Legacy of Love

By Victoria Chatham

Callie Wade: Some would call her a successful businesswoman. Colt McKeacham must call this knockout redhead his boss.

Colt McKeacham: Some see him as a rugged, tough ranch foreman. Callie sees a sexy-as-hell cowboy with an attitude. How can she resist him?

Callie Wade almost inherits a ranch from a grandfather she never knew she had. The last stipulation in his will, that she marry the ranch foreman, Colt McKeacham, within twelve months, leaves her reeling. When Callie visits the ranch and suffers a series of accidents, Colt sees a disturbingly familiar pattern and begins to suspect that her grandfather’s death was not what it appeared. Who is deliberately trying to drive Callie away, or worse? Despite their growing attraction for each other, Callie has her own suspicions that Colt wants the ranch more than he wants her. The truth stuns them both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228618348

Victoria Chatham

Being born in Bristol, England, Victoria Chatham grew up in an area rife with the elegance of Regency architecture. This, along with the novels of Georgette Heyer, engendered in her an abiding interest in the period with its style and manners and is one where she feels most at home.Apart from her writing, Victoria is an avid reader of anything that catches her interest, but especially Regency romance. She also teaches introductory creative writing. Her love of horses gets her away from her computer to volunteer at Spruce Meadows, a world class equestrian centre near Calgary, Alberta, where she currently lives.

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Legacy of Love

Victoria Chatham

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228618348

Kindle 9780228618355

PDF 9780228618362

Print ISBNs

BWL Print 9780228618379

LSI Print 9780228618393

Amazon Print 9780228618386

Copyright 2021 by Victoria Chatham

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

DEDICATION

To Maxine Henry for her friendship, expertise and advice, and endless cups of tea

Chapter One

Colt McKeacham disliked cities.

He disliked the reason for being in this one even more.

White Rock’s mid-morning traffic droned by as he waited at a traffic intersection. He wrinkled his nose against the onslaught of gas fumes and the greasy smell of a nearby fast food outlet. Blaring car horns and the urgent wail of an ambulance zipping by made him step back from the curb.

The lights changed. Colt tucked the battered briefcase he carried securely under his arm as he crossed the road, shouldering his way through a stream of people as he headed towards a steel and glass building. He pushed through a revolving doorway into a lobby gleaming as much on the inside as on the outside. He checked the information board, ignoring the admiring glances of several female office workers as they passed him.

One of them glanced his way. She changed direction and smiled as she came back to him. You look a little lost. Can I help you?

That smile said she would give him all the help she could and then some, but Colt simply tipped his hat and thanked her. He had the address for Wade, Warner and Associates but did not see any elevators. He looked around. The same office worker quirked an eyebrow.

Elevators? Colt asked. He might just as well make use of a willing volunteer rather than waste time asking.

This way. The young woman hurried towards the back of the lobby and the location of two elevators. I’ll ride up with you if you don’t mind. Which business are you looking for?

The interior design company, he said. Third floor.

That’s my floor. She reached across him and pressed a service button. The elevator swept upwards without a sound. Have you an appointment with one of the designers?

No appointment. The elevator stopped, and they both stepped out when the door swished open.

Ah, that could be a problem. The girl stepped behind a reception desk, ran a hand over her green-streaked blonde bobbed hair and gave him a cheeky grin. That was my coffee break. Short, but sweet. Now, Mister…?

Why would it be a problem? Colt looked around the elegant front office. He supposed it gave clients a taste of what could be their décor if they had the dollars for it. He briefly wished he’d stopped for a shower and a shave but just wanted this over with as quickly as possible.

The receptionist’s nameplate on the counter read Tabby Miles. She pursed her lips, tutting as she referred to her computer and slowly ran her finger down the screen.

Becoming impatient at what he considered delaying tactics, Colt looked through the glass wall behind the reception desk into a long room with an ocean view at the front and offices leading off it at the back. According to the sign above the door, the office he wanted was first on the right.

A courier stepped off the elevator. Tabby shot Colt a quick, almost apologetic smile and took the device the courier handed over for her signature.

