Sam was up with the dawn the next morning, partially because Ethan’s face had teased her dreams all night.

There was nothing worse than tossing and turning against a dream you didn’t want to have—make that a nightmare. Who did Ethan Ames think he was, riding into her life as if he belonged there? So what if he was handsome? There wasn’t enough room in all of Texas for the size of his ego. Teasing her about her name, as if he should automatically be granted special privileges, was the last straw in Sam’s bale of tolerance. If money meant instant ego, Sam was glad she hovered closer to the poor side of the spectrum.

Although poor wasn’t going to bring back her father’s legacy and hard work.

Sam dressed quickly in jeans and a button-down, then grabbed her cowboy hat. Right now she had a trail ride to lead, a handsome man to ignore and a farm to save.

BETSY ST. AMANT

loves polka-dot shoes, chocolate and sharing the good news of God’s grace through her novels. She has a bachelor’s degree in Christian communications from Louisiana Baptist University and is actively pursuing a career in inspirational writing. Betsy resides in northern Louisiana with her husband and daughter and enjoys reading, kickboxing and spending quality time with her family.

Rodeo Sweetheart
Betsy St. Amant

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

—Isaiah 41:10

To Cindy—for your strength and your fight.

We love you. Never give up!

Acknowledgments

As always, I couldn’t have done this novel alone, especially with the timing I found myself in. I’d like to thank Lori and Georgiana, for your quick crits, your friendship and your prayers. Also my mom, for giving me that one day of baby-free writing a week that really does make a difference. Thanks to my amazing editor Emily for your fresh insight, and to my sweet agent Tamela, for backing me 100 percent. And an extra-special thanks to my husband, Brandon—every day I realize how much of a hero you truly are. I love you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

If wishes were horses, the Jenson family breeding farm would be full of stud mares and furry new foals—not teeming with greenhorn tourists in stiff new jeans and shiny cowboy boots.

Samantha Jenson loosened the lead rope in her hand, allowing Diego another couple inches of leverage. The hot Texas sun glinted off the gelding’s chestnut hindquarters, and she swiped at the sweat on her forehead with her free hand. It looked as if this weekend would be another scorcher.

She clucked to the gelding as she studied his limber gait. “Just another lap or two.” Diego’s ankle injury was slowly healing. A few more days of exercise in the training pen and he’d be ready to hit the trail—though probably just to be man-handled by another wannabe cowboy.

Sam’s lips pressed into a hard line and she drew in the rope, slowing Diego’s willing pace to a walk. “Good boy.” It wasn’t the gelding’s fault he’d fallen a few weeks ago. Thanks to a careless rider who’d ignored the rules of the trail, Diego had been pushed too hard over uneven ground and tripped in a hole. It was by the grace of God he had only sprained his ankle, rather than broken it. Of course, the tourist hadn’t even been bruised—didn’t seem very fair.

Sam pulled the rope in closer until Diego’s gait slowed to a stop. That probably wasn’t the most Christian attitude to have, but it was hard to feel differently in the circumstances. At least God was looking out for her and her mother with the little things if not for the bigger things Sam would prefer. Avoiding a vet bill was nice, but it wasn’t going to help bring back her father’s dream.

Sam met the horse in the middle of the paddock and patted his sweaty muzzle, drawing a deep breath to combat her stress. No, nothing other than a big wad of cash would bring back the Jensons’ successful breeding farm. She and her mother had turned the farm into a dude ranch to earn income, but to Sam, the problems that came with it weren’t any better than avoiding the debt collectors. Sure, the new dude ranch business paid the mortgage and had kept the farm from going completely under last winter—and Sam would grudgingly admit running a dude ranch was better than being homeless—but Angie Jenson wasn’t the one dealing firsthand with all the tourists. That job fell to Sam, as did filling all the proverbial holes that tourists left in their unruly wake—like horses with sprained ankles.

Sam gathered the lead rope around her wrist and trudged toward the barn, Diego ambling behind. To her left, green hills stretched in gentle waves, trimmed by rows of wooden fences. The staff’s guesthouses to her right had been converted into cabins for the vacationers, tucked in neat rows like houses on a Monopoly board. One didn’t have to look close to notice the chipped trim, peeling shutters and threadbare welcome mats. Angie was counting on her customers being so mesmerized with the horses that they wouldn’t care about the less than pristine living quarters. Talk about pipe dreams. Her mom had suggested selling the ranch several months back, but after seeing Sam’s reaction, she hadn’t brought it up again. How could they sell? It was all they had left of Sam’s dad.

Things sure had changed. Once upon a time, when Wade Jenson was still alive, one would be hard-pressed to find a single repair waiting on the farm. The grounds stayed kept, the paint stayed fresh and the ranch resembled exactly what it was—a respectable, sought-after breeding farm that had been in the Jenson family for three generations.

In a paddock nearby, Piper whinnied hello at Sam and Diego—or maybe it was a cry for help. Sam tipped her cowboy hat at the paint horse as she passed. “I’m working on it, Piper. I’ll get things back to normal for us one day.” She fought the words I promise that hovered on her tongue, afraid to speak them lest she end up like her father—a liar. Promises from Wade Jenson hadn’t stopped the bull’s thrashing hooves or the heart monitor from beeping a final, high-pitched tone, and they wouldn’t make Sam’s dreams come true, either.

