Granting katelyn, p.1
Granting Katelyn, page 1
Granting Katelyn
The Sweet Valley Series
Book Two
S.E. Reichert
Contents
Acknowledgments
Other Titles by
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Rate and Review
Meet The Author
Other Titles from
Copyright © 2022 by S.E. Reichert, GRANTING KATELYN
All rights reserved. Smashwords Edition
This is a fictional work. The names, characters, incidents, and locations are solely the concepts and products of the author’s imagination, or are used to create a fictitious story and should not be construed as real. 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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by 5 PRINCE PUBLISHING & BOOKS, LLC
PO Box 865, Arvada, CO 80001
www.5PrinceBooks.com
ISBN digital: 978-1-63112-319-1
ISBN print: 978-1-63112-320-7
Cover Credit: Marianne Nowicki
F07172023
For my girls.
May you always be strong and loved.
May you always know the difference
between being admired,
and being valued.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my family and my amazing daughters, the brightest, funniest, most complicated and kind people I know. You’ve taught me so much about love and patience, and embody the kind of lead characters I want to see in the world. This life won’t ever be easy, but I hope you navigate it with strength, grace, and the kind of self-worth, all women should carry. I will always have your back.
To my local writing group (Writing Heights) and your supportive and inspiring members. You are the resource that made me a better writer and gave me the courage, confidence and skill to make it this far.
To Rebecca Schwab-Cuthbert: You’ve encouraged me through some of the darkest nights of my soul and I wouldn’t be able to do this writing thing, or this living thing, without your friendship.
To my beta readers, Misty, Kristine, Heather, Lucinda, Jean, Heidi, and Jessie; thank you for taking the time to read and give me feedback. You make a better book and you help make me a better writer.
Thank you to the fantastic team at 5 Prince Publishing. To Bernadette Soehner who has given me warmth, laughter, opportunities and encouragement since the first day I met her. To Cate Byers who takes my rough work and makes it so much better, with a level of talent and kindness that is unparalleled. I am so grateful for your support and help.
To all my readers, thanks for continually picking up these books. Thank you for sticking with the characters and for believing in their happily ever afters. May we all find a little of the same for ourselves.
Other Titles by
S.E. Reichert
Sweet Valley Series
Raising Elle
Granting Katelyn
Composing Laney
Stand Alone Titles
Back to the 80s
One
The sun was hotter than hellfire on her dust and sweat-covered skin. Muscles in her shoulders tensed as she tightened her core and narrowed her eyes on the target ahead. The angry bull charged the group of riders and Katelyn Sullivan dug her heels into Dakota’s sides, her hips nudging effortlessly and thighs contracting as they flew, one being, over the expansive field. Dakota’s nimble and honed muscles responded to Katelyn as if the same neurological impulses were shared between them. The bull dodged right, Dakota anticipated, and responded. It swerved left and tripped in the rush to evade horse and rider, then turned a semicircle around a clump of sagebrush.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Katelyn growled. “Go get ‘im!” She took the rope into her calloused right hand. The thunder of the bull’s hoofs against the clay-packed ground shook through and across the field, and Katelyn leaned into the chase, raising her hand above her head while guiding Dakota with the other. The loop began large and easy, as Katelyn slowed her breathing and focused on the twin tips of the horns ahead. While the world sped by at a breakneck pace, it faded in Katelyn’s brain, and her focus narrowed.
“Ease up, babe,” she spoke softly in the palomino’s ears. The mare was attuned to her voice. The bull cantered to the right, as Katelyn anticipated it might, to avoid the approaching fence line, and her nimble fingers tightened the loop and sent it through the dusty air with a whispering hiss. It ringed around the bull’s right horn, and before the slack could disappear and cost her a finger, Katelyn wrapped the end around her saddle horn and pulled Dakota up with a lean back and a soft “Whoa.” Without taking the bull to the ground, and gently turning its head in the direction she wanted it to go, she safely secured it to Dakota and led it back to the open fence, where it had come over to romance the heifers of Bar Nunn’s only-for-show herd.
“Wow!” one of Bar Nunn’s guests gasped, mouth hanging open. “Does she work for you?”
The hired hand being asked could barely keep his own horse from bolting at the excitement.
“Uh, no.”
“Make that, hell no,” Katelyn said as she passed by and tipped up the bill of her ball cap to the yaw-mouthed male guides as she passed. “Ladies.”
“Who is that?” a man at the back asked tersely.
Another guide at the back of the group chimed in. “Katelyn Sullivan. All-state barrel racing champ.”
“Sullivan? Like the baked goods they deliver to the resort?”
“That would be her sister, Elle.”
“Quite the horsewoman,” the terse man said and watched her pass by the group, spine straight and riding just as effortlessly as if she’d been born on the horse’s back. He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of her from the minute she’d jumped the palomino over the fence and taken after the bull upon hearing the guest’s screams from one field over. She certainly was a take-charge type.
