“Andie, we’re going to figure this out. I don’t know how, but we will.”

She nodded. “We should go.” Andie glanced away, but Ryder touched her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. She stared up at a smile that curved into something delicious.

That smile was her downfall. She should turn away. But his eyes were dark and tempting, like chocolate.

“We should definitely go,” she whispered.

“I know, but there’s one thing we need to do before we leave.”

His lips touched hers in a gesture that was sweet and disarming. Then he paused and rested his forehead against hers.

“We shouldn’t have gone there,” Andie said.

“Andie, at least give me a chance to figure this all out before you give up on me.”

“I’ve never given up on you. But I have to make the right decisions, now more than ever.”

“And you think turning down my proposal was the right decision?”

“Yeah. It was sweet of you, but it was spur-of-the-moment and this is something that we should take time to think about.”

Spur-of-the-moment was definitely a bad idea.

BRENDA MINTON

started creating stories to entertain herself during hour-long rides on the school bus. In high school she wrote romance novels to entertain her friends. The dream grew and so did her aspirations to become an author. She started with notebooks, handwritten manuscripts and characters that refused to go away until their stories were told. Eventually she put away the pen and paper and got down to business with the computer. The journey took a few years, with some encouragement and rejection along the way—as well as a lot of stubbornness on her part. In 2006 her dream to write for the Steeple Hill Love Inspired line came true. Brenda lives in the rural Ozarks with her husband, three kids and an abundance of cats and dogs. She enjoys a chaotic life that she wouldn’t trade for anything—except, on occasion, a beach house in Texas. You can stop by and visit at her Web site, www.brendaminton.net.

The Cowboy’s Sweetheart
Brenda Minton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.

—Hebrews 4:16

Dedicated to the readers, for the wonderful e-mails, letters and prayers.

To the editors at Steeple Hill, for the opportunity to write the books that I love and for encouragement along the way.

You’re the best.

To my family, for all of the love and support you’ve given me.

To God, for giving me the desires of my heart.

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

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

You have to cowboy up, Andie. Get back on, even if it hurts.

Andie Forester swiped a finger under her eyes and took in a deep breath. She hit the control on the steering wheel to turn down the radio, because it was the fault of Brooks & Dunn and that song of theirs that she was crying. “Cowgirls Don’t Cry.”

Whatever.

The song made her think of her dad pulling her to her feet after a horse had thrown her. She remembered her world when he was no longer in it. And the song reminded her how it felt to have a sister so perfect the world couldn’t love her enough.

Andie even loved Alyson. How could she not? Alyson had come to Dawson and back into her life, soft smiles and sunshine after a twenty-five-year separation. Andie was home just in time to help her sister prepare for her wedding to Jason Bradshaw. A beautiful wedding, with the perfect flowers, the perfect dress.

At the moment Andie wanted to throw up because she was Andie Forester and she didn’t think like that. She didn’t think sunshine and lace. She thought leather boots and saddles. She thought hard and tough. She was a tomboy. She knew how to hang with the crowd, with cowboys and stock contractors, and guys from Dawson, Oklahoma.

But her dad had been wrong. Brooks & Dunn were wrong. Sometimes cowgirls did cry. Sometimes, on a dusty road in Oklahoma when there wasn’t anyone around to see, cowgirls sobbed like little girls in pigtails.

Sometimes, when her best friend had hurt her in a way she had never thought he could, a cowgirl cried.

But she’d get it out of her system before she got to Dawson, and she’d be fine. Ryder Johnson wasn’t going to get to her, not again.

That was another thing about Foresters. They learned from their mistakes. She shouldn’t have made this mistake in the first place. That’s what really got to her.

She downshifted as she drove through the tiny town of Dawson, all three businesses and twenty or so houses. The trailer hooked to her truck jerked a little and she glanced in the rearview mirror, smiling because even Dusty was glad to be home. The dusty gold of his nose was sticking out of the side window, his lips curled a little as he sniffed the familiar scents in the air.

Home was where people knew her. Yeah, they knew her secrets, they knew her most embarrassing moments, but people knowing her was good. The folks in Dawson had shaken their heads, sometimes laughed at her antics, but they’d always been there for her.

The end of September was a good time to return to Oklahoma. The weather would be cooling off and in a month or so, the leaves would change colors.

She would get back to normal. Home would do that for her.

Andie took in another deep breath, and this time she didn’t feel the sting of tears. She was done crying. Her pep talk to herself had worked.

She slowed as she drove past the Mad Cow Café and pretended she wasn’t looking for Ryder’s truck. But she was. It was an old habit. She consoled herself with that thought. And with another one—his truck wasn’t there. Hopefully he was still on the road. She didn’t want to run into him, not yet.

They’d both been going in opposite directions as fast as they could, putting distance between them and their big mistake. He’d gone back to riding bulls or steer roping, whatever he was doing this year. She’d taken off for Wyoming and a rodeo event she hadn’t wanted to miss. Even her trips home had been planned for the times she knew he’d be gone.

The last time Ryder had seen her, well, she’d done a lot of changing since then. She wasn’t ready to talk to him about any of that.

At least Dawson hadn’t changed. That was something Andie could count on. Her hometown would always be the safe place to land. Jenny Dawson, the town matriarch whose grandfather had started this little community, would always be in her front yard wearing a floral print housedress, digging in her flower gardens, a wide-brimmed hat shading her face from the Oklahoma sun. Omar Gregs would forever be in the corral outside his big barn, a shovel in hand, and that old dog of his sniffing at a rabbit trail.

And Granny Etta would always be at home, waiting.

She slowed as she drove past the Johnson ranch, past the drive that led to Ryder’s house. Her best friend. Her heart clenched, the pain unfamiliar, sinking from her heart to her stomach. He’d never been the one to make her feel that way.

The truck jerked a little, evidence of a restless horse that had been in a trailer for too many hours. Andie downshifted as she approached the drive that led to the barn. It felt good to see the yellow Victorian she’d grown up in. It looked just the way it had the last time she was at home. Flowers bloomed profusely out of control. The lavender wicker furniture on the front porch was a sign that all was well in the world.

As she turned into the drive, Andie noticed a big sedan on the other side of the house, parked in the driveway that company used. Company, great.

Etta walked out the front door, waving big.

Andie’s grandmother had hair that matched the furniture on the porch, kind of. It was the closest the stylist in Grove could get to lavender. And it clashed something horrible with Etta’s tanned skin. A Native American woman with Irish ancestors didn’t have the complexion to carry off lavender hair.

But tall and thin, she did have the ability to carry off some wild tie-dyed clothes. The clothing was her own design, her own line, and it sold nationwide.

Andie drove the truck down the drive and parked at the barn. Etta was fast-walking across the lawn, the wind swirling the yellow-and-pink tie-dyed skirt around her long legs.

Andie hopped out of the truck and ran to greet her grandmother. Andie was twenty-eight years old—almost twenty-nine—and a hug had never felt so good. When Etta wrapped strong arms around her and held her tight, it was everything.

It was a bandage on a heart that wasn’t broken, more like bruised and confused. She hadn’t expected it to take this long to heal.

“Sweetheart, it’s been too long. And why that serious face and no smile? Didn’t you call and tell me things were good?”

“Things are good, Gran.”

“Well, now why am I not buying that?”

“I’m not sure.” Andie smiled as big as she could and her granny gave her a critical stare before shaking her head.

“Okay, get Dusty Boy out of that trailer and let’s go inside. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I am hungry.” Starving. She’d been starving for the past few weeks. She was just sick of truck-stop and hotel-restaurant food. Even when she’d stopped in with friends, it hadn’t been the same. Nobody cooked like Etta.