She dodged a young boy kicking a soccer ball across the yard and narrowed her eyes at the kid’s father, who stood nearby talking to Sam’s mother. The man was so enamored by Angie he apparently didn’t notice the glittering diamond ring still on her finger—or his son wreaking havoc. The ball slipped under the last rung of the wooden fence containing Piper and several mares, and Sam made a dive before the boy could do the same. At least the ball hadn’t gone into the adjacent paddock, where several stallions left over from the breeding-farm business grazed. Gelding and mares were much more docile in comparison.

“Whoa there, partner. What’s your name?” Sam caught the kid’s belt loops just in time.

“Davy.” He struggled against her grip.

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the freckle-faced kid. A toy water gun stuck in the waistband of his jeans and dirt smeared across his sunburned forehead. How many times as a child had she probably looked the same, playing in the yard between chores? Her anger cooled like a hot branding iron dunked in water and she ruffled the boy’s already mussed hair. “You can’t go in the paddock with the horses, Davy. They might step on you.”

Davy crossed his arms and glared a challenge at her. “My ball went in and they’re not stepping on it.”

Sam’s grin faded at the sarcastic logic. “Park it. I’ll get it for you.” She shot him a warning look before she easily scaled the fence and jogged toward the black-and-white ball. She rolled it to him and hopped back over into the yard. Davy scooped up the ball and took off without even a thank you.

Sam’s annoyance doubled as she led Diego into the cool shadows of the barn, the familiar scent of hay and leather doing little to ease her aggravation. She secured the gelding and forked over a fresh bale of hay, then yanked a halter from its peg and headed for Wildfire’s stall. If this was still an operating breeding ranch, there wouldn’t be little terrors running around scaring the horses while their dads flirted with her mother. Sam’s father died only two years ago, and this was the way they honored his memory? By catering to city greenhorns and risking the welfare of their livestock? Tears pricked her eyelids, and Sam roughly brushed away the moisture. Cowgirls don’t cry, her dad always said. They get back on the horse and keep riding.

But Sam’s dad never told her what to do when he wasn’t there to give her a leg up.

A horn honked from the parking lot near the barn, and Wildfire startled, kicking the stall door with his foreleg. “Easy, boy.” Sam soothed him with a gentle touch on his muzzle before peering through the barn window.

An expensive luxury sedan was parked near the first guest cabin, its shiny rims catching the July sun and nearly blinding Sam with the glare. The windows were tinted so she couldn’t see inside, but it had to be the Ames family. They were scheduled to arrive within the hour, and Angie had already cautioned Sam on being extra attentive to the wealthy guests. Apparently this family owned a multi-million dollar corporation of some kind in New York. How they ended up in the nowhere little town of Appleback, Texas, remained a mystery to Sam. But VIPs were VIPs.

“They’re staying three solid weeks, and if they tip like they should,” Angie had said earlier that morning, “we’ll be able to make all of our bills and have money left over for the first time in ages.” Her eyes had shone with such excitement at the prospect Sam almost didn’t notice the heavy bags underneath them or the frown lines marring the skin by Angie’s lips. But Sam had noticed, and it was the only thing that kept her from protesting. That, and the prospect of having to waitress again to make the house payments. Those exhausting months last year were definitely not ones she wanted to relive.

The doors of the car opened and a well-dressed couple in their early fifties exited the vehicle. The lady smoothed the front of her white pantsuit as she cast a gaze over the horses in the pasture. The car’s trunk popped open, and the man emerging from the driver’s seat shaded his eyes with one hand as he looked around—probably searching for a valet or bellhop.

Great. One more chore for Sam to pull off—like acting as full-time stable hand, groom and trail guide wasn’t enough to keep her busy. She considered hiding in the hayloft like she did that time she was ten and failed her math test. But avoiding reality didn’t work—she should know. She’d been trying that for two years now.

“Guess it’s now or never.” Sam slipped the halter back on its peg, and Wildfire snorted his disappointment. “I’ll be back for you in a minute.” She looked out the window again to see if the couple had managed to grab their own luggage, just in time to see a silver convertible squeal to a stop beside the sedan. A dust cloud formed around the tires, causing the woman to take several steps backward and cough.

The driver’s side door of the sports car opened and a guy in his mid-twenties slid out. He surveyed the ranch over lowered sunglasses, his expression shadowed.

Wildfire ducked his head and blew through his nose, pawing at the stall floor. Sam rubbed the white splash of hair on the gelding’s forehead, a frown pulling her brows together. “I know exactly how you feel.”

Ethan Ames never thought he’d see the day where his mother teetered in high heels on dirt-packed ground—on purpose. Then again, he never thought he’d see the day he joined his family on a rural working vacation, either. He shouldn’t have taken that back-roads exit off the interstate. Nothing was stopping him from speeding farther west and finding some real fun in Vegas—nothing more than his mother’s disappointment, anyway. Or his father’s incessant phone calls and threats. On second thought, Vegas wouldn’t be much fun without an expense account—and his father knew how to hit Ethan where it hurt.

One would definitely have to pay Ethan a bundle to get him to admit that deep down, he was a little curious about this country life thing, after all. He shut the door to the convertible and pulled his duffel bag from the backseat. At least the rental company had given him something decent to drive this time.

“You really shouldn’t speed like that, Ethan.” Vickie Ames touched her hair, as if the motion could protect it from the country air.

The passenger door slammed, saving Ethan from answering. His cousin Daniel slid over the hood and landed beside Vickie. He looped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, Aunt Vickie. Ethan never passed ninety-five miles an hour.” He winked and slung one booted foot over the other.

