Golden Gate Collection Bundle

Experience the gripping tale of redemption and second chances in "Because of You." Wrongly convicted, Abby Martin emerges from prison with her life shattered. Ethan Cooper, the man responsible for her conviction, grapples with remorse and works to help her rebuild. Can they overcome the past and find a brighter future together?

Escape to the untamed beauty of Wyoming in "Mail Order Bride," where Julianna Dawson trades her high-powered career for a shot at love and family. Rancher Blake Reynolds takes a chance on a practical marriage, but will it blossom into something more? Explore the complexities of love and commitment in this emotional journey.

Rediscover lost love in "The Cowboy Comes Home," as Sara and Ethan confront their shared past and the possibility of a second chance. Can they find peace amidst the echoes of tragedy, or will their love be lost to the winds of time?

Join Jenny and Jared in "Jared’s Promise" as they navigate unexpected love and newfound responsibilities. Amidst heartache and uncertainty, will they find solace in each other's arms?

In "The Paper Marriage," Lindsay Donovan enters into a marriage of convenience with wealthy billionaire Luke Winters. But as their charade deepens, will their hearts follow suit?

Uncover secrets and danger in "Trusting Jake" as private investigator Jake Lancaster races against time to protect heiress Kassie Montgomery. Will they unravel the mystery of her past before it's too late?

Immerse yourself in these captivating tales of love, loss, and the power of redemption. Start your journey today!

Mail Order Bride

Prologue

Blake Reynolds crested the hill and reined in his horse. He was bone-tired, cold and hungry. The gelding blew hard in the frigid air, his flanks heaving as he caught his breath. They didn’t have far to go now. They’d beaten the night home.

Blake scanned the horizon, noting with quiet satisfaction that everything was as it should be. He then focused on the house in the distance. The late-afternoon sun gleamed against several windows making it look as if lamps shone in every room. The distance and the waning light hid the disrepair. For an instant he saw the house as it had been twenty years ago–a showplace, gleaming white with dark green trim. Structurally it was still sound. With some repairs, cosmetic work, a new coat of paint, it could become a showplace again.

Only–who had the time or the money?

“Blast the old witch,” he muttered. For what had to be the millionth time, he cursed the old woman who still manipulated people from beyond the grave. This land was his by blood and heritage, but not in the eyes of the law. She’d seen to that.

He’d never forget his shock after his father died, when he’d learned that the title to the ranch, a ranch he’d thought would be his, had remained with Elsa Reynolds–his father’s mother. And she wanted nothing to do with her only grandson.

His bitterness had festered over the years. He’d returned to Texas immediately after his father’s funeral and sworn he would never return to Wyoming. He’d meant it at the time, but life had intervened.

He hadn’t moved back, however, until he heard of Elsa’s death–and the blasted terms of her will.

He swore again, anger flaring at the thought of Elsa and her egregious conditions. For months he’d insisted he would not be dictated to, would not follow her directive.

But back working the range his father’s family had first settled five generations ago, he’d gradually felt his bond with the land strengthen. Now the longing for continuity was strong. He wanted to reverse the decay and return the spread to its former standing.

And he had to admit that he’d love to thumb his nose at Elsa’s dire predictions that he’d never succeed and achieve the outlandish goal she’d set.

What vindictiveness had made the old woman ignore the ranch for the dozen years since his father’s death? Revenge against her son’s one act of defiance years before? His father had died trying his best to do what she’d wanted.

Now Blake and Shell and the two hired hands worked from sunup to sundown. For more than eleven months they’d fought a hard battle. Slowly things were turning around. If no catastrophic losses occurred during the winter, he’d have a fighting chance come spring to pull out of the morass.

Had he waited too long, though? Stubborn pride in refusing to knuckle down to Elsa’s outlandish codicil was one thing, but holding on to some righteous principle just to be ornery was foolish.

He calculated the time remaining as he urged his mount forward. He knew he’d cut it close. He’d delayed until he had barely a few weeks over a year remaining of the original two in which to marry and produce a child.

“The old witch,” he said again. She’d suspected the draw of the land would override his anger. The urge to do his best to comply with her challenge grew as the time to do so shortened. He finally realized he was not going to let his principles override good sense. He wanted this ranch. It should have been his the day his father died.

Blake walked the horse down the slope and toward the barn. The sun slipped behind the mountain peaks and the landscape quickly faded into indiscriminate gray. A string of lights came on in the barn. Shell, probably. The boy worked hard.