Andie moved the latch on the trailer and stepped inside, easing down the empty half of the trailer to unhook Dusty. He shook his head, glad to be free and then backed out, snorting, his hooves clanging loud on the floor of the trailer.

“Come on, boy, time for you to have a run in the pasture.”

“Where’d you stay last week?” Etta was standing outside, shading her face with her hand, blocking the glare of the setting sun.

Andie held tight to the lead rope, giving Dusty a minute to calm down. His head was up and his ears alert as he snorted and pawed the ground, eager to be back in the pasture with the other horses.

“I was at Joy and Bob’s.”

“You were in Kansas? Why didn’t you just come on home?”

Because she didn’t want to face Ryder and she’d heard he might be home. She’d planned her timing lately so that she was home when he wasn’t. But how did she explain that to Etta?

She shrugged, “I was looking at a mare they have for sale.”

Not a lie.

The roar of a truck coming down the road caught their attention. Dusty dipped his head to pull at a bite of clover, but he looked up, golden ears perked, twisting like radar as he tuned into the noises around him. He snorted and grabbed another mouthful of grass. Andie pulled on the lead rope and his head came up.

The truck slowed at their driveway. Etta beamed. “Well, there’s that Ryder Johnson. He’s been down here three times in the past week. He says he’s checking on me, but I think he misses his running buddy.”

“I’m sure. If he missed me that much…” He would have called. Two months, he could have called. He hadn’t.

Etta shot her a look, eyes narrowing. “What’s going on with you two kids?”

“Well, first of all, we’re not kids. Second, he needs to grow up.”

“Oh, so that’s the way the wind blows.”

“This might be Oklahoma, but the wind isn’t blowing, Etta.” Andie turned toward the barn, Dusty at her side. He rubbed his big head on her arm and she pushed him back. “Bad manners, Dusty.”

“Where are you going?” Etta hurried to catch up.

“To put my horse up.”

“Well, I guess I’ll make tea.”

Tea was Etta’s cure for everything.

“Don’t invite him for tea, Etta. I’ll take care of this, but he doesn’t need to hang out here.”

“Nonsense.” And Etta stormed off, like a wise grandmother who had dealt with her share of lovesick kids. Andie shook her head and unhooked the gate. She wasn’t lovesick.

She was mad at herself. And mad at Ryder.

“Off you go, Dusty. Eat some green grass and I’ll be back later.”

She watched, smiling as her horse made a dash around the field, bucked a few times and then found a place to roll on his back. And then she couldn’t put it off any longer. She turned, and there he was, walking toward her, his hat low over his eyes. She didn’t need to see those eyes. Brown, long dark lashes. He had a dimple in his chin and a mouth that flashed white teeth when he smiled. He had rough hands that could hold a woman tight and a voice that sounded raspy and smooth, all at the same time.

Those were things she had just learned about him, eight weeks ago. Before that he’d had a voice that teased and hands that held hers tight when they climbed fences or arm wrestled. He had been the person she told her secrets to and shared her fears with.

More than anything she was mad that he couldn’t be that person right now. Instead, he was the person she needed to talk about.

He was tall, a cowboy who wore faded jeans, ripped at the knees, and button-down shirts, plaid with pearl buttons. He was her best friend. They’d been friends for twenty-five years, since his family moved to Dawson from Tulsa. His dad had done something right with the stock market. His mom had inherited a chunk of cash. It hadn’t been a perfect life though, and a little over five years ago his parents had died in a car accident.

She’d been there for him.

He’d buried his face into her shoulder and she remembered her fingers on soft, brown hair.

She remembered waking up weeks ago, knowing her life would never be the same. One night, one mistake, and her world had come unraveled.

And then God had hemmed it up again. She’d been running from God longer than she’d been running from Ryder. God had caught her first.

Ryder watched the changing expressions on Andie’s face and he wondered what kind of storm he was about to face. Would it be the summer kind that passes over with little damage, or the other kind, the kind that happens when hot air meets cold?

He had a feeling that it was the hot-meets-cold kind. She had gone from something that looked like sad, to pretty close to furious, and now she was smiling. But the coldness in her eyes was still there. She had latched the gate and she was strong again.

She stood next to the barn, looking a lot like she had the last time he’d seen her. She was a country girl, born and raised in Dawson. Her idea of dressing up was changing into a new pair of jeans and boots that weren’t scuffed. She was tall, slim, with short blond hair and brilliant blue eyes.

And she had every right to be angry.

He slowed a little, because maybe this wasn’t a hornet’s nest he wanted to walk into. It was going to get worse when she found out who was in the house waiting for her. She leaned back against the barn, the wind lifting her hair, blowing it around her face.

“Did you forget how to use a phone?” Yep, she was mad. Her voice was a little softer, a little huskier than normal.

“Nope. I just thought I’d give you a few weeks to get over being mad at me,” he said.

“I wouldn’t have been mad if you had left a note, called, maybe met up with me somewhere.”

“I know.” He cracked his knuckles and she glared. He took that to mean she wanted more than an easy answer. “I’m not good at relationships.”

Understatement. And it was an explanation she didn’t need from him. His parents had spent his childhood fighting, drinking and socializing. The ranch here in Dawson had saved him. At least he’d had horses to keep him busy and out from under their feet.

Away from his parents had usually been the best, safest bet for a kid.

He’d had Andie to run with and Etta’s house as a safe haven. Right at that moment Andie looked anything but safe. Standing there with her arms wrapped around herself, hugging her middle tight, she looked angry, sad, and about a dozen other female emotions he didn’t want to put a name on.

“Relationship? This isn’t a relationship, Ryder. This is us. We were friends.”

“Oh, come on, we’re still friends.” He slipped an arm around her shoulder and she slid out of the embrace. “We’ll go out tomorrow, maybe drive into Tulsa. It’ll be like old times.”

“Nope.” She walked quickly toward the house. He kept up.

So, the rumors were true. “This is about church, isn’t it?”

She stopped abruptly and turned. “No, it isn’t about church. You think that going to church would make me mad at you? Don’t be an idiot.”

“Well isn’t that what people do when they feel guilty?” He winked. “They get right with God?”

“Shut up, Ryder.”

She took off again, arms swinging, boots stomping on the dry grass.

“We’ve been friends forever.”

“Right.” She stopped and when she glanced up, before she could shake the look, he thought she looked hurt.

The way she’d looked hurt when he’d turned eleven and she’d been about ten, but not quite. He’d had a bunch of boys over and she hadn’t been invited. He’d told her it was a guys-only party and she’d wanted to be one of the guys, because she was his best friend.

Now he realized that best friends shouldn’t be easy to hold or feel soft in a guy’s arms. Or at least he thought that was the case. He didn’t want to lose someone who had always been there for him. He didn’t want to turn her into his mom.

He sure didn’t want to be his dad.

He wanted them to stay the way they were, having fun and hanging out. Not growing up, growing angry, growing apart. He didn’t want to think about how selfish that sounded, keeping her in his life that way.

“Andie, I didn’t plan for this to mess up our friendship.”

“Neither of us planned for that. And this isn’t about…” She looked away. “This is about you not calling me back.”

“Because I didn’t know what to say.”

“Ryder, you’re almost thirty and I’ve heard you talk to women. You always know what to say.” She looked down, shuffling her feet in the dusty driveway. “But you didn’t know what to say to me?”

“I’m sorry.” He hadn’t known what to say and he still didn’t. With other women, he just said what felt right at the moment. And man, he’d had a lot of nasty messages on his answering machine over the years, because he’d said what felt right, not what mattered.

“You don’t have to apologize. We’re both responsible.”

“I know, but we made a promise. I made a promise.” A promise to keep boundaries between them. “I don’t know what else to say, except I’m sorry.”

