Her attitude got under his skin and he couldn’t help baiting her. “Are you looking for a marriage proposal, Sara?”

“Not from you, cowboy,” she answered with a scoff, but her shoulders tensed even more.

Josh wanted to grab her, kiss her until she was once again soft and pliant in his arms. The horn honked for a third time, and he heard a loud knocking at the front door.

Sara smoothed her fingers over her shirtfront. “Go greet your buddies. I’ll get everyone moving.”

“This conversation isn’t finished,” he told her as he headed for the stairs.

“My end of it is,” he heard her say under her breath.

He smiled despite his frustration, wondering how the fact that she always had to get in the last word could be so endearing to him. He shook his head, making a mental note to start thinking with his brain rather than other parts of his anatomy.

A Kiss on

Crimson Ranch

Michelle Major

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE MAJOR grew up in Ohio, but dreamed of living in the mountains. Soon after graduating with a degree in journalism, she pointed her car west and settled in Colorado. Her life and house are filled with one great husband, two beautiful kids, a few furry pets and several well-behaved reptiles. She’s grateful to have found her passion writing stories with happy endings. Michelle loves to hear from her readers at www.michellemajor.com.

For Jackson. I love you for your heart, your smile and everything you are. I’m so proud to be your mom.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Sara Wells gripped the steering wheel of her ancient Toyota and tilted her chin. “Punch me,” she said, and squeezed her eyes shut. “Right in the face. Go on, before I lose my nerve.”

She heard movement next to her and braced herself, flinching when a soft hand stroked her cheek. “I’d never hit you, Sara, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

Sara opened her eyes to gaze into the kind, guileless face of her best friend in the world, April Sommers. Her only friend. The friend whose entire life savings Sara had recently lost.

She swatted April’s arm. “You should. I deserve it.” A bead of sweat slid between her shoulder blades and she rolled down the window a crack. Her lungs stung as she inhaled the crisp alpine air. “How does anyone breathe around here?” she muttered. “I miss the L.A. smog.”

“Go see the attorney. Stop avoiding reality.”

“Reality Bites.” She paused, then lifted a finger. “1994. Starring Ethan Hawke, Winona Ryder and a very green Ben Stiller. Who would have thought that of the three, Ben Stiller would end up the biggest star? Come on. Little Fockers? Are you kidding me?”

“You’re doing it again.”

Ignoring the soft admonishment, Sara leaned forward to gaze out the car’s front window at the row of brightly colored Victorian stores lining Main Street. “Look at that. Warner Bros. couldn’t have created a better Western set.”

“This is the West.”

Right.

Crimson, Colorado. Population 3,500 if the sign coming over the pass into town was accurate. Altitude 8,900 feet. Sara blamed the lack of air for her inability to catch her breath.

April rummaged in the sack at her feet. “Aren’t you curious?” She offered Sara an apple. Sara held up a half-eaten Snickers in response.

“I gave up curious a long time ago.” She stuffed the candy bar into her mouth. “Along with cigarettes, savage tans, men and chocolate.” She swallowed. “Okay, scratch chocolate.”

That resolution had fallen by the interstate about four hours into the thirteen-hour drive from Los Angeles. While Crimson was only thirty minutes down the road from the ritzy ski town of Aspen, it held as much appeal to Sara as a blistered big toe.

Sure, it was beautiful if you were one of those back-to-nature types who appreciated towering pines, glittering blue skies and breathtaking views. Sara was a city girl. A blanket of smog comforted her; horns blaring on the I-5 made her smile. In her world, ski boots were a fashion statement, not a cold-weather necessity.

She was out of her element.

Big-time.

“Go on.” April leaned over and opened the driver’s-side door. “The sooner you talk to the attorney, the quicker we’ll be back on the road to la-la land.”

Sara’s need to put Rocky Mountain Mayberry in her rearview mirror propelled her out of the car. She couldn’t do that until she met with Jason Crenshaw, attorney-at-law, whose cryptic phone call two days earlier had started this unplanned road trip.

If nothing else, she hoped the money Crenshaw had for her would buy gas on the way back. And groceries. Sara could live on ramen noodles and snack cakes for weeks, but April was on a strict organic, vegan diet. Sara didn’t understand eating food that looked like cat puke and tasted like sawdust, but she had no right to question April’s choices. If it weren’t for Sara, April would have plenty of money to spend on whatever she wanted. And rabbit food cost plenty of money.

She pulled her well-worn jeans jacket tight and squinted through a mini dust tornado as a gust of wind whipped along the town’s main drag. Mid-May in Southern California and the temperature hovered at a balmy seventy degrees, but Crimson still had a bit of winter’s chill to the air. The mountain peaks surrounding the town were covered in snow.

Sara didn’t do snow.

She opened the pale turquoise door to the office of Crenshaw and Associates and stepped in, lifting her knock-off Prada sunglasses to the top of her head.

The desk in the reception area sat vacant, large piles of paper stacked precariously high. “Hello?” she called in the general direction of the office door at the back of the lobby.

A chair creaked and through the door came a younger man who looked like he could have been Andy Griffith’s rumpled but very handsome son. He peered at her over a pair of crooked reading glasses, wiping his hands on the paper napkin stuffed into his collared shirt.

Sara caught the whiff of barbecue and her stomach grumbled. No food envy, she reminded herself. Noodles were enough for her.

“Sorry, miss,” the man said as he looked her over. “No soliciting. Try a couple doors down at the diner. Carol might have something left over from the lunch rush.”

Sara felt her eyes widen a fraction. The guy thought she was a bum. Fantastic. She pulled at her spiky bangs. “I’m looking for Jester Crunchless,” she said with a well-timed lip curl.

“I’m Jason Crenshaw.” The man bristled. “And who might you be?”

“Sara Wells.”

Immediately his posture relaxed. “Ms. Wells, of course.” He pulled out the napkin as he studied her, revealing a tie decorated with rows of small snowboards. “You know, we watched Just the Two of Us religiously around here. You’re different than I expected.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Right.” He chuckled self-consciously. “You’re a heck of a lady to track down.”

“I’m here now.”

“Of course,” he repeated. “Why don’t you step into my office?”

“Why don’t you hand over the check?”

His brows drew together. “Excuse me?”

“On the phone you said inheritance.” She reached into her purse. “I have ID right here. Let’s get this over with.”

“Were you close to your grandmother, Ms. Wells?”

“No.” She could barely remember her grandmother. Sara’s mother had burned a trail out of Crimson as soon as she could and had kept Sara far away from her estranged family.

“The heart attack was a shock. We’re told she didn’t suffer.” He paused. “It’s a loss for the whole town. Miss Trudy was the backbone of Crimson.”

A sliver of something, a long-buried emotion, slipped across Sara’s heart and she clamped it down quickly. Shaking her head, she made her voice flip. “It’s tragic that she was your backbone and whatnot. I barely knew the woman. Can we talk about the money?”

Another pause. “There is no money.” Crenshaw’s tone took on a harsh edge. Harsh was Sara’s home turf.

Sara matched his emotion. “Then why in the hell did I just drive all the way from California?”

He cleared his throat. “We discussed an inheritance on the phone, Ms. Wells. Not money, specifically.” He turned to a rickety file cabinet and peered into the top drawer. “I have it right here.”

Great. She and April had driven almost a thousand miles for an old piece of costume jewelry or something. She mentally calculated if she could get to Denver on the fumes left in her gas tank.

He turned back to her and held out a set of keys. “There’s some paperwork, for sure. We should talk to Josh about how he fits into the mix. He and Trudy had big plans for the place. But you look like you could use a rest. Go check it out. We can meet again tomorrow morning.”

Tomorrow morning she’d be halfway to the Pacific Ocean. “What place?”

“Crimson Ranch,” he told her. “Miss Trudy’s property.” He jingled the keys.

Sara’s stomach lurched. “She left me a property?”

Before Crenshaw could answer, cool air tickled Sara’s ponytail. She turned as her mother, Rosemarie Wells, glided in with bottle-blond hair piled high on top of her regal head. A man followed in her wake, indiscriminately middle-aged, slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, slight paunch and cowboy boots that looked custom-made. Sara assumed he was the latest in her mother’s long string of rich, powerful, jerk boyfriends.

Could this day get any worse?

Rose slanted Jason Crenshaw a dismissive glance then snapped her fingers at Sara. “We need to talk, Serena.”

Sara’s stomach lurched, but she focused on the attorney, snatching the keys out of his still-outstretched palm.

“May I help you?” he asked, his eyes a little dazed. Her mother had had that effect on men since Sara could remember. It had been at least two years since she’d seen her mother last, but Rose looked exactly the same as far as Sara could tell. Maybe with a few less wrinkles thanks to the wonders of modern plastic surgery.

“You can ignore her.” Sara bit at a cuticle.

