“Your daughter has asthma and you brought her to a stable?”

“She’s not having a reaction to the horses, Mr. Ritter. She’s brought this attack on by getting upset.”

“What would have happened if she’d reacted to the horses?”

Kayla glared at him. “I would have taken her home immediately, put her on her nebulizer and not brought her back. As it is, I may not anyway.”

“I can’t believe you’d take that chance.”

Kayla prayed for patience. “Mr. Ritter, I’ve lived with my daughter’s health problems all her life. I’m well versed on what she can tolerate and what she can’t. She’s been around horses nearly every week for the past year without difficulty. Today has been no exception. She’s upset because she can’t take Birdsong home. It’ll pass.”

The man didn’t look convinced.

“You offered to give her riding lessons a few minutes ago. Are you going to renege?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then you do your part, Mr. Ritter, and I’ll do mine. Can we agree on that?”

He clearly didn’t like being cornered. Daryl hadn’t liked it either when she called him on commitments he’d made.

“Bring her Monday after school. But if she has another attack, the deal’s off.”

Dear Reader,

Those of you who’ve read Back in Texas by Roxanne Rustand, last month’s kick-off book for this HOME TO LOVELESS COUNTY series, know that the mayor of the shriveling town of Homestead in central Texas is determined to save the once-thriving ranch community by establishing a land-giveaway scheme to lure people back.

One of the program’s takers is Kayla Price, a divorced mother, who brings her father and her eight-year-old daughter to the beautiful Hill Country with plans to start a vineyard. Another is Ethan Ritter, a local horse trainer and riding instructor, who has lost everything: his family, his home, his sense of worth. Kayla and Ethan don’t seem to have much in common—other than an unwelcome attraction to each other—until they meet the most vulnerable members of their community.

This is a story about saving a small town, but even more, it’s about saving children. It’s a story fraught with danger, both physical and emotional, the kind that makes vulnerable people more vulnerable, but also has the potential to make strong people stronger. These two wounded people have to fight hard to understand themselves and to realize that together they are invincible.

This series has given me the wonderful opportunity to work with some truly talented storytellers: Roxanne Rustand, Linda Warren, Roz Denny Fox and Lynnette Kent. I hope you enjoy As Big as Texas and the other books in the HOME TO LOVELESS COUNTY series.

I enjoy hearing from readers. You can e-mail me at kncasper@kncasper.com or write me at P.O. Box 61511, San Angelo, TX 76906. Please also visit my Web site at www.kncasper.com.

K.N. Casper

As Big as Texas
K.N. Casper

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This story is dedicated to all the members of NARHA,

the North American Riding for the Handicapped Association,

and especially to their hundreds of volunteers who contribute

countless hours to help children and adults meet the special

challenges in their lives with smiles on their faces.

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“MEGAN, DO YOU HAVE your inhaler?”

“Yes, Mommy.” The eight-year-old patted her black patent-leather purse, her latest acquisition.

“If you have any trouble breathing, I want you to use it right away and tell me,” Kayla instructed her. Megan would use it if she had to, but she wouldn’t make a public display of it if she could avoid it.

“You know horses don’t bother me, Mommy,” Megan insisted. “I’ve been riding for a whole year now, ever since Daddy let me sit on that pony for my picture, and I haven’t had to use my inhaler even once.”

“That was in Oregon, honey. We don’t know if you’ll react that same way here in Texas. We have to be very careful.”

The fact that her ex-husband let their daughter sit on a horse, when he’d been told cats and horses were the worst triggers for asthmatics, still riled her. Daryl seemed to think ignoring Megan’s illness, or pretending it didn’t exist, would make it go away. The kitten he’d brought home should’ve taught him otherwise. Megan’s reaction had been so severe she’d ended up in the emergency room on a forced-air machine. He—or rather Megan—had been lucky in the case of horses that she hadn’t had an adverse reaction. In fact, for the past year she’d been riding almost every week and doing fine. The first sign of troubled breathing today, though, they’d be out of there for good.

“Mommy, what color is Birdsong?”

“I don’t know, honey. Mr. Tanner didn’t say.”

“I hope she’s gray. I really like gray horses. Is she very big? I like big horses, too.”

“Mr. Tanner didn’t call Birdsong a pony, so I imagine she’s a regular-size horse.” Kayla just hoped the mare would be suitable and available.

She slowed as she approached a break in the wire fence that stretched on as far as the eye could see, up and down the low, rolling hills. A rustic wooden sign announced The Broken Spoke. She turned left. The car rippled over a cattle crossing.

The rooster tail of dust her aging Toyota was kicking up on the dirt road reinforced just how completely different this Texan countryside was from the damp and rainy coast they’d left behind. Kayla missed the tall trees and snow-covered mountains she’d grown up with, but the doctors had insisted Megan needed a drier climate. The girl had been considerably better since they’d moved here a month ago, and Kayla had to admit there was an unexpected beauty and charm in this wide-open land, a sense of boundless freedom that was invigorating. And she was delighted by the friendliness of the people. Megan, of course, was thrilled to see real live cowboys.

Over a low rise Kayla spied a ranch house in the shade of what she’d learned were live oak trees. Behind it was a big wooden barn and a cluster of smaller metal buildings. She rolled to a stop in the gravel parking area beside the barn, her eyes instantly drawn to the man in the middle of the corral opposite, who was quietly approaching a horse. The horse was staring white eyed back at him.

Unbuckling her seat belt, Megan jumped out of the car, slammed the door and took off for the enclosure.

Startled, the horse tossed its head, neighed and sidestepped skittishly away from the man.

Kayla saw him slouch in frustration. Uh-oh, not a good start.

“Megan, stop right there!” she called out.

The girl hesitated, then reluctantly obeyed. When Kayla caught up with her, she took her hand and together they cautiously approached the pipe fence.

“Is that Birdsong?” Megan asked.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but you can’t go racing around here, disturbing things.”

The man in the ring was tall, slender and wore work-faded jeans with a large silver belt buckle, plaid shirt and high-heeled cowboy boots. All that was missing was the Stetson.

He sauntered over to them.

“What can I do for you?” He wasn’t unfriendly, but somehow his tone lacked the warmth she’d come to associate with Texans.

“I’m sorry we spooked your horse.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the mare in the far corner watching him suspiciously.

“No permanent damage done.” His voice was a mellow baritone with just enough Texas in it to be charming.

“Is that Birdsong?” Megan bubbled.

“Birdsong?” He gazed at her, and it seemed to Kayla there was sadness in his eyes.

“I’m going to have my very own horse. Mommy promised.”

Time to take control of the situation. Kayla extended her hand. “I’m Kayla Price. This is my daughter, Megan.”

She wasn’t surprised that his hand was rough and callused. He was, after all, a cowboy. It was also large and warm, the grip firm but surprisingly gentle.

“Ethan Ritter,” he said. “Y’all must be the folks who’ve taken over the Conyer place.” He started walking toward the gate. Kayla followed suit on her side of the fence, Megan skipping along a pace or two ahead.

“Actually, just the house and forty acres.”

Lifting his hat from a fence post, he pushed it down over his thick brown hair, opened the gate and secured it behind him. “What are you planning to do with the land?”

“Grow grapes. We’re calling it Stony Hill Vineyard.”

He didn’t look shocked and he didn’t laugh, which she took as a good sign. “Why a vineyard?”

“Why?” she repeated. “Why not?”

“Not a good answer.” He kept walking toward the weathered barn.

Kayla found herself practically jogging to keep up with his long stride. His dismissive attitude had her pulse up. “Excuse me?”

“You need to have a positive reason for doing something if you want to succeed,” he explained. “You won’t accomplish much with that negative mind-set.”

“Are you always so judgmental?”

“Gee, I hope so,” he said with an aw-shucks grin. “Isn’t that why the Good Lord gave us intelligence? To make decisions, judgments?”

She didn’t know what to say. Most people took the word judgmental as a criticism; he was wearing it like a badge.

“Are we going to see Birdsong now?” Megan asked, bouncing up and down.

Ethan slowed and smiled at her. “Sure, you can meet Birdsong. We’ll have to call her in from the pasture, though. She’s busy right now snacking on green grass. Would you care for a drink of water?” He worked his mouth, clucking his tongue. “I’m dry as a bone.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Megan said, very adult. “Dry as a bone.”

He grinned with unexpected affection, and in spite of her pique, Kayla couldn’t help smiling, too. She liked the way his expression softened when he spoke to her daughter. He was definitely opinionated, but there was a childlike quality about him, as well. An intriguing combination, she decided, and a dangerous one.

The barn’s rich scent of hay and feed nearly overwhelmed Kayla as Ethan led them into a small room, its rough wooden walls covered with racks of saddles and tack. Over by a battered school desk he took three bottles of water out of a small refrigerator. Twisting the cap off one, he handed it to Megan, gave the second to Kayla and then downed half of his in one long draw.

Kayla tried not to stare at his Adam’s apple as it bobbed with each swallow.