“You should have called.” She had shoved her hands in her front pockets and she stared up at him, forcing his thoughts back to that. That night in Phoenix he’d found her standing behind her trailer, crying because she’d been rejected by her mother. He’d never seen her like that, hurt that way.

He shook his head, chasing off memories that were more than likely going to get him in trouble again.

“Come on, Andie, give me a break. You know me better than anyone. You know that I’m not good at this. You know that we were both there. We both…”

“Stop. I don’t want to talk about what we both did. I want to talk to you about us.”

Heat crawled up his neck, into his face. “Andie, you sound like a woman.”

“I am a woman.”

“No.” He took off his hat and swiped a hand through his hair. “No, you’re not. You’re my best friend. You’re my roping buddy. You’re not like other women. You’ve never been like other women, getting all caught up in the dating thing and romance.”

“I’m still not caught up in those things.”

“No, now you’re caught up in religion.”

“I’m not caught up in anything. This is about faith. And to be honest, I really needed some.” She looked away.

“Whatever. I’m just saying, this isn’t you.”

“It’s me. But for a lot of years, I’ve been trying to be who you wanted me to be. I’ve done a lot of things to make you feel better about being angry.” Her voice was soft and sweet, reminding him of how easy it had been to kiss her. Maybe things had changed—more than he’d realized. Being on the road he’d been able to fool himself into believing that they could go right back to being who they’d always been.

“Go to supper with me at the Mad Cow. I’ll buy you a piece of pecan pie.” He nudged her shoulder and she nodded. He thought she might say yes.

But then she shook her head. “I’m tired. It was a long trip.”

“Yeah, I guess it was. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“And you’re going to church?”

“Yeah, Ryder, I’m going to church.”

“Fine, I’ve got to get home and get things cleaned up before Wyatt gets here.”

“Wyatt’s coming?”

Ryder pulled his keys out of his pocket. This was something she would have known, before. He would have called her to talk it over with her, to get her opinion. He guessed that was a pretty good clue that he’d been avoiding her, and telling himself a whole pack of lies.

Number one being that nothing had changed.

“Yeah, he’s coming home.”

And Ryder didn’t know how it would work, with him, Wyatt and two little girls all in one big, messy house. The girls needed to be here, though. Ryder knew that. He knew his brother was falling apart without Wendy. Wyatt was caving under the guilt of his wife’s death. A year, and he was still falling apart.

“If you need anything.” Andie’s voice was gentle, so was her hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I know you’re here.” He smiled down at her, winking, because he needed to find firm footing. “Gotta run. Let me know if you change your mind about, well, about anything.”

About being this new person, this woman that he just didn’t get.

“Right, I’ll let you know.”

The back door opened. He waved at Etta and tried to escape, but she left the back stoop and headed in their direction. And then he remembered why he’d driven down here. Because mad or not, Andie was about to need a friend.

“Don’t you want to come in for tea?” Etta had been filling him with tea for years. Tea for colds, tea for his aches and pains, tea to help him sleep when his parents died. He’d turned to something a little stronger for a few years, until he realized that it was doing more than helping him sleep. It had been turning him into his dad.

He glanced at Andie, and she was still clueless. “I can come in for a minute. I have to get my house clean before Wyatt shows up.”

Why’d he have to feel so old all of a sudden? Last week he’d still felt young, like he had it all, except responsibility. He had liked it that way.

“When’s he going to be here?” Etta stepped a little closer.

“Tomorrow or Monday. I guess I’ll have to call Ruby to get my house really clean.”

“You’ll be fine, Ryder.” Etta’s eyes were soft, a little damp.

“Yeah, I’m more worried about Wyatt.” Ryder didn’t want to think about the house and the girls, not all in the same thought.

And then the back door opened again.

Chapter Two

Andie had forgotten about that car in the drive. She shouldn’t have forgotten. It was Ryder’s fault and it would have felt good to tell him that. But she didn’t have time because the woman standing on the back porch was now walking down the steps. She was nearing fifty and stunningly beautiful. And she was smiling. Andie hadn’t expected the smile. She wanted this woman to be cold, to live up to Andie’s expectations of her.

A woman that ditched a child couldn’t be warm. She couldn’t be loving. Andie replayed her list of words she used to describe her mother: cold, unfeeling, hard, selfish.

The list used to be more graphic, but Andie was working hard on forgiving. She’d started with the easy “need to forgive” list. She would forgive Margie Watkins for spreading a rumor about her. She could forgive Blaine for gum in her notebook back in the fifth grade. She’d kept her mother on a list by herself, a final project. Saving the most difficult for last.

So now Andie knew that it was true—God had his own timing, reminding her that He was really the one in charge. She had really thought she’d wait a few months to contact Caroline.

“You okay?” Ryder stepped next to her. “I thought I ought to be here for you.”

Cowgirls do too cry. They cry when the man they are the angriest with shows up and says something like that. They can cry when they see their mother for the first time in twenty-five years. She nodded in answer to his question and blinked away the tears, because she’d never cried this much in her life and she didn’t like it.

She didn’t like that her edge was gone.

Was this really the plan, really what God wanted? For her to forgive the person who had hurt her more than anyone else, even more than Ryder when he ignored her phone calls?

If so, it was going to take some time.

“Caroline wanted to see you.” Etta’s tone was noncommittal and Andie wondered if her mother had been invited or just showed up.

Oh, the wedding. Alyson’s wedding.

“Did she?” Andie managed to stand tall. “Or is she here to see Alyson? To help plan the wedding.”

It made sense that her mother would show up to help plan Alyson’s wedding. She had never shown up for anything that had to do with Andie.

“I’m here to see you.” Caroline was close enough to hear, to respond. And she had the nerve to smile like she meant it.

But really? Did she?

“That’s good.” Andie managed words that she didn’t feel. Standing there in the yard, the sun sinking into the western horizon, red and glowing, the sky lavender. The sky matched Etta’s hair. At least that lightened the mood.

“I know I should have come sooner.” Caroline glanced away, like she, too, had noticed the setting sun. She stared toward the west. “I don’t have excuses. I’m just here to say that I’m sorry.”

“Really?” Apparently it was the day for apologies. Was it on the calendar—a national holiday?

“We should go in and have that tea.” Etta gathered them the way a hen gathered chicks.

“Ryder, you should go.” Andie squeezed his hand. “Thank you for being here.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll see you at church tomorrow.” She said it to watch the look on his face. She knew he wouldn’t be there. He’d gone to church when he was a kid, until his dad’s little indiscretion.

“That’s one thing I can’t do for you, Andie.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll see you around.”

Why did it have to sound like goodbye, as if they were sixteen and breaking up?

She watched him get in his truck and drive away. And it wasn’t what she wanted, not at all. She wanted her best friend there with her, the way he would have been there for her if Phoenix hadn’t happened, if they hadn’t spent weeks not knowing what to say to each other.

Watching his truck turn out of the driveway and head down the road, she felt shaken, and her stupid heart felt like it was about to have a seizure of some kind.

And her mother was standing in front of her, waiting for her to pull it together. Caroline, her mother. But Etta had been that person to Andie. Etta had been the one who taught her to be a woman. Etta had taught her to put on makeup, and helped her dress for the prom. Etta had held her when she cried.

Caroline had been in some city far away, being a mother to Andie’s twin, and to her half siblings. She’d left the less-than-perfect child with the less-than-perfect husband.

Issues. Andie had a lot of issues to deal with. But she wasn’t the mess some people thought she should be. She’d had Etta. She’d had a dad who’d done his best. She’d been taught to be strong, to not be a victim. Now those seemed like easy words that didn’t undo all of the pain.

“Come on.” Etta took her by the hand and led her to the house.

“Of course, tea will make this all better.” Andie whispered. As if tea could make getting steamrollered feel any better.

