Choosing You Read online

  Choosing You

  Books by Stacy Finz

  The Nugget Series

  GOING HOME

  FINDING HOPE

  SECOND CHANCES

  STARTING OVER

  GETTING LUCKY

  BORROWING TROUBLE

  HEATING UP

  RIDING HIGH

  FALLING HARD

  HOPE FOR CHRISTMAS

  TEMPTING FATE

  CHOOSING YOU

  The Garner Brothers

  NEED YOU

  WANT YOU

  LOVE YOU

  Dry Creek Ranch

  COWBOY UP

  COWBOY TOUGH

  COWBOY STRONG

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Table of Contents

  Books by Stacy Finz

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Choosing You

  Stacy Finz

  LYRICAL SHINE

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  LYRICAL SHINE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2021 by Stacy Finz

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Shine and Lyrical Shine logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: February 2021

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0396-6 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0396-3 (ebook)

  First Print Edition: February 2021

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0397-3

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0397-1

  Printed in the United States of America

  Chapter 1

  Ethan Daniels reined his gelding to the right, cutting off three stray cows that had broken loose from the herd. “Get!” he shouted, waving his Stetson in the air as he maneuvered them back to the pack.

  He wiped his forehead on the shoulder of his ranch jacket and moved to the drag position at the rear of the herd. The ground was still soggy from the last rain but at least he wasn’t choking on a cloud of dust.

  A few of the neighboring ranchers had come to help move his cattle down from the hills to the lower pasture, where he’d be weaning calves in about a month. The camaraderie of the ranching community was one of the reasons he’d chosen Nugget, California for his new home.

  The other reasons had more to do with his six-year-old daughter, Veronica.

  Ethan let out a loud whistle to bring up a few stragglers from behind, hanging off the side of his gelding to slap a lollygagging calf on its rump. “Get along now.”

  Clay McCreedy, owner of a ranch seven miles away as the crow flies, sidled up next to him on his horse. “Watch those million-dollar hands of yours.”

  Ethan grinned. “I’ll do my best.” He gazed up at the clear blue sky. “Couldn’t have asked for better weather for this.”

  “Don’t jinx it. These mountains are fickle. Ten o’clock sunshine, noon a monsoon.”

  “Yep.” Ethan nodded. It was rainier and colder here than in Reno but according to the locals, they were having a fairly mild February. Still, it had to be forty degrees out.

  Greener than the high desert river valley where he’d grown up in Nevada, the landscape here was thick with fir and pine trees and lush with grass nearly year-round. Another reason he was enamored with the place.

  The land—two-hundred acres—had been in his family for as long as Ethan could remember. His father used to run his cattle here in summer when the only blades of grass left in Nevada were on city watered lawns.

  Last year, he hired a local contractor and carpenter to build a two-story home—rustic farmhouse, Alma called it—and a guest cottage with views of the Feather River and the Sierra Nevada mountain range. The house was finished just in time to enroll Roni in first grade at Nugget Elementary.

  Flynn, the point rider, moved the cattle down the gully. It was slow going, as they had to watch their footing on the slippery slope. But Flynn, Ethan’s neighbor to the east, knew what he was doing. Like the rest of them, he’d been moving cattle since he was knee high.

  They’d been out since sunup; the sky painted a pink and smoky gray. It was Ethan’s favorite time of the day, when the land began to wake up from its long night’s sleep and the birds stirred, restless.

  When they got to the bottom of the ridge, Flynn let out a holler and the herd dispersed, spreading out across the pasture to munch on the tall grass.

  Mission accomplished.

  Ethan and his neighbors rode back to their trucks and trailers and served themselves coffee from the CaterGator, before loading up the horses.

  “I guess we’ll be back in a month or two.” Clay shielded his eyes and stared out over the fields. Come March, they’d corral the calves away from their mothers for weaning, before trucking them to a feedlot in the Central Valley.

  “Yep.” Ethan cradled his cup to warm his hands. “Thanks for the help, fellows.”

  Ethan pushed off the back of the trailer he was leaning against so Clay could pack up his horse.

  “Lunch at the Ponderosa?” Lucky Rodriguez hitched his thumbs in his jeans. The former bull-riding champ raised rodeo stock and ran a dude ranch a few miles from Ethan.

  “I’m game,” Flynn said. “No court today, which leaves me footloose and fancy free.”

  Ethan laughed. “Nice job if you can get it.”

  “Yeah, then how come I feel a lawyer joke coming on?” Flynn scraped his boot on a rock and sniffed himself. “I need a shower.”

