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    No Gentle Love
    No Gentle Love
    No Gentle Love
    Ebook176 pages4 hours

    No Gentle Love

    By Ruth Ryan Langan

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    About this ebook

    A Romance Classic from New York Times Bestselling Author Ruth Ryan Langan.

    Kate Halloran is a business dynamo. She assumes her boss, Drew Carlson, is nothing more than a rich man's spoiled son. Driven to succeed, Drew admires Kate's capabilities. But the passion that rages between them catches them both by surprise.

    13 Titles Available:
    Just Like Yesterday
    Beloved Gambler
    Hidden Isle
    Eden of Temptation
    Family Secrets
    Star-Crossed
    Whims of Fate
    Mysteries of the Heart
    To Love A Dreamer
    No Gentle Love
    This Time Forever
    The Proper Miss Porter
    Cross His Heart

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRuth Ryan Langan
    Release dateJul 24, 2015
    ISBN9781311270764
    No Gentle Love
    Author

    Ruth Ryan Langan

    New York Times best-selling author Ruth Ryan Langan, who also writes under the pseudonym R. C. Ryan, is the author of over 100 novels, both contemporary romantic-suspense and historical adventure. Quite an accomplishment for this mother of five who, after her youngest child started school, gave herself the gift of an hour a day to follow her dream to become a published author. Ruth has given dozens of radio, television and print interviews across the country and Canada, and has been quoted in such diverse publications as THE WALL STREET JOURNAL and COSMOPOLITAN. Ruth has also been interviewed on CNN NEWS, as well as GOOD MORNING AMERICA.

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      Book preview

      No Gentle Love - Ruth Ryan Langan

      Chapter One

      "Now, you listen to me, Paddy!"

      I’m sick of listening to the sound of your voice, came a groan from the hospital bed.

      And I’m sick and tired of your whining like a whipped puppy! Ahh, she thought. Now, that was a new line. She hadn’t used that one before.

      At the man’s look of protest, the young woman raised a hand to silence him.

      Dr. Simpson says you can get out of this place in the next two or three weeks if you cooperate with the nurses and really work on that therapy. We both know how badly you want to get home. Don’t you dare give these people a hard time this week. Your therapy is critical if you ever want to regain the full use of your limbs.

      In the doorway, a young nurse covered a grin with her hand and continued to observe the now-familiar battle.

      Patrick Halloran lay stiffly against the pillows, scowling at his daughter, Kate. Long auburn hair swirled about her shoulders. Hazel eyes danced with little points of angry flame. At five feet three inches, scarcely more than a hundred pounds, she vibrated with the energy of a barely contained cyclone.

      She was wearing what had become her uniform for when she was away from the office. Faded jeans and a T-shirt that read HAVE YOU HUGGED YOUR AVOCADO TODAY? On her feet were scruffy sneakers with one broken lace held together with knots. She stood now, hands on hips, giving her last-minute orders through gritted teeth.

      He flinched as she added, If just one of those nurses reports to me that you refused to cooperate on your therapy for even one day, I will personally drive down here after work and keep you up all night if I have to, just to make you do those exercises.

      At a long, drawn-out sigh from the figure in the bed, anxiety clouded her features, and she bent quickly toward him.

      Kate Halloran couldn’t remember her father’s hair ever being dark. It had begun graying when he was in his twenties, before she was born. Now, thick, white hair spilled across his wide forehead. Tanned, leathery skin, a legacy from years spent tilling the soil beneath the California sun, contrasted with green eyes, around which were etched deep crinkled lines. Though her father was in his mid-fifties, she still thought he was one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen.

       Give me a break, Katie, and let an old man rest, he grumbled.

      Huh. An old man. She brushed her lips lightly over his cheek and grinned. Then, resuming her angry tone, she murmured, Just remember what I said, Paddy. One bad report and I come running.