They walked through the back door into the kitchen decorated with needlepoint wall hangings that Andie and Etta had worked on together. They’d never had satellite, and only a few local stations until recently. Winters had been spent reading or doing needlepoint. It hadn’t been a bad way to grow up.

“What’s going on between you and Ryder?” Etta spooned sugar into the cup of tea she’d just poured. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that was a lover’s quarrel.”

“We’d have to be in love for that to be the case.” Andie leaned in close to her grandmother, loving the way she smelled like rose talcum powder, and the house smelled like vegetables from the garden and pine cleaner.

It was her grandmother’s house and it always felt like the safest place in the world.

Even with her mother standing across the counter from her, fidgeting with the cup that Etta had set in front of her it was still that safe place. Caroline looked up and Andie met her gaze.

“Well, it was just a matter of time,” Etta whispered as she walked away.

“What did you say?”

“I said, I hope you don’t mind sugar in this tea, and do you mind if it has thyme. It’s good for you, you know.”

“Right.”

She sat down at the kitchen island and her granny slid the cup of tea across the counter to her. Etta sat down next to her, moving a plate of cookies between them. Peanut butter, nothing better.

Andie sipped her tea and set the cup down, not feeling at all better, not the way she usually did when she came home.

“I’m surprised to see you.” Andie reached for a second cookie. “I’m the reject kid, right? The one you didn’t want.”

Caroline shuddered and Andie didn’t feel better, not the way she’d thought she would feel the sense of satisfaction she’d expected. And now, not so much.

“You’re not defective. You’re beautiful, smart and talented,” Etta spoke up, her voice having a loud edge.

Andie shot her grandmother a look, because they both knew better. She and her father hadn’t been good enough for Caroline. He’d been Caroline’s one-night stand in college, and he’d married her. A cute country boy from Oklahoma. And reality hadn’t been as much fun.

One-night stands didn’t work. She sipped her tea and pushed the thought from her mind. Better to focus on Caroline and her father rather than on her own mistakes.

“I’m not the prodigy. I’m the kid who struggled to read.” Andie no longer felt like the kid in school who didn’t understand what everyone else got with ease. She had been fortunate to have great teachers, people who were willing to help and encourage her. She’d had Etta.

“You have a challenge, not a disability.” Etta covered Andie’s hand with a hand that was a little crooked with arthritis, but still strong, still soft, still manicured. “She took Alyson. I got to keep you. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Being here with me and your dad?”

Caroline spoke up. “It wasn’t bad, was it? I mean, I know Etta loves you. Your dad loved you.”

“You can’t comment. You weren’t here.” Andie closed her eyes and tried to let go of the sparks of anger that shot from her heart, hot and cold.

“I can comment.” Caroline’s hand shook as she set her cup on the counter. “I can comment, because I know what I did and why I did it. I couldn’t take this life. I couldn’t be a cowboy’s wife and the mom to two girls. I couldn’t be from Dawson.”

Andie shook her head, feeling a little sick with guilt, with hurt feelings. “Really, would it have been that hard?”

“I don’t know.”

Andie finished off the last of her cookie and drained her cup of tea, and she still didn’t know what to say to Caroline Anderson—the woman who had never been her mother.

She thought about this two months ago when she’d slipped into a church service held at the rodeo arena after one of the events. She had sat there wondering how to put her life back together. The pieces were in her hands; Alyson, her mother and Ryder.

It was up to her to put it all back together. It was up to her to forgive.

Andie hopped off the stool. “I have to take care of my horse.”

And she planned on spending the night in the camper of her horse trailer. It wasn’t really running away. She was giving herself space and a little time to think.

Ryder woke up the next morning to the rumble of a truck in his driveway. He peeked out the window as Wyatt jumped out of a rented moving truck and then reached in for the two little girls who resembled their mom.

As he watched them cut across the lawn—Wyatt holding both girls, looking as sad as they looked—Ryder ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. Man, this was a lot of reality to wake up to.

He glanced at the clock on the coffeemaker as he walked through the kitchen. Nearly ten on a Sunday morning. And Etta’s old Caddy was going down the road, because it was time for church. And for the first time in years, Andie was in the passenger seat.

Too much reality.

Too many changes. He was nearly thirty and suddenly everything was changing. Andie was going to church and she didn’t want to talk to him. Not that he really blamed her.

But he wanted her back, the way it was before. He wanted it to be like it had been before their night in Phoenix, before her trip to the altar and God. Not that he had anything against God. He knew there was one. He’d been to church. He’d heard the sermons. He’d even prayed.

But his parents had gone, too. They’d picked a church in a neighboring town, not Dawson Community Church. And that had just about done him in on religion. His parents, their lifestyle and then the day in church when someone brought his dad forward. Man, he could still remember that day, the looks people had given him, the way it had felt to hear what his dad had done.

And he remembered the clapping of a few hands when his dad was ousted from the congregation, taking his family with him.

That had been a long time ago, almost twenty years. He shrugged it off, the way he’d been trying to shrug it off since the day it happened. He walked down the hall and met his brother at the back door, coming in through the utility room. It had rained during the night and Wyatt’s boots were muddy. He leaned against the dryer to kick them off.

Ryder reached for three-year-old Molly but she held tight to Wyatt. It was Kat, a year younger, who held her arms out, smiling the way little girls should smile. With one less child, Wyatt could hold the door and kick off his boots.

They would never know their mom. They wouldn’t even remember her. But then, even in her life, Wendy hadn’t been there for the girls. She had changed after having them. She had lost something and before any of them had figured it out, it had been too late to get her back.

“Long trip?” Ryder settled Kat on his hip and walked into the kitchen. The two-year-old smiled because his cheek brushed hers and he imagined it was rough.

“The longest.” A year. That’s what Ryder figured. His brother had been on a journey that had taken the last year of his life, and brought him back to Dawson.

“You girls hungry?”

“We ate an hour ago, just outside of Tulsa,” Wyatt said. “I think they’re probably ready to get down and play for a while. Maybe take a nap.”

Ryder glanced at the little girl holding tight to his neck as he filled the coffeepot with water. “You want down, Chick?”

She shook her head and giggled.

“Want cookies?” he asked. When she nodded, he glanced at Molly. “You want cookies?”

She shook her head. She had big eyes that looked like the faucet was about to get turned on. She’d be okay, though. Kids had a way of bouncing back. Or at least that’s what he thought. He didn’t have a lot of experience.

“They don’t need cookies this early,” Wyatt interjected.

Older, wiser, Wyatt. Ryder shook his head, because he’d never wanted to grow up like Wyatt. He’d never wanted to be that mature.

“Well, I don’t have much else around here.” Ryder looked in the fridge. “Spoiled milk and pudding. I think the lunch meat went bad two days ago. It didn’t taste real good on that last sandwich.”

“Did it make you sick?” Molly whispered, arms still around Wyatt’s neck in what looked like a death grip. He hadn’t been around a lot of kids, but she was the timid kind. That was fine, he was a little afraid of her, too.

He’d had enough experience to know that kids could be loud and destroy much if left to their own devices.

“Nah, I don’t get sick.” He bounced Kat a little and she laughed.

“I guess I’ll have to go to the store.” Wyatt sat down at the dining room table.

“No, I’ll get ready and go.” Anything to get out of the house, away from this. He flipped on the dining room light. “Make a list and I’ll drive into Grove. When I get home, we can run down to the Mad Cow before the church crowd gets there.”

“I need to have the girls back in church. They like going.”

“Yeah, kids do.” They liked the crafts, the stories. He got that. He had liked it, too. “I need to feed the horses and then I’ll get cleaned up and run to the store.”

He brushed a hand through his hair and for the first time, Wyatt smiled. “Yeah, you might want to get a haircut.”

