“You’re really something, Rebecca.”

He looked up at her, silhouetted against the sharp blue sky. Her expression became serious as their gazes held. Time stilled, and it seemed as if the world had condensed down to the two of them.

She matters so much to me, Joe thought. I love her.

He shook his head as the thought settled. Yesterday, up in the hills, it seemed easy to imagine the possibility, to indulge in the notion. But here, on his own small place, it seemed suddenly remote.

Was he being foolish? Overshooting himself? What did he have to offer any woman, let alone one like Rebecca? A run-down ranch and a pile of debts? He glanced at Rebecca, who looked at him in puzzlement, and in spite of his question, Joe felt his heart lift as their eyes met once more.

Maybe it would work….

CAROLYNE AARSEN

has honed her writing between being a wife, stay-at-home mom, foster mom, columnist and business partner with her husband in their cattle-and-logging business in northern Alberta. Writing for Love Inspired is a blessed opportunity to combine her love for romance with her love for her Lord.

The Cowboy’s Bride
Carolyne Aarsen

For Gerben and Grace Dykstra, my parents, who taught me to trust and to love both by words and example.

But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well.

Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow….

—Matthew 6:33–34

Dear Reader,

I have Matthew 6:25–36 printed out on a piece of paper sitting by my computer as a reminder to me of what I should be expending my energy on. Worry has been a struggle for me as long as I can remember. I have worried about stains, world peace, our ranch, forest fires and my children’s faith. Each day, in various ways, God brings me back to His word and His comfort.

Don’t worry. Trust in Me.

Joe and Rebecca both had to learn the same lesson, but each of them learned it in their own way. As we all do.

Don’t worry. Trust in God.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

As the deacons took the collection, Joe leaned sideways in his pew, looking past the man in front of him. From this angle he had a better view of the woman sitting in the wing.

Fortunately Joe hadn’t seen her until the sermon was over. She might have proved too much of a distraction otherwise.

Her high cheekbones and narrow nose served as an exquisite frame for her almond-shaped blue eyes and delicately curved mouth. He sighed as she lifted a hand to brush her hair from her face, then turned ahead once again.

Joe wasn’t a believer in love at first sight, but this woman created a feeling of rightness. He had to talk to her after church.

His neighbor elbowed him lightly, and Joe glanced at Lorna McLure, his old schoolteacher and the wife of his good friend. He smiled at her intrusion.

“You might want to think twice about that one, Joe,” she said quietly.

Joe grinned, knowing exactly what she was talking about and unashamed of it. “You know her?”

“Oh, don’t turn those puppy dog eyes on me as if I could help you out there.” Lorna winked at him.

“She’s Rebecca Stevenson. Jenna Burke’s younger sister.”

Joe glanced at the vision named Rebecca. Jenna’s sister. This was a major setback.

Jenna Burke was the wife of the local bank manager. She was proud of her husband’s position on the town council and their position with the town’s elite. But she was even more proud of her family’s wealth.

Joe sighed as he watched the vision smile at the deacon as she handed him the collection plate. Without moving an inch, this beautiful woman had suddenly been put out of the reach of a mere truck driver with the dubious last name of Brewer.

“You have enough girls to keep you busy, anyhow,” Lorna continued.

“What do you mean?” Joe turned to her, meeting clear green eyes that surveyed him knowingly.

“Kristine James has been spreading it around the café that she has her eyes on you.”

“Kristine has her eyes on any single guy who is still breathing,” he said with a grin.

“And what about Stephanie and Erika?”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Just where do you hang out when Allister is out on call?”

At that, the tall lanky man sitting beside Lorna McLure leaned over. “And what are you two chattering about?” he whispered with a light frown.

“Jenna’s sister,” Lorna said with a playful wink at Joe.

Allister shook his head, dismissing the conversation. “Catch me after church, Joe,” he said quietly, still leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped. “Got a line on someone who is looking for a horse trainer.”

As one of the veterinarians in the community, Allister got around and made connections. Joe wondered who he was talking about but knew his good friend would tell him nothing more until after church.

Lorna leaned closer. “And I got a line on Miss Stevenson,” she said with a smile. “I hear she’s moved here for awhile. I can keep track of her if you want.”

“You do that, Lorna,” he murmured as he caught another glimpse of Rebecca’s eyes. Joe knew he should stop staring, hoping she wouldn’t catch him at it. He couldn’t help himself. She had a serenity and poise that spoke to a loneliness in his own soul. A loneliness that grew as school friends got married and had children.

He smiled ruefully as the congregation rose for the final song. He opened the hymnal, letting the music and words pull his thoughts to where they should be.

“Love divine, all loves excelling,” he sang. As the words of the song drew him on, he couldn’t help but look toward that angelic face once more, a feeling of melancholy pressing down on him.

Someday, he prayed. Someday he would find a love divine on earth.

Rebecca ran her finger over the page of the hymnal as if to absorb the words of the song she was singing, as if to make them alive. She could have sung all three verses of the song without the hymnal, it was so well-known to her.

But knowing the song and experiencing it were two different things. She certainly didn’t feel lost in wonder, love and praise as the song promised. Friday she had received a reply on a position she had applied for as a physical education instructor, forwarded to her from Red Deer to Wakely. The message was, “Thanks but no thanks.” Her mother had tried to discourage her from applying. “You’ll just get disappointed,” she had warned.

And Rebecca had been. It seemed no school in Alberta was willing to give a Bachelor of Education graduate who limped a job as a phys ed instructor.

As the congregation closed the books and the minister pronounced the blessing, Rebecca looked at the ceiling of the church. The words of the benediction were as familiar as the song, but they didn’t lift her heart the way they once had. As she shifted her weight to her good leg, it was as if she was reminded of her unanswered prayers and struggles of the past months. A year ago she had been offered a position at a high school in Calgary as a physical education teacher. A year ago she had a boyfriend she thought would propose.

The accident changed everything. No one seemed to want her after that.

The organist played the first bars of the postlude, and Rebecca stepped carefully into the aisle, making sure she stayed close to the side in case she held up progress.

“Can you manage?” Jenna came up alongside her, carrying Shannon, her three-year-old daughter.

“I’m fine, Jenna,” Rebecca said evenly.

“We can wait until everyone is gone. It will be easier for you to walk out then.”

“I’m not that crippled,” Rebecca replied, struggling to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She knew Jenna meant well with her overprotective concern. But Rebecca had come to Wakely to get away from smothering love and pitying glances.

“Hello, Jenna.” A male voice spoke behind them.

Rebecca could see Jenna’s pleased smile and wondered what she was in for now. Jenna made no secret of the fact that she wanted to see her sister replace Kyle.

“Hello, Dale,” Jenna said, looking back and stepping aside to make room for him. “Have you met my sister, Rebecca?”

Rebecca politely smiled, turning to face a tall young man. She shook his hand as Jenna introduced them.

“Rebecca, I’d like you to meet Dale Aiken. You’ll be working with him at the bank.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Rebecca said dutifully, looking Dale Aiken over. He was good-looking in a preppy sort of way. Blond hair neatly cut, green eyes and a wide smile that contrasted with his tanned skin. But somehow his good looks and pleasant smile didn’t affect her.

“And I you,” he said, shaking her hand in a firm grip.

“Dale’s father is also one of the bank’s chief customers,” Jenna said, smiling at Rebecca over Dale’s shoulder. “He owns a franchise of hardware stores.”

Rebecca didn’t know why Jenna thought she needed to know this, but she received the information with a nod.

Dale paused, his eyes on Rebecca. “Are you visiting for awhile?”

“Actually Rebecca is coming to work for Troy,” Jenna said. “She’s going to stay with us.”

“How nice for you to have a sister around.”

Jenna agreed and with an approving wink at her sister, walked away, leaving Dale to turn his attention to Rebecca. Rebecca shook her head at her sister’s machinations. Obviously Dale passed muster, or Jenna would have hovered until Dale left.