Ethan rolled his eyes. Leave it to Daniel to blend in with new surroundings like a chameleon. He’d picked up those stupid cowboy boots before they’d even left New York and propped them up on the dashboard for the entire drive from the airport. Ethan didn’t think real cowboys would splurge on designer tooled leather like that for a three-week vacation. And what was with that Dukes of Hazzard move he just pulled on the car hood? Ethan snorted.

His father, Jeffrey, cleared his throat. “If you two would quit clowning around and find the valet, we could get settled a lot sooner.”

Ethan shouldered his duffel. “I don’t think this place has staff like that.”

“The boys will get the bags.” Vickie shot Ethan a pointed glance that clearly said to get busy.

Jeffrey looked around, the permanent frown between his bushy brows tightening even further. “This place is more run-down than I thought. We should get it for a song.” His lips stretched into a line. “It better be worth this charade.”

“It will be.” Vickie gestured around them, her red manicured nails startling against her white suit. She looked as out of place as a bull in Saks Fifth Avenue, just smaller and better dressed. “You know we just need to find a reason to get the owner to sell to us for cheap—before she gets wind of the highway relocation. You said yourself this would be the perfect place for a mall after they move the interstate. So quit complaining—a dump is exactly what we’re looking for.”

Ethan shook his head. Only his mother could get away with telling Jeffrey what to do. If he or his cousin had tried that, well, it wouldn’t have been pretty.

Jeffrey’s face purpled. “I still don’t see why we all had to come down here to the middle of nowhere and cut a work week short. We could have just sent the boys to make the offer—”

“It’s about appearances,” Vickie hissed under her breath. “You know the owner is hesitant to sell in the first place. She doesn’t even want her daughter to know why we’re here. She wants to feel like the person who buys it will take good care of it. You think she’d be more willing to warm up and accept an offer from two businessmen in suits, or to a vacationing family of four? She’ll never believe that we want to keep the place as a ranch if we make an offer from New York.”

Jeffrey’s lips disappeared beneath his mustache. He looked as if he wanted to argue, but wasn’t sure what to say.

“Uncle Jeffrey, we’ll handle the bags. No problem.” Daniel grabbed the largest of the suitcases from the trunk and hefted it to the ground. “Where to?”

Ethan took a second bag, trying not to snicker at Daniel’s obvious attempt at kissing up to his father.

“I think check-in is inside there.” Vickie pointed to a two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch. Paint peeled near the faded trim and the stairs leading to the front door looked saggy, as if they’d held up one person too many over the years. “They’ll have our cabin numbers. I requested the two biggest ones they had.”

Ethan’s mouth twitched as he studied the crumpling architecture of the house. “After you, Daniel.” He wasn’t about to stand on that top porch step with a suitcase. He was likely to go straight through to the grass.

“I’ll check us in.” Vickie brushed them aside. “You boys get the rest of our luggage.” She lightly scaled the steps and disappeared inside the run-down building, an unspoken warning floating in her perfumed wake. Don’t upset your father.

Ethan grabbed another bag and passed the next to Daniel. Jeffrey stood by with his hands in his pockets, letting others do the work. The familiar claws of resentment dug once again into Ethan’s back, and he set his father’s suitcase in the dirt a little harder than necessary.

“Watch it, boy.” Jeffrey didn’t even bother with a glance in Ethan’s direction, just kept staring out across the fields spotted with wildflowers. “There are breakables in there.”

Ethan bit the retort on his lips and set his father’s suitcase upright. Three weeks of this? He must be crazy. No, his mother must be crazy to insist they come. She’d played it up as a huge business opportunity, a real working vacation—heavy on the vacation. But so far, the Jenson ranch was nothing to get excited about. Who cared if the family had been here for three generations? That didn’t make the property a steal—it’d just make it even more expensive to buy because of the owner’s hesitation to sell, especially if she heard of Jeffrey’s plan to develop a mall on site. Families didn’t like getting rid of memories.

Normal families didn’t, anyway. The only thing sentimental to Jeffrey Ames was his collection of gold money clips. Maybe Ethan and Daniel should go ahead and hightail it to Vegas after all.

Ethan turned his back to his father and shot a grin toward his cousin, the same easy, cover-up smile he’d spent years perfecting. Jeffrey would never know how badly he got to Ethan, and neither would anyone else if he could help it. Ethan had buried so many emotions over the years, what was a few more? He lowered his voice. “I don’t know about you, man, but I could go for a little fun instead of playing this charade. You want to get out of here?”

Daniel sat on the top of his suitcase and rocked back, balancing on his heels. A gleam sparked his eyes. “You know I’m up for anything. Just say the word. Where do you want to go?”

Ethan started to answer, and then stopped as a woman about his age stepped out of the shadows of the giant red barn and headed in their direction. Underneath a tan cowboy hat, her light brown hair was streaked with natural blond highlights, not the fake stuff his mother used every six weeks. Her slim jeans were peppered with dirt and her boots clomped across the dirt-packed earth as she strode confidently in their direction.

A slow grin spread across Ethan’s lips. “Who said anything about leaving?”

Chapter Two

“Welcome to Jenson Farms.” Sam greeted the guests with a smile, trying not to cringe at the amount of luggage surrounding the three men. Wasn’t the family only here for a few weeks? “I’ll be happy to show you to your suites.”

The older man sized her up with a quick nod. “Jeffrey Ames.”