“Probably.” He slid his feet into boots and finished buttoning his shirt. “I guess just help yourself to anything you can find. The coffee’s ready.”

A brother and two kids, living in his house. Now that just about beat all. It was really going to put a kink in his life.

But then, hadn’t Andie already done that? No, not Andie, not really.

When he walked out the back door, his dog, Bear, was waiting for him.

“Bear, this is not our life.” But it was. He could look around, at the ranch his dad had built. He could smell rain in the air and hear geese on a nearby pond.

It was his life. But something had shaken it all up, leaving it nearly unrecognizable. Like a snow globe, shaken by some unseen hand. He looked up, because it was Sunday and a good day for thinking about God, about faith. He didn’t go to church, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten faith.

So now he had questions. How did he do this? His brother was home—with two kids, no less. His best friend was now his one-night stand. He had more guilt rolling around in his stomach than a bottle of antacid could ever cure.

Did this have something to do with his crazy prayers before he got on the back of a bull a month or so earlier. Did the words God help me count as a prayer? Or maybe it was payback for the bad things he’d done in his life?

Whatever had happened, he had to fix it—because he didn’t like having his life turned upside down. But first he had to go to town and get groceries, something to feed two little girls.

Church had ended ten minutes ago and Andie had seen Ryder’s truck driving past on his way to the farm. But they’d been stalled by people wanting to talk with she and her grandmother. Caroline had managed to smile and hang at the periphery of the crowds.

“We need to check on Ryder and Wyatt.” Etta started her old Caddy, smiling with a certain pride that Andie recognized. Her granny loved that car. She’d loved it for more than twenty years, refusing to part with it for something new.

What could be more dependable, Etta always said, than a car that she’d taken care of since the day she drove it off the lot?

Dependable wasn’t a word Andie really wanted to dwell on, not at that moment. Not when her grandmother was talking about Ryder.

“I think Ryder and Wyatt are able to take care of themselves.” After her mother climbed into the front seat beside Etta, Andie slid into the back and buckled her seat belt. Etta eased through the church parking lot.

It hadn’t been such a bad first Sunday back in church. The members of Dawson Community Church were friends, neighbors and sometimes a distant relative. They all knew her. Most of them knew that she’d gone on strike from church when Ryder stopped going. Because they’d been best friends, and a girl had to do something when her best friend cried angry tears over what his father had done, and over a moment in church that changed their lives. A girl had to take a stand when her best friend threw rocks into the creek with a fury she couldn’t understand because life had never been that cruel to her.

Her strike had been more imaginary than real. Most of the time Etta managed to drag her along. But Andie had let her feelings be known. At ten she’d been pretty outspoken.

“How long have you known Ryder and Wyatt?” Caroline asked, and Andie wanted to tell her that she should know that. A mother should know the answer to that question.

“Forever.” Andie leaned back in the seat and looked out the window, remembering being a kid in this very car, this very backseat. Her dad had driven and Etta had sat in the passenger side. The car had been new then. She’d been more innocent.

She’d heard them whispering about what Ryder’s dad had done. She’d been too young to really get it. When she got home from church that day she’d run down the road and Ryder had met her in the field.

“Forever?” Caroline asked, glancing back over her shoulder.

“We’ve known each other since Ryder was five, and I was three. That’s when they moved to Dawson. I guess about the time you left.”

Silence hung over the car, crackling with tension and recrimination. Okay, maybe she’d gone too far. Andie sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Etta cleared her throat and turned the old radio on low. “We’ll stop by the Mad Cow and get takeout chicken. Knowing Ryder, he doesn’t have a thing in that house for Wyatt and the girls to eat.”

“What happened to Wyatt’s wife?” Caroline asked.

Stop asking questions. Andie closed her eyes and leaned back into the leather seat. She wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t say something that would hurt. She was working on forgiving. God had to know that wasn’t easy. Shouldn’t God cut her a little slack?

Etta answered Caroline’s question. “She committed suicide last year. Postpartum depression.”

It still hurt. Andie hadn’t really known Wendy, but it hurt, because it was about Ryder, Wyatt and two little girls.

“I’m so sorry.” Caroline glanced out the window. “It isn’t easy to deal with depression.”

Clues to who her mother was. In a sense, Andie thought these might also be clues to who she was. She waited, wanting her mother to say more. She didn’t. Etta didn’t push. Instead she turned the Caddy into the parking lot of the Mad Cow. And Ryder was already there. He was getting out of his truck and a little girl with dark hair was clinging to his neck. He looked like a guy wearing new boots. Not too comfortable in the shoes he’d been forced to wear.

He saw them and he stopped. Etta parked next to his truck.

As they got out, Wyatt came around the side of the truck. The older of the two girls was in his arms. She didn’t smile the way the other child smiled.

“We didn’t beat the church crowd.” Ryder tossed the observation to Wyatt but he smiled as he said it.

“No, you didn’t, but you can eat lunch with us.” Etta slipped an arm around Wyatt, even as she addressed the response at Ryder. “And you’ll behave yourself, Ryder Johnson.”

“I always do.” He winked at the little girl in his arms and she giggled. And she wasn’t even old enough to know what that wink could do to a girl, how it could make her feel like her toes were melting in her high heels.

Andie wished she didn’t know what that wink could do to a girl. Or a woman. She didn’t want to care that he looked cuter than ever with a two-year-old in his arms. He looked like someone who should have kids.

But he didn’t want kids. He had never wanted children of his own. He said the only thing his childhood had prepared him for was being single and no one to mess up but himself.

“You look nice.” He stepped closer, switching his niece to the opposite arm as he leaned close to Andie. “You smell good, too.”

Andie smiled, because every answer seemed wrong. Sarcasm, anger, the words “Is this the first time you’ve noticed how I look?” and so on.

She didn’t feel like fighting with him. She felt like going home to a cup of ginger tea and a good romance novel. She felt like hitching the trailer back to her truck and hitting the road with Dusty, because she could always count on her horse and the next rodeo to cheer her up. She could head down to Texas.

“You look a little pale.” Caroline stood next to her, another problem that Andie didn’t want to deal with. She felt like a tiny ant and people were shoveling stuff over the top of her, without caring that she was getting buried beneath it all.

“I’m fine.”

“You really don’t look so hot,” Ryder added.

“You just said I look nice. Which is it, Ryder?”

“Nice, in a pale, illusive, gonna-kick-somebody-to-the-curb sort of way.” He teased in the way that normally worked on her bad moods. Ryder knew how to drag her out of the pits.

But not today.

Today she wanted to be alone, to figure out the next phase of her life. And she didn’t want to think about how Ryder would have to be a part of that future.

Or how he was going to feel about it.

Chapter Three

“Why aren’t you eating?” Ryder had tried to ignore Andie, the same way she’d obviously been ignoring him. She had talked to Wyatt, to the girls, even to her mother.

She was ignoring him the same way she was ignoring the chicken-fried steak on her dinner plate. And her mother was right. She did look pale.

“I’m eating.” She smiled and cut a bite of the gravy-covered steak. “See.”

She ate the bite, swallowing in a way that looked painful.

“Are you sick?”

She looked up to the heavens and shook her head. “No, I’m not sick.”

“You act sick.” He grinned a little, because he just knew he had to say what was on his mind. He couldn’t stop himself. “You look like something the cat yacked up.”

His nieces laughed. Even Molly. At least they appreciated his humor. He sat back in his chair, his hands behind his head, smiling at Andie. Kat giggled like she knew exactly what her Uncle Ryder had said. He hadn’t expected to really like a two-year-old this much, but she already had him wrapped around her little finger.

He didn’t think Andie was as thrilled with him. As a matter of fact she glared at him as if he was about her least favorite person on the planet. And with her mother, Caroline, sitting at the same table, he was pretty shocked that he’d be Andie’s least favorite person.