As they walked down the aisle, they exchanged a few pleasantries. By the time they stepped out of church into the bright sunlight, Dale had asked the questions that signal an interest in continuing the acquaintance—where she lived before, what she thought of Wakely, her upcoming job at the bank. Rebecca answered the questions, surprised to find that she didn’t mind.

They were chatting at the top of the church stairs when a young woman brushed past Dale.

“Hi, Erika, what’s your hurry?” Dale asked.

“Got to catch Joe,” Erika replied with a grin. She skipped to the side of another man who began to descend the stairs beside Rebecca and Dale. “Hey, Joe, wait up.”

The tall man stopped and looked over his shoulder at the young woman who reached out and clung to his arm. He smiled briefly at her, then his glance moved past her and stopped when he caught Rebecca’s eye.

Rebecca didn’t know why she held this stranger’s gaze. The dimple in his cheek and the sparkle in his brown eyes combined to give him a flirtatious look that should be a warning to any single woman to guard her heart. But her bruised ego needed a lift after the past few months, she reasoned. She’d been mooning over Kyle too long. Having two men show interest in her in one day was reassuring. Emboldened by the attention, she met his gaze with a careful smile.

His expression became serious as he turned toward her. He reached up to finger comb his unruly hair from his handsome face as if in preparation to meet her. Rebecca stopped smiling, suddenly breathless as he took a step nearer.

“How’s it going, Joe?” Dale greeted the man with a casual wave, and the mood was broken. Disconcerted at her reaction to the man named Joe, Rebecca looked at her hands, suddenly absorbed in her fingernails.

“Fine, Dale,” she heard Joe say. “And with you?”

“Good,” Dale replied. “I’ll have some news for you in the next few days. I’ll call.”

“I’ll be waiting, that’s for sure,” Joe replied, his deep voice quiet.

“Joe, don’t talk business,” Erika said peeved. “Come with me. I want to show you some pictures.”

Rebecca couldn’t help one more look at Joe. She saw Erika tuck her arm in his. He glanced over her shoulder, his shapely mouth turned up in a grin. He winked at her, and Rebecca felt her heart stir in response.

“That Joe,” Dale said with a laugh as Rebecca shook her head to dispel the emotion. “Always got one girl or another following him around.”

“You know him?” Rebecca asked, forcing herself to look away from Erika, envying her slender, perfectly formed legs, the bounce in her step, the man to whose arm she clung.

“We went to school together. In high school, you seldom saw the guy without one or two girls hanging on to him.”

Rebecca dismissed her reaction to Joe’s good looks. She understood the attraction even as she chided herself for her response. “Doesn’t look like much has changed.”

Dale shook his head. “I doubt he’ll ever settle down.” He turned to Rebecca. “But I don’t want to talk about him. Why don’t we talk about you?”

Rebecca wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss that topic, either, but answered his impersonal questions. By the time Rebecca had worked her way cautiously to the bottom of the stairs, Jenna was there to meet them.

“Would you like to come for lunch, Dale?” she asked, smiling at Rebecca.

Rebecca almost groaned and was about to protest.

But Dale accepted gladly, and Jenna flashed Rebecca a triumphant look, which Rebecca chose to ignore. Ever since Kyle had dumped her, Jenna had been pushing her to go out with someone else. And it looked as if she was going to succeed, whether Rebecca liked it or not.

“You’re telling me you want the money now?” Lane Brewer, Joe’s younger brother, curled his fingers into a fist and glared at his brother. The two sat across from each other at the same scarred wooden table they had used as boys. The air was heavy with resentment.

Nothing had changed, Joe thought, holding his brother’s angry gaze. Lane’s eyes were hard, his thin lips pressed tightly together.

“Why now?” Lane exclaimed.

“Because I applied for a loan to build my arena and calculated in my share of the ranch as an asset. I need the cash.” Joe tipped his chair on two legs in an effort to relax. He tried to stifle the fearful premonition that Lane was going to put him off once again.

“But you told me you could wait awhile.”

“When Dad died, I said I could wait until you got things going,” Joe replied, rocking lightly in the chair. “But now I have plans. I’ve applied for the loan. I’ve gotten a few inquiries from some breeders in Montana to train and show their horses. I need my share of the money to build the arena now. Besides, you have the place up for sale, and you told me you finally have a buyer.”

“I can’t do it,” Lane said flatly.

“What?” Joe let the chair legs fall to the floor with a hollow thunk. “Why not?”

“The buyer backed out, and then I got this.” Lane got up, picked a folded piece of paper from the top of a desk overflowing with papers and wordlessly handed it to Joe.

Joe unfolded the letter and skimmed the contents, his heart pounding at what he read. He reread it more slowly, laid the letter on the table and pulled his hand over his face. “When did you get this?”

“A couple of days ago.”

Joe leaned his chin on his hand, turning to look out the fly-specked window. The same window he had spent much of his youth looking out, wishing he were anywhere else but here in this old house at this selfsame table. “How did this happen? A bank doesn’t begin foreclosure unless as a last resort. How could you let things go so far?” he asked, turning to Lane.

“You said you didn’t want to be involved with the day-to-day stuff of the ranch. Told me to make my own decisions. Well, I did. I’ve had nothing but problems with this place. Disease, a bull that was no good. A couple of lousy hay crops and I had to buy hay. I couldn’t keep all the cows we had so I had to cut down. Which made less income.”

Lane leaned forward, his gaze intent. “We’re going to lose the ranch, Joe. If things go the way the bank is talking, they’re going to foreclose. I’ll have to declare personal bankruptcy, and I can’t do that. They’ll run my life for the next five years. I can’t stand that.”

“I don’t know why you say we are going to lose this place, Lane. You got your name on the title when Dad died. All I got was a cash payout.” And a small one, at that, which he still didn’t have, Joe thought, staring morosely at his brother.

Lane wasn’t worried about the ranch, and they both knew it. Lane never did like having people tell him what to do. If he declared personal bankruptcy, he would have someone hanging over his finances for years.

“Joe, this ranch is a part of you.” Lane tried another tack.

“Not the best part,” retorted Joe. “I’m not exactly awash in fond memories of it.” He glanced around the cramped kitchen, its painted wood cupboards still the same grimy cream color they had been all those dreary years that Lane, Joe and their widowed father lived here. Under the table and in front of the kitchen sink, the gray floor tiles were worn away to the wood subfloor. Behind him, the wall sported a hole from Joe’s teenage years when he lost his temper over his father’s unreasonable demands on his time. He had put his fist through the drywall and kicked a chair across the kitchen. It had no effect on his father. Joe’s loss of temper seldom did.

“I don’t know where I’m going to come up with enough cash to pay out these loans,” Lane continued with a sigh. “The ranch is not selling. I’m stuck. I know you have a bunch stashed away. You gotta help me out.”

Joe sighed as he picked up the letter and again read the stilted language, trying to find a way he could salvage something for himself from this fiasco. “Why don’t you go to another bank? Get a loan to pay me out?” It was a long shot, and given Lane’s financial woes, hardly a solution, but Joe was grasping at anything.

Lane looked at the table, tracing his fingers in one of the gouges as he narrowed his eyes. “I went to the banks from Rocky Mountain House to Okotoks and even to Calgary. None of them would help me out.”

Joe put the letter down. “Let me see last year’s financial statement.”

Lane sighed, pulled at his ear and got up. He riffled through some papers and pulled a large manila envelope from a pile. “Here,” he said, throwing the envelope on the table. “I can’t make heads or tails of them so I don’t know if a high school dropout like you could.”

Joe let the slight pass over him as he opened the envelope. Lane would sooner eat glass than ask Joe for help. That Lane had was a measure of how desperate he was. In spite of that, Lane still couldn’t stifle his petty tendencies.

A quick look showed Joe that Lane had borrowed on virtually everything he could. The income side of the statement showed a decreasing amount for the past three years.