“She’s also an equine therapist. She’s worked with a couple of our own,” the guide remarked as his agitated horse tried to follow Katelyn. “Including this one,” he grunted.
“His name’s Otis, Joey, and if you’d take a minute to actually get to know your horse, he might do what you want him to,” Katelyn grouched as she passed by. “I’ll send you a bill for my services,” she called over her shoulder and escorted the bull back to Garrett’s ranch down the road.
“Therapist, huh?” The interested older man watched her go and committed her name to his sharp memory.
“She’s good with horses, but a bit crass,” the first guide sneered.
“You mean she doesn’t put up with bullshit?” the man said. “I need to speak to that young lady,” he whispered to his wife. “I think a mutual friend of ours could use her help.”
“Maybe even help his horse, too.” His wife wiggled her eyebrows.
Katelyn May Sullivan hoisted the western saddle up and onto the fence with little difficulty. She wiped the sweat from her neck, just below her ponytail, and looked out over the cottonwoods into the setting sun. It grazed the bright green shuddering of leaves and left semicircles of shadows at her feet.
“That was some decent riding,” came an older man’s voice from behind.
Katelyn turned to the couple approaching the small paddock at the back of her parents’ house. She recognized them from the Bar Nunn group this afternoon and eyed them with caution.
“It was all right. Nothing that any decent rider couldn’t have been able to handle. Sorry you didn’t have better examples with your ‘dudes’.” She turned to wipe the saddle down.
“I’m Jim Parsons and this is my wife, Sharon.”
Sharon nudged in front of him. “That was the best thing I’ve seen all week,” she said and held out her hand. “Should have seen their chins hit the dirt when you roped it in a single throw. Serves them right.” Katelyn took her hand with renewed interest and a warmer smile. “Many moons ago, I won Sheridan County Fair in calf roping.”
“I bet you did, Sharon,” Katelyn said. Jim cleared his throat and Katelyn turned to shake his as well.
“What can I do for you two? I assume you don’t need real riding lessons.” She smiled. Jim put his hands on his hips and Katelyn felt like she was about to get roped into something herself.
“I hear you’re an excellent equine therapist as well as a helluva barrel racer.”
“My reputation might have been exaggerated.”
“Humble is fine too,” he said, and nodded. “I have a proposition for you.”
Katelyn looked across the paddock to the small stables where Dakota had finished her dirt bath and was now swishing her long blonde tail at the water trough. When Jim didn’t go on, she turned back to look at him.
“I’m afraid to ask what that might be,” Katelyn said, disliking the hanging question in his voice. Sharon si ghed, threaded her fingers together, and leveled her eyes on Katelyn.
“Have you ever heard of Tennyson Stables? The horse racing facility in North Carolina? Ian Tennyson owns one of the most promising bloodlines of thoroughbreds in America.”
Katelyn leaned back on the fence, took off her gloves, and tucked them in her back pocket. She looked back to the burly and hardworking quarters her family had bred. A long way from the best thoroughbreds in America.
“Can’t say as I’ve heard of them.” Truth be told, that world clashed with the ideals of her heart. She’d seen too many case studies of racehorses and the damage done to their bodies for the sake of a payout.
“Grant Tennyson, Ian’s son, is a friend of mine. When he came over from the UK about ten years ago, it was his first experience with that kind of work. I helped him get Tennyson Stables up and running. He’s managing the facility himself now.” Katelyn could read the slight change of tension in Jim’s voice.
“Okay?”
“But he’s had a rough go of it lately, especially with their breeding program.”
“So—what’s the problem, exactly?”
Jim smiled and leaned on the pole fence next to her, studying Dakota. “Well, it’s their prize stallion, Hugh Dancy McFinnegan O’Shea.”
Katelyn snorted. “Jesus, that’s a hell of a name.”
“Yeah, pompous, I know,” Jim said.
“So? What happened to McFinnegan Sir Prance-A-Lot?”
Sharon stifled a chuckle. “Hugh was in an accident last fall and he’s not performing as he should be.”
“Well, that I’m sorry to hear,” Katelyn said. “Surgery?”
“They flew in the finest equine surgeons they could find and, initially, it went well, but he’s not responding to the recovery program.” Katelyn watched Jim’s body language. He seemed reserved, holding back the whole truth.
“Surely Tennyson can find a closer and more experienced therapist—”
“Well,” Sharon interjected, “Grant is a—” She cleared her throat and looked out into the red-soil paddock.
“What?” Katelyn scowled.
“Grant isn’t good with people. He’s fired most of the therapists assigned to Hugh.”
“Uh…golly, that sure sounds like a fun job. I don’t think I’d be a good fit.”
