Stream Ran Dry Read online

  STREAM RAN DRY

  By

  JEANNE HARRELL

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014 by Jeanne Harrell

  Formatted by eBooksMade4You

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  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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  Stream Ran Dry

  Wyatt fell for Rebecca the first time he saw her, but it was all so hard – Her job as a reporter in Las Vegas, his job as a rancher in a small Nevada town and the fact that he was also a recent widower. Wyatt’s wife had died three years ago -- Around women, he was like a lion with a thorn in its paw.

  But Rebecca fell for him too and he knew it. Wyatt also knew they’d have to battle their way to Happily Ever After because there was a real push-pull dynamic going on between them.

  Was it worth it to be in love again? Maybe it would be best to just walk the other way. Whatever he chooses, one thing is for sure: Wyatt is waking up at long last. Sometimes, just sometimes, with a whole lot of effort, life may still be worth living.

  And all the sweeter for that effort…

  * * *

  Other titles by Jeanne Harrell

  Rancher Series

  Rancher’s Girl

  Whisperer

  Always and Forever

  Being Emma

  The Darkest Hour

  Persuaded

  Transparency

  Tinker, Taylor

  Riding the River

  Avila Beach Winery Series

  the Winemaker’s Dilemma

  http://www.jeanneharrell.com

  * * *

  Thank you for downloading my book! I am happy that you have made it part of your library.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author and/or publisher. No part of this publication may be sold or hired, without written permission from the author.

  A special thanks to my editor, Diane Kenedy.

  Cover photo by Louis Basso Photography

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  * * *

  Table of Contents

  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

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Whisperer, Rancher Series

  Oh, the river run down

  But the stream ran dry.

  Big, strong man don’t ever cry,

  Just stands to watch his love go by.

  Oh, the river run down

  But the stream ran dry…

  --- John Stewart

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Getting out of a taxi, Rebecca shaded her eyes to look up at the tall building in front of her. The sun seemed extra bright today and the temperature in the downtown area was going to be hotter than yesterday. The sign on the building read Las Vegas Sun Times. She paid the cabbie, straightened her shoulders and made her way to the elevators trying to juggle her briefcase, a cup of coffee and the daily editions from three other newspapers around the country. Must keep up with what the competition is running…

  Yes, she wrote a blog for the paper, but she occasionally broke out in print as well. It was more satisfying to see her name as a byline in print than on a computer screen. As the elevator climbed higher, Rebecca carefully thought out what she would say to Dave about that new story she wanted to investigate. Her editor sometimes had his own ideas about what she should be writing ---Men!

  Ding… The elevator stopped at her floor and she gathered all her wits about her – She was ready for him. Juggling her briefcase, newspapers and coffee, Rebecca wound her way through the labyrinth of cubicles, desks, blinking monitors and people. She smiled… It was a madcap way to make a living. There were clocks on various walls, telling the time in other locations – London, Paris, New York. Huge lights hung down from the ceiling giving the large room an eerie look… too bright in some places, too dim in others…

  In most cubicles, people had cell phones up to their ears or their Bluetooths on as they worked simultaneously on their computers. The noise level was high and constant… Phones rang, papers shuffled, machines whirred, things were dropped... People’s voices registered soft or loud, excited or panicky, depending on the nature of their conversation. Chatter, thuds, dings and a crash or two filled the air. A slight musty smell crept to her nostrils, overriding the coffee aroma. Three people stood listlessly by a water cooler holding an impromptu story conference. One of them looked at her as she passed by.

  “Rebecca! Did you see that piece on the ranching problem out by Allenville?” A thin man with a full beard and serious eyes lifted a hand to flag her down.

  “Tim…Yeah… Saw it,” Rebecca said over her shoulder. “Let me get back to you about that.”

  She finally arrived at her office and looked in vain for a surface to put down her coffee cup. Have to clean up this place, she thought for the hundredth time this week. Her office looked like a bomb had exploded in it. She was neat as a proverbial pin in her apartment, but the walls of her office were covered with newspaper print. Stories… stories and more stories… She was always looking for that one really dominant story that she could write her book about. Rebecca had always been a writer, but she felt her newspaper time was just practice for when she could become a published book author. It was a goal she’d had her whole life.