Joe closed the statement and slid the book across the table to his brother. “I can’t help you out. I don’t even have a quarter of what you owe in cash, and even if I had less, I wouldn’t give you anything. It wouldn’t help. You’re too far down. You can’t sell the place. Live with the consequences and let it go.”

“My brother,” Lane said, his voice heavily sarcastic. “This is how a so-called Christian like you helps out his own flesh and blood.”

“Giving you money isn’t necessarily a Christlike thing. I’ve got my own plans, Lane.”

“Your training arena?” Lane snorted. “Don’t be a fool. You don’t have enough money without your share of this ranch.”

Joe pressed his lips together, praying he could ignore the derision in Lane’s voice.

“There’s a perfectly good arena on this place,” Lane continued. “You could rent it from me.”

“We’ve gone over that already, Lane, and you know the answer. The money from that is only an inch against the mile of debt you have.”

Lane slammed his fist against the table. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you, you self-righteous—” Lane sputtered, trying to find the right words. “You know what your problem is? You’re jealous. You’ve always been jealous.”

As Lane ranted on, Joe reminded himself of the verse in Proverbs. “He who keeps his tongue is wise.” He didn’t feel very wise right now, because he didn’t feel like holding his tongue. And his new-found faith was sorely tested by the grain of truth buried in Lane’s many angry words.

Yes, he had been jealous of his brother. Jealous of the fact that his father’s approval was bestowed more quickly on Lane than Joe. That no matter how many blisters and bruises Joe got pitching bales, handling calves or putting in fences, it was never enough.

Joe had struggled with the jealousy Lane accused him of, and it was still a source of discontent in his life that required daily prayer.

Joe held on to his temper, his hands clenched. He took a breath, got up, took his hat off the table and set it on his head. “My advice to you is let the bank take the ranch and then go out and get a real job.”

Lane looked contrite as he tried another tack. “I’m sorry, Joe. Really. There’s got to be a way to save this place. Doesn’t it mean anything to you at all?”

Joe looked around once more. The kitchen counter held dishes from a few meals. The floor was littered with crumbs. Beyond the archway to the living room, Joe saw the couch from his youth covered with magazines. A couple of beer cans lay on the floor beside it. He knew that an inspection of the bedrooms would show him the same things.

It looked much as it had when he was growing up.

“No,” Joe said with finality. “It means nothing.” He turned and left.

“So after the accident you began your physio program in Calgary?” Heather Anderson picked up a clipboard that held Rebecca’s physiotherapy program and flipped through a few of the pages.

“Yes.” Rebecca smoothed a wrinkle in her sweatpants, looking around the physio department of Wakely General Hospital. It was smaller than the one in Calgary. But the department in Calgary didn’t have Heather Anderson as an employee. And Heather was the therapist Rebecca wanted to work with.

Heather nodded and made a note on the chart. “According to your report, you’ve sustained some residual nerve damage as a result of the accident. You realize that this can’t be repaired no matter who you see?”

Rebecca nodded, suddenly hating the words and what they meant for her life. “So I’ve been told,” she replied, her voice tight.

Heather dropped the chart on the metal table beside the bed in the examining room, crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “So what makes you think I can do anything for you?” Heather’s question was blunt, but Rebecca appreciated her honesty.

“Because I heard you’re the best.” Rebecca tucked her hair behind her ear and looked up to meet Heather’s level gaze. “When I found out that you got married and moved out to Wakely, I knew I had to come here, as well. I read an article about a patient of yours and I asked around. I heard you’re hard to work for but I know you get results.”

“And what results do you want?”

Rebecca took a breath, hardly daring to voice her faint hope. It hurt to talk about broken dreams and promises to someone who could only help with her broken body. But she knew she had to be honest with Heather. “Before my accident, I just finished getting an education degree with a physical education major. I still have hopes of getting a job in that field someday. For that I need better mobility, and for that I need the help of someone considered the best. I decided to move here to get it.”

Heather nodded. “I thought you were going to be working at the bank for your brother-in-law, Troy.”

Rebecca wasn’t used to having the different parts of her life intersect as they did in this small town. “It’s temporary. Troy understands my situation. I sent applications out before I came to work here. I’m waiting to hear back from a few places yet. If something comes up in my field, then I’m free to leave.”

“You’re fortunate.” Heather tilted her head and studied Rebecca from a different viewpoint. “And you’re right about one thing. I do expect a lot of work. The first week I figure on having you here every day for an hour and then we’ll set up your program. What time can you come in?”

“Troy and I decided I would be working until three. I would like to come in then.”

“One thing I want you to be very clear on,” Heather said sternly. “What we are doing here is not repair. What we are doing is trying to make your walk look as natural as possible, compensating for the loss by using other muscles.” Heather raised her eyebrows as if in question. “I can’t guarantee you’ll be able to play sports again, or even walk properly, but we can try to get your body working at its maximum capability.”

“I know,” Rebecca replied, her voice quiet. She resented for a moment the finality in Heather’s voice. She looked up, meeting Heather’s hazel eyes. “Miracles are in God’s domain, but I intend to do what I can.”

Heather smiled in return. “Good for you. But we can definitely help, if you’re willing to work.”

“That I am,” Rebecca said emphatically.

“Then we’ll see you tomorrow at three.” Heather picked up the clipboard, shook Rebecca’s hand, brushed aside the curtain dividing the examining rooms and left.

Rebecca blew out her breath and slowly got off the bed. She was surprised to see her hands trembling as she changed from her sweatpants to her regular clothes.

It was strange how things had conspired to bring her to Wakely. Heather was known and respected in her field. When Rebecca found out she was working in the same place her sister lived, she decided to make the move.

She mentioned the fact to Jenna, and Troy offered her the temporary job in the bank. She knew this was what she had to do. Working in a bank wasn’t her dream, but it was something to do until her leg was stronger.

Rebecca buttoned up her blazer and tugged it straight, making the transition from patient to accounts manager. She caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror on the wall and paused, rearranging her hair. She allowed herself a brief smile. She had a premonition that moving here had been a good decision. Heather would be able to do more for her than the therapist in Calgary, of that Rebecca was convinced.

She allowed herself a moment to dream and to feel that coming to Wakely would change the entire course of her life.

Chapter Two

Joe fidgeted on the upholstered chair and glanced around the bank. Light poured in from an arched skylight, and plants filled corners in an attempt to create an open feeling. He still felt claustrophobic.

The logo on the circular reception desk directly in front of him was a strong reminder of letters and bank statements that his father ignored and that Joe, as a struggling high school student, had tried to figure out. He remembered all too well the clutch of panic when he saw the negative balance on the bank statement, the overdraft charges.

But he had escaped that. He had left the ranch, had worked every waking minute, had scrimped and saved and established his reputation as a horse trainer. After all those years he was finally ready.

A couple of weeks ago he had applied for a loan, and on his way back from Calgary this afternoon, Dale had raised Joe on his mobile phone. Could he come in as soon as possible? Dale was sketchy on the details, but Joe was pretty sure it had to do with his loan.

Joe leaned his elbows on the knees of his faded denim jeans and ran a hand over his chin. He wished he had had time for a shave and a change of clothes.

Not that he needed to make an impression on Dale, he thought ruefully. Dale had seen him looking worse, but he did want to project a professional image.

He tapped the toes of his boots restlessly against the ceramic tiles of the waiting area, stifling his impatience at the wait. Roy, his boss, wanted him in the city in two hours. He hadn’t seen his horses for a couple of days. He was itching to start Talia, his most expensive horse by far. His stake horse. The beginning of an illustrious line, he thought with a wry smile at his dreams.

“Are you sure you don’t want any coffee?” Sharla, the receptionist, asked, smiling at him from behind the desk. “It’s really no trouble, Joe.”

“No. Thanks.” He glanced impatiently at his watch. If Dale didn’t come in the next few minutes, he would have to get the information over the phone.

He got up and began walking around, trying to stifle his nervousness. His future hung in the balance, and he didn’t want to admit it, but he was frightened. Please, Lord, let them approve the loan, he prayed as he paced.

