Debra Chapoton's Blog

Chapter 1

T

HE WIND CUT sharplyacross the Texas hills, snapping the prayer clean out of Chance Grant’s mouth.

Hestood at the split-rail fence, boots sinking into thawing mud, the old ranchspread before him like both a promise and a punishment. Double Grace Ranch—hisfather’s dream, now his responsibility—stretched wide against a sky paintedwith the last pale brushstrokes of dawn. The barns needed fresh paint. The fencessagged. The horses in the pastures were pathetic examples of equine flesh.

Everyboard, every post, every acre whispered the same thing: Don’t fail us.

Chancegripped the fence rail until his knuckles ached. It was easier to feel the woodcut into his palm than to let memory cut into his heart. The sound of breakingtimbers. His father’s shout. The silence after. If Chance had been quicker,smarter, braver, then Pa would still be here.

Nowit was up to him to hold the line, to keep his brothers from tearing the ranchapart and to prove that Double Grace could survive the debt, the droughts, andthe dispute with cousin Glen.

Theranch dog trotted up, tail wagging, breaking his brooding. Chance crouched andscratched the mottled fur behind the animal’s ears. “Guess it’s you and me, Shep.And my feisty brothers, I suppose. The world doesn’t stop for grief, does it?”

Thesound of an incoming vehicle drew his gaze toward the main drive. A batteredSUV eased onto the yard, dust trailing behind like ribbons. Chance grumbledunder his breath. They didn’t have anyone scheduled.

Awoman stepped out, tugging her jacket close against the cold. Wind teasedstrands of silky black hair across her face, but her stride was steady as sheglanced around the ranch. City car, city clothes—tailored skirt and ankleboots—yet something about the way she lifted her chin said she wasn’t afraid ofwide-open spaces. And big sky and expansive land were what this sprawlingcattle ranch had plenty of.

Chancenarrowed his eyes. Trouble had a way of driving right up the lane uninvited. Hesensed it.

Still,when she caught sight of him by the fence and offered a small, hopeful smile,something in his chest budged—like the faintest crack in the walls he’d builtso high.

Andhe hated himself for noticing how attractive she was. Shep seemed to agree. Theold collie trotted up to her and accepted her quick greeting of a pat afterhe’d sniffed her hand.

“Nicedog.” The woman shaded her eyes against the rising sun.

Chancesquared his shoulders. “Can I help you?”

Hersmile faltered at his gruff tone as she took a few more steps closer. “I hopeso. I’m Jeannie Ferguson. The regional hospital told me to come here for theclinic—”

Hecut her off with a shake of his head. “We’re not running a clinic. Must be amistake.”

Unruffled,she tightened her grip on the worn leather satchel slung across her body. “Youmean, not yet. I’m here to work with your horses. Equine therapy. HealingHooves?”

Thename sounded ridiculous to him. Healing Hooves had been his aunt’s idea, onehe’d reluctantly agreed to only because the bank wouldn’t be patient forever.Still, hearing it from a stranger felt like she was prying into the family’swounds.

“Thatprogram’s still in its infancy,” Chance said, crossing his arms. “We don’t needextra hands complicating things.”

Fora heartbeat, she simply studied him. The wind lifted her hair, revealing eyesthe color of a summer lake. “I don’t think the children who’ll be coming herewill see me as a complication. They’ll see me as hope.”

Herwords hit harder than he expected. He took a couple of steps and turned hisgaze back to the pasture, to the mare limping near the fence line, rescued onlyweeks ago, the gelding with the open wound, and the pony with the untrimmedhooves. Broken creatures, all of them—man and beast alike.

“Hopedoesn’t pay the feed bills,” he muttered.

Shedidn’t flinch. “Neither does shutting people out.”

Shepbarked, as if applauding her boldness. Chance bit back the curse that rose tohis lips. Whoever this woman was, she had no idea the problems she’d juststepped into.

Chancelet the silence stretch, the kind that usually sent visitors scurrying backdown the drive. Jeannie Ferguson didn’t budge. She stood there in the dust withher satchel and her stubborn chin, like she belonged already.

A sliverof admiration slipped past his defenses.

“Look,”he said, voice low. “We’ve got enough on our plate without strangers marchingin with ideas. Double Grace is hanging by a thread, and I’m not about to riskmore than we already have.”

Hergaze followed his to the mare in the pasture. The horse shifted her weight,favoring the injured leg, and something softened in Jeannie’s face. Notpity—understanding.

“Sometimesthe broken ones are the most worth saving,” she said quietly.