Back outside, he showed them to a large pasture where half a dozen horses were grazing. Two fingers between his teeth, Ethan whistled, and the animals began to saunter toward him.

“The bay in the lead is Birdsong,” he explained.

The brown horse had a black mane and tail, as well as four black stockings. She also appeared to be bigger than the others.

“She’s beautiful,” Megan declared. “I don’t care if she’s not gray.”

Ethan looked at Kayla.

“That’s her favorite color this month.”

Again, he smiled. Oh, yes, definitely dangerous. A woman could grow very fond of that smile.

Megan moved down the fence to where the animals were headed.

“She’s horse crazy,” Kayla explained.

“A lot of kids go through the phase at that age. How old is she, about eight?”

Kayla was impressed. Most bachelors—a woman who’d made no secret of eavesdropping on her conversation with Mr. Tanner, had been very emphatic about that—were poor judges of a child’s age.

“Yes,” she responded. “She has pictures of horses all over her room, statues on her shelves and has nagged me into subscribing to every horse magazine she can find.”

“Give her a few years. Once adolescence hits and she discovers boys, horses will quickly be forgotten.”

“The opposite sex doesn’t seem to have distracted you,” she blurted, blushing when she realized what she was saying.

He tilted his head in amusement. “I’m not immune.” His green eyes studied her, making her decidedly uncomfortable, a condition he obviously enjoyed, because he laughed before observing, “I have more than a dozen horses here. What’s your interest in this particular one?”

“When I was in the general store yesterday, I happened to mention I might be interested in buying Megan a horse. Mr. Tanner said your Birdsong was very gentle with kids, and that you probably didn’t have much use for her anymore.”

For a moment Ethan’s expression shifted, but the sadness, if that’s what it was, vanished when the big mare came up to the fence and nosed his arm.

“Can I pet her?” Megan cried. “Can I? Please?”

Ethan beckoned to her. “Come here.”

Wide-eyed, she rushed over. He lifted her so her feet rested on the bottom rail of the fence. “Put your hand out slowly with your palm up and fingers flat, and let her sniff you for a few seconds. Then you can rub her nose.”

Megan did what she was told, then giggled as she ran her fingers above the horse’s nostrils. “She’s so soft,” she said in amazement.

“That’s the silkiest part of any horse,” Ethan told her. “Now slowly move your hand up to her forehead. You can feel her coat there is rough.”

Kayla held her breath and watched for any change in Megan’s breathing. None.

“If you really want to make her feel good, rub her just above the eyes. Like this.” He cupped his hand over the horse’s right eye and rubbed it in a gentle massage, then guided Megan’s much smaller hand to do the same thing. “That’s it. Nice and easy. Not all horses like to be touched there, but a lot of them do. I think Birdsong really likes you.”

He had a way with children, Kayla decided, and wondered why he wasn’t married and raising a family.

“Can I ride her?” Megan pleaded.

“Maybe another time. She’s ready to come in for her supper now.”

Megan’s disappointment was palpable, but to Kayla’s immense relief she didn’t push the issue.

“Ready to bring them in?” asked a man behind them.

Kayla spun around. An older cowboy with a paunchy middle and a scuffed straw Western hat shielding his leathery face had approached so quietly, she hadn’t even heard him.

“Carter, this is Kayla Price,” Ethan said over his shoulder, still holding Megan so she could run her hand over the horse’s other eyelid. “They’re interested in buying Birdsong.”

Carter grunted and moved to the gate a few yards down, where he removed one of a dozen halters hanging on the fence. Birdsong instantly trotted to him, nudging another horse out of the way. No question about the pecking order.

“Can I go with her?” the girl begged.

Ethan let out a chuckle. “Carter,” he called over, “Megan would like to help you bring Birdsong in.”

“Don’t need no help,” the old man grumbled. “Been doin’ this longer than you been alive.”

Ethan just looked at the man with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, all right. Come on then. Don’t have all day.” Carter stepped inside the gate and put the halter on the big mare, who seemed to accept it eagerly. “Give her room,” he barked at the girl, “if you don’t want to get run down.”

She jumped to the side as he brought the horse through the gate, crowding out the others in the process and latching it behind him. Kayla suffered a moment of anxiety looking at her daughter, so small beside the huge animal.

Kayla watched, smiling as they moved toward the barn. Megan was marching like a soldier, head up, utterly delighted in her role as official helper. Carter said something to her, and Kayla hoped it wasn’t a reprimand. Then, to her surprise, he handed her daughter the lead rope. When Megan looked back, her face radiated pure joy.

Kayla couldn’t help grinning. “He’s made her day.”

Amusement played across Ethan’s lips, too. “Buy her a horse and she’ll get to do that a lot.”

“You think she’ll tire of it then? You might be right. Have you ever gotten tired of being around horses?”

For a moment he got that dreamy look in his eyes again. “No. Don’t think I ever will, either.”

He haltered the next mare.

“How experienced a rider is Megan?” The nostalgia was gone from his voice.

“Not very,” Kayla admitted. “Back home I took her to weekly group lessons at a stable not far from where we lived. They taught English, but it was more for amusement than serious training. She’s never been on a Western saddle, which is what she really wants—to be a real cowgirl.”

“So she’s a relative beginner.”

“Afraid so. She’ll be an eager student, though, I can promise you that.”

“What do you know about keeping horses?”

“Not much.” She walked on his left as they followed the same path Carter and Megan had taken. “We’ve never owned a horse, but I figure we can learn.”

“Or kill the animal out of ignorance.” His tone was sharp now. “What are the symptoms of colic?”

“Oh, I—”

“How about founder? Thrush?”

She listened to the clop-clop of the horse’s hooves on the gravel but said nothing. She didn’t know the answers.

“How often does a horse have to be shod?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“You reckon you can just pick that information up from a book or magazine?”

“People do buy horses,” she pointed out.

He shook his head in disgust. “How much do you plan to spend on this hobby?”

She chose not to respond to the implied put-down. “I don’t know what you’re asking for Birdsong,” she said, “or if I can afford her. We have to start somewhere, don’t we?”

“I meant, how much have you budgeted each month?”

She looked up at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t.” They’d reached the barn. He stopped and studied her. “Mrs. Price, buying a horse is only the down payment on a variety of expenses. There are, for example, the vet fees. You can budget for shots, but not for the unexpected bills that come with unpredictable ailments. Colic is the most common. If it’s in the middle of the night or on a Sunday or holiday, you shell out extra dough to call the vet out. By the way, do you own a horse trailer and truck strong enough to tow it? That car you drove up in sure won’t handle the load.”

Her dad had a truck, but it was a small one. She was spared answering as Carter and Megan passed them going the other way.

“I’m helping bring in the other horses, Mommy,” Megan called out, clearly in seventh heaven.

“That’s nice, honey.”

“You’ll have farrier fees for shoes every six weeks or so,” Ethan went on.

He led the horse into the barn. Inside a box stall he removed the halter. The mare immediately made for a bucket hanging on the wall and started chomping grain.

“Have you considered feed?” Ethan asked, closing and latching the heavy door and hanging the halter on a peg beside it. “What kind of hay? Coastal or alfalfa? How much oats? What kind of supplements?” His eyes surveyed the room.

“Then there’s time,” he continued. “Are you up to feeding twice a day seven days a week, rain or shine, wind or snow? You’ll need to put the horse out to pasture every morning and bring her in every evening when the weather is fair. Do you have someone competent who can fill in for you when you’re not available?”

They stepped outside. The early-February sun was going down and so was the temperature. Not cold but decidedly chilly.

“These animals are dependant on you for their survival,” he emphasized.

“Other people do it,” she insisted, but she began to wonder if she’d made a big mistake promising her daughter a horse of her own.

ETHAN HAD BEEN studying his visitor’s reaction to his questions, or rather his relentless grilling. She wasn’t pleased with him, but he suspected she was even more displeased with herself. She’d apparently promised her daughter something she now realized she couldn’t deliver. A dilemma for any parent.

What about Megan’s father? She hadn’t mentioned him, and he’d noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring. He’d met a few married women who didn’t, but Kayla Price didn’t strike him as that type. Strong, independent, yes, but also one who took a commitment seriously and wasn’t bashful about acknowledging it.

There he was being judgmental again.

Was she divorced, widowed, a single mother who had never been married? Not that it was any of his business. Her private life was her own.

One thing was for sure, he wasn’t about to sell her Birdsong under any conditions. The mare was still sound—sweet, patient and gentle—and would make an ideal horse for a little girl like Megan. But that could change quickly. If all went well, Bird might have another five years left. On the other hand, the next bout of colic could be her last. Ethan couldn’t in good conscience sell a horse of that age to an incompetent buyer, even if he were inclined to part with her—which he wasn’t.

“Look—” he tried to sound friendly rather than negative “—you’re not ready to buy a horse. Maybe when you’ve had some experience and know what you’re getting yourself into. Until then, I recommend giving your daughter lessons and leaving it at that for a while.”