“Mr. Brewer?”

Joe turned at the sound of the quiet female voice, then tried to keep his mouth from falling open. In front of him stood the vision he had seen in church on Sunday, the woman with the angelic face.

“Expensive” was the first word that came to mind as Joe looked her over. Hair, makeup, clothes all had that smooth, clean look. She exuded an elegance that made him feel suddenly gauche and awkward.

“I’m Rebecca Stevenson. Dale is on the phone right now and will join us shortly. I’m going to be sitting in on the interview.” She stayed where she was, holding a file folder in front of her, while Joe pulled himself together, suddenly very conscious of his faded denim jacket with the frayed edges and the stain on the knee of his blue jeans.

“Sure,” he said, forcing a smile, trying to absorb the information.

“We’ll be in here,” she said, indicating an empty meeting room with a wave of a well-manicured hand. She turned and walked slowly across the reception area, a hitch to her walk, as if she had hurt her leg.

Joe hurried to open the door to the meeting room, but Miss Stevenson already had her hand on the door-knob. She pulled away at his touch and took a quick step backward. Only she didn’t quite make it. For some reason, she lost her balance, one arm flailing, the other still holding the manila folder.

Joe instinctively caught her around the waist, his other hand catching hers. “Sorry about that. You okay?”

“Let go of me,” she said through clenched teeth.

Joe obeyed then stood back as she ran a hand over her hair and smoothed down her blazer, then steadied herself, her lips pressed tightly together.

They stood in front of the door for an awkward moment. Then Joe took another chance and reached past her to open it.

“Thank you,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes. She walked past him, her movements slow, her limp more obvious.

Joe held onto the door a moment, puzzled at her reaction, then followed her into the room.

Miss Stevenson lowered herself into a chair on one side of a long table across from him. She brushed a hand over her hair, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear, avoiding his gaze.

Joe felt like a heel. “I’m sorry about that,” he said quickly, sensing this wasn’t the most auspicious introduction. He shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. To cover up, he flashed her a grin. “I thought you were going to fall.”

Her hand paused in midair, and her fingers curled against her palm. “I wouldn’t have,” she answered, her voice chilly.

“Sorry.” Joe carefully pulled a chair away from the table. He had obviously stepped over some unknown line. Just needs room, he thought. Some of the more skittish colts he worked with were like that. Didn’t like being rushed.

Miss Stevenson gave her head a shake, as if to rearrange her hair, folded her hands on the table in front of her and gave Joe a polite but cool smile. “You can sit down, Mr. Brewer. Dale will be here shortly.”

Joe nodded absently. He wondered why she had to be here. Maybe Miss Stevenson would be helping him on the finer details of the loan.

The door opened, and Dale stepped into the room, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about that. Just had to clear up a few things over the phone.” He shook Joe’s hand, then sat down. “Glad you could come in on such short notice. I take it you and Miss Stevenson have already met?” Dale looked at Joe, then at Miss Stevenson, his gaze lingering on her.

“Yes, we have,” Joe said wryly, noticing the way Dale couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off Rebecca Stevenson. Not that he blamed the guy. Joe had had the same problem in church on Sunday. But if she was out of his orbit then, her first impression of him put her in another galaxy by now.

“Okay.” Dale dragged his gaze away from Rebecca and pulled his chair close to the table. He smoothed his tie as he laid a file folder on the table.

“I hope you don’t mind if Miss Stevenson sits in on this meeting?” Another coy glance at Rebecca.

“She’s going to be taking over a few files for me, and I thought this would dovetail nicely into your other plans.”

Joe shrugged, feeling like a spectator. A quick glance at Rebecca’s face revealed the same composure she had shown in church, the same expression on her face. A real professional, thought Joe, looking at Dale. She didn’t seem to mind, or if she did, she didn’t show it. “Fine by me,” Joe said.

“We’re also waiting for your brother, Lane. He was supposed to be here, as well.”

Joe wondered what Lane had to do with his loan. But Dale was busy, paging through some papers, and didn’t see his questioning glance. Joe didn’t want to ask Miss Rebecca Stevenson.

Dale found the paper he seemed to be looking for and pulled it out. He smoothed it on the table and looked up, his expression suddenly serious. “What has happened here is that we were unable to secure financing for your newest venture, at least not in the amount you requested. A couple of factors have come into play. One is the lack of collateral and a dearth of up-front money. Secondly, we don’t have enough of a history of that type of business. It’s a risky one, from what we can see…”

Dale went on, and Joe felt a clutch of panic gripping his midsection. “Unable to secure financing,” were the only words that registered in his numb brain. He forced himself to stay in his chair, forced himself to keep the casual smile curving his lips, forced himself to keep listening as his entire world slowly drifted away from him.

Why, Lord? The words fairly shouted through his mind. Why this? Why now? It was the only thing I ever really wanted. For a frightening moment he saw himself at age sixty, slowly getting out of a truck, his stomach protruding over his belt, his back sore from sitting for hours behind the wheel, eating in some dingy truck stop café far from home. He closed his eyes as if to dispel the image and stifled a beat of anger that Dale had chosen to do this in front of a virtual stranger, and an absolutely gorgeous one, at that. It was humiliating. But Dale was still talking. Joe pulled his mind to what Dale was saying.

“But all of that is moot, considering that you and Lane have made other plans.”

Joe’s head snapped up at the mention of his brother’s name. “Other plans?” he asked, wondering what Dale was talking about. This was the second time he had made puzzling references to Lane.

“Yes.” Dale held Joe’s baffled gaze, frowning.

Someone knocked discreetly on the door, and Dale, glancing at his watch, got up. “That must be your brother now,” he said with a smile. He opened the door, and Lane walked in.

Joe’s eyes narrowed as Lane took a seat, ignoring his brother.

“So now that we’re here together, we can discuss your other plans, Joe.” Dale folded his hands on the file, his cheerful smile encompassing both Joe and Lane. “I’m glad you decided to go this route instead, Joe. I don’t need to tell you that your brother’s ranch has been floundering for awhile, and you offering to take over his loan would work out better for all of us in the long run.” Dale’s words finally registered, and Joe looked at him, forcing to keep his roiling emotions out of his voice.

“What did you say?”

“I’m talking about your offer to take over your brother’s ranch.” Dale frowned.

“What offer?” Joe leaned forward as if to catch what Dale was saying. He didn’t understand.

“I thought Lane talked to you about the trouble he was having with his place. I was under the understanding that you offered to take over the ranch, given the fact that you have a share in the place.” Dale raised his eyebrows in a question toward Lane, who shrugged.

“Since when did this come out?” Joe asked, his frustration with his brother reaching critical mass. What could he say without calling his brother a liar in front of witnesses, without making himself look like a fool in front of the calm and collected Miss Stevenson? What had Lane told them to save his own skin?

“Lane approached us yesterday, which, incidentally, was when I got final confirmation on the status of your loan application. He said you were willing to take over the loans.”

“Lane was delusional,” Joe said flatly, glaring at his brother, who continued to stare straight ahead. “I read the letter you sent him and I saw the financial statement. You can forget it.”

Dale looked surprised. “What did you say?”

“If what you said was that you want me to saddle myself with Lane’s debt, then what I said was forget it.” Joe held Dale’s puzzled gaze, ignoring Miss Stevenson and Lane, who was almost squirming in the seat beside him.

“I don’t understand,” Dale said, turning to Lane. “I understood that you and Joe had spoken. That he had offered to buy out the ranch.”

“When I talked to you the other day, I told you I couldn’t pay you the money I owe you, Joe.” Lane still avoided Joe’s eyes. “You said you needed a place to work with your horses. I thought you meant that you were willing to take it over.”

Joe shook his head, trying to recall what he had said that day, wondering how Lane had fabricated this out of the conversation. Trust Lane to put him in this position, he thought angrily. Joe didn’t know what Lane hoped to gain from this, except his freedom at Joe’s expense.