Sam shook his offered hand. “I’m sorry for the delay in coming out. I had business to tend to in the barn.” She started to add they were short-handed, but thought better of it. Her mother had warned her not to say anything that would make these guests think the Jenson ranch was less than top-notch—although it wouldn’t take more than a cursory glance to determine that particular truth.

“Not a problem.” He gestured for Sam to lead the way. She hefted a bag on her shoulder and turned toward the two adjoining VIP suites. They were really nothing more than two small wooden cabins joined with a narrow porch, but these particular cabins had full kitchens, unlike the partials in the other guesthouses. Good thing her mother had added those big garden tubs in the bathrooms last summer, or the Ameses might make a dash for civilization. Why was such a wealthy family on vacation in the nowhere town of Appleback, anyway? If Sam had money, she’d vacation in Europe. Or some deserted island in the middle of the ocean where she could ride bareback in the sand and sip fruity drinks with umbrellas.

“Dad!” The sharp voice sounded seconds before the duffel bag was tugged from Sam’s grasp. She turned to find the young sports car driver holding the luggage and scowling at Mr. Ames. “She doesn’t need to carry our luggage.”

“We can get it.” The passenger from the convertible winked at Sam and she quickly looked away from the leer in his eyes.

“Nonsense. It’s her job.” Mr. Ames turned back to Sam. “I’ll make sure you’re compensated for it.” He motioned her along with a wave of his hand.

Sam’s stomach clenched at the flippant dismissal. She’d never been talked to like the hired help before, although with the Jensons’ new business venture into the tourist world, that’s exactly what she was. Her father’s image flashed in her mind, and Sam forced tidbits of pride down her throat. Without money, she’d never get the ranch back the way it was, and the Ames had it to spare. Time to work. She picked up another suitcase, this one heavier than the first.

“Here, let me.” The son’s warm voice and sudden nearness filled Sam’s senses. “I’m Ethan Ames. And this is my cousin, Daniel.”

“Sam Jenson.” She set the bag down and shook Ethan’s hand, noting its smoothness. The men in Appleback all had work-worn hands, calloused from hard work. This guy must not be used to handling anything other than a leather steering wheel or computer keyboard.

“You don’t look like a Sam to me.” Ethan’s dark hair, short and spiky, heightened the deep brown of his eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was a dreaded tourist, she might actually find him attractive. He was taller than Daniel, and didn’t seem to have an agenda in his eyes like Daniel did, either. More maturity lurked in Ethan’s gaze, along with a heaviness that suggested secrets. Maybe there was something substantial to this greenhorn after all.

“It’s really Samantha.” She allowed Ethan to take the suitcase handle from her. “But I go by Sam.” No one but her father had called her Samantha, and if she had her way, no one ever would again. Some rights were reserved for the dead.

“Samantha.” Ethan’s smile turned slightly flirty, heightening Sam’s first impression when he’d arrived in his convertible. “I think I’ll call you that instead. You don’t mind, right?”

The respect he’d earned by helping her with the bags faded into oblivion, and Sam flashed her own smile as she hoisted another duffel bag in her arms. “Only if you like boot prints on your back.”

Sam strode past the men toward the cabins, ignoring Daniel’s burst of laughter. She kept her head high and refused to give them the dignity of a backward glance.

“You really said that?” Sam’s best friend Kate Stephens laughed, leaning forward to momentarily rest her head on the top rail of the fence. Her curly red hair gleamed in the setting July sun. “Only you, Sam.”

“He had it coming.” Sam stuck a strand of hay in her mouth and chewed as she looked out over the pasture, unable to hide her smile. “I wish I could have seen his face.”

“Priceless, I’m sure.” Kate cupped her hands and motioned as if reading a headline. “Preppy City Boy Told Off by Overworked Cowgirl.”

Sam shoved Kate’s arm down. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.” Though Ethan had yet to emerge from his cabin, and the incident happened hours ago.

“I better get back home. It’s feeding time.” Kate dug her booted foot off the lowest rung of the fence and stretched. “For me and the horses.”

“I hear that.” Sam tossed the piece of hay on the ground. “I’m glad Mom finally found another cook for the guests. Mom can make breakfast food all right, but dinner is another story.” Sam and her father used to joke about cornbread that could be used as horseshoes and chili that would keep a body in the restroom for a month of Sundays. She squinted against the memories, determined not to cry. Not again, not today. She swallowed.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Kate clapped her hand on the fence. “I came over here to tell you something important, and you distracted me with your story of charming guest hospitality.” Her green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Guess which horse my father is selling now?”

“Viper?” The mustang gelding was the oldest horse still living at the Stephenses’ busy racing stables down the road from the Jensons’. Kate’s father, Andrew Stephens, was known for his champion racehorses in southern Texas. Last year, Kate had bought a few acres and a small farmhouse not too far from her family and Sam’s, where she ran a successful boarding and grooming service for animals. Despite her own proverbial plate staying so full, she still occasionally helped out with the inner workings of her family’s business.

Kate shook her head at Sam’s guess. “Think black stallion.”

Sam’s breath caught in her throat. “No way. Noble Star?”

Kate’s red curls bounced as she nodded. “He called me this morning to tell me he’s decided to retire him. Dad said he’d rather sell Noble and obtain the cash upfront then try to breed for money later. He and Mom don’t have the time for new ventures right now.” Kate grinned. “I know you’ve been waiting for something like this.”