Kayla nodded, but she wasn’t pleased. “I wish you weren’t right,” she admitted. “Megan is going to be so disappointed.”

“And you’ll be in the doghouse.”

She caught his eye and smiled ruefully. “Big-time.”

The girl approached leading a brown horse with three white stockings. “This is Izzy, Mommy. That’s short for Isabel.”

“She’s going to have a baby in a few months,” Ethan told her. “Maybe you can come back then and see the foal.”

“Can I, Mom?”

“We’ll see, honey.”

“I’ve never seen a baby horse, except in pictures. Are they really cute?”

“As a button,” Ethan assured her.

“The second stall on the right,” Carter said and gave Ethan a disgruntled look.

Man, child and horse disappeared into the shadows of the old structure.

“Maybe we can settle on a compromise,” Ethan told Kayla.

“What do you mean?”

“Tell Megan Birdsong isn’t for sale, but I’d like her to ride the horse to see how well they get along. If she’s still interested after a few sessions, I’ll give you a half lease on her.”

“Half lease? On a horse?”

He nodded. “You pay half the upkeep, including feed, shots and shoeing. Megan can ride her anytime she wants, whether she’s taking lessons from me or not. I pay the other half, as well as anything unexpected that might pop up, like vet bills when she colicks. Your monthly tab will fluctuate according to the cost of feed and routine vet charges, but you won’t have any catastrophic bills, and you can terminate the lease anytime you want.”

“Sounds like a good deal.”

“It is.”

“Except Birdsong stays here, right?”

He nodded.

“That’s the part she won’t be happy about. She’s been counting on having her horse in our stable.”

“One other thing. You—or she—also do half the chores. That means coming over here every other afternoon after school and mucking out the stall. Might as well find out if she’s serious about this horse business.”

Kayla laughed. He liked the sound and the way her face lit up.

“Try it for, say, three or four months. After you’ve gotten a taste of the care and feeding of horses and have a better idea of what you’re letting yourselves in for, if you still want to buy her a horse, I’ll help you find one.”

“BUT YOU SAID we were going to buy Birdsong.” Hands fisted, Megan stomped her foot. “You promised.”

“Megan, I said I would consider it if we could afford to and if Birdsong was available, but Mr. Ritter doesn’t want to sell her. I can’t make him.”

“You promised,” she shouted, red faced. “You said I could have my very own horse. I love Birdsong and she loves me.”

Under different circumstances Kayla might have laughed at her daughter’s notion of instant love.

“Calm down, honey. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

Megan glared at her, her mouth pinched. She didn’t often throw temper tantrums, but when she did they had serious consequences. Her breathing was already becoming rapid, raspy.

Kayla led her to a bench beside the old barn, sat her down and reached into her pocket for the extra inhaler she always carried.

“Here, use this,” she said.

“I don’t want it,” her daughter all but shouted, though her voice didn’t carry very well. “I want Birdsong.” Her breaths were coming in quick inhalations now. But it was exhaling that was most difficult.

Ethan finished filling a water trough over by the corral and strolled over. Kayla had been aware of him watching them. “What’s wrong?”

“Her asthma is acting up. She’ll be all right in a few minutes.” She again offered the inhaler.

Desperate now for air, Megan didn’t refuse it a second time. She sucked in two draws from the small canister, and her breathing immediately began to ease.

Kayla stayed with her for a few minutes before getting up. “Wait here while I get your purse. I think you left it hanging near the gate.”

Megan nodded.

Ethan trailed along beside Kayla. “Your daughter has asthma and you brought her to a stable. Don’t you know horses can set off an attack?”

She looked at him, impressed with his knowledge of the disease, displeased by his holier-than-thou tone.

“She’s not having a reaction to the horses, Mr. Ritter. She’s brought this attack on by getting upset.”

“What would have happened if she’d reacted to the horses?”

Kayla stopped and glared at him. “I would have taken her home immediately, put her on her nebulizer and not brought her back. As it is, I may not anyway.”

“I can’t believe you’d take that chance.”

Kayla prayed for patience. “Mr. Ritter, I’ve lived with my daughter’s health problems all her life. I’m well versed on what she can tolerate and what she can’t. She’s been around horses nearly every week for the past year without difficulty. Today has been no exception. She’s upset because she can’t take Birdsong home. It’ll pass.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“You offered to give her riding lessons a few minutes ago. Are you going to renege?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then you do your part, Mr. Ritter, and I’ll do mine. Can we agree on that?”

He clearly didn’t like being cornered. Daryl hadn’t liked it, either, when she called him on commitments he’d made.

“Bring her Monday after school. If she has another attack, though, the deal’s off.”

ETHAN FINISHED hanging up the last piece of tack and scanned the room for anything out of place. Order had always been a trademark of the Ritter barns and stables under Carter Dunlap. The old man had been a ranch hand on the Broken Spoke long before Ethan was born.

Satisfied, Ethan turned off the light as he exited, only to bump into the old cowboy outside the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Carter asked.

“Just finishing up.”

“I mean about the girl.”

“Giving her lessons. What are you so upset about? We can use a few more paying customers.”

“You can’t change the past. I’d have thought you’d understand that by now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ethan started to walk around him, but the old man grabbed him by the arm with strength that was surprising and a bit frightening.

“It’s over. She’s at peace. Let her go, for God’s sake. Torturing yourself won’t do no good. Get on with your life.”

Ethan yanked his arm away.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Carter called after him.

But it was his fault. Nothing could change that, either.

Ethan’s heart was pounding as he strode toward the back of the ranch house.

Was Carter correct? Should Ethan put distance between himself and this girl with the uncanny resemblance to Angela? Was he trying to relive history…and get it right his time?

It didn’t matter. He’d made a deal and he would live up to it.

CHAPTER TWO

“THE VINES SHOULD be arriving around ten,” Kayla’s father reminded her over the breakfast table Monday morning.

“Looking forward to getting your hands dirty?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

Boyd Crawford had been skeptical when she’d found this land opportunity in Texas, but he’d supported her and agreed to come along for a few months to help her establish her first vineyard. He understood how desperately she needed to make a new beginning after Daryl had walked out on her and Megan.

Over the past month they’d identified the ten acres that had the best potential, the optimum incline and drainage. They’d tested the water, analyzed the soil and installed an irrigation system. Last week he’d flown to California and personally arranged for the shipment of select vinifera vines.

Texas boasted a growing number of flourishing vineyards. All Kayla’s studies indicated this one should be equally successful.

“Finish your milk, honey, and then get your backpack,” Kayla told her daughter. “The school bus will be here in a few minutes.”

“I’m going to ride Birdsong this afternoon, Grandpa,” the girl sang. She’d been grounded over the weekend for her temper tantrum at the Broken Spoke on Friday, yet that was all but forgotten.

“You be careful now.” He smiled at his granddaughter.

At this point Kayla wasn’t sure she was as thrilled with the idea of Megan riding. Facing Ethan Ritter again wasn’t something she particularly relished. The man had a sharp tongue, which was aggravating, and other aspects she found disturbing in a different way. His good looks, for instance. The shape of his mouth and the warmth in his green eyes made her entertain possibilities she thought she’d dismissed from her life when she’d divorced Daryl last year. Distractions she didn’t have time for now.

She couldn’t deny that she found Ethan’s personality intriguing, too. He projected strength and self-confidence, but also vulnerability. He was obviously good with kids—at least he’d been with Megan—which added to his appeal. Still, something about the man unsettled her, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

He was opinionated and critical, yet she felt safe with him, perhaps because of the protective way he’d reacted to Megan. Whatever it was, it had her spending too much time thinking about the guy.

“We’ll go over to the Broken Spoke right after you get home from school and change clothes,” she told Megan.

She was tempted to add that this first lesson might not last very long but decided not to dampen the girl’s enthusiasm. Megan would be preoccupied enough in class today without worrying about how long she’d get to ride her precious horse. “Now hurry. You don’t want to miss the bus.”

Ten minutes later the house was quiet.

“Are you sure about this riding business?” her father asked, over his second cup of coffee.

“Maybe this is just a phase, like Ethan says, but, Dad, how can I deny her the opportunity to find out?”

“Is that what Ritter thinks?”

She didn’t miss his use of the neighbor’s last name. “He says adolescence will probably distract her—”

“Woo her away, huh?” He smiled at her over the rim of his cup.

“Something like that.”

“How much time is this latest obsession of hers going to eat up?”

His tone was more amused than critical. Megan wanted to see and try everything. Most of the time her interest waned after the initial experience, but her fascination with horses hadn’t so far, and his concern had merit. Work on the vineyard, this first year especially, would absorb all Kayla’s spare time, another reason why Ethan had been right in discouraging her from buying a horse—for a while at least.

“Three one-hour lessons a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. We’re only a few minutes away—it’ll actually be less intrusive than having to take her to soccer or basketball.”

Boyd drank down the last of his coffee and got up from the table. “I’m going to walk the lines one more time.”

