The Rancher takes his Runaway Bride by Shanae Johnson

Author:Shanae Johnson [Johnson, Shanae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PublishDrive

Chapter Thirteen

Lana tucked the ballpoint pen into her loose bun. Her notepad was stiff in her back pocket. She walked the grounds of the Purple Heart Ranch under the bright rays of the new day, not bothering to step into the shaded areas. She had nothing to hide today.

In the front yard of the big house that she’d been summarily dismissed from the other day was Dylan Banks. The young soldier ran after a group of small children. His prosthetic leg didn't hamper him as the young ones raced around him. A pack of dogs wove between the man and children. The dogs were a ragtag bunch of patchy fur, missing limbs, and prosthetics of their own. All of the fur creatures looked as though they’d known their own war zone. But every one of them grinned wide, tongues lolling as though they each had tasted love.

Dylan caught one kid up in his arms. The child was a young boy with cafe au lait skin and a riot of dark curls. Dylan tossed the giggling child up and caught him in sure hands. The child looked nothing like the man, but Dylan’s face shown with abject adoration as the child scampered away from him to rejoin the melee.

The clouds shifted, casting Lana in the shadows. That’s when Dylan's gaze lifted. His grin tugged downward as his gaze landed on Lana.

"Ms. Hunt?"

Lana winced at the use of her real name. "Hello again, Sergeant Banks."

“Sergeant Kenzie said to expect you. I suppose he was the Macklemore you were referring to.“

The cloud hovered over Lana’s head, but she could feel the sweat trickling down her back. “I’m sorry I lied."

Dylan’s brows furloughed and then released. “Why did you lie?"

Lana tugged the pen from her hair, flicked the cap off, then put it back on. "When I called and told the truth, you weren't interested in having your story told. And…” She placed the pen back in her bun. “I needed the story."

"We're private people here," said Dylan. "Families. We don't care to have our business splayed on the covers of a glossy magazine.”

“We’re a digital magazine, so no gloss.”

Dylan did not return her cheeky grin.

“These men and women have suffered enough,” he continued. “We've all found peace here, community. I guess you could say it is a bit cult-like."

He lifted that brow that had been furrowed. But now, a deep frown marred Lana’s brow. Was he insulted or joking? For all of her skills at reading people and determining their stories, she couldn’t get a bead on this man.

"Anyway, Mackenzie vouched for you," said Dylan.

A small smile played at Lana’s lips. She hadn’t heard anyone call Mac that in a long time. Most of his friends pushed his first and last name together, making him seem like he was some highland conqueror. Lana had to give herself, and the mental image of Mac in a kilt, a shake.

“He said you were the type of reporter who would get to the heart of the story.

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