More like praying for it every night. If Sam could buy the sought-after ex-racehorse, he would be just the ticket to bring back the Jenson breeding farm. Mares for miles around would be brought in to get a shot at those champion bloodlines. Their business would soar and things could finally go back to the way they used to be—as normal as they could be without Wade Jenson, anyway.

Sam’s mind raced in a blur of tallying numbers, and the end result brought a sharp jolt of reality. Her shoulders tensed. She could empty her meager savings and still not have enough to buy the blanket off Noble Star’s back.

Kate pulled her keys from her jeans pocket. “I just wanted you to know before Dad started advertising. He’s going to spread the word this week.”

“Price?” Sam closed her eyes for the verbal assault.

The number Kate named was pretty reasonable, considering Noble Star’s champion bloodlines and success on the track—but still many thousands more than Sam could dream of obtaining in years, much less the next few weeks. She let out her breath in a slow sigh. “Thanks for the info.”

“No problem.” Kate sent Sam a sympathetic smile. “I could talk to my dad for you. Maybe he could shave a bit off the price for you and your mom.”

“Unless he shaved off half, it wouldn’t really matter.” Sam forced a laugh. “But thanks for the thought.”

“Call me tomorrow.” Kate started walking backward to the parking lot. “And watch out for greenhorns!” She grinned before slipping inside the cab of her pickup.

Sam waved, then grimaced as the door to Suite A opened and Ethan stepped onto the porch. She probably should apologize to him. Her mouth was always getting her in trouble, and her mom had a point—the Ames family had the potential to be big tippers. The last thing the farm needed was their sudden departure—especially over something Sam said.

She sighed and trudged toward the cabin. Time to cowboy up.

Ethan let the cabin door slam behind him as he stepped outside onto the porch. The term suite had to be a joke—or else the Jensons had never been in a real city before. A suite meant space. Not semi-new bathtubs and adjoining porches. He’d also have to share the bathroom with Daniel. At least he was far enough away from the adjoining cabin not to hear his parents fight. Unless they were making money, they were fighting—and with Jeffrey remaining unconvinced this venture would turn a profit, the arguments were already starting. They had to secure this property as quickly and as cheaply as they could in order to ensure a profit large enough to make it worthwhile in Jeffrey’s eyes. But his mother would win. She always did.

Ethan gripped the wooden railing, staring out across the green meadow. Horses grazed, their tails swishing at flies, while a fiery July sun set behind the farthest hill. The longer Ethan watched, the looser his grip became, until finally his shoulders relaxed and he breathed deeply. Maybe there was something to this country air thing after all. Ethan would never admit it in front of Daniel—or his parents—but sometimes, he wished for something other than the late nights in his office, pushing paperwork to further pad his father’s bank account. There had to be more to life than money. The church he’d once attended as a child with his grandmother confirmed that suspicion, but once Ethan hit the work world after graduating, time for God seemed to be crowded out as deadlines and marketing the business took first priority.

A paint horse whinnied from the pen, and Ethan studied the brown-and-white animal through narrowed eyes. If Ethan stretched low, really low to the depths of all his childhood memories, he’d admit to having cowboy dreams once upon a time. What little boy didn’t? He used to squirrel away books on horses, Jessie James and the Old West, tucking them inside textbook covers so his father would think he was reading “productively.” When Ethan reached high school, girls and cars became top priority until his gun-slingin’, lassoing, bareback riding dreams were all but forgotten.

Until he pulled up on the ranch and breathed the air laden with horse sweat, leather and dust. Now those dreams were slowly resurrecting, a fact that would have Daniel doubled over with laughter and his dad smirking beneath that thick mustache. What would it be like to have the freedom to chase his dreams, rather than follow his father’s plans? Ethan didn’t want to take over Ames Real Estate and Development.

He didn’t know yet that he wanted to ride a horse for a living, either, but surely there was something in between.

Footsteps thudded on the porch stairs and Ethan turned with a start. Samantha—no, Sam—joined him on the porch, her hands shoved in the back pockets of her jeans.

“Back for more insults?” Ethan shifted to face her, resting his weight against the railing and crossing his arms over his chest. His heart thudded louder than her boots on the wood floor—real working boots, not the useless designer ones Daniel brought.

Ethan fought to keep his expression neutral, his mind reliving Sam’s snappy comment from earlier in the day. No woman had ever spoken to him with such an attitude before, and to be honest, he was impressed. Sam was different from other women he knew—that was certain—and it had nothing to do with her cowboy hat or plaid Western button-down.

Sam’s chin lifted a fraction as she stopped a few feet away. “I came to apologize. You’re our guest, and I was rude.” Her lips twitched. “I just really don’t like being called Samantha.”

“I gathered that.” Ethan tapped his chin, pretending to be in deep thought. “Why not a compromise—Sammy?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Just stick with Sam and we won’t have any problems, okay?”

“Deal.” Ethan studied her guarded pose, then held out his hand, for some reason anxious to make her smile. “Don’t real cowboys shake on truces?”

Her brows rose. “I don’t see a real cowboy here.”

Ethan’s hand fell to his side and Sam’s eyes widened to giant blue orbs. “I’m so sorry, there I go again.” She slapped her hand over her mouth and groaned. “I don’t mean to—I just—”

“Have a lot of pent-up frustration?”

Her arm lowered. “You have no idea.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ethan shoved aside the bruised portion of his pride and shot Sam a sideways glance. “Samantha.”