Blake sighed. Another insurmountable problem. He didn’t know what to do about the kid.

The man.

He had a difficult time dealing with the fact that his son was grown, especially since he’d only learned of his existence six years ago when Shell turned fifteen.

Was resentfulness a family curse?

Shell resented Blake almost as much as Blake resented Elsa.

When Shelly Bluefeather had died unexpectedly of appendicitis, Blake had been stunned to discover they’d created a child together before he’d left Sweetwater immediately after his high-school graduation. She’d never told him.

When she was dying, however, she’d told their boy his father’s name. When Blake showed up at her funeral, he’d been met by his angry son. Bitter at the neglect from his father, raging against his mother’s death, he’d scarcely spoken to Blake.

Yet Shell had gone with Blake back to Texas to the Bar-XT Ranch, which Blake was managing at the time. When Blake had moved back to Wyoming last fall, Shell had come with him.

Their relationship had improved since the day Blake had first met his son, but he suspected they’d never be close.

Blake was aware that part of Shell’s continued hostility stemmed from the terms of his great-grandmother’s will. Elsa Harrington Reynolds had refused to acknowledge the illegitimate offspring of her only grandson.

Join the club, kid, he thought. She’d barely acknowledged her grandson when she’d been alive.

He wished he knew how to heal the breach. The kid had a way with cattle. And he could calm a rambunctious horse like no one Blake had ever seen.

What would happen if they lost the ranch? Would their tenuous tie be severed? Blake could always get a job back in Texas, but would Shell go back with him this time?

Blake rode into the barn, the overhead light bright after the waning daylight. The sweet smell of hay filled the air. A light in the tack room indicated Shell’s location. Blake checked his watch. There was a half hour left before supper. He’d brush his horse and feed him, then squeeze in a quick shower.

After dinner, he’d tackle the books again, chipping away at accounts until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Never his favorite pastime, he kept it up, needing to know at all times where they stood. The bank held the title in escrow and had refused any more loans. Credit was stretched wire-thin. No one wanted to spring for more until it was certain he’d inherit the place and could turn a profit.

He regretted not having the office staff he’d had at the Bar-XT and the computer programs that made every aspect of a ranch–from stock to feed to tack–easy to track. But money was too tight, and there were more pressing needs.

“Fence okay?” Shell came to the door of the tack room, a rag in one hand. His hat was pulled low over his forehead, shading his eyes.

“Two sections were pulled loose. I fixed one. We need more wire for the other. It’s about a mile down from where the creek bends.”

Blake dismounted. He felt stiff. Another sign of growing old, that and the regrets for decisions made in the unchangeable past.

He thought back to his rodeo days–riding, roping, throwing steers and partying well into the night, raring to go again the next morning. Now he was glad to get off the horse at the end of ten or twelve hours and sit in a comfortable chair.

“I’ll get Nolan to repair it tomorrow,” he said, hitching the gelding to a rail. “Did Hank take care of the tally in the far pasture?”

“Yeah, all accounted for,” Shell replied. “If we don’t lose many head this winter, we should have a good count of calves come spring. Loni said dinner will be ready at seven-thirty tonight. She’s running late. She went into town today to see the doctor again.” His voice remained neutral.

Blake nodded, wondering if the kid would ever warm up. “Everything okay with her?” He pulled the saddle off the horse and slung it on a stand.

Shell shrugged. “She wouldn’t tell me if it wasn’t.”

Blake paused and looked at Shell. He wished he could change the course of the world, could do something to make things come right for his son.

Loni Peterson was eight months pregnant with Shell’s baby, but refused to marry him. Shell was crazy about the young woman, but she insisted she was too young to be tied down. Accepting the job as cook at the ranch had been as close as she’d come to accepting any support from Shell. And that had become necessary only because her own folks kicked her out after discovering she was pregnant by a Native American–a half-breed, they called him.

Some prejudices died hard in Wyoming.

Blake turned back to the horse, picked up the brush and began the familiar grooming tasks. Nothing he could do about anything right now. He couldn’t seem to get his own life under control, how could he help his son?

“She got the mail in town,” Shell said a few moments later. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, idly watching his father tend to the horse.

“More bills, I’m sure.”

Blake led the horse to its stall, checking to see that the manger was full. He slapped the gelding’s rump as the horse headed for the feed trough.

He was closing the stall door when Shell added, “Yeah. And there was a postcard from that woman who plans to marry you. She’ll be here tomorrow.”