“Serena, stop that obnoxious behavior.”

She nibbled harder. “This is kind of a coinkydink, Mom. You showing up now.” Sara locked eyes with her mother. Rose knew about the will, she realized in an instant.

Her mother’s gaze raked her. “You look like hell, Serena.”

“Stop calling me that. My name is Sara.” She narrowed her eyes but crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly conscious that she was wearing an ancient and not very supportive sports bra. “Sara Wells. The name you put on my birth certificate.”

Her mother’s large violet eyes rolled to the ceiling. “The name I had legally changed when you were eight.”

“I changed it back and you know it.” Sara took a step forward. “A monumental pain in the back end, by the way.” She cocked her head to one side. “Although it’s handy when collections comes calling.”

Her mother’s nose wrinkled. “I can help you with that, Serena.”

“Sara.”

Rose ignored her. “Richard wants to buy your grandmother’s property.” She tilted her head at the aging cowboy, who tipped his hat rim at Sara, Clint Eastwood style.

“I don’t understand why Gran left it to me.”

“To make things difficult for me, of course,” Rose said with an exaggerated sigh. She dabbed at the corner of her eye. “Mothers are supposed to look out for their children, not keep them from their rightful inheritance.”

Sara never could cry on cue. She envied her mother that.

“No matter. I know you’ve gotten yourself into another mess, Serena. A financial nightmare, really. We can fix that right now. Mr. Crenshaw, would you be so good as to draw up the paperwork?” She leveled a steely gaze at Sara. “I’m bailing you out again. Remember that.”

Rose had never helped Sara out of anything—contract negotiations, come-ons from slimy casting directors, defamatory tabloid headlines, a career slowly swirling down the drain. The only times in Sara’s life her mother had stepped in to help were when it benefited Rose at Sara’s expense.

“I’m not selling.”

“What?”

“Not yet. And not to you, Mother.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Rose darted a worried glance toward the cowboy, whose hands fisted in front of his oversize belt buckle. “What choice do you have?”

“I’m not sure.” Sara turned to the attorney. “Can you give me directions to the ranch?”

“I’ll write them down,” he said, and with obvious relief, disappeared into the back office.

“What kind of game are you playing?” Her mother pointed a French-tipped finger at Sara. “We both know you’re desperate for money. You don’t belong on that ranch.” Rose’s tone was laced with condescension. “She had no business leaving it to you.”

Decades of anger boiled to the surface in Sara. “She did, and maybe if you’d look in the mirror beyond the fake boobs and Botox you’d see why. Maybe she wanted to keep it out of your hot little hands.” She leaned closer. “Want to talk about that?”

Her mother recoiled for an instant, then straightened. “You don’t have a choice.”

“No.” Sara’s spine stiffened. “I didn’t have a choice when I was eight and begged you not to take me on another round of auditions. I didn’t have a choice when I was thirteen and I wanted to quit the show after the assistant director came on to me. I didn’t have a choice at seventeen when you checked me into rehab for exhaustion because the publicity would help the fans see me as an adult.”

“If you’d taken my advice, you wouldn’t be in the position you are now. I had your best interest at heart. Always.”

Sara laughed. Actually laughed out loud in her mother’s face. The statement was that absurd. “You tell yourself whatever you need to make it through the day. We both know the truth. Here’s the kicker. Right now I do have a choice.” She gripped the keys hard in her fist. “Stay away from me, Mother. Stay off of my property or I’ll have you hauled off to the local pokey.”

“You wouldn’t—”

Sara met her angry gaze. “Try me.”

She flicked a gaze at Jason Crenshaw, who’d returned to the office’s lobby. “I’ll be in touch,” she said and took the piece of paper he handed her. Without another glance at Rose, she reached for the door, but a large hand on her arm stopped her.

“You’re making a big mistake here, missy,” the aging Marlboro man told her, his voice a harsh rasp.

She shrugged out of his grasp. She’d been intimidated by far scarier men than this old coot. “What’s new?” she asked, and pushed out into the too-clean mountain air.

* * *

Josh Travers took a deep breath, letting the fresh air clear his muddled head. He’d been doing trail maintenance on the hiking path behind the main house for over three hours, moving logs to reinforce the bridge across a stream that ran between the two properties. His knee had begun throbbing about forty-five minutes into the job. Now it felt like someone had lit a match to his leg. Josh could tolerate the physical pain. What almost killed him was the way the ache radiated into his brain, making him remember why he was stuck here working himself to the point of exhaustion on a cool spring morning.

What he’d lost and left behind. Voices whispering he’d never get it back. The pain was a constant reminder of his monumental fall—both literal and figurative.

He turned toward the house and, for the first time, noticed a silver sedan parked out front. He didn’t recognize the car as any of the locals. He squinted and could just make out California plates.

Damn.

He thought of his daughter, Claire, alone in her bedroom, furiously texting friends from New York.

Double damn.

If his leg could have managed it, he’d have run. Instead, he walked as fast as his knee would allow, trying to hide his limp—just in case someone was watching. It was all he could do not to groan with every step.

By the time he burst through the back door, he was panting and could feel sweat beading on his forehead. He stopped to catch his breath and heard the unfamiliar sound of laughter in the house. Claire’s laughter.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let it wash over him, imagining that she was laughing at one of the lame jokes he regularly told to elicit a reaction. One he never got.

He stopped short in the doorway between the back hall and the kitchen. Claire’s dark head bent forward into the refrigerator.

“How about cheese?” she asked. “Or yogurt?”

“Really, we’re fine” a voice answered, and Josh’s gaze switched like radar to the two women sitting on stools at the large island at the edge of the kitchen. One looked in her late thirties, two thick braids grazing her shoulders. She wore no makeup and might have a decent figure, but who could tell with the enormous tie-dye dress enveloping most of her body. She smiled at Claire and something about her made Josh relax a fraction.

His attention shifted to the other woman, and he sucked in another breath. She tapped painted black fingernails on the counter as her eyes darted around the room. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a high ponytail; streaks of—was that really fire-engine red?—framed her face. The same blazing color coated her mouth, making her lips look as plump as an overripe strawberry. He had a sudden urge to smear her perfect pout with his own mouth, as if the most important thing in the world was for him to know if it tasted as delicious as it looked.

His body tightened, and he realized with a start that his knee had company in the throbbing department.

No way.

Her lips parted, and he forced his gaze to her eyes. She stared back at him with an expression that said she knew just what he was thinking.

No how.

Her eyes were pale blue, a color made almost silver by the heavy liner that rimmed them. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and he wondered for a moment if she was into that vampire-zombie junk Claire had told him about. He wouldn’t put anything past one of those Hollywood types.

“Josh, look who’s here. Can you believe it?” Claire gushed. He studied his daughter, who’d spoken in primarily monotone grunts since she’d arrived at the ranch a month earlier, but now thrummed with excitement.

“Call me Dad. Not Josh,” he told her.

“Whatever.” She gave him one of her patented eye rolls. “It’s Serena Wellens.” Claire shot a glance at the women. “I mean Sara Wells. But you know who she is, right? A real-life star here in our kitchen.”

“A real-life star?” Josh didn’t subscribe to Entertainment Weekly, but he was pretty sure Sara Wells hadn’t been considered a “real star” for close to a decade now. Josh eyed Sara, who wore a faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt and capri sweatpants that hugged her hips like...nope. That was not where he needed his thoughts to go.

Sara pushed back from the counter. “Your kitchen?” she asked, raising a brow. “That’s not what Mr. Crapshoot told me.”

“You saw Jason Crenshaw.”

“Yep.” She jangled a set of keys in front of her. “Looks like you’ve got a little ’splaining to do, Daddy-O.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have questioned the “star” bit. What did he know about Hollywood and celebrities? If a former child actor who hadn’t had a decent job in years wanted to consider herself a star, it was no business of his. He knew guys who hadn’t gotten onto the back of a bull for decades, but their identity was still wrapped up in being a bull rider.

Not Josh, though.

He’d had his years in the ring. Made a pretty good living at it. Broken some records. Truth be told, it had been his whole life. The only thing he’d ever been a success at was bull riding. But the moment they’d wheeled him out of that last event in Amarillo, his kneecap smashed into a zillion bits, he’d known he was done. His world would never be the same. He walked away and never looked back. Hung up his Stetson and traded the Wranglers for a pair of Carhartts.

People had told him he had options. He could try announcing. Get hired on with a breeding operation. Coach young riders. That last one was the biggest laugh. Just the smell of the arena made Josh’s fingers itch to wrap around a piece of leather. He could no sooner have a career on the periphery of riding than a drunk could tend bar night after night. Being that close to the action and not able to participate would kill him.

