Treasured in Tennessee

  Treasured in Tennesse

  At the Altar Book 15

  Kirsten Osbourne

  Unlimited Dreams

  Copyright © 2018 by Kirsten Osbourne

  Unlimited Dreams Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Erin Dameron Hill/ EDH Graphics

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

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

  Kirsten Osbourne

  Visit my website at www.kirstenandmorganna.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  Also by Kirsten Osbourne

  One

  Brodie Callahan pushed his hat back and wiped sweat of out his eyes with a thickly muscled, tanned forearm. The sun beat down on his shoulders, and he almost felt roasted through the thin, faded cotton of his button-down shirt. Because of the unusually dry South Dakota summer, though, the cattle at the Circle G needed some supplemental feed. The grazing these days was hit and miss, with the fields full of hard-baked dirt and scraggly, burnt grass. He couldn’t wait to get back to the bunkhouse, where the ranch cook, Mrs. Hollis, would have some ice-cold lemonade waiting. Swinging another bale of straw from the bed of the pickup truck, he wondered what early October was like in eastern Tennessee.

  As he bumped the truck over the rutted gravel and dirt drive of the truck lot, he saw a black BMW station wagon parked by the main house. Ryder and Willa must be back from their trip to town. He knew that they’d taken their little one, Raven, in for her one-month checkup. He also knew that their fridge was probably stocked with a pitcher of Mrs. Hollis’s lemonade and that Raven was a lot cuter and more fun to hang out with than the ranch hands. Changing directions, he pulled the truck up behind their car.

  He knocked at the back door. Willa hollered at him to come in, and he did—wiping his dusty boots on the mat first. Mrs. Hollis did the housekeeping at the main house, too, and he liked to stay on her good side. He swore she had the boot sizes of every male on the property memorized. She never failed to know exactly who tracked mud in on her clean floors.

  Ryder and Willa were in the living room, along with a wailing infant with a shock of dark hair, tucked into a car seat that was perched on the coffee table. “I’ll take her,” he said happily, heading back to the kitchen to wash up first.

  Seconds after the warm, fragrant bundle of baby was set in his arms, she stopped crying, blinking up at him with the bluish-colored eyes so common to newborns. “How you doing, sweet pea?” he crooned.

  “Uncle Brodie,” Willa sighed, falling back on the couch and pushing her long black hair out of her eyes, “Will you come live with us and be our nanny?”

  “He can’t help it if he’s a horse whisperer and a baby whisperer.” Ryder laughed. His friend was smiling, but Brodie could tell he was exhausted from the sleepless nights the couple had been experiencing. He didn’t want to have to break the news to them, especially now, but it had to be done.

  He looked down at tiny Raven, half-hoping she’d start bawling again and give him an excuse to put off the conversation. She was no help. She’d fallen asleep, her little rosebud mouth puckered and long lashes sweeping over her cheeks. He felt a tug in his heart.

  Before he could speak, he saw Willa eying him. “You’ve got it, don’t you?”

  “Got what?” he asked, bewildered.

  “Baby fever.”

  Brodie shook his head automatically, looking toward Ryder. “No way,” he laughed. “I’m just good with ladies of all ages.”

  “Good for putting them to sleep?” Ryder grinned. “C’mon, just admit it. You’re scared of the idea of putting yourself on the marriage market. You want Dr. Lachele’s number, don’t you?”

  “I have no trouble meeting women, thank you very much.” Brodie narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. “Besides, are you guys trying to marry me off? You looking for another foreman? Trying to get rid of me? And isn’t Dr. Lachele that little lady in purple that hooked you two up at the altar?”

  “You know very well who Dr. Lachele is. You met her when she came here for my interview. Remember? She called you one of the cutest cowboys she’d ever seen.” Willa, his boss and friend for the last sixteen years, shook her head sadly and smiled at him. “You know you want to settle down, Brodie. You’re a little past thirty now, aren’t you? Not getting any younger,” she teased. “We knew we wouldn’t be able to keep you here with us forever.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted, nuzzling Raven’s sweet-smelling hair. “It’s time to move on. I’d like to get my own little place. Raise some horses. Maybe raise some babies, too.”

  “Well,” Ryder said, “I suppose if you want those babies, you’re going to have to find a wife first. You’ll need this.”

  He pulled a dog-eared business card from his wallet and handed it to Brodie. Across the front of the card, Matchrimony was scrolled in elegant purple letters. Still cradling the baby in one arm, he looked at the card and took a deep breath. He was nervous but felt a jolt of excitement at the thought of finally finding the perfect mate. He had no doubt in the matchmaker’s abilities—he only had to look at Willa and Ryder to see that she knew her business.

  “I guess I have a phone call to make, then.” He carefully handed Raven over to Ryder, who winced and took the small bundle as gingerly as if Brodie had handed him a suitcase full of dynamite. Two seconds later, Raven was awake and screaming her displeasure to the world.

  “Reconsider the nanny thing, won’t you?” Willa groaned as Brodie shrugged apologetically and headed for the back door, already pulling his cell phone out of his pocket before he could give himself time to reconsider. He headed for the barn and up the stairs to his foreman’s office in the loft. This was a phone call he didn’t want overheard by the other guys. They’d tease him mercilessly.