“That’s just it,” Sharon interrupted. “Jim and I, after seeing you ride and deal with the ranch hands this afternoon? Well, we both think you might be exactly the right person for the job.”
Katelyn looked at Sharon sideways. “On account of my charming personality?”
“On account of you seem like someone who doesn’t put up with bullshit, and this job requires a bit of fearlessness.”
Katelyn didn’t respond. She sighed with a troubled scowl set between her brows. Her brain turned the idea around and around in her head. She liked a challenge. She didn’t put up with bullshit. And lost causes were a specialty of the Sullivan clan, her father had always said.
“What kind of injury?” she asked.
“He took a bad fall. Down an embankment. He was being pushed too hard over rocky terrain. Pulled a tendon in his chest, tore ligaments in his forefoot.”
Katelyn nodded and thought. “I’ve seen something like that before, when I was younger. We had a gelding, Sal, who fell down a creek embankment. My grandma Em was able to help him recuperate nearly altogether.”
“So, you think there’s a chance Hugh could make a full recovery?” Jim asked.
Katelyn sighed. Thoughts of helping her dad bring in the summer hay and working with this year’s foals fell away while the chance to work with a thoroughbred and help free it from pain and immobility pushed them aside. The added bonus of working in a new place, with high-end stables, no doubt a beautiful arena, and getting out of Sweet Valley for a spell, did its own work on her stir-crazy brain.
“Could be,” she whispered.
“Great! I’ll make a few calls this evening and have it arranged,” Sharon said resolutely and shook Katelyn’s hand again.
“Uh, oh—okay?” Katelyn stuttered. “Is this Grant guy gonna be upset if I just show up?” Katelyn asked. Jim smiled a charming grin and winked.
“Don’t worry, Miss Sullivan. I don’t think he’ll stand a chance.”
“Well, I don’t know what that means.”
Sharon smiled, and a slight blush rose in her cheeks, flashing her mischievous blue eyes. “I’m sure he’ll love you.”
“Uh—I’m not very—loveable,” Katelyn said awkwardly.
Jim and Sharon laughed together, and Jim gave her one of his cards.
“We’ll be in touch.”
They walked away, hand in hand, and whispering excitedly to one another. Katelyn sighed. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look.
Two
Grant woke, cold from sweat and fists swinging into the empty air. His muscles shook the bed springs beneath him when he sat up against the sharp memories, still vivid in his brain. He could hear Hugh’s echoing, terrifying scream, as though he knew he would die, but lacked the power to stop the fall. Dazed, Grant looked down over the side of the ostentatious bed for the horse that had fallen into the ravine; for the woman he had tried to get back to.
He gasped and ran his hands through his hair. With no longer the body of a young lad, his once-dislocated shoulder ached at the memory. His left leg throbbed where the femur had suffered such unforgivable damage. Grant willed the muscle to stop seizing beneath the scar. A knock at his door focused reality. Jeffers, the old, graying butler, peeked his haphazard-haired head in through the doorway with a night lamp.
“Are you all right, sir?” he said in his stoic British voice. The hint of concern made Grant shy away, just as with any warmth.
“O’ course I am. Wha wouldna be?” Despite having lived in America for the last ten years, shades of his childhood Scottish burr filtered in through the weakness of fatigue and fear. Jeffers stepped into the room in his plaid bathrobe and gave him a knowing once-over. Jeffers had been present for many of his sleepless nights, from boyhood on.
“I heard screaming, sir. That is to say, you were screaming.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jeffers. Old age has made you delusional. Get out, before I call the hospital and have you committed for senility,” he said harshly, the cultured sound of his years in English boarding schools reasserting itself into his voice. Jeffers frowned.
“As you wish it, sir,” he rolled his eyes with a nod and turned to leave. “Shall I wake you somewhat later than normal?” he said, turning at the door as the thought occurred to him.
“What? No, don’t wake me at all. I’ll get up myself.” Grant said, a toddler in the throes of asserting his independence whilst trapped in the sizable man of forty-two.
“As you wish, sir.” Jeffers smiled, as he might with a toddler and left. The silence that followed the click of the door startled Grant, and for an instant he felt the same sadness he always had as a child when Jeffers would leave his room. That empty and crushing sense of darkness surrounding him. Being all alone.
“Fool. You’ve always been better off alone. Always,” he argued, throwing himself back into bed and forcing his eyes closed. He hoped he wouldn’t hear the horse scream again. Hoped he wouldn’t hear his mother cry, or the beep of hospital machinery that failed to keep her alive, or the million other rotten memories that surfaced in the dark nights he spent alone.
“I dinna…” he yawned and tears escaped the corners of his eyes, “…need anyone.” Exhaustion fell heavy and silenced his protest. He imagined fingers through his brown, softly curled hair, gently lulling him to sleep. So little comfort was left in his life, that he didn’t apply his overriding sense of reason to stop them.