“That’s pleasant, Ryder. I’m sick of you asking me what’s wrong. You haven’t seen me in two months. Do you have something else you’d like to say to me?”

“Right here, right now?” That made his hands a little sweaty, especially when everyone at the table stared, including his nieces. Kat, who sat closest to him, looked a little worried. “No, I guess not. Well, other than wanting to know if you’d like to go the arena with me tonight. I could use a flank man.”

“I’m not a man.”

“Good point,” Wyatt mumbled.

Ryder shot his brother a look. “Keep out of this.”

Kat, two and innocent, clapped her hands and laughed.

A chair scooted on the linoleum floor. Ryder flicked his attention back to Andie. She was standing up, looking a little green and wobbly. Maybe it was the dress, or the three-inch heels. He stood, thinking he might have to catch her.

“What’s wrong?” Etta started to stand up.

“I’m going outside. I need fresh air.”

“I’ll go with you.” Ryder grabbed his hat off the back of the chair and moved fast, because she was practically running for the door.

She didn’t go far, just to the edge of the building. He stood behind her as she leaned, gasping deep breaths of air.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Stop.” She kept her face turned, resting her forehead against the old concrete block building. “I must have caught something from Joy’s kids when I stopped in Kansas. One of them was sick.”

“I could take you home,” he offered quietly, because he had a feeling she didn’t need more questions at the moment.

“I’m fine now. I would just hate to make the girls sick. They don’t need that.” She turned, smiling, but perspiration beaded along her forehead and under her eyes. She was still pale.

“No,” he agreed, “the girls don’t need to get sick. I don’t think I could handle that.”

“They’re just little girls.”

“Yeah, and I’m not anyone’s dad. That’s Wyatt’s job. He’s always been more cut out for the husband and father gig.”

And saying the words made him feel hollow on the inside, because he remembered standing next to Wyatt at his wife’s funeral. He remembered what it felt like to stand next to a man whose heart was breaking.

Ryder hadn’t ever experienced heartbreak and he didn’t plan on it. He enjoyed his single life, without strings, attachments or complications.

“You’re good with the girls,” Andie insisted, his friend again, for the moment. “Just don’t slip into your old ways, not while they’re living with you.”

“Right.” He slid his hand down her back. “I’ll be good. So, are you okay?”

“I’m good. I’m going back inside.” She took a step past him, but he caught her hand and held her next to him.

“Andie, I don’t want to lose my best friend. I’m sorry for that night. I’m sorry that I didn’t walk away…before. And I’m sorry I walked away afterward.”

She didn’t look at him. He looked down, at the ground she was staring at—at dandelions peeking up through the gravel and a few pieces of broken glass. He touched her cheek and ran his finger down to her chin, lifting her face so she had to look at him.

“I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. “I just don’t know how to go back. We’ve always kept the line between us, Ryder. This is why.”

“We don’t have to stop being friends,” he insisted, hoping he didn’t sound like a kid.

“No, we don’t. But you have to accept that things have changed.”

“Okay, things have changed.” More than things. She had changed. He could see it in her eyes in the way she smiled as she turned and walked away, back into the Mad Cow.

A crazy thought, that he had changed, too. He brushed it off and followed her into the diner. He hadn’t changed at all. He still wanted the same things he’d always wanted. Some things weren’t meant to be domesticated, like raccoons, foxes…and him.

When they got home, Andie changed into jeans and a T-shirt and headed for the barn. She was brushing Babe, her old mare, when Etta walked through the double doors at the end of the building.

“What’s going on with you?” Etta, arm’s crossed, stood with the sun to her back, her face in shadows.

The barn cat wandered in and Etta stepped away from the feline.

“There’s nothing wrong.” Andie brushed the horse’s rump and the bay mare twitched her dark tail and stomped a fly away from her leg. “Okay, something is wrong. Caroline is here. I don’t know what she wants from me. I don’t know why she expects to walk into my life and have me happy to be graced with her presence.”

“She doesn’t expect that.”

Andie stopped brushing and turned. “So now you’re on her side.”

“Don’t sound like a five-year-old. I’m not on her side. I’m on your side. I want you to forgive her. I want you to have her in your life. I have to forgive her, too. She broke my son’s heart. She broke your heart.”

Andie shook off the anger. Her heart hadn’t been broken, not by Caroline or anyone else.

“I’m fine.” She brushed Babe’s neck and the mare leaned toward her, her eyes closing slightly.

“You’re not fine. And this isn’t about Caroline, it’s about you and Ryder. What happened?”

“Nothing. Or at least nothing a little time won’t take care of.”

Etta walked closer. “I guess it’s too late for the talk that we should have had fifteen years ago,” she said with a sigh.

Andie swallowed and nodded. And the words freed the tears that had been hovering. “Too late.”

“It’s okay.” Etta stepped closer, her arm going around Andie’s waist.

“No, it isn’t. I messed up. I really messed up. This is something I can’t take back.”

“So you went to church?”

“Not just because of this. I went because I had to go. As much as I’ve always claimed I was strong, every time I was at the end of my rope, it was God that I turned to. I’ve always prayed. And that Sunday morning, I wanted to be in church.”

“Andie, did you use…”

Andie’s face flamed and she shook her head.

“Do you think you might be…”

They were playing fill-in-the-blank. Andie wanted option C, not A. She wanted the answer to be sick with a stomach virus. They didn’t want to say the hard words, or face the difficult answers. She wasn’t a fifteen-year-old kid. Funny, but until now she had controlled herself. She hadn’t made these choices. She hadn’t gotten herself into a situation like this.

She was trying to connect it all: her mistake, her relationship with God, and her friendship with Ryder. How could she put it all together and make it okay?

“Maybe it’s a virus. Joy’s kids had a stomach virus.”

“It could be.” Etta patted her back. “It really could be.”

And then a truck turned into the drive. Ryder’s truck. And he was pulling a trailer. Andie closed her eyes and Etta hugged her close.

“You’re going to have to tell him.”

“I don’t know anything, not yet. I don’t know if I can face this. I’m trying so hard to get my act together and I can’t pull Ryder into this.”

“Soon.” Etta kissed her cheek.

“When I know for sure.”

Ryder was out of his truck. And he was dressed for roping, in his faded jeans, a black T-shirt and nearly worn-out roper boots.

“You going with me?” He tossed the question before he reached the barn. His grin was big, and he was acting as if there was nothing wrong between them. Andie wished she could do the same.

“I don’t know.”

Etta’s brows went up and she shrugged. “I’m going in the house. I have a roast on and it needs potatoes.”

Andie watched her grandmother walk away and then she turned her attention back to Ryder. He scratched his chin and waited. And she didn’t know what he wanted to hear.

“Come on, Andie, we’ve always roped on Sunday evenings.”

It was what they’d done, as best friends. And they hadn’t minded separating from time to time. She’d go out with James or one of the other guys. She’d watch, without jealousy, when he helped Vicki Summers into his truck. No jealousy at all.

Because they’d been best friends.

But today nausea rolled in her stomach and she couldn’t think about leaving with him, or him leaving with Vicki afterward. And that wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.

“I can’t go, not tonight.”

“I don’t want to lose you.” He took off his white cowboy hat and held it at his side. “I wish we could go back and…”

“Think a little more clearly? Take time to breathe deep and walk away?” She shook her head. “We can’t. We made a choice and now we have the consequences of that choice.”

“Consequences? What consequences? You’re the one acting like we can’t even talk. It’s simple. Just get in the truck and go with me.”

“I can’t.” She tossed the brush into a bucket and the clang of wood hitting metal made Babe jump to the side.