  With the door shut firmly and a cold can of Coke from the mini-fridge in front of him, he dialed the New York phone number with a finger that shook only slightly. Two rings later, a cheerful voice sang out: “You’ve reached Matchrimony, Dr. Lachele speaking. How can I help you?”

  Brodie cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I’m not sure if you’ll remember me, but I’m Brodie Callahan, the foreman at the Circle G Ranch. Willa and Ryder—”

  Dr. Lachele cut him off with a silvery-sounding giggle. “Oh, Brodie, of course I remember you! You’re the tall, handsome cowboy with a little bit of a Paul Newman look about you, especially with those blue eyes. How could I forget?”

  Brodie had flirted with his fair share of women, but he felt himself blushing. Before he could think of a response to her outrageous comments, though, she continued. “Are you going to be my newest client? Please tell me yes, so I can come out there and visit my newest Matchrimony Munchkin while I interview you?”

  “Munchkin? Oh, you must mean Willa’s daughter, Raven. I haven’t asked, but I’m sure Willa wouldn’t mind having you stay in the main house for a couple of days. Raven’s a bit of a handful, and I’m sure she and Ryder would probably appreciate the
distraction. I should ask her first, though—”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Dr. Lachele said. “I’ll call her right now and tell her that I’ll be there for a boobie bump as soon as I can book a flight. See you soon!”

  Brodie was left staring at the phone in his hand, wondering what in the world a boobie bump was.

  Emily Murphy danced into the lobby of her apartment building, high-fiving the elderly doorman on her way. “Good morning, Miz Murphy,” he laughed. “What’s got you so chipper today?”

  Emily pushed back her curly red hair and grinned back at the doorman. “William, today is the best day of my life.”

  “I thought last Tuesday was the best day of your life, when you got that new job as a yoga instructor. Or was it the Friday before when you thought you met Oprah on the subway?” He scratched his grizzled chin thoughtfully, his eyes twinkling.

  She waved off his teasing good-naturedly. “No way, nothing tops this,” Emily shot back, bouncing on her toes in excitement. “A friend of mine that has a catering business got me a waitressing gig for one of the swankiest parties in New York.” She lowered her voice and raised her eyebrows dramatically, her green eyes gleaming. “You’ll never guess whose throwing it. Taylor Swift.”

  William squinted. “Taylor who? Never heard of him.”

  “She’s a singer! Huge celebrity. I’m going to meet her, probably, and be rubbing elbows with all kinds of famous people. Plus, I’m going to make more in one night than I would in a month of teaching yoga. Maybe I’ll even get a chance to talk to her and convince her that my boss’s yoga studio is the place to be, and next thing you know, all the uber-famous people will be lining up outside to get in.”

  “You sure do get some big ideas, Miz Emily.” William chuckled.

  “Play your cards right, William.” She winked. “And I might just bring you rich people leftovers from the buffet.”

  Emily spun around and continued to boogie across the shabby lobby toward the elevator.

  “Wait!” William called after her. “I almost forgot to tell you—a certified letter came for you!”

  “Probably a bill collector.” She shrugged, darting back to take the envelope. “They sure are persistent. See you later!” She hit the button for the rickety old elevator and tapped her foot, singing one of Taylor Swift’s songs in a clear, sweet soprano that surprised William. He’d never heard her sing before. He shook his head and smiled. Having Emily Murphy around sure did brighten his days, and it seemed like nothing could dim the shine that she carried with her.

  Emily glanced at the label on the overnight envelope in the elevator, wincing. Fulsome, Pickett, and Clive. Sounded like either a Seventies band or a law firm. She stepped out into the hallway, trying to remember the last time she’d paid her credit card bill. She’d just been so busy lately. Unlocking her door, she cautiously hit the light switch. The overhead bulb came on, lighting the entryway, and she let out a relieved breath. She must’ve remembered to pay her electric bill, anyway, and thank God for small miracles.

  Tossing her keys into the empty fruit bowl on her tiny kitchen table, she pulled back the tab that sealed the envelope. Pulling out a single sheet of paper, she read, “Dear Ms. Murphy, we regret to inform you . . .” Suddenly, Emily’s knees were too weak to hold her up and she sank into a chair at the table. Taylor Swift and credit card bills were immediately forgotten.

  Her sister, Faith, who had run away from their foster home when she was sixteen and Emily was only fourteen, had died. Emily hadn’t seen or heard from her in all the years since, but Faith had left her something. A ten-year-old son named Alec.

  Brodie hadn’t been given any time to regret or even reflect over his decision to call Matchrimony. The following two days, he’d started putting the word out in the Deadwood area that the Circle G was looking for a new foreman, and he and Ryder had already interviewed three people for the job. The third candidate, a woman named Leilah, ended up being perfect for the position, and pending a background check and some follow up on references, it looked like Brodie had already found a replacement. Then, true to her word, Dr. Lachele arrived only a day after that.

