half of his drink, his jaw clenched in anger. You know we can't afford to move uptown yet.

That wasn't true. They could very comfortably afford a nice place in midtown and she told him so. In response, David's glass slammed against the arm of his chair, cracking the edge, as he glared at her. How many times have I told you that moving uptown isn't worth it unless we can make Fifth Avenue?

This made Becca frown. She had gone over the Central Park figures with him at least ten times, and still, she was nowhere near bringing herself to spend such a horrendous amount of money on an apartment. It was unnecessary. Dave, She struggled to keep her tone rational, We can't afford Fifth Avenue. Why do we need to? We could have a place with twice the space on Lexington for a third of the price.

You see? David threw up his hands, blue eyes flashing in irritation. "This is what I mean when I say you don't think. Fifth Avenue means influence, Becca. It means higher profile clients, for me and for you. It also means moving up in the social ranks."

At this point, Becca could care less about the social ranks. New York socialites were full of shit anyhow, and to pretend to be one of them could be nothing less than exhausting.

Dave, we have plenty of clients now. We're making a decent living. Why does this upset you so much?

We don't seem to be on the same page. He hissed back with unexpected malice. I want to further myself in this life while you seem content with being average. Average? A six-figure salary and ten thousand dollar a month rent was hardly average. David was marginalizing what they'd accomplished in an extreme fashion.

"David, we are far from average. We're living the dream, can't you see that?"

"Yes, your dream, perhaps, but not mine!" He burst, standing from his chair in a quick motion to drain the last of his drink. His words were more than Becca could handle. She leapt to her own feet, her heels providing enough extra height to put her eye to eye with the man she'd been fighting to keep.

"You think this is my dream, David? Pretending to be something I'm not? Dealing with people who care more about pocketing money than this city's rotten underbelly every day? There's more to life than riches, influence and pleasing people, you know."

If you don't like it then why don't you run back to your ranch with your tail between your legs and quit! The drawling accent she so adored sharpened the words so that they struck home with painful accuracy. They can take the girl out the country but they can't take the country out of the girl, can they?

For a moment, his words rang through her office unopposed.

Becca looked at him in shock – and for the first time in seven years, she really saw him. This man would never appreciate her. As long as she was a pretty bauble on his arm to help him further his social status, he could use her. The moment she started to long for something else.

Well, that had already happened, hadn't it?

Get out. The words left her on a whisper.

David's expression quickly melted from angry to incredulous. What did you just say to me?

"I said Get Out. This time the words were laced with all the pain he'd caused her in the past year – the support that had really been him supporting himself, and the doubt he'd cast on her skills. Get out now."

Who the hell do you think you are? His face was red, his tone hard. I made you, Becca, and God help me, I can unmake you-

Fine, The words hissed from between her teeth. Do it then. See if I give two fucks!

"Becca!"

And get out of my goddamn office before I have you thrown out!

The man stared at her, shocked, before abruptly turning on his heel and sauntering from the office. He slammed the door behind him with enough strength to make the pane glass rattle, and for a moment, Becca couldn't breathe.

Christ.

Oh Christ.

Trying to calm herself, she returned to her desk chair, bringing out a file she'd planned to look over with trembling hands. When she attempted to go over the figures, tears quickly blurred her vision.

The city had given her everything, and just as quickly, it had stolen it away.

Laying her head in her arms, she sobbed.

**

She was utterly out of her mind.

Standing in the middle of the apartment she'd once shared with David, Becca glanced around at the mess of boxes around her. Since their lease was up, it had been nothing to send the man packing, along with everything that reminded her of him. Even though he was gone, the pain of his disapproval still lingered, seizing her heart like a vice when she lingered on it.

She'd quit her job not two days after they'd argued, before the man could fine some conniving way to pull the rug out from beneath her. She'd worked fifty-hour weeks for the past five years. She had more than enough to rely on her savings for a while.

The question was: where would she go?

New York was all she'd known for most of her adult life. She'd once loved it, and the thought of leaving made her fear that what David had said was right: That she was giving up. In the week since they'd parted, she'd reached for the phone to call him more than once – to apologize and beg for his forgiveness.

To set herself back on the path to being everything he wanted her to be.

But she'd never actually made the call. She knew that it would mean her ruin.

Now, she found herself staring at the phone for an entirely different reason, contemplating a call to someone she hadn't talked to in far longer than a mere week.

Biting her lip, Becca remembered the night she'd left Heighly. There had been screaming, tears, and agonizing promises made. She remembered professing that she would rather have been born in a gutter than in Heighly, that her parents was trying to stifle all her ambitions, and that no one really loved her. On that day, she had ripped the fabric that had drawn her once close-knit family together – and it still remained a raw wound.

Becca stared at the iPhone curled in her perfectly manicured hand.

Where else could she go? New York had beaten her – proved that she wasn't cut out for this sort of life. Moving to another city and trying to start over on her own was unthinkable, and besides, she didn't want to run out like she had almost a decade before. Now, she realized that she had fled for all the wrong reasons, full of naiveté and the cruel ambition that came so easily to the young.

And now she had to try to set things right.

Before she could lose her courage, she dialed her home number. Even though it was barely seven am in the Midwest, she knew that her parents would be awake. They rose at 5 am to maintain the ranch, even into their fifties and sixties.

The phone rang twice.

Hello, this is the Collin's Residence. The husky, aged grunt of her father brought tears to her eyes and for a moment, Becca couldn't speak. She could remember the pain and sorrow in his eyes as he'd watched her leave, and back then, she'd been glad she'd hurt him.

Glad.

Daddy? Though she'd meant for this conversation to go as diplomatically as possible, with her on the upper end of things, she found her own emotions sabotaging her. Daddy, it's Becca. The tears on her face were evident in her words, and she struggled for composure.

...Andi? The man's voice had softened in disbelief. Andi, is that really you?

Yes. She was sobbing, unrestricted now. Daddy, it's me. I want come home. I'm sorry I hurt you and mom. I was selfish and cruel and you were right about everything. I want to come home.

For a moment, there was silence on the line and Becca's eyes slid closed. If they rejected her, she wouldn't blame them. Her mother and father had loved her for her entire life, with all their being, and she had practically spit in their faces.

Don't cry now, girl. Hubert Collin's voice had adopted the low, comforting tone he'd used when she'd been just a girl, bawling from a skinned knee or after being thrown by her favorite colt. No need for tears. You just come on home now and we can talk about it. Do you need some money?

Becca sank to her knees, gasping in relief and gratitude. She'd imagined this moment for years and it had always gone badly, with her parents hanging up on her and condemning her to the isolated life she'd chosen. She had never, not once, imagined that she would be forgiven so easily.

No, she managed weakly, I don't need any money. I'm fine. I'll get a flight to Denver today and be home in the evening.

Alright. I'll tell your momma. You be safe now and get here. Don't cry any more. We'll discuss everything when you get here, alright?

She couldn't have stopped crying at the moment if she'd tried. Ok. Daddy...I...I-

Hush, honey. You hurry up. Your ma and I love you. We've never stopped loving you.

I love you too.

Becca hung up the phone, staring at all the boxes around her as tears streaked down her face, marring her perfectly applied makeup.

She was going back to Heighly.

**

Well, wasn't this an interesting sight?

Leaning against the whitewashed fence