Colt took advantage of the moment and strode on through to the office he wanted.

* * *

Callie Wade sat cross-legged on her office floor, surrounded by stacks of ceramic tiles and hardwood samples, paint chips, door hardware, and display boards.

If she had chosen the correct combination of colour and design elements, Wade, Warner and Associates would have a million-dollar contract to work with before the end of the afternoon. She stretched her back. An early start to the day already made for a long morning, but she didn’t regret it.

A shift in air pressure heralded the arrival of a solid body in the office doorway. A tentative knock on the frame confirmed it.

Tabs, what part of ‘I don’t want to be disturbed’ did you not get? The words were a mild rebuke, delivered in an even tone. Callie had completed her selections but still wanted solitude to revisit her design choices.

Uh, because I’m not Tabs? a male answered.

The timbre and tone of his voice, a wicked mix of aged bourbon and woodsmoke, slid over her. She shifted her glance sideways and narrowed her eyes at the sight of a pair of square-toed, worn but clean, brown cowboy boots. She continued looking up, taking in a pair of blue denim-covered legs that went up and up some more. She squinted at the size of the oval silver belt buckle in the man’s mid-section, then the red plaid shirt beneath a sheepskin-lined jean-jacket, but the face above it made her inhale sharply.

The last person she would have expected to arrive in her office on any day was a ruggedly attractive individual on, at a guess, the plus side of forty. Releasing her breath one little puff at a time and hoping her visitor didn’t notice her reaction, she uncoiled her long legs and stood up.

No, you’re not, she agreed cordially. I have no appointments this morning, so who are you and why are you here?

The name’s Colt McKeacham.

Really? Callie drew herself up to her full height, conscious of the fact she still had to look up at him. She regarded him coolly, not an easy thing to do when her scrutiny of the man was being returned ten-fold from beneath the broad brim of a black Stetson. His ice-blue eyes, the irises ringed in black, bore into hers with thinly veiled hostility, the reason for which she could not begin to imagine. Yours is not a name I recall from my client list.

Before she could say more, her receptionist rushed in. I’m so sorry, Callie. A courier arrived at the same time as this, she glared furiously at Colt, gentleman did, and he just muscled his way in.

The doors were open. Colt shrugged. There wasn’t much to muscle.

Don’t worry, Tabs. I’d finished anyway. I’ll take care of Mister McKeacham. Callie nodded at the girl, who shot a furious look at Colt and turned on her heel in disgust.

Quite the little spitfire, isn’t she? Colt watched the girl head back to the reception area in the main lobby.

Justifiable, when a person walks in without an appointment, wouldn’t you say?

Can’t say I’m sorry. I don’t have time to waste.

That makes two of us. What exactly can I do for you, Mister McKeacham? Callie moved a mountain of carpet samples from the chair in front of her desk and indicated he should sit down. You have fifteen minutes, twenty tops, to explain. My client is coming in at noon.

Accepting her invitation, Colt swept his hat off and walked towards the chair she offered. He sank his six-foot-plus frame into it, dropping his Stetson and the battered leather briefcase he carried on the floor beside it.

All right, now we’re sitting comfortably, Callie began after taking her plush office chair, you told me your name but not why you are here.

Robert asked me to come.

Robert who? Callie asked.

A frown deepened the lines on Colt’s weathered face even more. His eyebrows bristled like angry beetles, and he looked in no mood for questions. Robert Kane, of course.

Who is Robert Kane, and why should I care?

Whether you care or not is none of my business. But as he’s your grandfather, I hope you do.

Callie’s eyes widened. Her shoulders stiffened as she leaned towards him. My what?

Your grandfather.

Grandfather?

Yes.

She stared at him in disbelief.

Son-of-a-gun. Colt’s stubble-shadowed jaw tightened visibly, and his brows appeared to bristle even more. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. Robert never contacted you? He didn’t telephone or text you? Told you nothing about the Bar K Ranch?

Callie shook her head. I’ve never heard of him or his ranch.

She couldn’t miss the disbelieving glare he focused on her.

This could be awkward, he muttered.