  Brodie offered to drive to the airport and pick her up, but he was vetoed by Willa, who insisted on meeting Lachele herself. Privately, Brodie figured she just wanted a quiet two hours in the car with no screaming baby. So, feeling sorry for Ryder, he spent the afternoon holding the peaceful, sleeping infant, while Ryder Googled properties with barns and acreage in eastern Tennessee.

  “Why Tennessee?” Ryder asked curiously, looking up from his laptop screen.

  “That’s horse country, my friend,” Brodie responded. “Some of the best horses in the world are bred in that region. Plus, there are mountains. It’s pretty there.”

  “Well, how about this one?” Ryder asked. “‘Beautiful historic home on 50 acres near Wolf Creek, Tennessee. Mountain views and well-kept barns and outbuildings. Private setting only a few miles from grocery stores, restaurants, and nightlife.’”

  “Sounds nice. How much?”

  “Rock bottom price of two hundred thousand. How much do you have in your piggy bank?”

  “Well, I live pretty cheaply, and I’ve been saving for the last decade. I’m not rich, but I could swing something like that. Let me see the picture.” Brodie leaned over, and Ryder turned the computer screen toward him.

  Brodie whistled softly. “Now that’s a pretty place.” The house itself looked like something out of an old photograph, beautiful and stately in brick. Even though the picture was a little grainy, he could make out turrets and gables and big bay windows, and though the grounds were overgrown, he saw blossoming fruit trees. But the house wasn’t as important as the barns. Thankfully, those pictures were a bit clearer, and he grew more and more convinced that this was his dream property the further Ryder scrolled through the pictures. Picturesque views, neat, white-fenced fields, mountain streams winding through tumbled boulders the size of small cars. The three small barns looked old but clean, sturdy, and freshly painted.

  “I want it.”

  “Maybe you could fly out—” Ryder began, but Brodie was already shaking his head.

  “Nope. That place is mine.”

  Ryder looked like he was about to argue, but they heard the front door open. “Bring me my Munchkin baby!” a sweet voice demanded.

  Raven’s eyes flew open wide at the sudden noise, and she screwed up her little face to cry, but in the next moment, she was being scooped up by a woman with a sweet pixie-like face and a vivid purple dress that echoed the color of her hair. Instead, the baby just looked amazed. As the adults watched, Raven’s pudgy cheeks dimpled, her eyes scrunched up, and she gifted the matchmaker with her very first smile.

  Dr. Lachele just nodded in satisfaction. “That’s my precious girl,” she cooed. “Now,” she said, turning her attention to Brodie. “We’ll let the new parents go have a night out, and you and I will get down to brass tacks.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Willa and Ryder were pushed briskly out the front door with instructions to go watch a movie and get some pizza, and Lachele, Brodie, and Raven were comfortably settled into the living room with glasses of lemonade and a bottle of formula, respectively.

  “Mr. Handsome Cowboy.” Dr. Lachele grinned. “I’m going to need you to tell me all about yourself.”

  Emily was at her wits’ end, pacing a rut in front of the big windows at the airport that looked out over the tarmac. It had been three days since she had discovered that she was not only an aunt, but also going to be a surrogate mother, and her usual optimism and cheerful attitude seemed to have deserted her. Any second now, a tiny human being would walk into the terminal, and she, Emily Murphy, a twenty-six-year-old yoga instructor slash dancer slash singer slash receptionist slash dog walker, a woman who couldn’t even keep track of her bills or remember to eat a salad once in a while, would be responsible for raising him. She’d called friends for advice, but none of them had kids, and none of them see
med interested in hanging out and helping to sort through the problems of someone who suddenly did.

  Her first thought as Alec came into view was that her ten-year-old nephew wasn’t a tiny human being. His shoulders were slumped as he shuffled along, looking at his shoes, but he still had to be a few inches taller than Emily’s own five foot three. She knew he was her nephew immediately. Her throat squeezed as she recognized the exact same shade of her sister’s reddish-brown hair on this thin, awkward-looking boy. He looked up, hesitantly, and tears came to her eyes. Alec had the same fair skin and gray eyes as Faith. Emily held up the poster board she’d scrawled his name on a little bit higher to get his attention, and without changing expression, he headed her way.

  Emily was a natural hugger, but Alec was not. She squeezed him tight, trying to sniffle back tears, but he held himself stiffly, and she let him go, so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

  “Hey, kiddo,” she said softly, looking him over. “I’m your aunt. You can call me Emily, or Em if you want.”

  He didn’t look up or say anything, just shuffled those big feet of his in their scuffed tennis shoes. Emily felt dizzy for a second. When he grew out of those shoes—probably sometime in the next five minutes—she was going to need to buy him more. That’s what moms did.

  “You want to go grab some lunch? How long is the flight from Florida anyway?” He still didn’t answer, but she hooked her arm through his skinny one and tugged him along beside her, chattering determinedly. “Have you been to a big city before? New York is one of the most exciting cities ever. So many tall buildings, people everywhere.” She darted a glance at her nephew, to see if he was impressed, but he looked more scared than anything. His gray eyes were wide and fearful as he tried to take it all in, and a smattering of freckles across his nose stood out on his pale face.