There was nothing wrong with the miles of wire they’d strung for the vines. But starting from scratch was a new adventure for both of them, and he was as nervous about it as she was.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He turned at the door. “For what?”

“Being here for us.”

His expression, often so intense and pensive, softened. “I’m the one who should be thanking you—for having me.”

Kayla got up, walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll let you know when they call.”

IT TOOK A MINUTE for Kayla to recognize the white Ford crew cab barreling up the long driveway that afternoon. It was common for neighbors here to visit, out of friendliness and curiosity. Several people from town had already dropped by to welcome her and ask how she was fixing to use the land.

“Hi.” Ethan opened the truck door. “I thought I’d take a look at how things are going. Hear you got your vines delivered today.”

“Welcome to Stony Hill Vineyard,” Kayla said, not sure why she felt so pleased to see him. Or why she thought he looked so good in a red-plaid flannel shirt and a down-filled vest.

He hooked his thumbs in the corners of his jeans pockets. “I don’t know anything about vineyards, or wine, for that matter, except I can tell what I like when I taste it.”

“That’s a good start. White or red?”

“White mostly. But I like a hearty red with a thick, juicy steak, too.”

“A man after my own heart.” In more ways than one. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

She led him to the tin barn they were using as a warehouse. Large, wooden crates were lined up, open, each with dozens of clipped shoots sticking out like porcupine quills. A few showed green nubs ready to burst, but most were still dormant. Her father was in the far corner frowning over the contents of a damaged crate.

“Dad!”

Straightening, he saw their visitor and began walking toward them. At fifty-six he was beginning to develop the rounded shoulders of a man who spent his days bent over. He wasn’t overweight, but what he carried was beginning to settle.

“This is Ethan Ritter, our next-door neighbor.”

Boyd removed his work gloves and they shook hands. Kayla watched as the two men sized each other up.

“He’s here for the grand tour,” she said.

“Not a lot to see right now,” her father commented. “We just got these in a couple of hours ago. Wait a few months after we get them in the ground, though, and everything greens up. Prettiest sight you ever did see.”

Ethan surveyed the rows of oblong boxes, apparently surprised by the large number. “How many…vines do you have here?”

“Six thousand,” Boyd said, “Enough for ten acres.”

“What kind are they?”

“Chenin blanc.”

“Come on,” Kayla said. “I’ll show you where we’ll plant them.”

“I’ve got to get back to work. You two run along.” Boyd waved as he returned to the damaged crate. “Nice meeting you, Ethan. Stop by anytime.”

“He loves this, doesn’t he?” Ethan commented as they stepped out into the bright afternoon sun.

The remark pleased Kayla, perhaps because she also heard approval in it. The two would get along fine, she decided.

She led him to a slope that was out of sight of the house and the road.

Ethan took in the rows of poles and wires as Kayla explained that her father had used the augur on their tractor to make holes in the ground every eight feet.

“Our initial yields won’t be very high,” she acknowledged, “and of course we won’t know the quality until we taste it, but even poor grapes can be used in blending bulk wines.”

“The kind that comes in cardboard boxes.” At her shudder, he grinned. “Hey, I told you I’m no connoisseur.”

“You’re right—” she laughed “—about the market for them, I mean. And that’s where our first few harvests will undoubtedly go. As the vines mature, we hope our grapes develop the kind of complexity that’ll allow us to bottle under our own label.”

“How much can you expect from only ten acres?”

“Between seventy-five and a hundred tons of grapes.”

His mouth dropped open. “Did you say tons? How many bottles would that equal?”

“About three thousand cases.”

“I’m impressed,” he said. “So how’d you get interested in grapes anyway?”

“Dad’s a master winemaker. I grew up in Oregon surrounded by vineyards and majored in viticulture in college.”

“Where?”

“University of Washington.”

“What are you doing here in Texas? Why not Oregon or Washington or California?”

“Mostly because I had to get Megan away from the cold, damp Northwest.” They walked down a row and Ethan tested the tension on the wire trellises. Tight as a bowstring.

“As for California,” she went on, “no way could I afford to buy or even lease land there. I considered working for someone else, but the cost of living on the West Coast is beyond my budget. The Home Free program here is a godsend.”

“Miranda Wright’s brainstorm.”

She glanced at him. “You don’t approve?”

“On the contrary. The program is brilliant, economically and socially. It’ll probably save Homestead.”

“Do I hear a but at the end of that sentence?”

“The alternative was Clint Gallagher buying up all the land and annexing it to his ranch—the Four Aces. That sure wouldn’t have increased the population or brought in more tax revenue.”

Kayla had the feeling Ethan wasn’t telling her everything. She’d heard there’d been a few opponents to the mayor’s plan to take possession of a failed ranch, subdivide it and sell off the parcels as a way of bolstering the declining local economy.

“How long does it take to establish a vineyard?” he asked, as they came to the end of the row and turned back.

“It’ll be three years before our first harvest. Five to seven years before we know with any certainty what kind of quantity and quality we can produce.”

“A pretty long-term capital investment then,” he noted. “And a pig in a poke.”

“Good investments, like wine and love,” she said with a smile, “take time.”

He smiled back, and she quickly averted her eyes.

“What’re you fixin’ to do in the meantime?” he asked.

“Since there aren’t any other vineyards around here, I’ll probably go for my teaching certificate this summer. I minored in biology in college, and there’s usually a demand for science teachers, either full-time or substitute.”

They stood at the top of the hill overlooking the barren vineyard. “What kind of irrigation will you use?”

“Drip. Grapevine roots go down rather than laterally, making it ideal as well as ecologically sound.”

He nodded, then turned and met her eyes. “If there’s anything I can do to help, labor, equipment, manpower…horsepower—” he gave her one of his playful grins “—just let me know. By the way, are we still on for Megan’s first lesson this afternoon?”

“Nothing will keep her away. If I don’t drive her there, she’ll walk. Yep, we’re still on.”

AFTER HER FIRST riding lesson that afternoon, Megan was convinced she and Birdsong were meant for each other. Ethan wasn’t sure it might not be true. The mare had always been patient and imperturbable, except when it came to water. She was the only hydrophobic horse he’d ever encountered. That aside, she was a dream ride with a long, smooth gait. Having been Angela’s horse, she was also attuned to the young and infirm, making her ideal for a novice like Megan.

For Megan’s second lesson on Wednesday, Ethan had her walk slowly around the arena for ten minutes to warm up. She may have ridden every week for a year, but she hadn’t learned much. He suspected it was the fault of the instructor, because the girl was enthusiastic and smart.

From the fence, he continued to repeat instructions on how she should hold the reins and keep her legs straight, heels down. Like most beginners she tended to correct one thing only to lose concentration on another, but she tried so earnestly, he thoroughly enjoyed teaching her.

“My friend, Heather, wishes she could come out and ride with me, too,” Megan said as Birdsong walked into a corner and stood there.

“Rein her to the left and nudge her with your feet, like I showed you. That’s right.”

“Who’s Heather?” Kayla asked. She was standing a few feet away on the other side of the fence. The day was exceptionally warm for mid-February, so instead of a jacket, she was wearing a man’s flannel shirt. In her snug jeans she was definitely eye-catching, but then she’d look good in anything. Or nothing.

Don’t even go there.

“A girl in my class.” Megan grew very serious. “Her mommy and daddy were killed in a car crash, so now she has to live with people she doesn’t know.”

“Heather Gibbs?” Ethan asked. When Megan nodded, he lowered his voice and explained to Kayla, “She and her parents were coming home from a two-week vacation in Corpus Christi last summer when a van tried to pass them. It blew out a tire and careened into their vehicle. They were pushed into on-coming traffic just as an 18-wheeler was approaching. Heather had been sleeping in the backseat and miraculously survived without a scratch.”

“But why is she living with strangers?” Kayla asked.

“As I recall neither parents had siblings, so there was no extended family to take her in.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize Heather had ended up in foster care though. Boy, that’s rough. Keep your heels down, Megan,” he called out.

After another half hour, he decided his student had ridden long enough. Megan wouldn’t admit it but she was getting tired.

“Can I walk her out to the pasture?” she asked after she’d dismounted and was lovingly petting the animal’s neck.

“Yep,” Ethan said. “Then you have to clean her stall before we bring her in again for supper.”

“That’s easy. I don’t mind, even if it is poop.”

He laughed softly and hoped she never lost that enthusiasm. After removing the saddle and replacing the bridle with a halter, they walked Birdsong to the pasture. Once let loose, the mare whinnied to her friends and charged toward them with a kick and a fart, making Megan cup her hands over her mouth and giggle.

“I wonder if Heather’s foster parents would let her come out here to ride after school?” he mused, as he and Kayla watched Megan run to the barn.

She shook her head. “I don’t imagine they can afford lessons, and I’m sure the state would consider horseback riding a nonreimbursable luxury.”

“I don’t mean formal lessons, just come out here with Megan and ride around for a while. It’s great therapy for troubled kids. I wouldn’t charge her.”