A couple of times in the hospital and during rehab, he’d almost wished the accident had done the job. His gaze flicked to Claire, who looked between Sara and him with a mix of confusion and worry on her delicate features. She looked like her mother. Both a blessing and a curse, if you asked him.

At the end of the day, she was the reason he’d made it this far after the accident. He wasn’t going to let some two-bit tabloid diva mess with his plans.

He forced a smile and turned his attention back to Sara. “About that,” he began.

He watched her sense the change in him and stiffen. Charm, buddy. The groupies thought you had it. Let’s see what you’ve still got.

He stepped forward and held out a hand. “I’m Josh Travers.”

She eyed his outstretched palm like he’d offered her a snake. “Why are you living in my house?”

“Her house?” Claire asked.

Josh turned to his daughter. “Maybe you could head up to your room for a bit?”

“You must be joking.” Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “And miss this?”

He made his tone all business. “Now, Claire.”

His daughter made a face. “Bite me, Josh. I’m not leaving.”

He heard Sara muffle a laugh as he stared down the beautiful, belligerent thirteen-year-old who had every right to hate him as much as she did. He’d been a lousy dad. Almost as bad as his own father, which was quite an accomplishment. He didn’t know how to deal with her anger or attitude. Did he play bad cop or go soft? He barely knew his daughter, and in the weeks she’d been living at the ranch, he hadn’t made much progress on repairing their relationship. One of the laundry list of things he should feel guilty about.

“Fine.” He turned to Sara, who smiled at him. At his expense. “Trudy and I were partners.”

“Is that so?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Very The Graduate, although you don’t strike me as much of a Dustin Hoffman. And from what I remember, Gran was no Anne Bancroft.”

Josh shook his head and glanced at the hippie lady. “What is she talking about?”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Sara likes movie analogies. Ignore it.”

He wished he could ignore this entire situation.

“Dad, is this our house or what?” Claire asked.

He sighed. “Technically, it belonged to Trudy.”

Sara jingled the keys again.

“And now to you,” he admitted.

“Oh. My. God.” Claire let out a muffled cry. “I have no home. Again.” She whirled on Josh. “You told me we were going to stay here. I could paint my room. Are you going to send me off like Mom did? Who else is left to take me?”

“No, honey. We are going to stay here. I’ll work it out. I’m not sending you anywhere.”

She sniffled and Josh turned to Sara. “Your grandmother and I were opening a guest ranch. She owns the house, but I have the twenty-five acres surrounding it. We back up onto the National Forest so it’s the perfect location for running tours. I’ve been here since the fall working on renovations and booking clients. Guests start arriving in a couple of weeks.”

Sara looked from Claire to Josh, her gaze almost accusatory. “Does it make money?”

He tried to look confident. “It will. I’ve sunk everything I have into the place.” Everything I had left after medical bills, he added silently. “Trudy was going to help for the first season. I planned to buy her out with my half of the profits.”

“But now the house is mine.”

Josh nodded. “I don’t expect you to hang around. I’ll cover the mortgage. At the end of the summer, I can take the whole place off your hands.”

“Why can’t you buy it from me now?” Her gaze traveled around the large room.

“The bank wants to see that it’s a viable business before they’ll approve my loan. Trust me, it’s a good plan. Trudy and I worked it out.”

She looked him up and down. “Trudy isn’t here anymore.”

“I know,” he agreed, feeling the familiar ache in his chest as he thought of the woman who’d been more of a mother to him than his own. He wondered how difficult Sara was going to make this for him. He’d known Trudy’s granddaughter had inherited the house. Josh had gone directly from the funeral service to the bank to see if he had any options. He didn’t. He needed time and a bang-up summer to make this work. Otherwise, he might as well burn his savings in a bonfire out back. There was no Plan B.

“What if I want to sell now?”

His gut tightened. “Rose got to you already.”

“How do you know my mother?”

“She and her land-developer boyfriend have been here a couple of times. The guy wants to tear down the house and build luxury condos on the property. Make Crimson a suburb of Aspen. What an idiot.”

Claire took a step forward. “Are you going to let us stay or should I start packing?” She eyed both Sara and Josh as she bit her lip. “Because all my stuff is folded and in drawers where I want it.”

He heard the desperation in her voice, knew that despite her smart mouth, his daughter was hanging on by a short thread these days. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, they had that much in common. He’d promised to take care of her, make up for his past mistakes. The ones he made with her and those he’d buried deeper than that. He needed this summer to do it.

“Claire, I told you—”

“I know what it’s like to want a place to call home,” Sara said quietly, her attention focused completely on Claire. Her eyes had gentled in a way that made his heartbeat race. For a moment, he wished she’d look at him with that soft gaze.

Claire blew out a pent-up breath and gave Sara a shy smile, not the sarcastic sneer she typically bestowed on him. His heart melted at both her innocence and how much she reminded him of another girl he’d once tried to protect.

Sara returned the smile and his pulse leaped to a full gallop. Don’t go there, he reminded himself. Not with that one.

“Can you give your dad and me time to talk?” Sara asked. “To work things out? Maybe you could show April around.” She pulled her friend forward. “She’s into nature and stuff.”

“Come on,” April said. “Can we walk to the pond I saw on the way in?”

Claire nodded. “It’s quicker to go out the back.”

As she passed, Josh moved to give his daughter a hug. She shrugged away from his grasp. One step at a time. He’d seen her smile, even if it wasn’t at him.

“Thanks,” he said when the back door clicked. “I’m sure we can—”

“Cut the bull.”

So much for the soft gaze.

She folded her arms across her chest. Josh forced himself to keep his eyes on her face.

“I don’t want to hurt your kid, but I don’t have time to play Swiss Family Robinson for the summer. I need money and I need it now. If you want to make a deal, what do you have to offer?”

His adrenaline from a moment ago turned to anger and frustration. “I put everything I had into buying the land and fixing up the place. I’ve paid for marketing, a website, direct mail. We’ve got a real chance of making this work.” He raked his hands through his hair. “It has to work.”

“I’m not about to...” She stopped and cocked her head.

“What? Not about to what?”

“Do you hear that?”

A sudden sound of pounding filled the air.

“That sounds like—”

He turned as Buster, his oversize bloodhound, charged down the hall, galloping toward the kitchen.

“Buster, sit.” The dog slid across the hardwood floor and ran smack into Josh’s legs, all enormous paws and wiggly bottom.

“Buster’s harmless.”

He looked back at Sara, now crouched on the butcher-block counter with wide eyes. “Keep that thing away from me.”

He felt a momentary pang of sympathy for her obvious fear, then glanced at Buster and smiled. “Looks like I’ve got you right where I want you, Hollywood Barbie.”

Chapter Two

So much for being cool, calm and in control.

“This isn’t funny.” Sara hated that her voice trembled.

Josh bent to rub the giant beast’s belly. The dog was deep brown with a wide ring of black fur around the middle of its back. Its eyes were dark, at least what she could see under the wrinkles that covered its head. It yawned, displaying a mouth full of teeth and flopped onto the wood floor. One pancake-size ear flipped over his snout. Outstretched, it was nearly as long as she was.

“This is Buster,” Josh said with a laugh. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That dog looks like he could eat me for breakfast.”

“Lucky for you, it’s nearly lunch.”

“You are so not helping here.”

“I like you better up there. You’re not chewing me out.”

“I wasn’t chewing—” She stopped and met his gaze, now lit with humor. “You’re living in my house.”

“I explained that.”

“I need to sell it.”

“Sell it to me.” He stepped closer. “At the end of the summer.”

Fear had taken most of the fight out of her. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

He held out a hand. “You could start by climbing off the counter.”

She watched Buster, who’d begun to snore. “I don’t like dogs.”

Josh’s low chuckle rumbled through her. “I never would have guessed.”

She didn’t move from the counter. “The fourth season of the show, I got a dog.” She closed her eyes at the memory. “My character, Jenna, got a dog. It hated me on sight. The first day on set it bit me. Twice. I wanted to get rid of it, but the director’s girlfriend was the dog trainer. She said it could sense my fear. That it was my fault the dog growled every time I came anywhere near it. Of course, the thing loved Amanda. Everyone loved Amanda.”

“Who’s Amanda?”

“Amanda Morrison.”

“The movie star?”

“Highest-paid woman in Hollywood three years running. Back in the day, she was my sidekick on the show.”

She expected a crack about how far the mighty had fallen. He asked, “How long was the dog around?”

“Lucky for me, the director was as big of a jerk with girlfriends as he was with me. By the end of the season, the dog was gone.”

“Did it ever warm up to you?”

She shook her head. “I got faster at moving away after a scene. I never realized how much my fingers resemble bite-size sausages.” She blew out a breath. “Animals and me, we don’t mesh.”

She looked away from the sleeping dog, surprised to find Josh standing next to her beside the kitchen island.

