Reluctant Hero Read online

  The woman was carrying what looked to be a slightly oversize fur ball, or maybe it was just one of those New York rats everyone talked about. Yet, as Whitney drew closer walking to the desk, the rat-looking creature picked up its ears and growled. Dog. Definitely a dog. It probably had one of those stupid names like Fifi or Fredrico. It was funny, but most of their elite guests had a dog just like that one, an accessory to their outfit—but most were cuter than the one this particular woman held.

  “How may I help you folks?” Whitney said, using her practiced service-industry charm.

  “It took you long enough,” the woman said, nearly spitting the words.

  “Dear, I’m sure she was busy,” the man said, patting the woman lightly on the hand and drawing Whitney’s attention to the massive diamond that adorned the woman’s ring finger.

  For a moment she wondered if they had drawn her attention to it on purpose, some well-practiced motion that drew even more attention to their status and wealth. Whitney forced herself to smile just a little bit brighter, but the truth in Montana was simple—no one really cared about how much money anyone had or the number of things a person owned. Respect and honor were only given to those whose character merited such accolades. It was one of the reasons she had picked this state as her home instead of staying in Kentucky.

  “I don’t care if she was busy or not. We have flown halfway around the country to be here. The least she could do is be present when we arrive,” the woman said, continuing her rampage.

  Whitney bit her tongue instead of telling the woman that Dunrovin Ranch was a beautiful and majestic place, but it was a long way from the Four Seasons. If the woman had wanted to be catered to hand and foot, she should have picked a resort that would have done that—and not come to a guest ranch.

  “If you like,” Whitney said, forcing herself to behave, “and are interested in relaxing, there is a spa about ten miles back down the road. I can set up an appointment for you.”

  “Ten miles? Where are we, on the back side of Hell?” The woman glared at her husband, who must have been the one to book their trip.

  The man smiled at Whitney, clearly embarrassed by his wife’s atrocious behavior. “Is there any way we could have the masseuse come here?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Whitney said, though she was fully aware the local masseuse, Jess Lewis, would throw a holy hissy fit at the request. Yet if they gave her a few extra bucks she would quiet down in no time.

  She took down the couple’s names and got them the keys to their room—the nicest private cabin at the ranch, a two-story, nearly three-thousand-square-foot log home with marble and leather everywhere. “Let me know if there’s anything further I can assist you with,” Whitney said, the forced niceties like sand on her tongue.

  “Actually,” the woman said, handing over the rat creature, “I don’t want Francesca to be a bother to me this weekend. I need you to handle her.”

  Whitney balked at the woman as she stuffed the dog into her hands.

  Handle her? The last thing on her long list of duties was dog handler or kennel master. Whitney had work to do. She slowly lowered the dog to the floor behind the desk. “I... Uh...” she stammered.

  “That’s great. Perfect,” the woman continued, clearly not used to her requests being denied no matter how asinine they might have been.

  The man opened the door and waited as his wife pranced out, her stilettos clicking on the floor like the shrill impatient cadence of fingers. Whitney just stared at the computer screen for a moment as she reminded herself these kinds of people played a big part in why she had left her home state, and she took some level of comfort in the fact that they were outsiders and going to leave just as quickly as they came.

  A cold wind kicked up and spilled through the door, whipping dry fragile snowflakes onto the guest book that sat at the side of the desk. She walked over and touched the door. As she looked outside, running toward the entrance of the roundabout driveway was the little rat creature. Its dark fur sat stark against the snow as it sprinted toward freedom. She stood still for a moment, letting it get away. With an owner like hers, the dog deserved to have one go at escaping.

  On the other hand, Whitney would have to answer to said owners, and she could only imagine their response if the dog was actually lost. No matter how softhearted Eloise was, Whitney would probably lose her job, and therefore her room at the ranch. She would have to start all over.

  This dog’s freedom wasn’t worth it.

  What was the dog’s name again? “Fifi!” she called, but the dog didn’t slow down. “Fredrico!” Again, the dog simply kept running. She ran out the door, her cowboy boots thumping on the wooden porch as she made her way to the driveway. “Lassie, come home!” she cried again.

  There was the boom of laughter from behind her. She turned to see Colter watching her. “Did Timmy fall in the well again?”

  “Really?” she scoffed. “If you’re not going to go after the dog, at least you can be quiet.”

  His laughter lightened, but he didn’t stop chuckling. “All right, all right. I’ll come to little Lassie’s rescue. Where did she go?”

  She turned back and looked out at the driveway. A ’90s blue Dodge truck was rumbling down the road toward them.

  “No. Stop!” she screamed at the truck, almost as though the driver could hear her through the closed windows and the crunch of gravel under the tires. The man driving didn’t even seem to see her.

  He barreled down the road. Just as he was about to cross over the steel cattle guard, the little rat creature ran out. It wove in front of the truck, stopping as it stared up at the blue beast careening toward it.

  “No!” Whitney yelled.

  The dog took off running toward the truck. Just as they were about to collide, the dog slipped between the bars of the cattle guard that stretched across the end of the driveway, and disappeared. It wasn’t Timmy or the well, but it looked like they would have to pull off their own version of a rescue.

  Copyright © 2017 by Danica Winters

  ISBN-13: 9781488013164

  Reluctant Hero

  Copyright © 2017 by Debra Webb

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com