Thewords pressed against the scar tissue inside his chest. He shoved his handsinto his coat pockets, turning away so she couldn’t read him.

“Thathorse isn’t the only one limping around here,” she added, her voice carryingacross the cold air.

Chancestiffened. What was she talking about? He didn’t limp, but every morning heopened his eyes and remembered the look on his father’s face that last day, andhis heart broke again.

“You’vegot some nerve,” he said, forcing calm into his tone. “Five minutes on thisranch, and you think you can size me up?”

Jeanniedidn’t apologize. She didn’t back down either. “No. But I do know grief when Isee it.”

Shepbarked again, circling them like he could sense the charge in the air.

Chanceexhaled through his nose, long and slow, forcing the tension from hisshoulders. He wasn’t about to argue with a stranger in the front yard. AuntRose would be out any minute, and she’d scold him for scaring off the very helpshe’d prayed for.

Heturned back to Jeannie, jaw tight. “Fine. You want to try your hand withHealing Hooves, you’ll answer to my aunt. You can find her in the house. Butdon’t expect me to hold your hand while you play nursemaid to half-broke horsesand hurting people.”

Hersmall smile returned, but this time it carried a hint of a challenge. “Good. Idon’t expect you to hold my hand. Just don’t get in my way.”

Don’tget in her way? Shewalked past him toward the house, her decision already made. Chance watched hergo, torn between irritation at her words and admiration for her nerve.

But DoubleGrace Ranch had no room for more complications.

Withthe wind snapping at his collar and Shep wagging his tail in approval, Chancehad the sinking feeling that Jeannie Ferguson was one beautiful complication.

Jeannie’sfootsteps crunched across the gravel toward the house, her silhouette swallowedby the long shadow of the barn. She stopped, waylaid by Shep for a morethorough job of petting.

Chancedragged a hand over his face, wishing he could scrape away the memory thatclung like burrs. Maybe that was why her words stung—because they were true. Hecarried grief, as sure as the dust trailed a rider—always behind, always there.

Hisgaze drifted up to the weathered barn roof. The boards were replaced where Pahad fallen through. Chance could hear it as clear as if it were happeningagain—the crack of timber, the hollow thud, his father’s cry cut short.

“Chance!Ladder’s slipping—”

Heshould’ve steadied it. He should’ve climbed up himself. Instead, he’d been tooslow, too sure Pa didn’t need his help. One heartbeat of hesitation, and theworld had buckled. By the time he reached him, Pa’s chest was still. Chance hadpressed his hands hard against him, begging, ordering, praying. Nothing hadworked.

Thesheriff had called it an accident. His brothers had called it bad luck. ButChance? He called it failure.

Andas if the devil himself wanted to twist the knife, Ma’s mind had crumbled underthe shock. Her Alzheimer’s had been stealing her in pieces, but that day itfelt like the whole woman vanished. She’d looked at him through the blur of hertears, asking where her husband had gone, and he’d had no answer.

Itwas Chance who signed the papers at the memory care facility. Chance, whopacked her belongings, folded her sweaters, and left her quilt on the bed shecouldn’t remember was hers. Chance, who walked out of those locked doors withher cries echoing behind him.

Hepressed a palm against the fence rail, head bowed, the cold seeping into hisskin.

That’swhy he didn’t have room for newcomers and pretty words. Why he had no patiencefor strangers who thought they understood grief.

Heknew what it cost to fail the people you loved. And he would hold that guiltforever. He glanced back at the woman who was giving his dog a final rub,telling him what a good boy he was. Shep let her walk on, trotted back to thefence line, and nudged Chance’s leg with a wet nose. He gave him a rough pat,forcing the memories back into their box. He glanced toward the house; JeannieFerguson was almost there, likely to make herself right at home. Aunt Rosewould fuss over her and say it was God’s providence that she came. Chancewasn’t so sure.

Thescreen door creaked, then banged shut, and Aunt Rose stepped out onto theporch, apron dusted with flour, her brown and gray-flecked hair tied back in aknot that refused to stay neat.

“Well,you took your sweet time,” she greeted the woman, her voice like sunlightbreaking through storm clouds. “I was wondering when we’d see you.”

Jeanniepaused mid-step, clearly caught off guard. “Oh—you were expecting me sooner?”

“Expectingand praying. Praying every night since we posted that notice for help. Andexpecting you since my friend over in Honeyridge let me know she was sending ussomeone who loves horses and kids.” Rose came down the steps with surprisingenergy, wiping her hands on her apron before grasping Jeannie’s in both ofhers. “You must be Jeannie. I’m Rose Grant. Welcome to Double Grace Ranch.”