This close, she could see that his dark brown eyes were flecked with gold. A thin web of lines fanned out from the corner of them. He was tall, well over six feet, with broad shoulders that tapered into a muscled chest under his thin white T-shirt. Unlike most guys in Southern California, Josh didn’t look like he’d gotten his shape with an expensive gym membership or fancy trainers. He’d clearly worked for it. Real sweat kind of work. He wasn’t bulky, but solid. Although he wore faded cargo pants and gym shoes, he still gave off a definite cowboy Mr. Darcy air.

If Mr. Darcy had an unnervingly sexy shadow of stubble across his jaw, a small scar above his right eyebrow and a bit of a crook in his nose like he’d met the wrong end of a fist one too many times. A dangerous, bad boy Mr. Darcy.

It was one thing to slip on giving up chocolate; bad boys were quite another. She’d had enough of bad boys in her time. They swarmed L.A. like out-of-work actors.

His gaze caught hers, and it took her a moment to remember what she was doing in this house in the mountains, cowering on the kitchen counter.

He reached out a hand and she took it, still a little dazed. “It’s not going to come after me?” she asked, throwing a sharp glance at the dog.

“I’ll protect you,” he answered, his tone so sincere it made her throat tighten. Among other parts of her body.

Off balance, she scrambled down, the heel of one shoe catching on the corner of a drawer and sending her against the hard wall of his chest. She stepped back as if he’d pinched her, but he didn’t release her hand.

His calloused fingers ran the length of hers. “Nothing like sausages,” he said with a wink.

She snatched her hand away and moved to the other side of the island, thinking the altitude was making her light-headed. Praying it was the altitude.

“Where’s Claire’s mother?” she asked. As she’d hoped, the spark went out of his eyes in an instant.

“She was having some problems—personal stuff—needed a little time to get herself back on track. So Claire’s here with me.”

“For how long?”

He shrugged. “As long as it takes. Why do you care?”

“I have experience with bad parents. It can mess with you if you’re not careful.”

“Are you careful, Sara?”

“I’m broke,” she said by way of an answer. “Like I said before, I need the money from the sale of this house.”

He hitched one hip onto the island. “You own the house, but it’s only on a quarter-acre lot. I’ve got all the land surrounding it. Your part isn’t going to be worth much without the land.”

Crenshaw hadn’t mentioned that. “Then why is my mother’s latest boyfriend so hot for it?”

Josh took a moment to answer. “Basically, I’m hosed without the house. I can’t run a guest ranch without a place to put the clients. If he gets you to sell to him now, I won’t have an income stream this summer. And without money...”

“I know what happens without money.”

“Right. Here’s the deal. Assuming things go well when the season starts, I can pay you double the mortgage for the next three months. That should get you through until I can secure the loan.”

“Why should I do it your way?”

He lifted one brow. “Because you’re a kind and generous soul,” he suggested.

She answered with a snort. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

“It will make your mother crazy mad.”

“That’s a little better.”

“Listen, Sara. Your gran was one of the best. She was nice to me when I was a kid and a good friend since I got back. While I don’t know the terms of her will, it doesn’t surprise me that she left you the house. She loved this place and she talked about you a lot.”

“I barely knew her.”

He nodded. “One of her biggest regrets was that she didn’t do more for you. Help you out when things got rough.”

“Woulda, shoulda, coulda,” Sara said, but turned away when her voice cracked. “You know, I spent a summer here right before the show got picked up.”

“Trudy told me.”

“It’s funny. I don’t remember a thing about that time.”

“Look around the house...maybe it will come back to you. I’m going to find Claire. Whatever you decide, Sara, your grandmother did love you. You should know that.”

She waited until his footsteps faded, then let her gaze wander after quickly checking that the dog remained sleeping on the floor.

The house was more an oversize log cabin, exposed beams running the length of the walls and across the ceiling. Their honey color gave the interior a cozy warmth in the late-afternoon sunlight. Across from the kitchen was a family room with high ceilings and a picture window that framed a million-dollar view of the craggy peaks surrounding the valley.

An overstuffed sectional and several leather armchairs sat in front of a wall of bookshelves with a large flat-screen TV in the center. Nothing looked the least bit familiar to her, and she wondered whether Josh had gotten the new gadgets or if her grandmother had been into cutting-edge electronics.

Did all of it belong to her, or would he strip the house if she sold? Maybe she should have spent a little more time with the attorney. Sara had been so angry when her mother had shown up that she clearly hadn’t gotten the whole story about this place.

Couldn’t anything be easy? she wondered as she made her way up to the second floor. She peeked her head into the first bedroom. Posters of pop stars and young actors lined the walls. A blue-and-purple comforter with peace signs covered the bed. Claire’s room.

Next to that was a bathroom, and then came the master bedroom. She stayed at the threshold, not wanting to venture into the room where Josh slept. Even from the doorway, she could smell the same scent he’d had today—a little woodsy, a little minty and totally male. She didn’t want to be affected by his scent, by anything about a man who was entirely too rugged and rough for her taste.

She stepped quickly to the end of the hall. The final bedroom had soft yellow walls with lace-trimmed curtains, a four-poster bed and an antique dresser next to a dark wood ladder-back chair. She took a breath as she walked to the front of the dresser, skimming her fingers across the lace doily that covered the top. Framed photos lined one side, mostly her grandmother with people she didn’t recognize, friends probably.

A few showed her mother as a girl, and in one she was a young woman carrying a baby: Sara. Sara was just a toddler in the photo and she smiled at the camera, one hand raised in a wave. Sara didn’t remember a time before the endless rounds of auditions, cereal commercials and eventually prime-time celebrity. She’d been ten when Just the Two of Us first aired. The next seven years had been spent in a constant cycle of filming, promotions and off-season television movies.

It surprised her that her grandmother had none of her promo photos displayed. The only photos Rose had framed in their two-bedroom condo were publicity shots. Sara’s hand trailed over a photo album that sat in front of the frames. She traced the jeweled beads that had been glued to the cover in the shape of her name. A sliver of memory trailed through her insides.

She sat down on the bed and flipped open the album. Her heart skipped a beat as she gazed at the first page. It was a picture of her holding a giant ice-cream bar, mouth covered in chocolate, grinning wildly at the camera. In the next picture, she was on a trail, her blond hair pulled back in two pigtails and wearing an oversize cowboy hat. Her jaw dropped as she continued to turn the pages. Pictures of her feeding horses, a shot of her curled in a tight embrace with her grandmother. She read the caption below the photo: “Sara’s first annual summer visit” written in Trudy’s loping penmanship.

As she’d remembered, her mother had gotten a small part in a blockbuster Steven Spielberg movie that year. A part that had ended up on the cutting room floor. Shortly after that movie, Rose had switched her considerable energy to Sara’s career. Which explained why first annual had quickly become one and only. Although Sara had no memory of this place, clearly she’d spent some happy times here.

And that was what her grandmother knew of her: Sara as a normal girl, before Rose had created Serena Wellens, deeming Sara too basic a name for the superstar she was destined to become. Even at the height of her fame, Sara had never identified herself as Serena. She’d been content with plain old Sara, although her mother had reminded her on a regular basis that fresh-faced Saras were a dime a dozen in Hollywood.

She’d had to become someone else, someone more special than who she was.

Being Sara wasn’t enough.

She sniffed as a tear fell onto the photo, then wiped at it with her thumb. Taking a deep breath, she stood. One thing she had in common with her more glamorous persona was that neither one of them did tears.

She placed the album back on the dresser and started down the hall, but her gaze caught on a poster on the far side of Claire’s bedroom wall. It was a picture of Albert Einstein with a famous quote underneath.

Sara wasn’t one for inspirational quotes. Actions spoke louder than words in her world. She didn’t know any details of Josh and Claire’s relationship, but it had been very clear that it wasn’t good. As she looked around the bedroom, she wondered what would happen if they didn’t get this summer together.

She shouldn’t care. Neither of them were her business. A month ago when she’d landed back on the tabloid covers and lost her most recent waitressing job, she’d vowed to mind her own business. Take care of herself. She was number one.

But she’d seen something in Claire’s eyes that she hadn’t remembered feeling for way too long. Hope. Even as the girl had looked at Josh with anger and resentment, there’d been a spark of something that said don’t give up on me. Josh didn’t seem like a quitter, so maybe they’d have a chance. The chance Sara had never had for a normal life.

How could she take that away?

Her heart raced as she made a decision. She hurried down the stairs and out the back door before she came to her senses.

Josh, Claire and April were walking across the field behind the house. She waited until they got close. “Good news,” she announced. “I’m staying.”

Josh stopped dead in his tracks. “What do you mean staying?”

“Here. For the summer. I’ll make sure you have a good season, and then sell it to you in September.”

Claire did a little dance around him, making his head spin more than it already was. “That’s so great,” she gushed. “Now maybe this summer won’t be as awful as I thought.”