  “Why don’t we meet in thirty minutes?” Clay led his gelding up the ramp and locked the Dutch doors.

  “I’m afraid I have to bow out,” Ethan said. “I’ve got to get to Reno. But lunch is on me. I’ll call Sophie and Mariah . . .
tell ’em to put it on my tab.”

  “Nah, not necessary.” Clay waved him off. “You helped us; we help you. That’s the way it’s done around here. But I wouldn’t turn down a beer one of these evenings.”

  Flynn and Lucky nodded in agreement.

  “How about the PRCA championship on Saturday?”

  “I’m in,” Flynn said. “Here or the Ponderosa?”

  “Either way.” If Ethan asked nice enough Alma might make her legendary chile con queso.

  “How big’s your TV?” Lucky asked.

  The corner of Ethan’s mouth hitched up. “Big.”

  “We’ll do it here then.” Clay opened his door and slid behind the wheel. “See you all Saturday.”

  After everyone drove off, Ethan mounted up and rode to the stable. Like his house, the gable barn was new construction. Despite housing five horses, it still showed shiny and clean. He’d hired Clay’s youngest son to muck stalls a few times a week. Even so, he suspected that by next winter it would feel more lived in.

  He unsaddled Reggie, combed the old boy’s coat, cleaned his hooves, and turned him out in the paddocks. Leaning against the fence, he watched Reggie nibble on a patch of grass for a while, then turned for the house for a quick shower.

  No one was home and he could hear the clicking of his boots on the hardwood floors echo through the hallway. Alma would’ve had his head for not leaving them in the mudroom.

  She’d befriended a group of women who called themselves the Baker’s Dozen. They met the first Thursday of the month at the big inn on the square to exchange recipes. Ethan was glad she was making a place here. He didn’t know what he would do without his stepmother. Besides helping with Roni, she made the trains run on time and was good company.

  At first, he’d worried that Nugget, away from her glittering life in Reno, would be too pedestrian for her. Even when Alma married his dad, she preferred her high-rise condo to his sprawling ranch, sixty miles from the city.

  But she seemed to be adapting well to retirement in Nugget, making friends, volunteering at Roni’s school. And when she got homesick, it was only a fifty-minute drive to Reno.

  He climbed the timber staircase to his bedroom. The smell of fresh paint and floor finish still clung in the air. The master bathroom bordered on the obscene with a walk-in shower three times the size of his old one. It seemed a bit much for a bachelor but the architect had gotten her way, claiming that a stingy master would hurt re-sale value.

  He had no intention of selling but secretly enjoyed the decadence of all the water jets and the rain showerhead, not to mention the radiant heated floors. Today, though, he didn’t linger. He bathed, dressed and was on the road thirty minutes later.

  The freeway was nearly desolate. He watched the view change from forest to prairie to desert and finally to billboards advertising all-you-can-eat buffets and the Gatlin Brothers, who were performing three nights at the Grand Sierra.

  Glancing at the time, he was confident he’d make it to his appointment with a few minutes to spare.

  His phone rang and the Bluetooth dashboard lit up with caller ID. His ex-wife. For a second, he considered not picking up. But with a sigh he pressed handsfree.

  “What’s up, Joey?”

  “That’s a nice way to answer the phone. I was calling about Saturday. I want to take Veronica to The Discovery for the Mindbender Mansion exhibit.”

  “We talked about this. You’re welcome to spend time with her at the ranch as long as Alma or I am there.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Ethan. She’s my daughter. I want to take her to a children’s museum, not a brothel.”

  He tried for patience. “For now, we’re sticking with the court order.”

  There was a long pause and for a second Ethan thought Joey might’ve hung up on him. It was her MO, after all.

  “Come on, Ethan, I’ve been clean for almost a year. This isn’t fair. I could go back to court, you know. Push for fifty-percent custody. My lawyer says I’d get it.”

  “Your lawyer, huh?” Joey needed to work on her poker game. Her bluff sucked. She was living with her parents and supporting herself with the alimony he paid her, which was a nice chunk of change. But not enough to retain the kind of attorney who could go up against his. “Take me to court, then. In the meantime, we follow the judge’s orders. I’ll be home on Saturday. Come any time after ten, stay as long as you like.”

  “Aren’t you generous?”

  He didn’t respond. The whole damn thing exhausted him. “How are your folks?”

  “Fine. They miss you . . . they miss Veronica.”

  “We’re fifty miles away. They can visit anytime. How’s the job search?”

  She huffed out a breath. “Humiliating. Degrading. Yesterday, I interviewed with a toddler for a barista job. Seriously, I don’t even think he was old enough to shave.”