  Rebecca pushed a pile of papers to one side, s
et down her coffee and placed the newspapers she was carrying by her desk chair. She sat and opened her briefcase to remove an article she’d been thinking about. But talking her editor into it would be a daunting task.

  For the second time in fifteen minutes, she squared her shoulders, picked up the article and zigzagged her way to his office. People called out ‘Hi’ to her as she made her way and she smiled all through the office. She waved at her good friend, Ella, and wanted a word with her afterwards.

  She knocked on Dave West’s door. Editor was printed in large, white letters on the glass door, as if they didn’t all know who he was. Dave was on the phone but motioned to her. She went in, glancing around the office with glass walls – no privacy here… Actually, three walls were glass and one wall was a series of windows that looked out on downtown Las Vegas. She could see the infamous Strip with its huge hotels from his vantage point and marveled at the immense city built in the middle of a desert. Bugsy Siegel was the brainchild of Las Vegas -- A notorious mobster! An interesting origin and derivation of the nickname Sin City…

  Dave leaned back in his chair and took a good look at her while she stared out the window. Medium height with long, dark brown hair and eyes… Rebecca was a knockout – What the hell was she doing running around the city and state as an investigative reporter? She should have been Miss Nevada or some other beauty title. Oh well, he sighed. To each their own…

  She was a terrific reporter, just too gung ho sometimes, for his taste. He knew he’d cashed in on her looks by putting her picture on the online blog page and in the newspaper from time to time. And each time he did, the circulation department told him their numbers went up. She was a valuable commodity to him, both in her writing and her attractiveness. Any good editor worth his salt would make the most of those attributes… He laughed at his own thoughts and hung up the phone.

  “Sawyer… What have you got for me? I see something hanging from your right hand.”

  “Dave, I’ve got a new story idea.” Her smile was bright and he knew she was going to pitch him yet another loser story. She was much fonder of her story ideas than he was.

  “…Yeah?” He looked at her doubtfully. “…Like what?”

  “The whole Pine Mountain story is going to break out again.”

  “No, it isn’t, Rebecca. That story is dead.”

  “…But I just spoke with some Energy Department people who told me it was coming online again.”

  He shook his head. “…Not unless our current crop of legislators all lose their minds. It’s politically dead…”

  “…Dave, if you’d just hear me out.”

  “Love to, Sawyer, but I don’t have the time right now. I need to send you to Allenville.”

  “Allenville?” she squeaked. “Way the hell out there past Mesquite? Whatever for?”

  “Breaking news, kid. Some rancher is taking on the BLM and they’re arming for World War Three…”

  “BLM?”

  “…Bureau of Land Management, the feds.”

  “What’s the rancher doing?”

  “And that, my dear, is the crux of the story…”

  Rebecca started to object, when Tim interrupted. He hesitantly stuck his head in the door and then came in.

  “Yeah, Tim…What?” growled Dave.

  He swallowed. “Dave, I just thought you should let Rebecca know that things are heating up out in Allenville. I could help her on the story, if you’d like.” Tim smiled and nervously shuffled his feet. He peeked a shy glance at Rebecca and then back at Dave.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll get back to you.”

  Tim left and Rebecca threw her hands out in front of her. “Don’t you dare, Dave.” Her eyes flashed and her mouth set a hard line.

  A small smile sat on Dave’s face. “You know that guy’s gone on you, right?”

  “…Not interested.” Rebecca folded her arms and tapped a toe on the floor.

  “You work too hard…”

  “…Story of my life.”

  “You need to get a new story, kid.”

  “…And quit calling me kid. We’re about the same age.”

  His eyes widened. “…How would you know that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “…Research…”

  He shrugged and continued. “Listen, Sawyer. I want you in Allenville yesterday and I want you to take Tim with you.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. “Are you nuts? Why?”

  He ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “One – He’s a good writer as well. Two – There could be some danger involved and three – He’s got a big crush on you. Give the guy a chance, Rebecca.”

  She put her fingers in her ears. “I can’t hear you,” she sang.

  “Hear this… When was the last time you went out on a date? Had a drink with friends? Went home to see the folks?”

  When her eyes filled with tears, he backed off. “…Okay, I’m sorry. I forgot about your folks, but you have no personal life… You’re going to get old before your time.”

  “What you say is true, Dave. Even though it’s probably harassment in the workplace or something for you to be meddling in my private life.”

  “I know that, Rebecca, but we’re friends too.”