      She’d been calling him Paddy since she was just a little girl, mimicking his cronies. The first time she had said it, stomping a foot in fury, he had been so stunned, he’d simply burst out laughing. But from then on, he knew she meant business whenever she called him by that name.

      Go on now, Kate. Quit harping like a fishwife. Let me sleep.

      She squeezed his hand and softened for a moment. OK. Love you, Pop. Good night.

      He looked up sharply, touched and embarrassed by her lapse. He was more comfortable with harsh words and shouting matches than he was with tender scenes.

      You drive carefully, now. You’ve got a long haul ahead of you. He cleared his throat.

      Uh-huh. And I’ve been driving it since I was eighteen. I’ll be fine.

      Just take it easy. I worry, you know.

      You’ll have a whole lot more to worry about if you’re not ready to go home in the next couple of weeks. You’re getting heavy, Paddy. I’m tired of carrying your load. She winced at what she had just said. But it was for his own good. After a moment, she asked, Still a team, Paddy?

      He smiled at their favorite phrase. Yep, Katie girl. Still a team.

      She blew him an imaginary kiss, and he reached out with his good hand as if to catch it.

      With a renewed burst of energy, she swished from the room and down the corridor of the hospital.

      At the nurses’ station, she was greeted with affection. For three long months, she had driven from San Jose to the Monterey peninsula every Friday after work to bully her father along the tedious route to nearly complete recovery. Dr. Simpson and the entire staff knew that without Kate’s devotion, Patrick Halloran, a stubborn Irishman with a temper as quick as his daughter’s, would probably still be in a state of near helplessness from his stroke. She had used that temper, matching him harsh word for harsh word, to get him to fight back. His progress had been so complete, it appeared he would be returning home in a matter of weeks.

      In the silence of his room, Patrick Halloran eased up straighter so that he could see the parking lot. When the slender form of his daughter entered the pool of lamplight, he strained to watch each movement until she disappeared inside the darkened car. As the headlights moved along the drive, he sank back, deep in thought.

      He was proud of Kate. She had a strong sense of who she was and what she wanted. And she’d always been willing to work hard to accomplish her goals. Look how she had driven herself in high school and college. Straight A’s, despite the time she spent helping him with the endless farm chores. Tops in her graduating class at college. In her early teens she could drive a tractor straighter than most men, and worked right alongside the crew at harvest without complaining. But sometimes he worried. Hadn’t some of his friends hinted that she was a little too headstrong for her own good? What they really meant, of course, was that he had allowed her—no, encouraged her—to be too much of a tomboy. Just as he had encouraged her love for sports. Because they had always been a team, just the two of them, she had naturally shared his love for every form of athletics. By the time she had reached her early teens, she had mastered  golf, tennis, racquetball, and even managed to beat him occasionally.

      Patrick sighed. Oh, there had been boys. Plenty of them. When you were as pretty as Kate, the boys were bound to notice, swarming like bees to nectar. But as his friends often pointed out, a father like Patrick Halloran was tough competition for any young man. He and Kate had a special bond, which they had forged to survive the pain of loss when Katherine had died, leaving a stunned husband and a frightened eight-year-old daughter.

      His friends just didn’t understand, he thought irritably. It just never occurred to her to pretend to be shy or helpless. And how many boys were willing to stick around and get the pants beaten off them every time they challenged a little thing like Kate to a game of tennis, or even checkers? She always ended up winning. She was driven to win. A Halloran just didn’t know any other way.

      * * *

      Through the misty rain that shrouded the coastal highway, Kate maneuvered the little car, occasionally rubbing the back of her neck to ease the tension. With one hand, she lifted the mass of rich, dark hair that clung to her neck. For a moment her attention strayed, then she blinked away the distraction in order to stay alert.

      Though not a careless driver, she loved speed and took even the curves at a smooth, steady clip. After so many trips along this highway, she had long ago stopped seeing the rugged beauty of the northern California scenery: the surf pounding against craggy cliffs; endless white, sandy beaches littered with driftwood; cozy cottages nestled in tiny coves; and small towns that offered a gentle release from the frantic pace of the city.