  “You hear from the board about your license yet?”

  “Crickets.”

  He wasn’t surprised. “How are you on money?” She had student loans, a new car payment, and had never been much good with a budget.

  “Getting by.”

  He let out a frustrated breath. “My exit’s coming up. I’ll see you on Saturday . . . and Joey . . . if you need cash I can float you.” The minute the words left his mouth, he saw an image of Alma scowling and shaking her head.

  He hung up, got off on Mill Street, turned into the parking structure, and slid into his personal space. It was a plum location, just across the breezeway to the lobby.

  The double doors swished open when he reached the entrance and he nodded at the senior woman at the volunteer desk before heading for the elevator.

  “Afternoon, Dr. Daniels.”

  “Afternoon.” He picked up his pace, hoping he wouldn’t get waylaid on his way to the orthopedic unit.

  “Dr. Daniels, how are you?!” A nurse stopped him just before he reached the south wing of the hospital.

  Ethan flashed a smile and struggled to remember her name. She was one of Joey’s friends. Raina? Rosalind? Renee? Yeah, Renee. He was pretty sure that was it. “Hey, Renee.”

  She beamed back so he must’ve gotten it right.

  “You have surgery today?”

  “Just a consult.” He tapped his watch. “Gotta go or I’ll be late.”

  “A few of us are meeting for drinks at five if you’d like to join us.” Her face flushed red.

  “Thanks for the offer. Can I take a rain check?” he asked, walking backwards. He didn’t want to seem rude but he needed to get going if he had any hope of reviewing the radiologist’s notes before his two o’clock arrived.

  “Uh . . . of course. Any time.”

  He brushed by her and made it to the elevator as the door slid closed. Without thinking twice, he wedged his arm in and forced it open.

  “Hope those hands are insured.” The chief of staff leaned against the back wall, a stethoscope shoved in the pocket of his white lab coat.

  Ethan gave a weak smile. It was the second reference to his hands that day. He hadn’t minded when Clay had made the quip. But the joke was getting old.

  The door dinged open on the fourth floor. “This is my stop. Catch you later.”

  Ethan walked to the end of the corridor to the orthopedic surgery center, the crown jewel of Renown Children’s Hospital. Its reputation as having one of the finest, most cutting-edge programs in the country—maybe the world—was largely due to his mentor. Five years ago, Dr. Jason Bentley retired, leaving Ethan to carry on his legacy.

  He used his keycard on a door off the passageway and bypassed the waiting room. Marjorie, one of the center’s receptionists, passed him, carrying a lunch tray from the cafeteria.

  “Your appointment is here.”

  “Already?” He glanced at his watch. “She’s ten minutes early.”

 
Marjorie shrugged and went out the same way Ethan had come in with her empty tray. He flicked on the light in his office, took a quick assessment of the mess on his desk, and booted up his computer. The room was smaller than his new walk-in closet but it served him well enough for meeting with patients and referrals. He had a more spacious office at the School of Medicine at UNR, where he was on the faculty.

  Ethan quickly called up the radiologist’s report and ran through it. He took off his jacket, slung it over his chair, and called the front desk. “Send in Ms. Barnes, please.”

  A few minutes later, she was led through his doorway. He looked up from the referral notes he’d been reading and suddenly lost his train of thought. Quickly rising, he locked eyes with her, then remembered to shake her hand.

  “You look different than your picture,” she said. “Younger.”

  The hospital’s profile picture of him had been taken three years ago. He was now forty. In another context her observation would’ve been a compliment. But age added credibility to his position.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Barnes.” He motioned to a metal chair and closed the door before taking his own place behind the desk. “How was your flight?”

  “Fine. We got in yesterday.” Nervous, she fidgeted with the button on her coat and he noted that her hands were delicate and fine boned.

  Ethan leaned in. “Ms. Barnes, it’ll be okay.”

  “Will it? I just want my son to be normal again.”

  He got up, came around the desk, and sat on the chair next to her. He could smell her perfume, something soft and feminine without being cloying. “What is normal, Ms. Barnes?”

  “The way Henry was before the accident.” She sniffled, drawing her shaking hand across her nose. “Able to walk. Run, jump, ride a bicycle.”

  “Not being able to do those things does not make your son abnormal. It’ll be a challenge for him, sure. But in my experience, children with the proper support and encouragement can rise to meet almost anything.”

  “I didn’t mean normal.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, strain tugging at the edges of her mouth. “That was a terrible word to use.”

  He held her gaze and tried for a consoling smile. “Your son is amazing, no?”