“That’s awfully generous.”

He shrugged dismissively. “I have an old gelding she can ride. Fiddlesticks isn’t going to run away with anyone.”

“Let me make a few phone calls tonight and see what I can set up.”

WHEN HEATHER GIBBS arrived with Megan Friday afternoon, Ethan recognized her from a talk he’d given about horses at the elementary school last spring at rodeo time. The same age as Megan, she was an inch or two taller, a pretty brown-haired girl, who’d be a real beauty one day.

Ethan remembered her as a bubbly kid who’d raised her hand several times to ask good questions. Now she seemed passive and lethargic, and there was terrible sadness in her blue eyes. No wonder, after what she’d gone through. A happy little girl on vacation with her family one day, a lonely, confused orphan the next.

Ever the leader, Megan dragged her by the hand to meet Ethan. “This is my friend Heather. She’s never ridden a horse before.”

“Hello, Heather.” Ethan extended his hand. “Welcome to the Broken Spoke Ranch.”

Unsure of herself, Heather placed her hand like a paw in his. He shook it once, then let it go. She still hadn’t said a word. Ethan caught Kayla’s eye and the message that passed between them told him she was as troubled by the melancholy child as he was.

“Come on—” he did his best to sound upbeat “—let me show you around.”

They all walked over to the fence, where he pointed to the horses in the pasture. He was beginning to name them when Megan took over. He just smiled and listened, impressed by her accurate description of each: Lottie, the one with one white sock; Izzy, who had a star in the middle of her face. She rattled off the names of the paint, the bay, the sorrel and the chestnut.

“Those are the mares,” Megan explained, “the girl horses. The boy horses are kept in another pasture so they won’t fight over the girls. Come on, I’ll show you where they are.”

“Since you’ve never ridden before,” Ethan told Heather a little while later, “why don’t you watch Megan ride for a few minutes, see what she does, then if you’d like to ride, too, I’ll put you up on Fiddlesticks.”

“Birdsong is my horse,” Megan informed her. Not for the first time, Ethan suspected.

Kayla sat with Heather on the bench Carter had moved to the side of the arena. Ethan saw Kayla speak to the shy girl from time to time, but as far as he could tell Heather said virtually nothing in return.

After twenty minutes, Ethan told Megan she could ride in the arena by herself, but only at the walk.

He went over to where Heather was sitting. “Would you like to try now?”

She nodded shyly.

“Let’s go meet Fiddlesticks then.”

She took the hand he offered and together they went to the hitching post where he’d tied the gelding next to a mounting block. Knowing how intimidating a full-size horse could be to a child, he didn’t rush things.

“First, let’s get you two acquainted.” Still holding her hand, he guided her onto the first step. It was steep and she lost her balance, panicked and clung to his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he assured her.

For a moment she seemed reluctant to let him go. What was running through her mind? Ethan wondered. Had her dad been the kind of man to hold his daughter when she was frightened or tired? Had anyone held her since her parents had disappeared from her life?

“Fiddlesticks, this is Heather,” he told the horse. “She’d like to ride you this afternoon.” The animal just stood there, of course.

As he had with Megan, he showed Heather how to hold out her hand so the horse could sniff it. “Good as a handshake,” he said, and encouraged her to rub the nose. He saw the hint of a smile on her face when she did. The velvety softness of a horse’s snout always fascinated the uninitiated.

“Ready?” he asked.

He sensed both her apprehension and excitement when she nodded. Assuring her everything was going to be fine, he lifted her into the saddle. “Being as this is your first time, you can hold on to the horn, if you want to.”

He walked the twenty-five-year-old gelding—his father’s favorite—toward the arena, confident the horse wouldn’t spook, especially with a child on his back.

“Looking good, Heather.” Kayla smiled up at the girl as she opened the arena gate so they could enter.

Ethan kept the pace slow as he led her first in one direction, then in the other. Fiddlesticks was patient, and Heather began to relax. Not completely, but her initial fear was dissipating.

The girls had just finished and dismounted when Luella appeared with a plate of homemade cookies. She was a small woman, only a little over five feet, and despite her expertise in the kitchen, she was quite slender. Almost sixty, she’d been with the Ritters over thirty years.

“I figured you girls could use a break,” she said, “and I thought you might like to try my pecan-butter cookies. They’re like peanut butter cookies, ’cept they’re made with pecans, of course.”

Ethan reached for one. She slapped his fingers. “Mind your manners. Guests first. Besides, you’ll hog them all and nobody else will get a chance to even taste them.”

She held out the plate for Kayla and the girls, and Ethan watched Kayla almost melt in front of him as she bit into one. He smiled at Luella, who smiled back.

“Now if you don’t like them,” she said, “you just tell me, and I’ll fix something else next time.”

“Mmm. These are delicious,” Kayla said.

“Yummy.” Megan took a second.

Ethan watched Heather as she nibbled the edge of hers. All of a sudden tears were streaming down her face. Putting an arm across her shoulder, he didn’t have to ask what was bothering her. He just let her cry against his shirt.

KAYLA WAS IMPRESSED with Ethan’s skill at handling the traumatized child. He hadn’t pushed, as many adults did with children who were withdrawn. He accepted her silence and her tears as perfectly natural. Kayla hadn’t missed the way the girl had clung to him when she’d lost her balance or again when he’d helped her onto the horse, either. In those fleeting moments it occurred to Kayla that the girl was reaching out for more than physical support, and to Kayla’s amazement, Ethan seemed to understand that.

How had he developed this remarkable rapport with children?

“Did you have a good time today?” she asked as she drove Heather home. Her foster mom was too busy to come and get her. Kayla didn’t mind, even if it was fifteen miles, round-trip.

“Yes, ma’am,” Heather answered softly, as if she wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Would you like to come again?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kayla heard a spark of hope in this reply.

She couldn’t imagine the depth of loneliness and despair the poor child had endured. She herself had been a toddler when her mother had died in an automobile accident. She had no clear memory of Carol Crawford, just a few snapshots of the pretty young woman Kayla had come to resemble. Her father had been her whole world. She’d often wished he’d remarry so she could have a mother like other children, but he’d never even dated when she was growing up. He’d been a good dad, though; always there when she needed him.

“I’ll stop and talk to Mrs. Rayborn and see if you can come to the Broken Spoke with Megan during the week. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

Had she always been so polite? So compliant? Or had she learned to be this submissive?

The neighborhood Heather lived in wasn’t a slum, but it wasn’t too far removed from one, either. The houses were old, small and close together. Many of them needed painting. Only a few still had one-car garages. Most of the others had been converted to living space. Cars were parked on the street, under tacked-on carports and, occasionally, on lawns.

“Megan, please stay here while I talk to Mrs. Rayborn. I won’t be long.”

The woman who answered the door seemed about to yell as she swung it open. She stopped when she saw Kayla and Heather.

“Are you Mrs. Rayborn? I spoke to you yesterday on the phone. I’m Kayla Price. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

On the other side of forty, Leona Rayborn was a big woman in height and girth. She had an infant propped against her shoulder. A TV blared behind her. How the baby slept through the din was a mystery.

“Oh, hi. Did you have a good time riding, Heather?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m glad. Now go change your clothes, honey, and clean your room.”

The girl brushed past her and ran inside.

“And be sure to throw your dirty clothes in the hamper this time,” Mrs. Rayborn called after her. “We eat in fifteen minutes.”

She turned back to Kayla. “Place is a madhouse this time of day, what with meals and getting the little ones ready for bed. Randy’s late again, so it’s all on me. Thanks for bringing her home.” She was about to close the door when Kayla spoke up.

“If I can just take a minute…. Would it be all right to have the school bus drop Heather off at the Broken Spoke with my daughter after school on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays? She seems to enjoy riding, and I think it’ll be good for her. Megan really enjoys being with her.”

“I’m glad she’s finally making friends—” Leona shifted the baby to her other shoulder “—but if this is going to cost anything—”

“Not a cent,” Kayla assured her. “Mr. Ritter doesn’t want any money.”

“Monday, Wednesday and Friday, you say. Somebody will have to do her chores on those days.”

“Can she trade days with one of the other children?”

The woman thought a minute. “If horseback riding’ll get her out of that shell, I guess we can work something out. You’ll have to bring her home, though. I can’t go running out after her. Enough to do around here with all the others.”

“How many children do you have?” Kayla asked.

“Six, including this one. Just got him yesterday. Three months old. The little ones are the most work. Probably shouldn’t have taken him, but the poor thing’s got no place else to go. Make sure Heather’s home by six. That’s when we eat.”

“If we’re late, I’ll pick something up for her along the way,” Kayla offered.

“That’ll be fine. You got a cell phone?”

Kayla nodded.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d call and let me know. And please, not a bunch of junk. I’m having enough trouble getting her to eat properly. I sure don’t want her getting sick on me, too.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise. And thank you, Leona. I know Heather will appreciate it.”

“Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Got it. I’ll let her know.”