Her eyes, greenish now that anger sparked inside, narrowed. “You’re impossible.” She clomped back down the porch steps and Ethan watched her leave, an unexplainable joy rising in his chest at having gotten to her once again.

“See you on the trail, partner.” Ethan grinned as he braced his arms on the porch railing and watched her stalk to the main house. He had a feeling this working vacation was just getting started in more ways than one.

Chapter Three

Sam was up at dawn the next morning, partially because of her growling stomach and the full schedule for the day and partially because Ethan’s face had teased her dreams all night. There was nothing worse than tossing and turning in the midst of a dream you didn’t want to have—make that a nightmare. Who did Ethan Ames think he was, riding into her life as if he belonged there? So what if he was handsome? There wasn’t enough room in all of Texas for the size of his ego. Teasing her about her name, as if he should automatically be granted special privileges, was the last straw in Sam’s hay bale of tolerance. If money meant instant ego, Sam was glad she hovered on the poor side of the spectrum.

But poor wasn’t going to bring back her father’s legacy.

Sam dressed quickly in jeans and a button-down, then grabbed her cowboy hat off her dresser. Her eye caught the photo of her dad, taken nearly twenty years ago at the height of his rodeo fame, and she gently touched the worn wooden frame. She often wondered what their lives would be like if her father hadn’t quit the circuit when she turned seven. Would she and her mom still be following him around in that beat-up RV, touring city after city, winning prize after prize? Maybe if her dad hadn’t quit and taken over his grandfather’s breeding farm to provide a safe life for his family, he’d still be alive.

The irony was what ate at Sam for years, and still occasionally nibbled on her thoughts. Wade Jenson gave up his dreams and his talent to avoid danger and be there for his family—yet the tragic accident happened during his first tribute appearance years after quitting. Angie had told him not to ride, that he hadn’t in too long and it’d be dangerous. But Wade Jenson was never one to displease a begging crowd of fans, so he took on the infamous bull Black Thunder. It was the last time he ever rode anything. The injuries from being trampled lingered, and Sam and Angie spent the next several weeks at the hospital until Wade’s body gave out—along with their family savings.

What if Wade had recovered, and the breeding farm could have continued as planned? What if Sam didn’t have to help her mother carry the burden of providing for their livelihood, and could have moved out? Gone to college? Felt free to date and marry?

She turned away from the picture before the familiar sting of tears could burn her eyes, and shoved her cowboy hat on her head. She was through with the what-ifs. All that mattered were the what-nows. And right now, she had a trail ride to lead, an annoying man to ignore and a farm to save.

Sam pressed her knee into Piper’s side, waiting for him to exhale before tightening the girth of the saddle. The paint gelding was known for holding his breath during the tacking process, leaving a loose, comfortable girth and a rider hanging on for dear life. “I know your game, boy. Give it up.”

Piper exhaled in defeat and Sam quickly cinched the girth strap. She rubbed briskly under Piper’s mane, her fingers immediately coated with sweat and little white and brown hairs. “Just a short trip, boy. I know it’s hot out here.” Even though it was only nine-thirty on a Friday morning, the summer sun inched along its path in the sky, blazing the ranch with heat. Only a handful of tourists had shown up for the ride—unfortunately, Vickie and Ethan Ames included.

Sam gathered the reins and clicked her tongue at Piper. He followed her to the edge of the paddock, where she looped the reins around the hitching post. After last night’s drama with Ethan on the porch and her round of bad dreams, she’d hoped he’d sleep in and mercifully spare her his presence at the morning ride. He’d skipped breakfast, so Sam figured there was a good chance. But no, there he stood beside Vickie, dressed in designer jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt that revealed the tanned lines of muscle in his arms.

Sam adjusted the blanket under Piper’s saddle with a sharp tug. Where did a city boy like Ethan get a tan? Must be all that driving with the convertible top down. She would imagine he hadn’t earned it with sweat and honest work.

Same with the muscles.

“Is that my horse for today?” Vickie Ames gestured to Piper.

Sam nodded and introduced the painted gelding to Vickie. “He’s a sweetie, sort of like a big puppy. Just don’t spook him with any sudden noises.” All the working ranch horses were docile and well-trained, but they still had spunk. Piper hated loud noises, a fact he reminded them of every time it thundered. Sam had fixed more than her share of stall doors and fences after one of Piper’s episodes.

“Of course I won’t.” Vickie patted Piper’s nose, then winced at her hair-covered hand. “I forgot my handkerchief.”

“Use your jeans, Mom.” Ethan sidled up to the paddock fence beside Sam. He winked. “Good morning, Sam.”

Sam gritted her teeth, remembering how her mother had specifically asked her to be nice. Her mother was right across the corral, so Sam better fake it for a while. She drew a deep breath. “Mornin’.”

“Where’s my horse?”

Sam pointed to a chestnut mare that Cole Jackson, one of the longtime stable hands, was saddling a few feet away. “You’ll be riding Miss Priss.”

“Miss Priss?” Ethan smiled. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Sam shrugged, not wanting to admit he was right. The mare’s name was girlie, but the older horse was stubborn. Sam had a feeling if anyone could put Ethan in his place, it would be Miss Priss.

“Well, I’m sure me and the little lady will get along great.” Ethan brushed his hands on his jeans with a pointed look at his mom, who was still picking horse hair off her palm.

“Mrs. Ames, would you like help mounting?” Sam turned her back to Ethan.

Vickie looked up with a relieved smile. “That would be great. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not used to being around horses much.”