Dale leaned forward as if sensing that Joe was weakening. “You won’t be taking on all of the debt. The bank is willing to renegotiate the terms.”

“Maybe you can explain to me how you won’t give me money to start up my own arena yet you’d be willing to help me take over a debt that would be almost twice the size.” Joe pressed his lips together in an effort to stem the tide of angry words inside him. He took a deep breath and covered up by flashing Dale a cocky smile.

“It wouldn’t be twice the size, Mr. Brewer.” The vision across the table from him made herself known. Her voice was well modulated and quiet, a counterpoint to the anger that Joe held in check.

“Miss Stevenson is right,” Dale interjected with a secretive smile at Rebecca. He looked at Joe. “We would be willing to renegotiate the indebtedness.”

Joe glanced at Rebecca Stevenson’s beautiful perfection and Dale’s impeccable suit, both a stark comparison to his faded jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. Suddenly he felt as if he was in junior high school. The ill-dressed, awkward boy being treated with a certain condescending disdain by the rich kids who never had to wonder if their only good pair of blue jeans would hold up, who always had transportation and never had to suffer the ignominy of hitchhiking.

“My name is Joe.” It was all he could say. He tilted his head and winked at her. He knew this was not how you treated a banker, but being impudent kept him from being angry. “When you call me Mr. Brewer I feel like my dad.”

“I’m sorry. Joe.” She refolded her hands, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve been looking over both your file and your brother’s, and I think what Dale is suggesting is not out of the realm of possibility. It would work well for both the bank and yourself. Lane has told us that from a legal standpoint you are entitled to a portion of the ranch. If we foreclose, then try and sell, your portion would be considerably reduced. Therefore, because of your entitlement, your indebtedness would not be as great as your brother’s.”

Joe looked at her stupidly, then, realizing what she was saying, shook his head. “Sounds like a pretty good deal for the bank. They would end up with the dumb Brewer, the one who pays back his loans, and he would end up working himself to the bone for you guys.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. To have his loan turned down after all his hopes and dreams was almost a mortal blow, and he was having a hard time being reasonable about it.

“You misunderstand me.” She looked at him again, her voice controlled, her blue eyes holding the same expression as when they first sat down. “What the bank hopes to do,” she explained, “is save themselves the trouble of acquiring real property and then having to dispose of it. There are too many costs associated with that—”

“And it’s lousy PR.” Joe bristled at her tone, still holding her gaze. He tilted another grin at her, but she wasn’t bowled over by his charm.

“There’s that, as well,” she continued, finally looking away, “but the reality is that the bank is unable to finance a risky venture such as your training facility. The risk to the bank would have been reduced were your brother in a position to satisfy the terms of your father’s will. However, we are more than willing to establish a line of credit for you to purchase an established business. You have experience with the operation, and you have some ready cash.”

“It always puzzles me that a person needs money in order to borrow money,” Joe said, unable to keep the curt note out of his voice.

Rebecca paused. “The nature of the beast, I guess,” she replied quietly.

Joe felt churlish. He had snapped and acted like a teenager, but Miss Stevenson had never changed her calm, professional tone.

Of course it wasn’t her life that had suddenly been rearranged. It wasn’t her dreams that had suddenly died.

Joe had spent half his life watching his father pay off endless interest on overdue accounts and struggle with snowballing loan payments.

And now this cool, contained woman was suggesting he put himself in debt for the rest of his working life on a place he had already slaved on as a youth without payment. It puzzled him how someone with such a serene face could be such a prophet of gloom.

“It sounds like a good deal for you, Joe.” Lane finally spoke, then glanced sidelong at Joe. Joe stared back, fighting the urge to throttle his brother.

“Stay out of it, Lane,” he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

“The amount isn’t what you think it is, Joe.” Dale broke into the conversation and leaned forward to catch Joe’s eye. “We are more than willing to negotiate a buyout that would be mutually beneficial to both parties.”

Joe held Dale’s earnest gaze, wondering why people like him and Miss Stevenson couldn’t use ordinary language. “In other words you’ll cut me a deal.”

Dale shrugged and sat back. “Yes. I guess that’s how you could put it.”

Dale pulled out another piece of paper and pushed it toward Joe. “Have a look at those figures, and we can sit down and figure out how to make this work the best for the both of us.”

Joe nodded and gave the paper a cursory glance. Right now what he wanted more than anything else was to get out of here, away from the eyes of impersonal people, away from his brother, who had put him in this position to start with. He folded the paper and slipped it in the pocket of his jean jacket. “I’ll look it over at home and get back to you. I should get going.” He got up and tugged on his jean jacket. “I appreciate your advice.”

Across the table, Rebecca Stevenson slowly rose from her chair, her expression cool. The only indication she gave that she was puzzled was a faint crease between her arched eyebrows. “It was your brother’s suggestion that we were operating under. I’m sorry if we put you in an awkward position. Given that, however, I would just like to reiterate what Mr. Aiken has said. I think this might prove to be a good investment of both your time and money and would be, as I said before, mutually beneficial.”

He quirked his mouth in what he hoped was a polite smile. Banker’s words. Official and unemotional. “I’m sure it would,” he replied, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

He reached across the table to shake her hand. “Thanks again, Miss Stevenson.”

She hesitated, then caught his hand, her clasp surprisingly strong. “I hope I can be of help to you another time, Mr. Brewer.”

Not if I can help it, he thought. “Who knows?” he replied vaguely. He turned to his old classmate, forcing himself to remember that Dale had never been deliberately cruel. “Dale. Take care.” Dale shook his hand, as well. Joe nodded at his brother, unable to articulate his feelings.

Then he turned, opened the door and escaped.

Chapter Three

Joe strode across the lobby, the sound of his boot heels echoing solidly in the open area. He came to the door, hit the bar with both hands and stepped into sunshine and fresh air.

Dear Lord, he prayed, don’t ever make me do that again. That was way too humiliating for a Brewer.

And maybe that’s what God wanted, but to be humiliated in front of the beautiful woman he had admired in church and his old schoolmate Dale, who had gone so much further in life already, made it doubly hard.

He took in a lung-expanding breath, and another, as if to clear away what he had just sat through, the demolition of all his hopes and dreams, the depressing thought that he would be sitting behind the wheel of a truck for far too many years yet.

What else does a high-school dropout with only an instinctive horse sense do for a living, he thought dismally as he lifted his shoulder and reached in his jeans pocket for his truck keys.

“Hey, Joe, you pirate.”

Joe looked up to see a slim brunette running across the parking lot, her arms flung out as if to hug him.

“Hey, yourself, Kristine.” Joe kept his hands in his pockets, forestalling Kristine’s hug.

She stopped in front of him, reaching out to rearrange the collar of his denim jacket. “I didn’t know you were in town.” She leaned closer, a conspiratorial gleam in her brown eyes. “Are you busy? We could go for coffee.”

“Sorry, Kristine. I have to head out to work.” He took a step back from her cloying presence. “Maybe some other time.”

“Oh, c’mon, Joe.” She pouted at him, her full lips gleaming a bright red, her long hair spilling over her shoulders. “What’s with you lately? We never see you anymore. I heard you even went to church a couple of times.”

Joe nodded, grinning at the expression on her face. “Things change, Kristine. I’ve changed.”

“You must have.” Then she shrugged, as if that didn’t matter. “But you’re as cute as ever.” She reached up and rubbed his chin, her hand rasping over his stubble. “Even in whiskers.”

Joe smiled what he hoped was a polite but not encouraging smile. “That’s a boost to my ego, but I’ve really got to go.”

“Don’t be such a stranger, okay?” Kristine tilted her head coquettishly, her hand lingering on his chest.

“We’ll see,” Joe said vaguely. Then with another half smile, he opened the door of his truck and slipped in. Kristine stepped back as he reversed the truck out of the parking lot, waved and drove away.