Awkward? Callie’s eyebrows rose as her eyes widened. Well, Mister McKeacham, not that it is any of your business, but to make it clear, I can assure you there is no Robert Kane in my family tree.

Robert told me you were his granddaughter, and I had no reason not to believe him.

Is this a joke? Callie demanded.

Not at all. Why would it be?

Because, Callie hung on to her thin line of patience, I’m telling you I’ve never heard of Robert Kane. I don’t know who he is or why he, or you, would think I was his granddaughter, and I certainly do not appreciate you wasting my time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, this meeting is over.

No, not yet it isn’t. Colt reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph. This is you, isn’t it?

Callie took it from him. Bent at one corner and folded as if to fit into a wallet, she remembered the photograph very well.

It showed her red hair cascading over her left shoulder, leaving the long line of her neck bare. She’d worn a down-home chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, showing off gold cuff bracelets on each wrist. The man with her, Martin Halloran, had hiked up the hem of her sophisticated copper-coloured satin skirt, revealing an underskirt of cream lace, from the folds of which her long, elegant, and well-toned right leg emerged. He had designed the jewelled sandals she wore and which she was showing him. Both of them were laughing.

She flipped the photograph over. Written on the back in faded pencil were the words ‘Callie Wade at Martin Halloran’s.’

This is from Martin’s house-warming party about six years ago. A frown pleated her forehead. He hired us to renovate a heritage home he’d purchased. How did you get this?

Robert gave it to me, Colt spoke as if that explained everything. He told me to use it as his calling card. From the way he talked, I thought he’d already contacted you.

Callie shook her head as she handed him the photograph. I think you’ve had a wasted journey, Mister McKeacham.

First, it’s Colt. His lips pressed into a tight line. Mister McKeacham is my father. Second, Robert wanted you to have this.

He lifted the briefcase and set it on her desk. Callie looked at it for a moment, then at him. Why didn’t he come himself?

He couldn’t. A muscle twitched in Colt’s jaw. I’m here because he’s dead.

Callie drew in a breath and sat back in her chair, gripping the arms until her knuckles turned white. If Robert Kane had been her grandfather, then he would have been her last relative. Fate could not have been crueller.

What happened to him?

Rubbing the back of his head, Colt focused on the tee-shirt she wore. Callie bristled. Had this guy just turned up to waste her time and ogle her?

I guess you’re not partying today, he said finally.

What? Callie, puzzled at the apparent change of subject, looked down at her dishevelled tee and ripped jeans. Oh, I see. No, no partying today, not yet anyway. Just work. I came straight from the barn. Horse riding every morning keeps me grounded.

That figures. Colt nodded at the grass stain on her shirt.

Callie shrugged. If you ride horses, accidents happen.

Yes, they do, Colt agreed. When Robert’s horse, Buddy, turned up at the barn without him, we went looking for him.

He was out horseback riding on his own? How old was he?

Colt iced her again with his blazing, blue-eyed glare. You work the same chores every day of your life, and they become a way of life. His age was no matter, but since you asked, I can tell you, that at eighty-six, he was still strong and healthy enough for a full day’s work.

Callie frowned as she tried to conjure an image of an old working cowboy. What happened?

We’re not sure if the horse reared, or put his foot in a gopher hole, or was startled by a bird. Whichever way it happened, Buddy must have fallen on him.

But don’t you guys carry cell phones? Couldn’t he have called for help?

Colt shook his head. We all have satellite phones, but with a broken leg and crushed ribs when we found him, Robert was in no shape to use it. He was airlifted to hospital but died on the way. I don’t know if this means anything, but when I promised to deliver this briefcase to you, he also asked me to be sure and tell you that he always loved Charmaine.

Charmaine? But⸺but that’s my⸺was, my grandmother, Callie stammered. She was French, originally from Montreal, and lived much of her life in Ontario. For as much as she travelled, I’m sure she never came to British Columbia⸺

Alberta, Colt corrected. The ranch is in Alberta.

Not there either, Callie said firmly. If she ever did come west, she never mentioned it. I don’t understand this.