“Is she going to be able to come, Mommy?” Megan asked the second Kayla opened the car door.

“Yes, honey. Three days a week.”

“Yay!”

Kayla drove away wishing she could do more for the sad little girl.

CHAPTER THREE

ETHAN WAS PLEASED with the girls’ progress over the next week. Megan’s desire to improve was starting to shape her albeit undiminished enthusiasm. As for Heather, not only was her riding stronger as she took control of the reins and used her legs, but she was beginning to open up, to talk with him and Kayla. Nothing dramatic, but there were occasional exchanges that came close to conversation.

On Friday, as Ethan and Kayla were helping the girls down from the horses, Heather said Brad wanted to know if he could come out and ride, too.

“Who’s Brad?”

“He lives with me at the Rayborns’.”

Not home, Ethan noted, but at the Rayborns’. “How old is he?”

“Nine, but he’s in the same class as me.”

“How come?”

“Cause his father wouldn’t let him go to school. Said he was bad.”

“Is that the foster father you’re living with?”

“Uh-uh. His last name is Estes. He lives with us because his daddy’s in jail. His mommy is, too, or maybe rehab. Leastways, he can’t live with her.”

“Has he ever been on a horse before?” At that age Ethan was already an accomplished rider.

“Nuh-uh. His daddy wouldn’t let him, and now he’s afraid nobody will.”

“Why’s that?” Ethan asked.

“’Cause he’s only got one foot.”

That stopped him for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was he born that way?”

Heather shook her head. “When he was six his daddy got mad at him for not standing still, so he nailed his foot to the floor and they had to cut it off.”

Ethan wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Children sometimes exaggerated or even made things up.

He set her on the ground. “Is that true?”

She looked up and nodded sadly, and Ethan had no doubt she at least believed it was.

While Megan and Heather cleaned their tack and put out the feed Carter had measured for them beforehand, Ethan drew Kayla aside.

“Do you know anything about a boy named Brad Estes?”

“Heather told you about him?”

“Did his father really—”

“Nail his foot to the floor? Yes. He walks with a limp sometimes, and my dear indefatigable daughter, who hasn’t yet learned the word discretion, asked him why. He showed her his artificial foot and told her how he got it. I was skeptical, too, so I asked some people at church. Apparently his father was on drugs. By the time his mother took the kid to the emergency room, gangrene had set in.”

Ethan gritted his teeth and hoped the boy’s father didn’t get out of jail for a very long time. “Heather says he wants to ride. Could you talk to Mrs. What’s-her-name—”

“Rayborn. You want me to see if she’ll let him come out, too?”

“Yeah. Speaking of which, how safe is Heather in that foster home?”

“I checked with Child Protective Services. The Rayborns have been taking in kids for about eight years and have a good reputation. I’ve met Leona. I wouldn’t call her one of the warmest people I’ve ever encountered, but she and her husband, Randy, seem to take good care of the kids they foster.”

“Why does good not sound good enough to me?”

“It’s not a perfect situation for those children,” she agreed, “but some of the alternatives are worse.”

He wasn’t pacified. “See if Brad can come to ride, too.”

THE FIRST THING Ethan noticed when Brad showed up the following Monday with Megan and Heather was that he was small for his age and skinny. He was polite enough and excited about coming out to the ranch, but he was leery, as well. A kid on perpetual guard.

Ethan didn’t notice any limp. Maybe Brad only had one when he got tired or hurt himself.

Ethan quickly discovered the boy was also strong. He clamped his knees tightly against the saddle when told to, and he had the natural dexterity and coordination of a decent athlete. His handicap didn’t have to restrict him. There were, after all, one-footed football kickers, one-handed baseball players, athletes who had only one eye. Handicaps were regarded as challenges these days, not impediments.

“You have three students now but only one of them is paying,” Kayla said the following Wednesday afternoon when the kids were doing their barn chores, which they seemed to relish. “Doesn’t seem very profitable.”

“It’s also not costing me anything,” he pointed out. “Besides, this isn’t about money.”

The children came running out of the barn, circled a wheelbarrow full of manure and ran back inside. All three were laughing.

“No,” she said, “I guess it isn’t.”

She kept watching him, and he had the feeling she was trying to see inside him.

Don’t, he wanted to tell her. What you find you won’t like.

He strode to the barn, as if he had something important to do. He did—get away. Being close to her made him uncomfortable. He liked the opposite sex. Always had. But he didn’t fool around with married women or divorcées with children. Much too complicated. He didn’t have anything to offer a woman with responsibilities. He was a good-time sort of guy, nothing more. He’d messed up his own family. He had no intention of messing up anybody else’s.

The following Wednesday he was sitting atop Cinco giving the three youngsters a lesson in the big outdoor arena—Megan on Birdsong, Heather on Fiddlesticks and Brad on Joker—when he heard the gurgle of a diesel pulling up the driveway. He swiveled in the saddle but didn’t recognize the maroon pickup that stopped next to Kayla’s Toyota. Didn’t immediately recognize the driver, either. He and Kayla, however, greeted each other familiarly.

The visitor wasn’t exceptionally tall even in cowboy boots, but he had the brawny bulk of someone who worked out with weights. After shaking Kayla’s hand, he stood behind the fence, gazing out at the children riding inside the oblong arena. It wasn’t until he removed his Western hat and brushed back his wheat-colored hair that Ethan recognized him.

Noah. Holden Kelley’s son. He’d been on the football team with Ethan’s brother, Jud. Ethan knew Noah had taken over the pulpit of St. Mark’s Church after his father had suffered a second stroke a couple of months ago. A chip off the old block, no doubt.

Turning away from him and Kayla, Ethan asked the children to reverse direction and continue at a walk. After ten minutes, Megan was growing bored with the slow pace—the kid was always on the move. Even Heather seemed anxious to trot, and Brad had enough natural ability, in spite of his size, to handle it.

“Okay, kids, line up at the far end.”

They obeyed quickly and eagerly.

“We’re going to learn to trot now.”

“Yay!” Megan sang out.

Ethan rode around the arena, demonstrating the proper form.

“To trot, you have to squeeze with your legs, let up slightly on the reins, then give the horse a little kick with your heels to make him go faster.”

He trotted another full circuit and drew to a halt in front of them.

“You first, Megan. Trot from where you are to the other end of the arena, then slow to a walk and turn around.

He wasn’t surprised when she bounced like a puppet with half the strings broken. She didn’t fall off, but she came darn close, and he could see the sheer terror on her face as she clutched the saddle horn. Ethan still couldn’t understand how such an eager student hadn’t learned to trot in a year of lessons. He shrugged off the thought and found a couple of good points to praise—she’d kept her shoulders back and only lost one stirrup—and gave her several pointers on what she needed to do to improve. Heather’s turn.

The first time trotting was scary; he could see doubts and fear clouding her eyes.

“Same thing. One length,” he said.

She kicked Fiddlesticks halfheartedly without results.

“Loosen up on the reins a little.” When she did, he clicked his tongue and ordered the horse into a collected trot. Heather grabbed the saddle horn and bounced violently in the saddle. At not quite the halfway point, Ethan called the horse down to a walk.

“That was a real good start,” he assured her as she returned to her place. “Next time, tighten your knees more and you’ll do even better.”

Brad’s turn.

“Keep your legs straight and tighten your knees. Ready?”

The boy nodded.

“Now give Joker a kick to get her going.”

The look of shock on the boy’s face at the first violent bounce was inevitable, but he instinctively clamped his knees. After initially grabbing the horn, he released it and held the reins in front of him. Ethan watched his eyes. The kid was intense, his attention focused exclusively on what he was doing.

He’s going to be all right. Instead of one length, Ethan let him trot home.

The girls clapped their hands in approval, surprising Ethan with their generosity. He praised the boy and watched his eyes light up. How long had it been since anyone had given him real encouragement?

While the children resumed riding in a circle—theoretically cooling their horses down—Ethan nudged Cinco over to the sidelines.

Noah looked up at him, smiling pleasantly. “You’re making those kids very happy.”

Ethan swung out of the saddle. “They’re doing okay.”

“I’m Noah Kelley.” They shook hands. Noah’s grip was firm. “You probably don’t remember me. It’s been a while—”

“What brings you out here, preacher?”

Ethan sensed Kayla stiffen at his abrupt manner. Noah seemed not to notice.

“Kayla was telling me what a terrific job you’re doing with these kids, and I thought I’d come out and see for myself.”

“I’m not one of your parishioners, padre. You don’t have to check up on me.”

Noah snorted, seemingly more amused than offended by the remark. “Actually I’m here as an envoy.”

“Well, why don’t you go ahead and deliver your message.” And leave.

“Not a message, a request. Some of our parishioners have children with special needs. After hearing what Kayla had to say Sunday about the great job you’ve been doing here with Heather and Brad, they’re wondering if you’d be willing to give their kids horseback lessons, as well. They’ll be happy to pay you,” he added.

“How many kids?”

“Six altogether.”