Joe blew out his breath and spun the wheel feeling as if he had survived a trial by fire. And ice, he thought, remembering Rebecca Stevenson. It was ironic that the woman he found appealing was out of his reach while the available ones didn’t catch his fancy or were totally…unsuitable.

His thoughts shifted to the scene at the bank. He didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t. His dreams had disappeared with a stroke of some disembodied pen wielded by a person who had never met him, didn’t know him, and only knew his name.

He clenched the steering wheel as he thought once again of Lane’s audacity. How had he even thought Joe would go along with his lies?

He hit the outskirts of town, pressed down on the accelerator and tried to outrun his thoughts.

Rebecca drew back from the window and glanced guiltily over her shoulder. But no one stood in the doorway watching her watch Joe Brewer. When she looked out again, Joe was driving his battered pickup away from the bank, and the beautiful young woman who had come running up to him still stood watching him.

A real ladies’ man, she thought. Not her type.

Rebecca sat carefully at her desk, forcing herself to forget how easily Joe had caught her when she almost fell in front of him. She still didn’t know what had caused her stumble. She hadn’t tripped like that in weeks, and of course it would happen in front of a man who, it seemed, had half the female population of this town falling all over him in other ways.

She wrinkled her nose at the memory of his dark hair, dangerous eyes fringed with ridiculously long eyelashes and self-assured grin. Joe reminded her of some clients she had met in her job with the bank in Calgary. Self-assured young men who were cocky until things don’t go their way.

Rebecca preferred her men more polished, less overwhelming.

More like…Dale?

Rebecca smiled as she remembered how delighted Jenna had been when Dale had shown interest in her. Jenna made no secret of the fact that she was pleased to see her sister willing to date again. It had been over a year since Kyle and the accident that sunny afternoon.

Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut, fighting off the wave of panic as snatches of unwanted memory returned—her fear and panic as Kyle came after her, the weight of the horse falling on her.

Clenching her teeth, she forced the thought aside. She hadn’t had a vivid memory of the accident for months.

Must have been Joe and his reckless good looks. And all that talk about horses.

Rebecca forced her thoughts down other paths, concentrated on her breathing, tried to relax. When her control returned, she slowly turned to her work, picking up the next piece of paper—a copy of a long-term promissory note. She read over the terms, frowning in her attempt to focus on her job.

She only had a few days to familiarize herself with the files in her care. She was determined to show fellow workers that she got this job based on training and experience, not because her brother-in-law was the bank manager.

The phone rang, and Rebecca picked it up.

“Hi, Becks, how’s it going?”

“Fine, Jenna.” Rebecca grimaced at her sister’s use of a name that no one except her family used anymore. “I had my first customer this morning.”

“Who?”

Rebecca twisted the cord of the phone around her finger as she glanced out the window again remembering bold eyes and an arrogant grin. “Joe Brewer.”

“You must be kidding.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Honey.” Jenna’s voice took on that patient older-sister tone that could still rub Rebecca the wrong way. “You stay away from anyone in this town with the last name of Brewer. They are nothing but trouble.” Jenna took another breath, and Rebecca sensed that a unwelcome sisterly lecture was coming on.

“Well, I think I scared him away,” Rebecca said, interrupting her. “He could hardly wait to get out of here.” Rebecca tapped a pen on her desk as she remembered how quickly Joe Brewer had left. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to see how things are going.”

Rebecca resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Dear Jenna meant well, but she was a tad overprotective. “Things are going fine. This is only my second day on the job, after all.”

“I know that. I was just thinking about you and thought I would give you a call.”

“That’s nice.” Rebecca closed the file folder in front of her and set it aside. “But I should be getting back to my job, Jen. I’ve got a stack of work ahead of me and only so much time to do it in.”

“You don’t have to make a good impression on your boss, Becks.”

“Having my brother-in-law as my manager shouldn’t make any difference to my work, Jenna,” Rebecca reminded her as she tucked the phone under her ear, and reached for a new file.

“I know, but don’t forget that you also came here to recuperate.” Jenna paused as if to let that sink in.

Rebecca shook her head, wet her finger and flipped open the file. “Look, I’ve really got to go, Jen. I’ll see you tonight.”

Jenna said her goodbyes, and Rebecca laid the phone on its cradle wondering if taking on this job in Wakely was a mistake.

But she knew she came here to get help reaching her goal. As she thought of the alternative—living at home with parents who hovered even more than Jenna—she decided she could probably handle her sister.

Joe leaned forward, arms resting on the steering wheel of his semi, his eyes staring sightlessly at the line of tractor-trailer units ahead of him at the weighing station. Not for the first time he winged up a prayer that his load would come underweight, and not over, as he suspected it was.

Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he bit his lip in frustration. He had a Super-B full of six-by-six lumber that had to go to a resaw mill in Penticton, and he didn’t want to look at his watch to see how late he was.

He pulled out the worn piece of paper that Dale had given him. Each time he thought about the choice between losing his plan to open a training arena or taking over the ranch that held absolutely no good memories for him, he felt almost ill. As he looked at the figure on the paper he remembered all too clearly Miss Rebecca Stevenson’s perfectly shaped eyebrow lifting oh so slightly when he refused their generous offer. He was still angry with Lane for maneuvering him into that awkward situation.

Joe folded the paper and set it in the folder on the seat beside him, wondering at the direction of his life. Trucking was the only thing he knew. He had started driving as an escape, a way to see the world.

Well, he hadn’t seen the world, he thought, staring sightlessly at the line of trucks ahead of him, but he’d seen enough of the highways of North America to realize that running from one end of the continent to the other had merely become a job. A way to save for other plans.

Spending lonely evenings hunched over the wheel of his semi, his world narrowed down to the beam of his headlights, then pulling over on an empty stretch of highway to eat truck-stop food and get some sleep was not how he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Lately he yearned for a home, for a certain comfort and routine in his life. The same routine he once scorned.

But what did he have?

Other than his acreage and a small mobile home, his only asset was his innate knowledge of horses. He had gotten started with the help of Allister McLure, one of the local vets.

Allister had fostered and encouraged Joe’s gift for working with horses. As an overworked and angry young man, Joe would periodically drop everything and go to the home of Allister and his wife, Lorna. It was Allister who showed him faith in action and Allister who showed him what a father’s love should be.

He got Joe started in horse training, recommending people he met in his practice to take their problem horses to Joe Brewer.

Every few months Joe would purchase a few unbroken one-year-olds from the auction mart and keep them, working with them when he had time and selling them for a decent profit once they were trained. It gave him extra money and established his growing reputation.

He began to dream of starting his own training facility. But until he had his own place, he couldn’t afford to quit trucking. And as long as he worked as a truck driver, he didn’t have time to expand the business.

He had lost more than he wanted to admit that afternoon in the bank.

He thought once again of Rebecca, allowing himself a moment to appreciate her delicate features, her calm demeanor that both pushed him away and intrigued him. He wished he had been a little more gracious around her. Not that it would have gotten him anywhere, he thought wryly. She was far beyond him. Besides, it looked as if Dale had staked a claim, and he was in a better position to maintain it than Joe was.

A blast from the air horn of an impatient driver behind him made him jump.

Joe put his idling truck into gear and with a chuff of brakes eased his unit forward, closing the gap between him and the truck on the scale. He couldn’t resist a quick glance at his watch, which showed him that he was well behind schedule. To get this load to Penticton on time would mean running the risk of a speeding ticket, which he could ill afford. He felt his stomach begin the all-too-familiar tightening as he tried to relax, tried to remind himself that rushing only caused accidents. But he also knew that if he didn’t get to the business on time, it would be closed, and he would have to find a spot to lay over, and that meant he would be late for his next pickup in Langley and…

He eased his truck to a halt to wait some more and forced himself not to think about the consequences. Break it down, he reminded himself. First get this truck weighed, then head out, then see what happens. But even as he went through the routine, he couldn’t stop his hands from clenching the steering wheel, his shoulders from hunching with tension, something he was doing more and more often.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped his head back. He closed his eyes. “Okay, Lord,” he said quietly, “I’m stuck at this weigh scale, and You know I get uptight when I’m behind. But I’m giving You the rest of this day. It’s Yours, and I’ll live with whatever comes my way.” As he quietly continued his prayer, he felt God’s peace wash over him.