“Hey,” he said, pulling her around to look at him. “You think it’s going to be bad?”

She shrugged then wiggled out of his grasp. “Not as much as before.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and counted to ten. When he looked at Sara again, she’d walked toward April and taken the other woman’s hands in hers. “I know I messed up and I’m going to make it right for you. The cowboy here offered to pay me double the mortgage for the next three months. That should at least cover your expenses for the summer. If Ryan ever calls...”

He didn’t bother to try to follow their conversation. “I said I’d pay you double to leave. Go back to California. Let me run things here. You’ll get your money.”

She shot him a dubious look. “Hell, no, partner. I’m sticking right here, and I’m going to make sure things go right.”

“I’ve got it under control,” he ground out.

“Oh, yeah? That kitchen looks pretty decked out. I’d guess my gran was going to do the cooking.”

He nodded, not liking where this conversation was going.

“Best blueberry muffins ever,” Claire added.

“And now?”

“I’m interviewing people,” he admitted. “Do you cook?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not my point.”

“Which is?”

“You need help.”

“Not from you, I don’t.”

“I could handle the kitchen,” April offered quietly.

His gaze shot to April, who was looking at Sara.

“You don’t have to do that,” Sara told her. “You have a life.”

April smiled. “I could use a little break, and I’m sure I can sublet the beach house for the summer.”

“Is this because of losing the studio? You could teach some other place. Rent another space. You know your clients would follow you anywhere.”

“That’s the beautiful thing about yoga. I can take it anywhere, too.” She gave Josh a hopeful smile. “I could even offer a few classes on the ranch. To start the morning, maybe.”

Sara glared at him over April’s shoulder, nodding vigorously. “That would be perfect,” she said. “Your veggie burgers are the best. Josh, is there a Whole Foods anywhere around here?”

“A whole what?”

“They just opened one on the way to Aspen,” Claire piped in. “But Dad only shops at the Red Creek Market.”

April nodded. “It’s important to support local businesses. I’ll drive into town tomorrow morning and see what we can work out.”

“When are the first guests arriving?” Sara asked no one in particular. “We’ll need time to plan out the right menus. Do you have lists of food preferences and allergies? That sort of thing?”

“Hold on,” Josh bellowed, raking his hands through his hair. “Hold on! No one is making veggie anything at my ranch. People book trips looking for action and adventure, not airy-fairy spa treatments and yoga classes. They want to fish and race ATVs, hike fourteeners and mountain bike the local trails. I’m the boss around here. I do the hiring. I make the plans. I’m the one—”

He looked at the three women, April’s gaze a little hurt, Claire’s eyes narrowed and Sara shaking her head just a bit as she chewed on her full lower lip.

“I’m the boss,” he repeated quietly, willing it to be true.

“Don’t be a hater,” Claire mumbled.

“A what?” He rubbed his temples. “Never mind.”

“You don’t have a chef, do you?” Sara asked, her voice too knowing for his taste.

“I’m interviewing cooks.”

“And who’s planning all the so-called adventures?”

“I am.”

“And leading the fun?”

Was it his imagination or did her gaze stray to his knee? “That’s me, too. Got a problem?”

She took a step closer to him. Across the bridge of her nose, under who knew how many pounds of makeup, he could see the faint outline of freckles. Distracting freckles. Freckles he wanted to trace, wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked.

“Face it, cowboy,” she said, bringing him back to the moment, “you need us.”

“I don’t need anyone.”

He heard Claire snort.

“Jerk,” Sara said under her breath.

A dull pounding started behind his left eye, matching the throbbing of his leg. “Fine. But this isn’t the Ritz. If you’re here, you work.”

She tossed her streaked hair. “I’ve been working since I was eight years old.”

He suppressed a growl. “Not the kind of work that involves a catered lunch.”

“You think you know me so well.”

“I know your type.”

“We’ll see about that.” She gave his shoulder a hard flick. “I’ll give it until Labor Day, Lone Ranger. If you can’t get the bank loan approved by then, I’m taking the next best offer.”

He studied her luminous blue eyes, their depths cold as an alpine stream. “Deal.”

They glared at each other, and though he kept his eyes on her face, he noticed that her chest rose and fell unevenly and a soft pink flush rose to her cheeks. His own breath quickened, and without knowing why, he leaned in and enjoyed watching her big eyes widen.

The hippie chick clapped a few times, breaking the weighted silence. “If that’s settled, we should think about planning. I’ll start with dinner.”

He forced his gaze from Sara’s. “The local diner has decent takeout.”

April laughed. “I’ll cook tonight. Think of it as an official interview.”

He nodded. “There are six smaller cabins on the property. Four of them are two bedrooms. You can have your pick.”

“Can’t they stay in the house with us?”

“No,” Josh and Sara said in unison.

“Whatever,” Claire mumbled.

Sara turned to his daughter. “Would you show me the other cabins?” She glanced warily at the thick pine forest that surrounded his land. “I want the one least likely to be invaded by critters.”

Josh expected Claire to offer up one of the flip comebacks she gave him every time he asked for her help. To his surprise, she gave Sara a genuine smile. “Sure. Will you tell me about all the stars you know in Hollywood?”

A momentary cloud passed through Sara’s eyes before she smiled brightly. “Oh, sweetie, I’ve got some stories for you.”

Claire giggled. Actually giggled as she led Sara toward the row of cabins that sat in front of the small stream at the back of the property.

“Unbelievable,” he said under his breath.

He heard April laugh again and whirled on her. “What?” he demanded. “What is so funny?”

She took a step back, palms up. “Nothing at all. Do you want to discuss menus while I check out the kitchen?”

Josh recognized a peace offering and was smart enough to take it. “Let’s go,” he said, and headed for the house.

Chapter Three

Sara glanced up from the computer in Crimson’s small-town library. It had been three days since she and April had arrived in Colorado. Word spread fast that former starlet Serena Wellens was in town for the summer. A steady stream of locals had stopped by the ranch for neighborly visits. Of course the disappointment in meeting a once-upon-a-time celebrity in real life had been obvious from the comments she’d received.

“You looked taller on TV.”

“You were so pretty when you were younger.”

“Do you still talk to Amanda? Can you get her autograph?”

Her favorite had been from the town’s mayor, who’d blurted, “I read you overdosed a year ago. I think I sent your gran flowers as a condolence.”

It was a good thing the ego had been pummeled out of her years ago. Otherwise, the blatant disapproval might have done her in.

She watched a couple of teenage boys stare at her from behind the bookshelves at the far end of the room. She pulled off her headphones and winked in their direction. Her smile broadened as they ran away, books clattering to the floor in their wake.

“You enjoyed that a little too much.”

She started at Josh’s deep voice and swiveled her head to see him approach. Quickly, she clicked the mouse to minimize the screen and turned to block his view completely. “The picture-book section is on the other side,” she said with a huff.

To her dismay, he gave her a knowing grin. “Whatcha doin’, Hollywood?” His lazy drawl made her insides twist in a way she didn’t like.

She shrugged in response. “Checking out the gossip sites. A little Facebook. April’s meeting with the owner at the market to arrange food deliveries to the ranch so I’m killing time.”

He craned his neck to peer over her shoulder. “I think you looked me up on Google.”

“You wish,” she sputtered as a voice sounded through the headphones that she’d dropped to the desk.

“Josh Travers does it again. It’s a new record and another amazing showing from bull riding’s reigning king.” Applause and cheers echoed in the background.

Heat rose to her cheeks as Josh arched a brow.

“Fine. I was curious. So what. Don’t tell me you haven’t looked me up, too.”

“I wasn’t sure which site I liked better—serenawellensforever.com or sarawellsstinks.com.”

“Just the Two of Us fans didn’t love it when I changed my name. They thought they knew me when I was Serena. Like my name mattered.”

“It mattered to you.”

“Reigning king, huh?” she asked.

“That was a while back,” he said with a smile, as if he knew she was changing the subject.

She studied him for a few moments. “I saw pictures of your accident.”

His back stiffened. “Pictures exaggerate.”

“The bull landed on top of you.”

“They got him off quick.”

“Does your knee still bother you?”

“Not really.”

“Liar,” she whispered. “Do you miss it?”

“Not really.”

“Did you ever see that Jim Carrey movie Liar, Liar when he can only tell the truth?”

He scratched his jaw. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s an interesting idea, don’t you think? Even if he tried to tell a lie, it wouldn’t come out of his mouth.”

He just watched her.

“I’m kind of babbling.”

“Yep.”

He did that to her, she thought. He was such a presence. Big and broad and totally in his space—in her space. People in L.A. were always planning what came next, even if it was a trip to the mall. But Josh stayed in the moment no matter what he was doing. He kept busy, and to her eternal gratitude, she hadn’t seen much of him other than watching him walk across the property early in the morning to take care of the horses, then catching glimpses of him throughout the day.