Seven paying students instead of one. The income would certainly be welcome. He’d have to juggle his schedule…. “Why didn’t they ask me themselves? Why send you?”

Noah shrugged his muscular shoulders. “They were afraid you’d turn them down, I reckon.”

“And they thought you might have special influence?”

Noah flashed his pearly whites. “Pretty naive, huh?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan caught Kayla staring at him. He knew he was acting like an ass, but Kelley wasn’t a name he had reason to respect.

“What are their ages and problems?”

Noah reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I’ve written it all down for you. Names, ages, physical or mental impairments, as well as telephone numbers in case you want to talk to their parents or guardians.”

“Do they understand that I’m not a therapeutic riding instructor?” Ethan asked. “I have no credentials, no particular training. For all they know, I might be doing their kids more harm than good.”

“You obviously have a way with children, Ethan. They respond to you because you genuinely care about them.”

“That’s a pretty glowing evaluation after just a few minutes of observation.”

Noah smiled. “It’s not my judgment, Ethan, it’s Kayla’s. She’s been impressed with what you’ve been able to do with Heather and Brad.”

Ethan glanced at her. She nodded a bit tentatively, apparently unsure of his response.

He folded the paper and stuck it in his hip pocket. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. If you decide to take on just one or two of them, perhaps as a start, that’s fine.” Noah extended his hand, forcing Ethan to take it again. “Thanks for hearing me out.”

He tipped his hat to Kayla, turned and sauntered back to his truck.

WHEN ETHAN TOLD Kayla Monday afternoon after his lesson with the children that he was calling off Wednesday’s session, he offered no explanation, and she didn’t ask for one. He was, after all, entitled to a personal life, plus running a horse ranch was probably a lot more complicated than just feeding horses and cleaning stalls. But she was curious.

Her father furnished the answer later that night by handing her the Homestead Herald.

“Page two,” he said and shuffled off to bed.

The local newspaper was small, only a few folds and seemed to contain the same advertisements for the feed store, the general store, the hardware and drugstore in the same spots every week. Why not? Not likely to find many sales or bargains in a town of fewer than fifteen hundred people. The closest competition was in San Antonio, thirty miles away.

The heart of the paper was local news and gossip. Because the Home Free program was so important to the community, legal notices were also posted—along with the names of the people who were getting land, where their property was located, what the new owners intended to use the land for, and perhaps most importantly, how many children they had. One of the reasons behind the program had been to lure families back to the shrinking town, since its schools were in danger of being closed. Nobody wanted their kids bussed miles away to other communities.

The brief article on page two announced that Ethan Ritter had been granted official permission to transfer his father’s remains from the public cemetery in Homestead to the family plot on the Broken Spoke, and that the reinterment was scheduled for Wednesday afternoon.

The revelation came as a shock to Kayla. It meant the ranch had previously been owned by the Ritters, undoubtedly for a long time, since there was a family graveyard on it. Yet she was sure she’d been told Ethan was part of the land giveaway program.

Time for research, and who better than Millicent Niebauer, who seemed to know everything about everybody and had few qualms about sharing it.

THE NIEBAUER PRESS, which published the Homestead Herald, was a throwback to a bygone era. Its ancient offset printing presses were still in place, too big to be moved. Except as collector’s items, they probably weren’t worth more than their weight in scrap iron. Nowadays, Millicent Niebauer, a sparrow of a woman, wrote all the articles for the newspaper on a computer, and they were printed in the back by her husband, Hiram. The tall, scrawny man was as taciturn as she was talkative.

Kayla was well aware that her exploratory visit to the paper would require tit for tat. Smiling, she entered the old-fashioned print shop fully prepared.

“Mrs. Price—” Millicent didn’t have to pause a heartbeat to remember Kayla’s name “—how very nice to see you. I’ve been hearing all sorts of wonderful things about that vineyard you’re planting.”

“Please, call me Kayla.”

“Heard your daughter is taking riding lessons from Ethan Ritter, too, even though he wouldn’t sell you Birdsong. Can’t say I’m really surprised, of course.”

“He said he couldn’t in good conscience sell me a thirty-year-old horse.”

Millicent’s right brow went up. “Yes, I reckon that’s as good an excuse as any.”

Kayla was sure there was a specific reason for her choice of words, but she let it pass, confident she’d learn what it was eventually.

“I stopped by, Mrs. Niebauer, to tell you how much I enjoy the Herald. You do such a wonderful job making it informative and friendly. I feel like a member of the community just reading it.”

The older woman preened. “Why thank you, dear, and call me Millie. Everybody does. We don’t have a big paper, but I do my best with it.”

“It shows. It’s really good. I noticed Ethan’s going to be moving his dad’s remains to the Broken Spoke. Is that common here in Texas, to bury family members on private property?”

“Oh, my, no. You have to obtain special permission from the state, but the Broken Spoke was in the Ritter family for well over a hundred years. His mama and sister are buried there, you know, along with other members of the family.”

Kayla was confused. “But I thought he just bought the place in the same land deal I did.”

“Well, yes, that’s true, but his family owned it before that.”

Kayla tilted her head. “I don’t understand.”

Millie smiled, please to be the source of fresh information. “I forget that everybody doesn’t know the history. Well, it started a dozen years ago now, when the K-bar-C went into bankruptcy after Clyde Braxton died. He was in his eighties by then and having a hard time keeping the place going. His children, the ungrateful lot…well, they weren’t any help. Spent money like it was going out of style. After he died, it did, too. Served them right, if you ask me, but it’s not for me to judge.”

She rearranged the announcement cards on the long counter between them, cards that had been on display for some time, considering the way they were yellowing around the edges.

“Anyway,” she continued, “when the place came up for sale at auction a bunch of the local ranchers decided to pool their resources and buy it. Ethan’s daddy, Zeb, merged the Broken Spoke into KC Enterprises, as they called their consortium, and, since his place was more or less in the middle of it all, he became the foreman. Did a good job, too, but times were against them.”

She went over to the end of the counter, poured coffee into two ceramic mugs emblazoned with Don’t Mess With Texas and handed Kayla one. “Don’t know how much you know about ranching—”

“Very little, I’m afraid,” Kayla conceded. And as Ethan had pointed out, nothing about horses.

“Well, it’s a hard life, despite all the glamour them fools out in Hollywood make it look like. Hard on men and harder on the women, if you ask me. There’s no oil around here, as you might have noticed, so you have to work for what you get.”

She sipped her coffee and made a face. “Reckon I need to make a fresh pot.”

She shoved the two cups aside, went to a small refrigerator behind a filing cabinet and brought over two soft drinks.

“These are the real Dr Pepper,” she said proudly. “Was up in Dallas last week and stopped off in Dublin. That’s the only plant still bottling the original recipe, using cane sugar instead of corn sweeteners.” She took a slug, smacked her lips and set the bottle on the counter.

“Things went fine for a couple of years,” she continued. “Like I said, old Zeb knew his stuff. Trouble is, the drought hit and they found themselves over-extended. The bank refused them any more credit.”

She leaned closer, as if anyone else were around. “Mind you, I don’t know if it’s true, but they say Clint Gallagher blocked them loans.”

“The state senator?”

“Can’t prove it, of course, and wouldn’t dare print a word of it, but that’s what some folks say. Anyway, KC Enterprises went bottom up two years ago. You would’ve expected the place to go on the auction block again, but Miranda convinced the city council to foreclose for taxes and take it over.”

“And that’s the land being given away now,” Kayla concluded.

“Yep. Old Clint wasn’t too happy about it, I can tell you. Probably figured he had a right to pick the spread up for a song and back taxes and add it to his empire.”

“So what happened to Ethan’s father?”

“Lost the Broken Spoke when KC Enterprises went bust. By then his wife and daughter had passed on. His oldest son, Jud, had moved off to greener pastures years before. Zeb and Ethan leased a dinky little place on the edge of town. Ethan worked real hard to make a go of it, buying and selling horses, training them. But it was all too much for Zeb. He started drinking pretty heavy. Last year he committed suicide. Shot himself. Ethan’s the one that found him.”

Losing a loved one was hard enough. Finding him dead had to be even worse. But suicide! Survivors were inevitably plagued by self-doubt, forever wondering what they should have done to prevent it.

“Ethan wanted his daddy to be buried on the ranch with his other kin, but the family no longer had legal claim to the land, so his request was denied. I reckon that’s why he chose that particular parcel to buy. He grew up in that house, you know. A lot of memories on that land, and of course the graveyard where his ma and sister are buried.”

“It’s a sad story,” Kayla said.

Millicent nodded. “I hope laying his daddy to rest there will bring them both some peace.”

ETHAN’S NIGHT was filled with memories, mostly sad. Even the few that were happy were clouded by melancholy foreshadowing.

If only I’d been able to get you to hang on a little while longer, Dad. Ethan lay in the shadowy darkness of his old room. I’ve gotten our house back and at least a little of the land. The stable’s doing real well now, too, making a decent profit, even after I gave Carter and Luella a pay raise. They’re happy to be home, too.