Slowly his hands lost their grip, and his shoulders fell. He still had to get his load to Penticton on time, he still faced the possibility of an overload charge, but his tension eased. He had reached beyond the tiny confines of his truck and his life, and events were put into perspective.

Half an hour later, Joe was on the road. His load had come in just under. He was still late, but it didn’t matter as much as before.

With a quick jab of his finger, he turned on the radio. Immediately songs of heartbreak and sorrow wailed above the engine’s whine.

Joe slipped on his sunglasses. One song drifted into another as the pavement rolled along under his wheels, the dotted line clipping by, power poles slowly marking his progress. Joe couldn’t help but pull a face as he listened to the lyrics of yet another song about a lonely trucker far away from his family, trying to make a living. Given his current mood, the last thing he needed was to listen to some rich country and western singer making yet another million writing songs about the hard work and low pay Joe was trying to escape.

He hit the power button, cutting off the singer mid-sob, his mind mulling and worrying over his problems.

If he had to shelve his dream of setting up an arena, he still needed to find other work. But trucking and training horses were all he knew. The first gave him a job that earned money, and he had been counting heavily on the latter to help him get away.

He felt as if he was pushed into a corner he had been trying to escape, and he didn’t know how to get out.

Chapter Four

Joe rubbed his eyes as he leaned against the wall beside the phone at the truck stop, the receiver clamped against his ear. He had driven most of last night and needed sleep more than conversation.

“Hey, Tonya,” he said when his renter’s wife picked up the phone. “How are things?”

Joe stifled a groan as Tonya began her usual litany of complaints. Her nasal voice in one ear was a sharp counterpoint to the sparse hum of conversation inside the dimly lit café. “I know it’s not a palace, Tonya,” he said when she was done, “but it’s cheap.” Too cheap, he often thought. Kevin and Tonya lived there free and in return took care of Joe’s horses and boarded their own for nothing.

“Cheap doesn’t mean it has to be such a dive,” she complained.

Joe clenched his jaw, keeping his temper in check. Tonya squeezed in one more complaint then Kevin got on the phone.

“Hey, Kevin,” Joe said by way of greeting, stifling an urge to yawn. “Just called to see how things are going.”

“Well…” Kevin paused. “I… I need to tell you something.”

He sounded nervous. Joe knew he had to bide his time. Rushing Kevin only made him stutter.

“It’s your new horse, you remember her?”

As if Joe could forget. He had paid more for that two-year-old than he cared to admit to anyone. “Talia.”

“That’s the one.” Kevin sighed, and Joe felt a prickling of fear. “I accidentally put her in the same pen as Mack, and…” He let the sentence trail off.

“And they started fighting.” Joe finished the sentence, his throat suddenly dry. Please, Lord, don’t let it be too bad, he prayed. I know I paid too much for that horse, but You know why I did.

“Mack is okay, a few nicks and bruises on his chest, but Talia…” Kevin paused again, and Joe clenched his teeth in frustration. “She’s, well, she’s…”

“Is she dead?” Joe blurted, suddenly frightened.

“No, no.”

“But?”

“She tried to jump the fence and ripped open her left flank. It’s a bit of a mess.”

Joe sagged against the wall in relief, the sounds of the café drifting away as Kevin’s words registered. Talia was hurt, not dead. She’s just a horse, he reminded himself.

But even as the thought formed, he knew he was fooling himself. Talia was his stake, the beginning of a larger plan that was supposed to get him away from the wheel of a semi.

“McLure stitched her up,” Kevin continued.

Joe felt himself relax. Allister knew as much about horses as Joe did. And Allister would be the next person Joe would call.

Joe ran a hand over his face, weariness engulfing him. The smell of burned coffee had become nauseating. A sure signal that it was time to get some sleep, yet all he wanted to do was run to his truck and head home. “Where did you put her?”

“In the lean-to. McLure gave me some antibiotics that I have to give her with her feed.”

“Okay.” Joe yawned, his eyes bleary. He had to trust that Kevin would take care of Talia. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.” Joe placed the phone slowly in the cradle. He still held the receiver, biting his lip, wondering if it was too early to call Allister McLure.

And what would that accomplish? Joe was miles from home. He had to trust that Kevin would do what Allister told him to.

Jenna dropped onto the couch beside Rebecca, blowing out a breath in frustration. “How many drinks do little girls need before they can finally sleep?”

Rebecca glanced at her sister over her book, smiling. “I’m sure we weren’t much easier on Mother.”

“We had a nanny,” Jenna reminded Rebecca, tucking her feet under her. She ran her hand along the rough material of the hunter green couch. “We also had better furniture,” she murmured, pulling on a loose thread with a frown of displeasure.

“The couch looks fine, Jenna.”

Jenna leveled a patient look at her sister. “You don’t need to patronize me. I should have shopped around more when we bought this set, but Troy didn’t want to spend that much money. And now look at it.” Jenna wound the loose thread around her finger and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans. “But there’s no way I can justify buying a different suite. Not when I’ve been hassling Troy about putting on a solarium.”

Jenna was never satisfied, Rebecca thought. The house was only five years old, but she had already added a fireplace to the family room and renovated Shannon and Amanda’s bedrooms and the upstairs bathroom. Now she wanted to add a solarium. Jenna didn’t want to face the fact that her biggest problem wasn’t the house. The problem was it wasn’t her parent’s house, which was much larger, fancier and more impressive. “This house is plenty big enough, Jenna.”

“I suppose,” Jenna replied looking around, her lips pursed. “I’m just used to more. It’s very hard to move down the economic food chain.” Jenna sighed. “I can’t believe you once considered becoming a phys ed instructor. They make even less than a bank manager does. You’d never have been satisfied.”

Rebecca said nothing at the unintended slight. Jenna still regarded her as the spoiled baby of the family who got more than Jenna did. “I did more than consider it, Jenna,” she said. “I got my degree, and I would have had a job if I hadn’t—” Rebecca pressed her lips together. Why was it still so hard to talk about the accident? To even casually mention the loss of her dreams that day.

“Oh, Becks. It must have been hard, I’m sure.” Jenna laid her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder in sympathy. “I still can’t believe Kyle just walked away.”

Rebecca could. Kyle felt guilty. He was the one who had lost his temper. He was the one who had gone after her on his horse. When he lost control, he was the one who escaped with only a bruised shoulder. It was Rebecca who had sustained the spinal injury.

Guilt kept him away. She was always thankful that her parents hadn’t taken their lawyer’s advice and sued. She wanted to put the whole episode behind her. Winning a court settlement wouldn’t repair her body. Her parents had more than enough money.

And she didn’t want to have to face Kyle and his abandonment.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Jenna continued. “You’re here now, and I’m glad. Although I don’t know why you insist on working. You don’t have to, you know.”

“Yes, I do, Jenna. I’ve got that business degree Mom and Dad paid for. I can’t pay them back for my education degree, but at least I can do something. I was ready to climb the walls at home with Mother fussing and fretting and hovering over me.” Rebecca smiled at her sister, her book forgotten in her lap. “I like the work even if it’s not what I always wanted.”

“I never could understand why you liked sports as much as you did.” Jenna wrinkled her nose in distaste. “And Shannon is just like you. She’ll be involved in every sport possible, just like you were. I’m sure we’ll need to put in a swimming pool for her someday.”

“Honestly, Jenna. Aren’t you ever going to be satisfied with this house?”

Jenna withdrew her hand from her sister’s shoulder and looked around with a shrug. “I don’t know. I’m just wondering what it’s going to be like when Shannon and Amanda start having friends over. It seems like we use every square inch of space now. I can’t imagine what it will be like then.”