Yesterday, he’d spent most of his time on the roof of the largest cabin, replacing worn shingles. When the sun moved high overhead and the temperature rose with it, he’d taken off his shirt. Much to her dismay, Sara found herself staring out the window in the office far too often. It had been a while since she’d had a man in her life, but she figured she could get her wayward hormones under better control than that.

Here in the quiet intimacy of the library, those little buggers took flight again. With Josh standing in front of her, his faded T-shirt stretched over his chest and sculpted arms, she could imagine...

Nope.

She did not imagine. She’d given up her imagination when she’d abandoned her dreams, around the time she began filling in waitress under the occupation heading on paperwork.

This man was all that stood in the way of the possibility of reclaiming her life, or at the very least, creating a new one. The money from the sale would allow April and her to start over. The only view she’d let herself imagine was Josh Travers disappearing in her rearview mirror.

“So what are you doing here? Did they run out of Playboys at the general store? I don’t think the library has a subscription.”

He shrugged then held out a book. The cover read Talk To Your Teenager Without Losing Your Mind.

“That’s a mouthful.”

“The librarian recommended it.”

“It’s nice that you’re willing to read a parenting book.”

“Claire hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Sara argued as she stood and gathered her things.

“This morning after you and April left I asked her to help me feed the horses. You would have thought I was waterboarding her.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I thought all girls loved horses.”

“Not all,” she clarified.

“Thanks, I’ve got that now. One of the mares sniffed her and she freaked out. I laughed a little.”

“You laughed at her?”

He smacked the heel of his hand to his forehead. “So shoot me. I didn’t mean it. She threw a bucket of grain at me, screamed that she hated the ranch, she hated her mother and most of all she hated me. My dad would have whipped my butt if I’d thrown a fit like that.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. She ran back to the house. I finished in the barn and came here.”

Sara led the way out of the library and into the warm afternoon air. She glanced up at the bright blue sky, still surprised at how much this small mountain town resembled a movie set. “She doesn’t hate you,” she repeated.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” Josh asked, his face incredulous.

“She’s a teenager. Hormones running rampant and in a new place with a parent she barely knows. Give her time.”

He looked like he wanted to argue then took a breath. “Time. Right. When are you coming back?”

Sara checked her watch. “I’m supposed to meet April in a half hour.”

“What’s the deal with the two of you? She was willing to follow you to Crimson and seems happy to do her part at the ranch. That’s quite the package deal.”

“I don’t know much about the rodeo circuit, but in Hollywood finding someone who truly cares is a rarity.” Sara took a breath before continuing. “I met April about the time my career was starting to tank and my personal life was just as messed up. She stuck with me through the bad stuff, and I did the same with her when she had her own troubles. She doesn’t belong in L.A. anymore. If a summer at the ranch can help her see that, all of this would be worth it. She deserves happiness more than anyone I know.”

He studied her for several moments. She struggled not to fidget under his scrutiny. “You’re a good friend,” he said finally.

“Oh, I’m the bee’s knees, and don’t you forget it.” She laughed, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze. “I need to stop by that clothing store at the end of the block. My L.A. wardrobe doesn’t really work here.”

Josh took a long look at the outfit she wore today. A shapeless black-and-white-striped sweater dress over skintight black jeans that zipped from knee to ankle. Her shoes, Converse trainers, were at least more practical than the heeled boots she’d worn yesterday. Without the heels, she was pixie-size, and if it wasn’t for the heavy makeup lining her eyes and dark wine-colored lipstick, she might have passed for a teenager herself.

A lock of neon hair slipped from her newsboy cap, and she tucked it behind her ear. Josh’s gaze locked on the soft blond wisps at the base of her neck, and he was momentarily fascinated to imagine her natural honey color.

That was the kind of woman he was drawn to: natural, sweet and compliant. A woman who’d bake pies from scratch with strawberries fresh from the garden. The kind of woman he could grow old with, reveling in a normal, boring, run-of-the-mill Ozzie and Harriett life. Not a bitter, bossy, snappish former diva.

No attraction to that type.

Not at all.

He fell in step beside her.

“You mean Feathers and Threads?” Other than T-shirt shops and the fishing shop, which sold outdoor gear, that was the only women’s clothing store in town.

“I prefer to think of it as Cowgirl Duds R Us.”

He chuckled. “It’s not bad. Do you think you could help me pick out something for Claire? Maybe a necklace or earrings?”

She slanted him a curious look.

“A peace offering. For this morning.”

“Buying your way out of the doghouse?”

“Whatever it takes.” They reached the end of the block. “I need to stop in at the fly shop first. I ordered vests and waders for the ranch.”

She didn’t slow her pace. “See you in a few.”

He watched her walk away and couldn’t help but notice that the way her hips swayed under the striped dress was all woman.

Damn.

The bells over the door of Feathers and Threads chimed as he walked in fifteen minutes later. He glanced around but didn’t see Sara. Maybe she was in the dressing room.

“Hey, Rita,” he called to the shop’s owner, who stood behind the counter with a young salesgirl and a cluster of customers.

He’d brought Claire here when she’d first arrived in town. His daughter had taken one look at the racks and announced she’d be buying her clothes from the Hollister website. The morning after, he’d taken Rita to coffee as an apology for Claire’s rudeness.

Too bad she’d read more into that than he’d meant. She’d all but suggested a quickie in the back room of the store. When he’d refused, she’d still found excuses to stop by the ranch several times, dropping off sparkly tops and hand-knit sweaters for Claire. To his relief, Claire had kept her snide comments to herself, and he’d been able to avoid Rita as much as possible. That was another reason he wanted to come in here at the same time as Sara—someone to distract Rita.

“Hi, Josh,” she cooed. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m picking up a gift for Claire. I’ll look around.”

“Let me know if you have questions,” she answered and turned back to her conversation.

He silently congratulated himself and headed toward the jewelry case at the back of the store. Rita and her gaggle of customers laughed softly as he walked by. Snippets of conversation drifted his way.

“...rode hard and put away wet.”

“No wonder she can’t get work. Who’d want to see that on the big screen?”

“Is it just me or has she had her lips done?”

“Doesn’t belong in Crimson, that’s for sure.”

Josh concentrated on the necklaces as unease skated around his chest. He glanced in the small mirror above the jewelry case and spotted Sara standing behind a sale rack.

As Josh turned toward the group of women, the conversation behind the counter continued, louder now. The women made no attempt to be discreet.

“I read she was into drugs for a while,” one of the customers offered, bending forward so that Josh got too much of a view of her ample backside.

Eyes widened within the group. “Did you see track marks?”

“I can’t get past those raccoon eyes,” another woman said with a snicker.

“It looks like she hasn’t seen the sun in years,” Rita answered. “Maybe we should send her down to Nell’s salon for a makeover.”

Maybe you should shut your mouth, Josh thought. He glanced at Sara in the mirror, expecting to see steam rising from her ears. He was surprised she hadn’t come out swinging already. Instead, he watched her swipe under her eyes and return a blouse to the rack, her hand shaking a bit.

“I wouldn’t wish that hot mess on anyone,” the younger salesgirl said, sending the other women into peals of laughter.

Josh felt his blood pressure rise along with the volume of giggles. He looked back to Sara, and her gaze met his in the mirror. For a single moment her eyes were unguarded and he saw pain, raw and real, in their depths. She blinked and shuttered them, turning the glare he’d come to know so well on him in full force. She shook her head slightly and backed away from the clothes rack.

Now, he thought. Cut them down now. She turned to a display of knit tops and picked one out at random. He watched her carry it to the front of the store. The women looked her up and down, not hiding their judgment and contempt.

“Just this,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes forward. “You have some lovely things in the store.”

“They all have security tags,” Rita answered as she punched a few keys on the cash register.

“Of course.”

Josh’s temper hit the roof. How could Sara let that group of catty witches fillet her without defending herself? Where was the sarcastic, no-holds-barred woman he’d already come to expect? Hell, he hated to admit it, but he actually looked forward to their verbal sparring to break up the monotony of his day.

But this? This was total and complete bull. He grabbed two necklaces from the rack and stalked to the counter.

“What do you think of these?” he asked as he slammed them onto the glass top.

Rita jumped back an inch then pasted on a broad smile. “With Claire’s gorgeous skin the turquoise will—”

“I’m not talking to you,” he interrupted, unconcerned with how rude he sounded. “Which one, Sara?”

“The butterfly charm,” she answered immediately. “The turquoise on the other one is dime-store quality.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rita sputtered.

Sara didn’t make eye contact with either of them, only dug in her purse for a wallet.

That a girl, Josh thought. Just a little more.