Now, with the Broken Spoke homeplace back, he had the facilities to board a dozen horses in addition to his own. In fact he had a waiting list of people who wanted to keep their horses there. He was starting to turn a nice profit buying and selling horses, too. In another year or so he figured he’d be able to build another barn, one that was bigger and better.

He rose as dawn was coloring the sky pink and found Luella already sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee clasped between her work-worn hands. More unusual was Carter being there, as well. The old man took his noon and evening meals with them, but he tended to keep to himself in the morning. Ethan doubted they’d slept much the night before, either.

Today would be as difficult for these two people as it would be for him. He poured himself a cup of the hot, bitter brew and joined them.

“Crew’ll be here at ten to dig the grave,” he announced. “Casket at two.”

A small grunt from Carter was the only response.

After a few minutes, Luella asked, “You let Jud know?”

Ethan had thought about contacting his brother, but Jud hadn’t come home after their father died last year, so this second burial wouldn’t mean anything to him, either.

To be fair, Jud had been in the hospital in Austin recovering from an injury when he got the word of their father’s death, but he could have come home later. Ethan tried not to resent his brother for staying away. Maybe he was even grateful he hadn’t shown up. He didn’t need to see the accusation in his brother’s eyes to feel another stab of guilt.

“No,” he said.

Neither made any comment.

“There was a notice in the Herald,” Luella said a few minutes later. “People will want to pay their respects.”

Ethan shook his head. “I wish Millie would mind her own damn business.”

Carter grunted. “Her old man would go broke if she did. Only reason anybody reads that rag is for the gossip. The CIA could take pointers from her on confidential sources.”

It was a long speech and one with a rare note of humor for Carter. In spite of himself, Ethan laughed.

The next hours were filled with routine chores, which should have made the time fly by, but it didn’t. It dragged.

He and Carter fed and watered the horses, then put them out to graze. Ethan mucked out stalls, spread the manure in a pasture where it would fertilize and soften the footing. He replaced fluorescent tubes in the overhead lights in several of the stalls and repaired a worn hinge that would soon need replacing, then he worked with a green three-year-old for nearly an hour.

Finally the workmen arrived. Ethan led them to the spot, a narrow space beside his mother, Valerie, and sister, Angela, one row forward of his grandparents and great-grandparents. He’d straightened up the tombstones when he’d reclaimed the land—a mere forty acres out of the thousand-plus they’d once owned. A pittance by Texas standards, but it would have to be enough. At least he’d gotten the barns and house—what had once been home. The rest was just land, or so he tried to tell himself. This was where his family had lived, and for over a hundred years, thrived.

The operator of the backhoe was an expert. He carved out a neat rectangular hole without disturbing anything around it. They inserted the concrete liner that the law now required, then the machinery was pulled discreetly out of sight. Ethan had already purchased a new headstone, one that matched the style of the others. Tradition.

There wouldn’t be any more Ritters, not from him and, as far as he could tell, not from his brother. His sister had never even gone to a dance or had a date, much less kissed a boy behind the barn or….

After supervising the grave digging, Ethan wandered over to the bunkhouse. He’d offered Carter one of the bedrooms in the big house, but the lifelong bachelor preferred his privacy. He’d selected the foreman’s room in the empty dormitory, across from the plain, utilitarian kitchen the hired help had used in the days when they had a full crew on the place. He kept soda and beer in an ancient refrigerator out here, along with a few snacks.

The old ranch hand was sitting at the scrubbed wood table, a half-empty bottle of bourbon in front of him, a couple of fingers of it in a jelly glass.

“Early start?” Ethan asked.

Carter wasn’t much of a drinker, and if Ethan hadn’t known the bottle was nearly half-gone to begin with, he might have been worried.

Carter grunted but didn’t make a move to touch the whiskey.

Ethan wasn’t much of a drinker, either, but there were times when it seemed appropriate. He grabbed another jelly glass off a shelf and splashed a half ounce of the amber liquid into it.

Carter picked up his drink. “Welcome home, Zeb.” He tossed it off, slammed down the glass and stomped through the screen door, letting it bang behind him.

Ethan took a deep breath. “Yeah, welcome home, Dad.”

He coughed after downing the shot, washed both glasses, put the bottle away, then filled a taller glass with orange juice to get the taste of death out of his mouth.

CHAPTER FOUR

BY ANNOUNCING the time of Zeb Ritter’s interment at the Broken Spoke in the Herald, Millie Niebauer had essentially invited people to attend. Kayla wanted to pay her respects, as well, but that presented a dilemma. Taking Megan wasn’t a problem, but Kayla hadn’t canceled Heather and Brad’s school bus drop-off. Not knowing the reason Ethan had called off the riding class, she’d figured the three kids could pass the time together playing at Stony Hill. That Heather and Brad would welcome the break from their large foster family.

But she couldn’t very well leave them home alone while she went over to the Broken Spoke. It seemed cruel to take Heather to a burial so soon after her own parents had died.

“Leave them all here with me,” her father had suggested at lunchtime when she brought up the subject. “There’s plenty around here to keep them interested.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. You know how I love to show off.”

Kayla had to smile. He did have something of the pedant in him, but he was also a good teacher. The plan fell apart, however, the moment the kids got off the bus.

“Mommy, why aren’t we having a riding lesson with Ethan today?”

“He’s busy with other things, honey. Grandpa’s hoping the three of you can give him a hand in the vineyard. Bet you never planted grapevines,” she said to Brad.

“Aren’t you going to be here?” Megan asked.

“In a little while. I have to run over to Ethan’s for a few minutes, then I’ll be right back.”

“Why are you going over there if Ethan is busy, Mommy?”

She should have said she had an errand to do in town, but Kayla didn’t like lying to her daughter, even for her own good. Besides, in her experience lies backfired and made matters worse. Equivocating rarely got her anywhere, either, not with her precocious daughter. The children gazed at her, clearly expecting a better explanation than the one she’d just fumbled. She had no choice but to explain.

“Ethan’s father died last year. He was buried in the cemetery on the other side of town. You remember, we saw it when we were driving to San Antonio to see the Alamo.”

“That’s where Davy Crockett was killed,” Megan stated.

“Yes, it is. Well, there’s also a cemetery on the Broken Spoke, and Ethan is having his father buried there today.”

“They dug him up?” Brad asked with the fascination boys seem to have with the macabre.

Kayla shook her head and wished she’d prepared a convincing lie beforehand. “They’re moving the casket, the box he’s in.”

“They won’t open it, will they?” Heather asked.

“No, no. All anyone will see is the casket.”

“Can we go, too?” Megan asked.

“I won’t be long and Grandpa—”

“I want to go,” Megan insisted.

“It wouldn’t be polite to leave your friends here.”

“I’d like to go, too,” Brad announced. “I’ve never seen a casket, ’cept in movies.”

Kayla glanced at Heather, trying to gauge her reaction.

“I’ll go,” the girl said.

Kayla shook her head. “It’ll be better if you all stay here. I won’t be long, then we can play some games, and I’ll fix a special supper. Do you like fried chicken? I’ve got a really good recipe. Megan will tell you how good it is.”

“People came to see my mommy’s and daddy’s caskets,” Heather said. “I didn’t know all of them. The people I did know told me they were sorry.”

A lump formed in Kayla’s throat. “You can tell Ethan you’re sorry when you see him next time,” she said, amazed the words didn’t come out strangled.

“I’d like to tell him today. I don’t mind seeing a casket.”

This wasn’t turning out the way Kayla had anticipated or wanted.

“Are you sure?” She hoped the girl would change her mind. “You really don’t have to. It’s all right to offer your condolences on Friday when you have your riding lesson.”

“Ethan’s my friend,” Heather replied with more determination than Kayla would have expected.

Boyd came to the rescue. “Why don’t we all go, then we can come back here and play dominoes. Have either of you ever played Mexican Train?”

And so the five of them piled into Kayla’s Toyota. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. Would attending this burial further traumatize the girl? On the other hand, children were more resilient than adults often gave them credit for, and Heather seemed to understand what was going on.

“If we get a chance to talk to Ethan—” she turned into the ranch road “—all you have to say is ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ or ‘I’m sorry about your father.’ We’ll stay only long enough to let him know we’re his friends. Okay?”

She heard a muted chorus of okays from the backseat.

Kayla was surprised at the number of vehicles parked around the arena. Father Noah’s maroon pickup was among them.

They didn’t have any trouble finding the gravesite. It was on the hill behind the house, past a grove of oak trees.

She recognized some of the people gathered there. The town’s mayor. Tall and statuesque, Miranda seemed to be perpetually on the move. Even now, as she spoke quietly to Noah, she seemed ready to bolt.

Millicent Niebauer was there, of course, taking it all in.

Frances Haase, the town librarian, was almost as tall as Miranda, but narrow and angular in build. Kayla knew the fiftyish woman was on the town council and the Home Free land giveaway board.

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