Jeannie’sdemeanor relaxed. “Thank you, Mrs. Grant. It’s good to be here.”

“Rose,dear. Just Rose. Never been married. Now come inside and let me pour you somecoffee before that one, my nephew, Chance—” she tipped her chin toward Chance,still standing at the fence. “—scares you off with his scowls.”

Jeannie’sgaze flicked to him, questioning. Chance stiffened, bracing for a sneer. Butall she gave him was a small, steady look, like she’d already seen through thearmor and wasn’t afraid of what was underneath.

Hedidn’t know whether to be grateful or furious.

Roseclucked her tongue at him. “You could at least say hello properly. The poorgirl’s driven all this way, and so early, too.”

“Hello,”he muttered, but it came out more like gravel than a greeting.

Jeannie’slips curved—just a fraction, just enough to tell him she wasn’t easily rattled.

Roselooped an arm through Jeannie’s and steered her toward the porch. “Don’t mindhim. He’s better with horses than people these days. We’ll fix that soonenough.”

Chanceturned back to the pasture, jaw clamped tight, but Rose’s words trailed afterhim.

Betterwith horses than people. Maybe. But even the horses looked to him for more thanhe was sure he could give.

He readjustedthe Stetson hat on his head, watching Jeannie disappear inside with Rose.Trouble, he’d told himself. But deep down, something else stirred. He’d better followthem inside.

                                         ***

Inside,the kitchen smelled of cinnamon and wood smoke. Same old farmhouse tablescarred with years of use, same copper kettle hissing gently on the stove.Nothing had changed, except… everything.

Chancehung back in the doorway, arms folded, while Rose poured coffee for Jeannielike she’d known her all her life. Jeannie set her notebook on the table, thecorners of a resume peeking out, but Rose waved it away.

“Paperdoesn’t tell me half of what I need to know,” Rose said cheerfully. “I want tohear your story. What brings a young woman out to Honeyridge, Texas, when shecould be in some city office with polished floors and steady pay?”

Jeanniehesitated, eyes dropping to her cup. “I… needed a fresh start.”

Hervoice was quiet, but the mystery behind it tugged at Chance like a lasso. Heshifted his stance, uncomfortable with how much he wanted to know more.

Rosenodded knowingly, as if fresh starts were a language she spoke fluently. “Well,do-overs are our specialty around here.”

Chancesnorted before he could stop himself. Both women looked up.

“Somethingfunny?” Jeannie asked, brow arched.

“Dependswhat you call funny,” Chance muttered. “We take in broken horses, half-starvedstrays, and the occasional runaway goat. Doesn’t exactly sound like the placefor a fresh start.”

Hereyes didn’t waver. “Maybe it’s exactly the place. Horses heal, strays eat, thegoat finds a home. They all get a clean slate.”

Fora moment, the air between them crackled, like two flints striking.

Roseclapped her hands, breaking the tension. “Good. That’s settled. Jeannie, you’llstay in the guest cabin. Chance, you’ll show her around before supper. And noexcuses.”

“AuntRose—”

“Noexcuses,” she repeated, steel in her tone that dared him to argue. “You may bein charge, being the oldest son and all, but I’m your elder, and I know mybrother taught you to respect your elders.”

Chancepressed his lips together, fighting the urge to dig in his heels. But Rosewasn’t one to budge, and truth be told, something in Jeannie’s steady gaze madehim curious despite himself.

Heshoved his hands in his pockets. “Yes, ma’am.” He eyed Jeannie. “Don’t say Ididn’t warn you. This ranch has a way of chewing people up.”

Jeannieclosed her notebook, her chin lifting. “Consider me warned. But just so youknow, I’m tougher than I look.”

Thatpulled something unexpected out of him—a spark of respect. And, again, thetiniest flicker of admiration.

                                         ***

Outside,the sun was arguing with the clouds, painting the valley in splashes of gold.Horses grazed in the distance, their outlines against the rolling hills steadyand sure in a world that had crumbled beneath Chance’s feet this year.

Heled the way across the yard, Jeannie walking a few steps behind.

Thebarn loomed ahead—its roof patched where his father had fallen. Chance’s throatclosed, and he almost cursed aloud. But Jeannie’s voice broke through histhoughts, soft yet firm.

“Tellme about them,” she said, nodding toward the herd.

Hefollowed her gaze. The horses. Always safer ground. “That one’s Doc,” he said,pointing to a chestnut with scars on its flank. “Came in wild. Took me weeksbefore he’d let me near him.”

“Andnow?”