“Claire trusts your opinion,” he continued conversationally. “I think she was sold the moment Gwyneth called to see what she should wear to her movie opening.”

“Gwyneth Paltrow?” the salesgirl asked, her tone taking on a fraction of respect.

Sara’s fingers tightened around her purse and she sliced a dead-meat look at him.

He forced a chuckle. “It’s like Hollywood is one big sorority.” He pointed to Sara. “Her phone is ringing every ten minutes. Julia needs to know where to find some kind of boots. Sandra’s texting about a brand of fancy-pants jeans.”

Rita raised an eyebrow at Sara. “And they’re calling you?”

When Sara didn’t answer, Josh spoke quickly, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Sara pulled out cash and handed it to Rita. “For the sweater.” She didn’t acknowledge Josh’s comments or Rita’s question.

Rita took the money, studying Sara. “I’m ordering for fall in a couple of weeks. Maybe you could stop by and take a look at the lines. We’re not as exclusive as Aspen, but I still want to offer current trends. I’d appreciate a fresh opinion.”

“Fresh?” Sara questioned. “As in fresh off heroin?” She yanked her sleeves above her elbows and held out her arms for inspection. “No track marks, ladies. Needles were never my thing.”

Two of the women giggled nervously and backed away from the counter. After an awkward pause Rita said, “If you’ve got time, stop back later in the month.”

Sara blew out a breath. “Give me a break,” she mumbled, and left the store, leaving the bagged sweater and change Rita had placed on the counter.

Josh quickly paid for his necklace, grabbed Sara’s bag and followed her into the warming afternoon. He caught up with her half a block down the street.

“What happened in there?”

She rounded on him. “Why don’t you tell me, Mr. Name Dropper?” She jabbed at his chest, her voice rising. “Since when are you an expert on celebrity fashion? Not one damn person has called my cell phone since I got here, famous or otherwise. And you know it.”

“Excuse me for trying to help. Those women were out for blood, and you were about to open a vein for them.”

“You should mind your own business,” she countered.

“Who are you right now?” He took a deep breath, needing to clear his head. It didn’t work. Not one bit. “All you’ve done since the minute you walked into my house—”

“My house.”

“The house,” he amended. “All you’ve done is bust my chops. If I look at you wrong, you read me the riot act, give me one of those snide remarks or smart comebacks you’re so damn good at.” He pointed in the direction of Rita’s store. “You didn’t say one word to those ladies in there.”

She rolled her eyes. “You took care of it all on your own.”

“Somebody had to. It was too painful to watch your slow death.”

“Julia, Gwyneth? Even if I was in L.A., do you think one of those women would give me the time of day? They are A-list, Josh. I’m beyond Z. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Rita didn’t know that.”

“I know it.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I’m a has-been. A nobody. You don’t get it. What those women dished out was nothing compared to what I hear every single day in California. At the grocery. The dry cleaners.” She laughed without humor. “At least back in the day when I could afford dry cleaning. I’ve been a waitress now for the same number of years I was a paid actress. Do you know how many customers gave me career advice, hair tips, dissed my makeup, my boyfriends, all of it? Nothing was off-limits. I can take it, Josh. I don’t need you to swoop in and rescue me.”

“Excuse me for trying to help.”

“I don’t want help. This isn’t Pretty Woman meets mountain town. I’m not Julia Roberts shopping on Rodeo Drive. You’re not Richard Gere on the fire escape.”

“Why do you do that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do what?”

“Throw out movie plots like they compare to what’s happening. This is real life, Sara.”

“I’m well aware.”

He shook his head. “I thought you were a fighter.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I’m a survivor.” With that, she turned and marched down the street away from him.

Chapter Four

Sara didn’t say much on the drive from town, content to let April ramble about her meeting with the man who ran the local farm cooperative. She gazed at the tall pines that bordered the winding highway, continuing to be awed by her surroundings. The vivid colors, woodsy smells—the vast magnitude of every inch of this place.

She thought about Josh’s “real life” comment. Sara knew real life. Real life was struggling to meet her rent every month, praying each time she used her debit card that her bank account wasn’t overdrawn. She had to admit there was something about Crimson that felt—well, authentic. In L.A., life was about who you knew, where you could get a table, which plastic surgeon you frequented. She glanced in the rearview mirror, wondering for a moment about the last time she’d gone anywhere without full makeup. Her war paint, as she’d come to think of it.

Was it possible she could have a brief reprieve from battle in this small mountain community?

As Sara drove down the narrow driveway toward the ranch, she spotted a large black SUV parked in front of the main house.

“If that’s my mother...” she muttered under her breath.

April patted her knee. “You can deal with your mother. You’re a fighter.”

The car almost swerved into the ditch. “Did you talk to Josh?” Sara accused her friend once she was back on the dirt road.

“No,” April answered slowly, her dark eyes studying Sara. “What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing.”

“I can feel the vibes. They aren’t nothing.”

“You’re imagining it.”

“He’s hot.”

“Go for it,” Sara suggested. “Maybe he’d relax if he got a little something.”

April chuckled. “You know that after my divorce I swore off men, at least until I’ve found someone who’s worth the time and effort. So I don’t go for it anymore. Besides, maybe you could relax if...”

“Not going there.”

“We’ll see.”

“You think you know me so well.”

“I’ve known you since you were fourteen.”

The studio had hired April to be Sara’s fitness coach when she’d put on a few pounds during puberty. Sara counted that decision as one of the few blessings from her years as a sitcom star. Without April’s gentle guidance, Sara might have added “eating disorder” to her long list of personal issues.

Nine years older than Sara, April had quickly become Sara’s soul sister and best friend. When April’s stuntman husband left her a few years later during April’s grueling battle with breast cancer, Sara had been more than willing to see her friend through months of chemotherapy and radiation treatments and the nasty divorce that resulted.

Neither woman had been lucky in the relationship department—another fact that, despite their different outlooks on life, bonded them deeply.

“You only think you know me. I’m a mystery wrapped in a puzzle clothed in an enigma,” Sara told her friend with a wry smile.

“Right.”

Sara parked the car next to the SUV. “Are you trying to distract me from the probability of another scene with Mommie Dearest?”

“Is it working?” April asked, reaching for the door handle.

Sara grabbed her arm. “Have I told you today how sorry I am you’re in this predicament with me?”

April shrugged. “Things happen for a reason.”

“Don’t go all Sliding Doors on me. The reason your savings account was wiped out and you lost the yoga studio is because I’m a gullible idiot, a loser and the worst friend in the world. We’re stuck in high-altitude Pleasantville for the summer, thanks to me.”

“Sara...” April began, her tone gentle.

Sara thumped her head against the steering wheel. “Maybe I was wrong to agree to Josh’s plan for the summer. If I sold to Mom’s latest sugar daddy we could be back in California next week.”

“Back to what?”

“Our lives.”

“Neither of our lives was that great to begin with, and you know it. Besides, what about Josh and Claire?”

“Not my problem.”

“I guess that’s true,” April admitted. She pushed open the passenger door. “But we’re not going to get anywhere sitting in this car. If you want to hear your mom out, that’s your decision. You have to take control of this situation.”

“Lucky me,” Sara answered, and started toward the house.

* * *

Sara walked through the front door, waiting for the scent of White Diamonds, the perfume her mother had worn for decades to hit her. She smelled nothing.

She turned the corner from the foyer and stopped so suddenly that April knocked into the back of her. She stood perfectly still for one moment, then launched herself across the family room at the man who stood on the other side of the couch.

“I’m going to kill you,” she yelled, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his neck.

Strong arms pulled her away and she was enveloped in a different scent—one that even in her anger still had an effect on her insides. “Settle down,” Josh whispered in her ear.

“Let me go,” she said on a hiss of breath. She fought, and his arms clamped around her, pressing her against the solid wall of his chest. After a minute she stopped struggling. “Let me go,” she repeated. “I’m not going to hurt him.”

Slowly, Josh loosened his hold on her. For the briefest second, Sara fought the urge to snuggle back into the warmth that radiated off his soft denim shirt, to bury her face into the crook of his neck and simply breathe.

She stepped away, needing to break their invisible connection, and straightened the hem of her long shirt. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here, Ryan. Unless you’ve got my money and April’s, too, you can crawl back under the rock you came from.”

“Hi, Sara.” Ryan Thompson, her onetime business partner and long-ago ex-boyfriend flashed a sheepish smile. “I came to apologize.” He held out his hands, palms up. “To beg your forgiveness. Go ahead, attack me if you want. I deserve it. Whatever it takes to put this behind us.”

Sara felt her temper building but kept her voice steady. “What it will take is you handing me a check for two hundred thousand dollars. The money it will take to repay April for losing the studio.”

Ryan looked past her to April. “Do you, at least, forgive me, April? You understand, right?”

“I understand you, Ryan” came April’s taut response.