No kidding. Sam worked to keep her smile natural as she boosted the woman into the saddle, glad Vickie was at least wearing jeans and riding boots, even if they did look so new she’d surely have a blister by the end of the ride. Angie made a point of stating on the ranch’s Web site to bring comfortable, worn-in clothing for riding, but ninety percent of their guests ignored the suggestion and were usually miserable by the end of the week. Sam had never understood the fashion-over-function mindset.

Beside her, Cole shook back his dark hair in frustration as if he’d noticed the same thing. “Greenhorns,” he mumbled as he handed the reins to another tourist.

“Can I get a leg up, too?”

Sam ignored Ethan’s taunting call from two horses away, focusing on adjusting the stirrup length for Vickie instead. He was apparently determined to get to her again today, and Sam was just as determined not to let him.

“You know, since I’m not a real cowboy.” His teasing continued.

Sam moved to work on the second stirrup, keeping her eyes averted from Ethan’s position beside Miss Priss. Ignore him, ignore him. Cole could help him mount. Not that Ethan actually needed help mounting, he just wanted to rub in Sam’s face her verbal mistake from last night.

“Please, Samantha?”

Sam dropped the stirrup abruptly, jostling Vickie’s leg, and glared across the fence at Ethan. “You know, I thought they said mules were stubborn. Not—”

Angie bumped into Sam as she appeared next to her, effectively cutting off Sam’s sentence. “Lovely day, isn’t it, Mrs. Ames? Hot, but beautiful. That’s Texas for you.” Angie finished adjusting the stirrup and shot Sam a warning look. “Go help him,” she whispered. She smiled back up at Mrs. Ames. “I love that blouse.”

Sam rubbed her face with both hands before slowly walking to Ethan’s side, leaving her mother and Vickie chatting about clothing labels in her wake. She hated that her mother had arrived to hear her comment. God, I’m losing it. Please cool my temper. I don’t know why this guy gets to me so badly. Sam sucked in a fresh breath of air and forced a smile at Ethan. “Need a leg up, you said?”

“Nah, I got it now.” He swung into the saddle and reached down to adjust his heel in the stirrup.

Sam fought to keep the shock off her face and nodded stiffly. “Fine.” She knew he’d been faking asking for assistance. Sam felt Ethan’s eyes on her back as she quickly moved to finish saddling Diego, and stifled a groan. This was going to be the world’s longest trail ride.

Would this trail ride never end? Ethan shifted in the saddle and his thigh muscles screamed in discomfort. How did Sam do it? She rode like she’d been born in a saddle, leading their small group through the shaded woods, pausing occasionally to gesture to a particular grouping of trees or a historical marker. Her back stayed straight, her hips relaxed, moving like she and that red horse were one being.

He and Miss Priss, however, were getting along more like a bull and a rodeo clown. He nudged her forward, she stopped. He pulled on the reins, she picked up her pace. He said “whoa,” she tossed her head and insisted on moving forward.

Apparently real horses were nothing like that carousel his mother made him ride as a boy in Central Park—a fact Vickie must be realizing herself right about now. Ethan twisted around to catch a glimpse of his mom aboard Piper, one hand clutching the reins, the other in a white-knuckled grip on the saddle horn as the paint horse ambled along. At least Jeffrey had stayed at the cabin, determining that “appearances” could only be taken so far. No telling what Daniel had found to occupy his time. For all Ethan knew, the two could be plotting together a new scheme for making money. Jeffrey had always preferred Daniel’s input on such concepts to Ethan’s.

“We’ll stop at the clearing ahead for a snack and to stretch our legs.” Sam’s voice rang from the front of the line, and Ethan could barely contain his relief.

As soon as the horses came to a stop in a flowered field, he slipped from the saddle, hoping Sam didn’t notice the way his knees almost buckled when his shoes hit the grass. After the way he’d teased her earlier, he more than deserved any return insults.

There was also something intriguing about the fact that she hadn’t shown any interest in Daniel. Usually women sensed him and his cousin’s money a mile away. A cash radar, Daniel joked. He never seemed to mind, but Ethan wanted more. Was it possible he’d finally found someone oblivious to their financial charms?

Ethan pressed his hands into his lower back and stretched as the other riders were doing, then bent down and tried to touch his toes. Pain shot through his hamstrings, and he quickly straightened.

“Having trouble?” Sam appeared beside him, cheeks flushed with the summer heat, a water bottle dripping with condensation in one hand. She offered it to him.

He took the water with a tight smile and twisted off the cap. “Not at all.” His right thigh suddenly cramped as if insisting otherwise. But he couldn’t let Sam see his weakness, not after all the grief he’d given her. Apparently running on the treadmill required different muscles than horseback riding. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Good for you. So you’ll have no trouble making it back? A lot of first time riders get pretty sore their first day on the trail.” She took off her cowboy hat and shook her hair off her forehead. The feminine motion almost made Ethan forget her question.

He downed a quick sip of water to clear his head. “It’ll be a piece of cake.” More like a piece of prickly cactus.

Sam opened her mouth, probably to question his statement, but was interrupted by Vickie’s yelp. Ethan turned to see his mother hanging half off Piper’s saddle, one foot stretched toward the ground, the other stuck in the stirrup. Her dangling leg was at least a foot from the ground. “Help! He won’t let me off!”

Her panicked cry flattened Piper’s ears and the horse snorted in distress. Sam rushed to Vickie’s side seconds ahead of Ethan, and grabbed Piper’s reins. “Easy, boy.” Her low tone perked Piper’s ears, and he stopped the anxious shuffling of his legs.