“Now?”Chance watched as Doc lifted his head, ears flicking toward him. “Now he trustsme. Some days.”

Jeanniesmiled, the kind that didn’t pity or prod, but simply understood.

Chancewondered if maybe he wasn’t the only broken soul looking for a fresh start.

Theyreached the paddock just as the wind shifted, carrying the scent of rain.Chance leaned on the top rail, hat brim shadowing his face, while Jeannierested her notebook against the wood.

“Youreally love them,” she said quietly, eyes following the horses.

Healmost told her the truth—that the horses were the only ones who didn’t look athim with blame in their eyes. But before he could answer, Doc tossed his head,nostrils flaring. The rest of the herd bumped each other uneasily.

Chancestiffened. Horses didn’t spook for no reason.

Thenhe saw it.

Adust cloud on the ridge, just beyond the property line. A truck slowed, parkingwhere it had no business being. The driver killed the engine, and for a longmoment, the vehicle sat there, watching.

Jeannienoticed his silence and followed his gaze. “Someone you know?”

Chance’slower jaw stuck out. He knew exactly who it was—his cousin Glen, come sniffingaround like a wolf at the edge of camp.

Heforced his voice to sound nonchalant. “Yeah, nothin’ to worry about it.”

Buthis stomach coiled, because Glen wasn’t just here for a friendly visit. And ifChance was right, the ranch—and maybe Jeannie too—were about to be caught inthe crosshairs of old grudges and new battles.

Thetruck engine roared to life again, dust swirling, but the unease it left behinddidn’t fade.

Chancepushed off the fence. “Come on,” he muttered, more to himself than her.“Storm’s coming.”

He wasn’t sure if heonly meant the weather.

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1. Cows have a personal space bubble—and it’s bigger thanyours.
They may look slow and soulful, but try getting too close and you’ll meet theback end of a bovine attitude. Moo-ve along quietly and carry a big feedbucket.

2. That “cowboy smell”? It’s not a cologne.
It’s a hearty blend of leather, hay dust, sweat, and possibly goat. If youcatch a whiff of something "earthy," congrats—you’ve officially gonenose-blind like the rest of us.

3. Chickens are not emotionally supportive animals.
They will judge you. Loudly. From their perch. For wearing Crocs to the barn.Again.

4. "Ranch breakfast" means second breakfasthappens two hours later.
Feeding the animals at 5 a.m. earns you eggs, bacon, coffee, and spiritualenlightenment by 7. And probably biscuits by 10.

5. Barn cats are legally required to act feral—even whenthey sleep on your pillow.
Yes, they caught that mouse. No, they’re not interested in your affection.Unless you’re opening a tuna can.

6. Romantic horseback rides look dreamy... unless yourhorse just ate 3 pounds of alfalfa.
Let's just say love is tested at a trot—especially when flatulence is involved.

7. Fences are mysterious beings that break themselves.
No one saw it happen. Everyone blames the wind. Or that one donkey with a tastefor freedom.

8. You haven’t truly panicked until a goat gets in thekitchen.
They go in curious. They come out with a bag of flour, three dish towels, andno regrets.

9. Wrangling livestock is a great team-buildingactivity—if your team is therapy-bound.
It starts with optimism, continues with shouting, and ends with someonecrawling through a mud-filled chute muttering "never again."

10. Despite it all, the ranch finds a way into yourheart.
Maybe it’s the sunsets, or the animals, or the strange satisfaction of diggingpostholes... but somehow, you start to wonder how you ever lived without manureon your boots.

Now, if you're interested in some Ranch Romance, let me 'steer' you over to my latest series at Faithful Hearts Ranch. Start with book 1, FAITHFUL PROMISES, only on Amazon, paperback, Kindle, Kindle Unlimited, and Audio.

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The same tragedy that took his leg also stole his future, leaving him with a broken heart to match his broken body. His fiancée’s departure has left him in a dark place, hiding out at the Double Horseshoe Ranch, far from the life he once knew.

Dawn Dupree has endured her own share of heartbreak, suffering under the tyranny of a ruthless boss. With her spirit and finances in tatters, she has no choice but to take a job as a cook at the very ranch where Jet is seeking refuge.

Both Jet and Dawn are in desperate need of healing, but their initial encounters are anything but smooth. Sparks fly, and not the romantic kind—until undeniable chemistry ignites between them, setting off a chain reaction neither can ignore.

Can Dawn be the one to mend Jet’s wounded heart, or will she end up breaking it all over again? As they navigate their pain and passion, they must decide if love is worth the risk.

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Happy reading/listening,
Debbie Chapoton

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Second Chance Teacher Romance