      She had been away from home for over a year now, ever since she had finished college and settled into a career that had taken her to California’s Silicon Valley. It had seemed forever before she had stopped missing the rolling farmlands, and the rough, bear of a father who had raised her single-handedly. Patrick Halloran’s tough independence had rubbed off on his daughter. Despite the homesickness, she had dug in her heels and made a place for herself in her new environs.

      Kate wondered with a sigh if she were becoming jaded. As a teenager, she had dreamed of a world to conquer and a knight on a white horse. Yet, each time those dreams had come close to becoming reality, she had found some excuse to look for a tougher goal.

      Instead of sharing her father’s love of working the land, she had chosen a challenging career in the high-tech, fiercely competitive electronics industry.

      Most of the time, she wouldn’t trade places with anyone. Tonight was the exception. Tonight she was feeling spent. This weekend routine was draining her.

      For the past three months, she had headed up the coast every Friday as soon as she finished work and made the return trip home each Sunday night. Far from the glittering lights of the San Francisco Bay area, in a sleepy little town just outside Carmel, she routinely drove to the neat farmhouse, unpacked, and hurried to the hospital. There she spent the hours bullying her father into following the doctor’s orders, so that he could regain enough strength to come home.

      Step one completed, she told herself with faint satisfaction. At least she would manage soon to get her father released from the hospital, where he had struggled to recover from a minor stroke. Minor. The word grated. For a man like her father, a loner, self-taught, fiercely independent, these past months had been one long nightmare.

      He was an avocado farmer, a man of the soil, accustomed to rising at dawn and working a full, rewarding day. The years had crafted a lean, leather-skinned, tough man, who asked no quarter and gave none. Kate had always been proud of him, and never more so than now. His Irish temper seemed to have sharpened since the stroke, and she had used that seething anger to force him to fight back.

      She knew he had set a killing pace for himself these past years. At times he yearned for the freedom his retired friends enjoyed. Still, he was proud of the hard work he did. He was pleased each time he won over incredible odds and brought in a record crop.

      He had often flaunted the fact that he could still beat his buddies at tennis and golf after a full day of work on his farm. She clutched the wheel. And he would again, even if it cost her everything she had worked for, just to oversee his complete recovery.

      Running her thumb over the strangely naked third finger of her left hand, Kate felt a momentary stab. She had tried to convince herself that it would be a comfort to lean on someone for a little while. But no man, not even a patient man like Joe, could be expected to remain in limbo indefinitely, waiting for a woman whose future would be determined by fate.

      You can’t keep up this pace forever, he had argued. Why not quit your job and marry me? Then you can run up to Carmel to see to your father’s needs. He had said it all with that patient tone of one who knows he’s right.

      Her own voice had become uncharacteristically calm. I can’t quit now, Joe. But don’t worry about me. Paddy is my responsibility. I’ll see to him myself.

      It was that simple. It always would be.

      After the initial shock of the broken engagement, Kate realized she was experiencing a strange sense of relief. If she and Joe had really loved, they would have been able to weather this storm, Maybe they had been only drifting, clinging to each other, two people caught up in the fast-paced life of an industry that demanded so much of its members. An insatiable god, demanding ever-new ideas, new technology. But a grain of truth nagged at the back of her mind. She was the one who had forced the issue, not Joe. She had unconsciously held Joe at bay, using any excuse to keep from setting the date, because she had not wanted to marry him. And then her father’s illness had shown her a way out. She had seen it all with simple clarity. Life with Joe would be secure, undemanding, and—dull. The love hadn’t been strong enough. The chemistry between them had been lacking. They had been searching for a magic that simply wasn’t there.

      Was it because she and her father were so explosive that she had been initially attracted to the quiet, proper Joe? He was the most gentle, easygoing man she had ever met. He was not only gentle, but a gentleman. He had proudly taken her to

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