She shook her head in mute distress, then stood and strode across her office to stand in front of a tall, arched window. The bright promise of the May morning had become a damp maybe, and now Vancouver kept up to its reputation as the wet coast. She rested her forehead against the glass, watching raindrops chase each other down the pane, thinking how well they fit her mood.

After several minutes of contemplation but painfully aware all the time of Colt’s silent figure, she returned to her desk and sat down.

Colt, she began, you must have the wrong Callie Wade. I have no family at all. My parents died when I was nine years old, and my grandmother, Charmaine, took me in. When she passed, that left me as the last of my family line.

If it helps, Robert told me everything you needed to know is in there. Colt nodded towards the briefcase on the desk.

Callie’s fingers drifted over the clasp but before she could open it, a petite woman dressed from head to toe in black, her blonde hair piled on top of her head like a bird’s messy nest, marched into the office.

Callie, I thought you didn’t have any appointments until Gabby Saunders at noon. She eyed Colt warily.

I didn’t. Callie stifled a grin as Colt, unfazed, returned Prue’s stare. Colt McKeacham, meet Prue Warner, my best friend and business partner.

Callie’s introduction was as casual as her partner’s manner was chilly. Colt stood up and offered his hand. Prue tipped back her head as she looked up at him.

My God, you don’t stop, do you? She shook his hand, holding it for a little longer than necessary before turning her attention to Callie, eyeing her up and down. I thought we’d agreed you’d give your ride a miss this morning.

I know we did, but I just had to get my fix. I still made it to the office before you. What gave me away?

Eau de horse. Prue wrinkled her nose. I don’t understand this penchant you have for getting up at the crack of dawn to risk life and limb on a dangerous animal. I swear hooves will be the death of you.

Callie looked a little sheepish. Paradigm’s not dangerous. He’s quite a lamb, but I rode one of the other horses this morning, and it did not like a plastic bag blowing about under its nose. Besides, the crack of dawn, as you put it, is the best part of the day.

Can’t argue with that, Colt agreed.

She should have been a farmer, Prue grumbled, not an interior designer with a client due in half an hour. She tapped her watch as if to emphasize the point.

Don’t worry, Callie soothed, doing her best to settle Prue’s nerves. There’s still time for me to shower and change.

Prue gave a brief nod and turned her attention to Colt. Are you here as a client, Mister McKeacham? If you are, we need to step into reception and make an appointment.

No, Miss Warner, I’m not a client. I came to see Miss Wade on a family matter.

Family? Prue repeated, pushing strands of hair off her face the better to glare at him. Callie has no family. What is this? She looked from Colt to Callie and back again.

Apparently, Callie explained, I have, make that had, a grandfather about whom I knew nothing.

Prue dragged up another chair and sat down, motioning for Colt to sit beside her. How can that be?

I have no idea. Callie rested her hands flat on the desktop.

Well, Ma’am, seems like all your answers are in here. Colt rapped his knuckles on the battered briefcase.

Ohmigawd, you look and sound like a cowboy. Prue continued to scrutinize him.

That would be because I am a cowboy, Ma’am. He drawled the word, Ma’am.

Before Prue could say more, the phone on Callie’s desk rang. She picked it up.

Yes, Tabby, please put her through. Her face creased into a smirk as she glanced at Prue while she listened to her caller. Don’t worry, Gabby. That will be fine. We’ll see you at one o’clock.

Callie glanced again at the clock on her wall. Gabby’s delay gave her a little more time to tidy herself up and prepare her client’s layout. Colt, I’m sorry, but today is not a good day for you to have arrived without an appointment.

Colt nodded his head and unfolded his long body from the chair. I promised Robert I’d get that briefcase to you as soon as I could. Now I have, I don’t need to take up any more of your time. Thanks for seeing me, Miss Wade.

His sure, intimate glance raked over her as if he’d reached across the desk and touched her. Callie’s heart gave an odd little lurch as he nodded goodbye to her, then Prue, and left.

Not much testosterone there, then, Prue murmured.

What? Callie, bemused, still looked at the space Colt so recently vacated, a space that now seemed to fold in on