“It’ll be fine,” Rebecca replied. “Do you remember my friend Miriam? They weren’t rich, and they didn’t have a big house at all, but I loved going to their place.”

“Was she that girl who lived on the dairy farm?”

Rebecca nodded, smiling as she remembered breakfasts around a crowded table and noise and laughter. After breakfast there were chores. It didn’t matter who was there—everyone pitched in. “What I remember best of Miriam’s place was the space and room outside. Mom and Dad had a huge house in Calgary, but I always felt closed in there. I never felt that way at Miriam’s place. I always said that when I grew up, I wanted to live on a place like that.”

Jenna punched Rebecca’s shoulder lightly. “You’re such a romantic, Rebecca. I’m sure you didn’t get to see Miriam’s parents burning the midnight oil trying to figure out how to make the money stretch to buy enough food and clothes for that brood of kids.” Jenna let her hand rest on her sister’s shoulder. “You’ve never had to be on your own, so you don’t know how hard it is to scrimp. Take my advice, girl. Marry someone who can keep you in the style to which you are accustomed. Now, more than ever, you have to be choosy about who you marry.”

Rebecca bristled at her condescending tone, quite sure she was alluding to Rebecca’s limp. It annoyed her that her family saw her as helpless and spoiled. Her sister was no better than her parents in thinking that she would cave if she wasn’t dressed in designer outfits or nibbling on gourmet chocolates. Truth was, Rebecca couldn’t care less, but no one seemed to get it.

“And how is working with Dale?” Jenna continued.

Rebecca had wondered when Jenna would bring that up. “He wants to take me out this weekend,” she said absently, her eyes skimming over the words to find her place.

“I’ll bet he takes you to the Palliser. I loved that hotel,” she said wistfully. “Troy and I haven’t been there since our third anniversary.”

Rebecca had never cared much about where they ate and who they ate with, she thought, noting the faraway look in Jenna’s eye. Food was food, she figured. Lobster thermidor or a burger at a fast-food restaurant served the same purpose. They filled you up.

“I’ll let you know when he tells me,” Rebecca said absently, looking at her book. She couldn’t get into the story, but by pretending to read, she forestalled Jenna’s other questions. She didn’t want to dissect every nuance of Dale’s very short phone conversation, nor did she want to talk about what she should wear. Rebecca had more important things on her mind right now. She was still waiting to hear from the high school in Edmonton about her job application for phys ed instructor. She had applied quite soon after her accident, figuring that hard work would get her mobile in spite of what the doctors said. She had the knowledge, and at one time she had the skills. She just lacked the physical prowess. But that would come, she figured. Heather had given her a series of exercises to do that were more challenging. She was enjoying her job, working with people she would see in the grocery store after work or in church on Sunday.

She felt as if she was finally moving in a positive direction.

A date with Dale came somewhere toward the bottom of her list of priorities. She didn’t even stop to wonder if that had more to do with her high hopes of pursuing her teaching career—or her tepid feelings about Dale.

Chapter Five

“Swelling has increased, especially around the stitches.” Allister gently touched the leg, and the horse shied away. Joe stroked Talia’s nose, holding the halter rope while Kevin hung on the fence of the outdoor pen watching them. “Have you been giving her the antibiotics?” Allister asked.

“Kevin?” Joe asked, looking at his renter. “Have you?”

Kevin chewed his lip as if contemplating the answer. “Well…” He hesitated, looking away from both of them. “She didn’t always eat all her feed, and the pills would be on the bottom of the pail. When I tried to feed them to her, she’d let them fall out of her mouth.” He scratched his head, still looking away. “You said not to force her, Joe. You said to go easy with her.”

“Did you try grinding the pills up?” Dr. McLure straightened, brushing the horse hair from his hands.

Kevin shrugged. “Not always.”

“That’s why she wasn’t eating them.” Allister exchanged an exasperated look with Joe, and Joe felt immediately guilty.

Talia threw her head and snorted, and Joe pulled his attention to his horse, holding his rising anger at himself and his renter. Kevin had worked with Joe’s horses for the past six months. And in the past two, Joe could see with each trip home that the horses weren’t as well taken care of as they should be. He knew Allister could see it, too.

He had let it go too long, but what alternative did he have? Finding renters willing to take care of his horses was difficult. He thought he had neatly solved his problems with Kevin. From the looks of Talia’s leg, his solution had created more problems than it had solved.

“I’m gong to give you some more pills,” Dr. McLure said to Kevin. “This time make sure you crush them really fine and mix them thoroughly through her grain ration. Make sure you don’t give her too much grain, as well,” he warned as he stepped back from Talia. He looked at Joe. “I’ll have to give her a shot for now. It’ll get into her system quicker than the pills.”

Joe nodded. He hated giving his horses needles. They were so jumpy afterward. He spoke softly to Talia as Allister drew up the needle, pulling her head down when he saw Allister ready to inject.

“Hold her easy, she’ll jump at this.”

Talia barely moved, and that made Joe feel even worse. He laid his head against her neck in sympathy, rubbing her shoulder.

“You can take her back to her stall,” Allister said to Joe when he was done.

Joe stroked Talia’s nose once more, as if in sympathy. Then, with the gentlest of tugs on her halter rope, he led her slowly out of the pen to the single stall he had made up in the lean-to of his small shed.

He led her in, took off the halter and slid the door shut behind him. Talia whickered, and Joe stopped, looking at her.

“Sorry, girl.” He walked back, reaching through the bars of the door, stroking her neck, avoiding her soft brown eyes. “I let you down, didn’t I?” he said softly, scratching her behind the ears when she lowered her head for him. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” As he spoke, Joe shook his head. How many times hadn’t he heard his father use the same words when a promised trip had been canceled, when his father arbitrarily changed his mind about letting Joe participate in after-school sports and worst of all, when Joe’s favorite horses had to be sold to pay bills? Except his father had never been able to make it up to Joe.

Joe patted Talia once more, then left.

Kevin and Dr. McLure were still in the pen, talking. Kevin had his head down and was nodding. Allister was frowning, taking a few moments from stripping off his coveralls to gesture as he spoke. Joe knew from past experience that Allister wasn’t bothering to spare Kevin’s feelings. When it came to horses, Allister had absolutely no patience for neglect and mistakes.

“An animal can’t do a whole lot for himself once he’s in a human’s care,” he heard Allister say, his voice rising as he folded up the coveralls. “They depend totally on us. It’s trust, and you just broke it with that filly.”

Dr. McLure looked up as Joe came near. “I was just talking to your hired hand.” His voice held a note of censure for Joe, as well, and Joe winced. He knew Allister was right, as usual. Talia’s injury was as much Joe’s responsibility as it was Kevin’s. “I’ve got enough pills in the truck for a couple of days. You’ll have to come into the office to get the rest.”

“I’ll…I’ll be in t-town in a couple of d-days,” Kevin said, glancing sidelong at Joe.

Kevin was beginning to stutter, a sure sign that he was flustered. Joe didn’t feel sorry for him.

“That’s okay. I’ll go in and get them tomorrow.” Joe slipped his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and chewed on his lip as he thought of all he had to get done in the few days he had off from work.

“I’ll have them ready for you.” Allister nodded and left.

“Just sit tight,” Joe said to Kevin. “I want to talk to Dr. McLure. I’ll be right back.”

Kevin nodded, his head hanging. He reminded Joe of his horses when they had been reprimanded, but he still didn’t feel sorry for him.

Joe clambered over the fence, easily catching up to the vet. Allister had one of the boxes of the truck open and was counting pills into an envelope. He licked the envelope shut and handed it to Joe.

“So, what are you going to do about these horses of yours, my boy?” Allister said, leaning against the truck, his arms crossed. Joe recognized his tone. It was one often heard from Allister when Joe had been impatient with a horse he was working with, or too harsh.

Joe poked a hole in the sand with the toe of his old cowboy boots, his thumbs strung in the belt loops of his jeans. “I don’t know, Allister. It sure doesn’t look like I can keep going like this, does it?”