His brows furrowed and he turned his attention to Sara again. “I messed up. I’m sorry. I’m going to make it better.”

“By writing a check?”

He sighed. “You know I can’t do that.”

Sara knew a lot about Ryan Thompson. They’d met when she was nineteen.

Her career had stalled; audiences did not want to see another childhood star grow into a bona fide actor. She’d had a couple of box office flops, lost roles in several Lifetime movies to former cast members of 90210 and could barely get casting directors to meet with her for even supporting roles. She’d briefly thought of applying to college until her mother had informed her that with the quality of on-set tutoring she’d received, she’d been lucky to get her GED.

Her mother, who was still managing her at the time, had come up with the brilliant idea of sending Sara to rehab for undisclosed reasons.

Although the closest she’d come to an addiction was a great affinity for Reese’s cups, Sara had been legitimately exhausted for months and welcomed a break from the Hollywood rat race.

Rose thought the publicity would make people see Sara as an adult, and if they didn’t get specific about an addiction, the backlash would be manageable. The whole Drew Barrymore comeback—maybe even a book deal.

It hadn’t worked. At all. She’d been blacklisted by every major studio, and her stalled career had gone down the toilet completely. But she’d loved her time at the secluded facility, morning meditation classes and long walks through the desert trails. On one of those solitary walks, she’d met Ryan, a hot young director who’d blown a huge wad of his last project’s budget on his gambling addiction. The producers had sent him to the Next Steps treatment facility for a month-long program. As far as Sara could tell, he was the only other patient at the center not half crazed with withdrawal symptoms or buying drugs from the cleaning crew.

They’d been fast friends and had even tried a romance for about a millisecond. Ryan was prettier than Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise and higher maintenance than a full-blown diva. He loved women, could flirt the pants off the Pope’s sister and was as good at monogamy as he was at staying away from the blackjack table.

They’d remained close, and while he’d had a couple of critical and box office hits, Ryan continued to be a master of self-sabotage, finding it impossible to resist the lure of Las Vegas’s shiny lights.

He’d been clean a year and a half when he’d approached Sara about forming a production company together. She was at the end of her rope with bad waitressing jobs and potential projects falling through. He presented a well-thought-out business plan, complete with spreadsheets, a list of potential investors and a movie script that had award written all over it. One with a lead role that made Sara literally salivate with need.

She’d agreed, and for months they’d hit the pavement, calling and setting up meetings to try to make this new dream a reality. After one of the major investors backed out, Sara’d complained to April, who’d offered to take a second mortgage on her yoga studio and give the money to Sara. April had a solid client list of California high rollers and had even been offered her own DVD series working alongside one starlet yoga devotee.

At first Sara had resisted her friend’s offer, but April was confident in Sara’s ability to make the production company a success. April was the only person who knew that Sara had been taking classes part-time at UCLA and was close to earning a business degree.

She and April planned on franchising the studio, and April’s particular brand of yoga and one hit movie could help finance the expansion. Sara saw her chance to create a career away from Hollywood that would both fulfill her and give her the respect she craved.

That was before Ryan fell off the wagon again, blowing all their money on a weekend in Vegas. In less than a month, Sara had lost her savings, her apartment, her latest job and almost her friendship with April.

Now Ryan stood in front of her, offering to make it better. She’d trusted him once and wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“If you can’t write a check, how could you possibly make anything all right again?”

“The financing is almost set. I’ve got a new director interested. One who wants you for the lead. He’s in Aspen for a few weeks. I just need to get hold of his people and set up a meeting with the two of you.” His eyes shifted to April. “I’ll get your money back. All of it.”

Sara shook her head. “No way. We’re done, Ryan. I don’t trust you. I don’t want to work with you. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

“Sara, please,” he pleaded, his voice a soft caress just short of a whine.

“She said no, bud.” Josh had been so quiet where he stood a few feet behind her, she’d almost forgotten he was there.

Almost.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Roy Rogers.”

Sara saw Josh’s fists bunch at his sides. “Well, I’m talking to you,” he said, and took a step forward.

She put up a hand. “It’s okay, Josh.”

She’d been friends with Ryan long enough to know the pain and regret in his eyes were real. She wouldn’t admit it, but it got to her. That was Sara’s problem. She was a sucker for lost causes. Having been one for so many years, she could smell desperation on a person like some people could sniff out a good barbecue.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said again.

“You didn’t even call. I had to find out from your assistant.”

“I went straight from the casino to another stint in rehab.” He offered a sheepish smile. “I’m a little more self-aware now, at least.”

“Some good it did me.”

“Give me a chance, Sara.”

She blew out a breath and tried to ignore Josh seething next to her. “Fine. Call me if you get a meeting.”

Ryan gave her a bright smile. “That’s great. I’ll—”

“In the meantime, you can help out around the ranch. Aspen’s not that far and I know you have time on your hands. There’s lots to do before the guests arrive.”

“Hell, no.” Josh sliced the air with one hand. “He’s a lazy, no-good, designer-jeans-wearing pansy, and he’s not touching anything in my house.”

Sara whirled on him. “As I remember, this is my house.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” she said with a sniff. “And I don’t like it.” She turned to Ryan. “You’ll work, Ryan. And not as in making reservations. The real thing. Start paying off your debt.”

The frown he gave her said he wanted to argue but knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. “Sure. I’ll do it. This is a guest ranch, right? What do you need? Someone to charm the clients. A wine sommelier, perhaps?”

She grinned. “A prep cook.”

“A what?”

“Someone to help April in the kitchen.”

April coughed loudly. “No, no, no. I don’t need him, don’t want him, won’t have him.”

Sara studied her friend. April was the kindest person she’d ever met. She didn’t have a bad word to say about anyone. She’d give the coat off her back to a complete stranger. She’d expected April to take on Ryan like another one her charity cases. After all, April had been taking care of Sara for close to a decade. April’s typically peaches-and-cream complexion had gone almost beet-red, and her chest rose and fell in frustrated huffs as she glared at Ryan.

He’d cost April her business and most of her savings, but even when Sara’d first shared the awful news, April had taken it in stride. She never lost her temper or got ruffled.

Until now.

She waited for Ryan to turn on his almost irresistible charm, offer April one of his trademark lines, smooth talk her into agreeing. Instead, he looked at Josh.

“Could you use a hand with maintenance?”

Josh shook his head.

“Grass to cut?”

“Nope.”

“Horse droppings to scoop?”

“Nothing.”

Ryan’s squeezed shut his eyes. “I can’t be completely useless. I’m done with useless.”

Sara threw a sharp glance in April’s direction. “Come on,” she mouthed silently.

April growled low in her throat. “You can help. But you’ll do what I say, which mainly involves staying out of my way.”

To Sara’s surprise, Ryan nodded, then stepped forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. “I am sorry.”

“Make it better with April,” Sara whispered.

“She hates me.”

“Do you blame her?”

“I’m a good guy. With a little problem.”

“Ryan.”

“I need to get back to Aspen today.” He leaned back and scrubbed his hand over his face. “But I’ll be back and I’ll try.”

Sara glanced to where April stood, but her friend was gone. “Try hard,” she told Ryan. “April deserves to be happy.”

He ran a finger across her cheek. “We all do.”

“If you say so,” she answered. They both knew she didn’t mean it.

Josh watched Ryan head toward the front door. His plan had seemed so simple a few months ago. Move back to his small hometown and make a new life on this secluded property. Work at the ranch would give both he and Claire the home and stability he needed. He’d be able to forget his past, the pain of his accident and losing his career—the only thing he’d ever cared about in his life.

With enough hard work, he’d be so exhausted he wouldn’t miss the smell of the arena, would stop aching for the feel of a thousand-pound bull beneath him and the adrenaline rush that came with those seconds in the ring.

With enough patience, his daughter would stop looking at him like he was the enemy.

Now he had three California misfits crowding his space. Josh didn’t do people and their problems. He had friends, sure. Other bull riders who were like him, happy to spend time drinking beer and watching old footage. Once guys left the ring and made homes and families for themselves, he usually lost touch. He was a loner and liked it that way. No complications.

The woman who walked over to the picture window at the far end of the family room was the biggest complication he’d ever met. She complicated his life. What happened to his insides when he watched her was a problem he sure didn’t need.

He took a few steps toward her, not close enough to smell the scent that always surrounded her—some strange mix of honey and cinnamon—sweet with a bit of kick. But close enough that she couldn’t not be aware of him. He wanted her to notice him as much as he did her.

“Do you two have a thing going?” he asked casually.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “You mean Ryan?”

“Who else?”

“Does it matter?”

A muscle ticked at the side of his jaw. “Stop answering my questions with questions.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “My thirteen-year-old daughter is right down the hall from him. I don’t want her waking up to any moaning and groaning next door.”

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