  Her gaze softened and she looked down at the floor. “I…I’m just not expecting any sort of Happily-Ever-After scenario for myself… I never have. You know my background.” She glanced up at him and he nodded.

  “I’ve had to work my ass off for what I have. If I lose that traction, I’m afraid of what might happen to my whole universe. If it tilts one bit on its axis, I may fall off…”

  He was nodding again. “…Understood, but not accepted. I’d like to see you swept off your feet someday by a good man.”

  “Next time you see a good man, text me.”

  Dave laughed. “…Maybe you’re right. Still…”

  “…Still?”

  “Get your ass out to Allenville pronto and see what the hell is going on. And take Tim with you. I don’t want you going alone.” She opened her mouth to object. “…No, your safety is important to me, Rebecca. I don’t want to lose my best reporter. Take Tim and give him part of the story – You two will share the byline.”

  “Great…Now I have to share the byline.”

  “Do this and I’ll look over that Pine Mountain story idea while you’re gone.”

  “…You will?”

  “No, but I sounded magnanimous for a minute there, didn’t I?” he added smugly.

  She folded her arms again and frowned. “Someday, Dave, I’m going to get a better offer.”

  He burst out laughing. “I sure hope so, Sawyer, now get out of my office. I’m busy – I’m the editor!”

  Laughing, she left his office and went to look for Tim. He looked up happily to see gorgeous Rebecca Sawyer heading his way. Then he about expired when she actually stopped to speak with him about the Allenville story.

  “What do you know about it, Tim? Dave wants us up and moving soon on this story.”

  “Great, Rebecca,” breathed Tim. “Let’s go into the conference room and I’ll go over the research I’ve done so far.”

  “Okay, and then we need to make arrangements to get out there and stay a night or two.”

  “Fine,” he smiled.

  They went into a conference room and began discussing the story. It was a complicated one…

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mounting his horse, Wyatt took off his cowboy hat and wiped off the beads of sweat on his forehead. He readjusted the hat back on his head and stuck the damp bandanna back in his pocket. Looking up at the sun, he knew it was going to be hotter today in Allenville than yesterday, and he’d better watch that his neck didn’t burn again. His hair and shirt were already damp with perspiration and it wasn’t noon yet. Not great… He had those fences to mend on the back part of the property and the vet was coming to see about one of his cows. He had a full day ahead and Clint was coming over for rodeo practice later thi
s afternoon.

  As Wyatt rode his favorite thoroughbred horse to fix those fences, his chest expanded just gazing at the scene around him. Some of the prettiest landscape on earth… Miles and miles of prime land, dotted with pinion and sagebrush, butted up against jagged, darkened hills. Huge, gray clouds far off in the distance hinted at rain that lent a slight, damp smell to his nostrils. Rain in Nevada was always welcome, but not always forthcoming.

  His ranch was some eight hundred acres that had been homesteaded by his great granddaddy, Albert Washburn, making Wyatt a fourth generation Nevadan – And proud of it…

  Earth, brush and cottonwoods rolled along forever with nobody bothering anything, except for Wyatt’s herd of six hundred Hereford cows. His family, all the way back to Albert, had always prided themselves on their ability to manage their part of the Western range in regards to indigenous plants, wildlife and cattle. Wyatt was proud that his family had always worked hard to make sure all the local species had their own space…

  Thoughtful and introspective, Wyatt had ridden up to the failing fences, dismounted and began his work. His horse dropped its head to munch grass at the foot of the barbed wire fence.

  He took a deep breath of the sage around him, put on his heavy leather work gloves and took out pliers from his saddlebag. But as he worked twisting bits of steel back into place in the hot sun, his thoughts were of years in the past… Happier years… When Missy was still alive.

  Swallowing a lump in his throat, Wyatt reached for the bottle of water in his saddlebag. His glove snagged a small pink scarf that he always carried with him – Missy’s scarf, the one she loved the best. Staring at it, memories flooded his mind like a river… When she’d died of cancer three years ago, it was all Wyatt could do to look at her clothes in their closet. He’d packed up everything except for this one scarf… Just couldn’t get rid of everything. Boxing up all the pictures and her knick knacks from around the house just about did him in. She was sweet and kind – everything he’d always wanted in a wife and she was also gone forever… That lump in his throat reappeared and wouldn’t go down this time.