Andie whispered to the mare and reached to untie the lead rope from the hook on the wall. “I can’t go with you, Ryder. I’m sick. My mom is here. I’m going to go inside and spend time with Etta.”

“Fine.” He walked to the door. “I’m going to be pretty busy in the next few weeks. Wyatt and the girls are going to need me.”

“I know.” She watched him walk away, but it wasn’t easy. She’d never wanted to run after a guy the way she wanted to run after him, to tell him they could forget. They could go back to being friends, to being comfortable around each other. But she couldn’t go after him and they couldn’t go back.

She stood at the gate and watched as he climbed into his truck and slammed the door.

Ryder jumped into his truck and shifted hard into first gear. He started to stomp on it, and then remembered his horse in the trailer. Man, it would have felt good to let gravel fly. If only he could be sixteen again, not dealing with losing his best friend to a one-night mistake.

Why couldn’t she just get over it and go with him? This was what they did, they went roping together. They hunted together. They got over things together.

As he eased onto the road he let his mind drift back, to the night in Phoenix. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. They’d both been hurting. He’d been upset by Wyatt’s situation. She’d been hurting because her twin sister had arrived in town, bringing back the pain of being a kid rejected by her mother.

And then his thoughts made a big U-turn, shifting his memory back to the Mad Cow and Andie’s pale face.

He was an idiot. An absolute idiot.

Consequences. He caught himself in time to keep from slamming on the brakes. He eased to the side of the road and stopped the truck. He sat there for a long minute thinking back, thinking ahead. Thinking this really couldn’t be happening to him.

He leaned back in his seat and thought about it, and thought about his next move. A truck drove past and honked. He raised a hand in a half wave.

Glancing over his shoulder he checked the road in both directions and backed the trailer up, this time heading the way he’d come from, to Etta’s and to Andie.

As he turned into the driveway, she was coming out of the barn. She stopped in the doorway, light against the dark interior of the barn, her blond hair blowing a little in the wind. She sighed, he could see her shoulders rise and fall and then she walked toward him. And he wondered what she would say.

He parked and got out of the truck, waiting because he didn’t know what questions to ask or how to face the consequences of that night. It would have been easier to keep running. But this would have caught up with him eventually. It wasn’t as if he could run from it.

When she reached him, they stared at each other. The wind was blowing a little harder and clouds, low and heavy with rain, covered the sun. Shadows drifted across the brown, autumn grass.

“You’re back a little quicker than I expected.” She smiled, and for a minute he thought it might have been his imagination, her pale skin, the nausea.

He rubbed his face and tried to think of how a man asked a woman, a friend, this question.

“I came back because I have to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” She slipped her hands into her front pockets.

His gaze slipped to her belly and he didn’t even mean for that to happen. It was flat, perfectly flat. She cleared her throat. He glanced up and her eyebrows shot up.

“I have a question.” Man, he felt like a fifteen-year-old kid. “Are you, um, are you having a baby?”

Chapter Four

The question she hadn’t even wanted to ask herself. Ryder, her best friend for as long as she could remember, was peering down at her with toffee-brown eyes that had never been more serious. He wasn’t a boy anymore. She wasn’t a kid.

And she didn’t want to answer this question, not today. She didn’t want to stand in front of him, with her heart pounding and her stomach still rolling a little. She looked away, to the field across the road. It was nothing spectacular, just a field with a few too many weeds and a few cattle grazing, but it gave her something else to focus on.

“Andie, come on, we have to talk about this.”

“Like we talked two months ago? Come on, Ryder, admit that neither one of us want to talk about this.”

He took off his hat and brushed his arm across his forehead. He glanced down at her and shook his head. “No, maybe this isn’t how I wanted to spend a Sunday afternoon, but this is what we’ve got.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Not today.”

“So you are…?”

“I don’t know.” She looked down, at dusty, hard-packed earth. At his boots and hers as they stood toe-to-toe in that moment that changed both of their lives. He was just a cowboy, the kind of guy who had said he’d never get married.

And she’d claimed his conviction as her own. Because that’s what they had done for years. She had never been one of those girls dreaming of weddings, the perfect husband or babies. She didn’t play the games in school with boys’ names and honeymoon locations. Instead she’d thought about how to train the best barrel horse and what it would take to win world titles.

Babies. As much as she had wanted to pretend otherwise, her feminine side had caused her to go soft when she held a baby or watched children play. When she watched her friends with their husbands, she felt a little empty on the inside, because she shared her life with Etta—and with Ryder—but Ryder never shared his heart, not the way a woman wanted a man to share his heart.

“Andie, I’m sorry, this shouldn’t have happened.” He touched her cheek and then his hand dropped to his side and he stepped back a few steps.

“I definitely don’t want you to be sorry.” She looked up, trying her best to be determined. “Like I said, I don’t know. It could be that I caught the stomach virus some of the kids in Kansas had. When I know for sure, I’ll let you know.”

“Let me know?” He brushed a hand through his hair and shoved his hat back in place, a gesture she’d seen a few too many times and she knew exactly what it meant. Frustration.

Well she could tell him a few things about frustration. But she wasn’t in the mood. She wasn’t in the mood to spell out for him that this hadn’t been in her plans, either. He hadn’t been in her plans, not this way.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know. Look, whatever happens, whatever this is, it isn’t going to change anything.” She was glad she sounded firm, sounded strong. She felt anything but, with her insides quivering. “You’ve always been my friend and that’s how it’ll stay.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not going to tie you down or try to drag you into this. It doesn’t change things.”

“I have news for you, Andie Forester, this changes things. This changes everything.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

He shook his head. “Are you being difficult for a reason, other than to just drive me crazy? If you’re pre…uh, having a baby, it changes a lot, now doesn’t it?”

She wanted to smile, because even the word brought a bead of sweat across his brow and his neck turned red. But she couldn’t smile, not yet.

“I’ll let you know when I find out for sure.”

“Fine, you let me know. And we’ll pretend that this isn’t important, if that’s what you really want.” He turned and walked away, a cowboy in faded jeans, the legs worn and a little more faded where he’d spent a lot of time in the saddle.

He waved as he climbed into his truck and started the engine. She waved back. And it already felt different. She’d been lying to herself, trying to tell herself it wouldn’t matter.

She watched him drive away and then she considered her next move. Go inside and face her mother, or stay in the barn and hide from reality. She liked the hiding plan the best. Facing Ryder and her mother, both in the same day, sounded like too much.

In the dark, dusty interior of the barn she could close her eyes and pretend she was the person she’d been two months ago. But she wasn’t.

A lot had happened. She turned over a bucket and sat down. She leaned against the stall door behind her and closed her eyes. Everything had changed. Most importantly, she had changed.

On a Sunday morning in a church service at the rodeo arena she had changed. It had started when she walked out of her horse trailer, a cup of coffee in hand, and she’d heard the couple who led the service singing “Amazing Grace.” She’d walked to the arena and taken a seat on a row of bleachers a good distance from the crowd.

During that service, God had pulled her back to Him. She had been drawn back into a relationship that she’d ignored for years. And it hadn’t been God’s fault that she’d walked away. It had been about her loyalty to Ryder.

She opened her eyes and looked outside, at a sky growing darker as the sun set. The days were cool and growing shorter. She wasn’t ready for winter. She definitely didn’t know how to face spring, and seven months from now.

How did a person go from turning back to God, to making a giant mistake like the one she’d made with Ryder? And what about God? Was He going to reject her now?

She’d had experience with rejection.

It had started with her mother. She squeezed her eyes shut again, and refused the tears that burned, tightening in her throat because she wasn’t going to let them fall.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, wanting peace, something that settled the ache in her heart and took away the heaviness of misgivings.

She stood and walked into the feed room to look at the calendar tacked to the wall. It recorded dates and locations of rodeos. She thumbed back to the month of the Phoenix rodeo and tried to remember. She leaned, resting her forehead against the rough barn wood.

For two months she’d told herself there wouldn’t be consequences, other than a little bit of time when they’d be uncomfortable with each other.

But she’d been wrong. There were definitely consequences, and this wasn’t going away any time soon. She picked up the pencil she used to mark the calendar and she went through the next few months, marking through events she’d planned to attend, but now wouldn’t.

Things had definitely changed.

Roping hadn’t taken Ryder’s mind off Andie and the possibility of a baby. His baby. He didn’t need proof of that fact because he knew Andie. As he drove through Dawson after loading his horse and talking for a few minutes with friends, his mind kept going back, to better choices he could have made. And forward, to how his life would never be the same.

Ryder drove through Dawson. It was Sunday night and that meant there wasn’t a thing going on and nothing open but the convenience store. A few trucks were parked at the side of the building and a few teenagers sat on tailgates, drinking sodas and eating corn dogs. Big night out in Dawson.

He turned left on the road that led out of town, to his family farm, and on past, to the house where Andie had grown up with Etta. He considered driving there and talking to her, trying to figure out what they were going to do. He didn’t figure she’d be ready to talk.

Instead he pulled into his drive and drove back to the barn. As he got out, he noticed Wyatt in the backyard with the girls. Wyatt was sitting at the patio table, the girls were running around the yard with flashlights. They were barely more than babies.

And Wyatt didn’t know what to do with them. That thought kind of sunk into the pit of his stomach. Wyatt had always been the one who seemed to know how to do this adult thing.

Ryder stepped out of the truck and walked back to the trailer to unload his horse. The big gelding stomped restlessly, ready to be out and ready to graze in the pasture.

“Easy up there, Buddy.” Ryder unlatched the back of the trailer. He stepped inside, easing down the unused half of the trailer to untie the animal and back him out.

When they landed on firm ground, Wyatt was there. Ryder smiled at his brother and got a half smile in return. The girls had stopped running and were watching. They weren’t used to horses. Wyatt had taken a job as a youth minister in Florida and they had lived in town.

“Long night?” Wyatt stepped back, watching.

“Yeah, kind of.” How did he tell his brother? Wyatt had always held it together. He’d held them together as best he could.

“What’s up?” Wyatt followed him to the gate, opening it for Ryder to let the horse out into the pasture.

“Nothing.”

“Right.”

Ryder pushed the gate closed and latched it. The horse reached for a bite of grass, managing to act like he hadn’t eaten in days, not hours. Horses were easy to take care of. They could be left alone. They didn’t make requirements. They had to be trained, but he was pretty sure they were a lot easier to train than a child.

He ranched. He raised quarter horses and black angus cattle. He didn’t raise babies.

Until now.

The girls ran up to them, tiny things, not even reaching his hip. He closed the gate and turned his attention to Molly and Kat. And boots. They were wearing his boots. The good ones that had cost a small fortune.

He glanced up, pretty sure that God was testing him. This was a lesson on parenting, or patience. He didn’t know which. Probably both.

“We like your shoes.” Molly grinned, and he was happy to see her smiling. But man, she was wearing his best boots.

The look he gave Wyatt was ignored.

“Boots.” Kat giggled. The pair she was wearing covered her legs completely.

“Yep, boots.” He scooped up Kat and snuggled her close. She giggled and leaned back. She looked a lot like her mom. That had to be hard for Wyatt. Kat had Wendy’s smile, her dimples, her laughter.

And she was a dirty mess. Mud caked her, and his boots. From the tangles in her hair, he guessed it had been a couple of days since it had seen a brush.

“You need a bath.” He held her tight as they headed toward the house.

Kids needed things like baths, and their teeth brushed. They had to be tucked in and someone had to be there for them. They didn’t need parents who drank themselves into a stupor and made choices that robbed a family of security.

He didn’t drink. He had one thing going for him.

Anger knocked around inside him. The past had a way of doing that, and a guy shouldn’t get angry thinking of parents who had died too young.

“If you need to talk…” Wyatt followed him up the steps to the back door, and then he shrugged. They’d never been touchy-feely. Sharing was for afternoon talk shows, not the Johnson brothers. They’d always solved their problems, even dealt with their anger, by roping a few calves or riding hard through the back field.

Every now and then they’d had a knock-down-drag-out in the backyard. Those fights had ended with the two of them on their backs, staring up at the sky, out of breath, but out of anger.

Talking about it didn’t seem like an option.

“Yeah, I know we can talk.” Ryder put his niece down on the floor and flipped on the kitchen light. Kat stomped around in his boots, leaving dirt smudges on the floor he’d mopped last night. “Did you guys eat?”

He looked around. There was an open loaf of bread on the counter and a jar of peanut butter, the lid next to it. He glanced down at Kat. She had a smear of peanut butter on her cheek. He twisted the bread closed.

“Did you feed the girls?” Ryder asked again when Wyatt hadn’t answered.

“Molly made sandwiches.”

“And you think that’s good?” A three-year-old making sandwiches. Ryder screwed the lid on the peanut butter because he had to do something to keep from pushing his brother into a wall to knock sense into him. “Girls, are you hungry?”

Kat grinned and Molly looked at her dad. Ryder exhaled a lot of anger. He didn’t have a clue what little kids ate. Wyatt should have a clue. If Wyatt couldn’t do this, how in the world was Ryder going to manage?

“Tell you what, I’ll make eggs and toast. Do you like eggs?” Ryder opened the fridge door.

“I can do it.” Wyatt took the carton of eggs from his hands.

“You girls go play.” Ryder smiled at his nieces. “I think there’s a box of toys in the living room. Mostly horses and cowboys.”

His and Wyatt’s toys that Ryder had dug out of a back closet the night before.

When the girls were gone, he turned back to his brother. Wyatt cracked eggs into a bowl and he didn’t look up. “I’ve taken care of them for a year.”

“Yeah, I know you have.”

The dog scratched at the back door. Ryder pushed it open and let the animal in, because there was one thing Bear was good at, and that was cleaning up stuff that dropped on the floor. Stuff like peanut butter sandwiches.

Bear sniffed his way into the kitchen and licked the floor clean, except he left the mud. Not that Ryder blamed him for that.

The dog was the best floor sweeper in the country.

“I’m taking care of my girls.” Wyatt poured eggs into the pan. “And I don’t want tips from a guy who hasn’t had kids, or hasn’t had a relationship in his life that lasted more than a month.”

“That’s about to change.” Ryder muttered and he sure hadn’t meant to open that can of worms. He’d meant to butter toast.

“What’s that mean?” Wyatt turned the stove off.

“Remember what it was like, growing up in this house?”

“Sure, I remember.” Wyatt scooped eggs onto four plates. “Always laughter, mostly the drunken kind that ended in a big fight by the end of the night. And then there were the phone calls.”

Phone calls their mother received from the other women. Ryder shook his head, because memories were hard to shake. His dad’s temper had been hard to hide from.

“Right. That’s not the kind of life our kids should have.” Ryder let out a sigh, because he had been holding on to those memories for a long time.

“Well, as far as I know, the only kids in this house are mine, and they’re not going to have that life, not in this house. If you’re insinuating…”

“I’m not insinuating anything about you or how you’re raising those girls.” Ryder tossed a slice of buttered toast to his blue heeler. “Wyatt, there isn’t a person around who blames you for having a hard time right now.”

“I guess this isn’t about me, is it?”

No, but it would have been nice to pretend it was. Ryder shrugged and poured himself a cup of that morning’s coffee. He ignored his brother and slid the coffee into the microwave.

“No, it isn’t about you.” He took his cup of day old coffee out of the microwave. “I’m going outside.”

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