Ethan helped support his mom’s weight while Sam worked Vickie’s boot free of the stirrup. Once her feet were on solid ground, she released a relieved sigh. “He started moving while I was getting down. I tried to get back on, but couldn’t get enough momentum. He’s so big!”

Sam’s mouth twitched. Even Ethan could see Piper was several inches shorter than most of the other horses in the group. He patted his mother’s arm. “You’re safe now, don’t worry.”

“Do you want me to call the ranch to have someone pick you up?” Sam held Piper’s reins, and the horse blew on her shoulder. She didn’t even flinch as his flabby lips worked against her hair. How did she know those giant horse teeth wouldn’t sink into her neck?

Vickie brushed the front of her stiff jeans. “I’ll be fine. Walking around a little will help.”

“It’s good to keep moving,” Sam agreed. “There are water bottles and packages of crackers in my saddle bag. Please help yourself.”

Vickie thanked her and headed in that direction, while Sam briefly closed her eyes and exhaled.

Ethan quirked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“I warned her not to make any sudden or loud noises.” Sam patted Piper’s hairy cheek. “He’s skittish about that. She really could have gotten hurt.”

Ethan remembered all the times growing up where his mother’s voice had startled him, as well, and he reached out to rub Piper’s ear. “Hey, I can relate.” He smiled at Sam.

The edges of her mouth started to curl in response, but just as suddenly, she gathered Piper’s reins. “Let’s get you grazing with the other horses.” She clucked twice to the paint before leading him away—without a second glance at Ethan.

Sam’s heart raced, and it wasn’t from the near incident with Mrs. Ames and Piper. No, it had everything to do with that brown-eyed stranger and his deadly smile. She pressed a hand against her stomach and drew a tight breath. So what if Ethan was handsome? She’d been around attractive men before, and most of them turned out to be completely full of themselves. If she had time for romance—which she didn’t—she needed a man who spent more time outdoors than looking in a mirror. Attractive or not, Ethan Ames was still a rich guy bent on teasing her. He might have had a humane moment there, relating to Piper, but she couldn’t forget the incessant teasing he’d doled out to her earlier that morning while saddling up.

Sam tugged on Piper’s reins, urging the paint to follow. There was the point, however, that Ethan could have gotten angry with Sam for venting about his mother, and didn’t. That showed something decent lurked in the heart underneath that polo shirt of his. Regardless, she’d have to watch her mouth around the tourists from now on. Her unedited remarks could easily come back to bite her—and the ranch’s business.

Piper snorted as Sam released him next to the other horses in the field. His black patches gleamed in the noon sun, reminding Sam of Noble Star’s midnight-blue coat. She’d better quit wasting time thinking about Ethan and focus on finding a way to earn money to purchase the stallion. She needed a plan, and fast—before someone else realized the stallion’s worth and beat Sam to it. He could very well be the ticket for getting them out of their financial crisis.

The wind lifted Sam’s hair and cooled her neck. She soaked in the breeze, tilting her face to the sun, and then turned back to the group of riders just in time to see Ethan look quickly away from her.

Sam started back toward the tourists, purposefully heading away from Ethan. If she wasn’t careful, he could very well be the ticket for messing up her plans—and her heart.

Chapter Four

The alarm clock on the nightstand glowed three o’clock in bright green digital numbers. Sam sat up in bed, wide-awake. She should have been out the moment her weary shoulders hit the mattress, but her mind kept racing with the events of the day. The trail ride. Ethan. Mrs. Ames scaring the horses. Chores, both inside the house and out. Ethan. Answering the tourists’ endless questions about ranch life. Helping Cole finish mucking out stalls. Ethan.

His creeping into her thoughts was even more annoying than the fact that she couldn’t sleep.

Sam clicked on the lamp, and then slowly slid to the floor. Sitting cross legged, she reached under the bed. The navy dust ruffle was, ironically, covered in dust, and she sneezed. Who had time to vacuum under the beds when there was so much else to do? Wishing for a housekeeper was ridiculous when they were having trouble even paying their mortgage, but Sam couldn’t help but wish anyway. Her searching fingers found the edge of the cardboard box and she tugged it free.

Shiny gold medals stared back at her as she peered over the rim. This was foolish, going through her father’s box of rodeo awards in the middle of the night. She hadn’t pulled the box out in months, not since Angie finally took them down from their display in the den. Her mother had put the box in the storage shed, but Sam had snuck back outside and grabbed it hours later. She could understand her mother needing to pack it away, needing closure, but the contents of the box represented her dad. Painful as it was to sift through the mementos, Sam at least wanted the option of doing so.

She ran her fingers over an engraved belt buckle. BULL RIDING CHAMPION, 1990. Another medal. SECOND PLACE TEAM ROPING, 1985. Several ribbons nestled inside the box, along with her dad’s bull-riding gloves and his favorite black cowboy hat. A local newspaper article about his tragic death lay on the very bottom, and Sam quickly covered it up with the hat. It was too late at night for that level of emotion.

She picked up the flyer advertising the annual Appleback Rodeo, dated over two years ago, and smiled. Bittersweet memories. Every year, the town of Appleback hosted a two-week series of events, starting with the Appleback Street fair, ending with the infamous rodeo, and offering a string of cooking and eating contests, concerts and everything else one could imagine in between.

Sam absently traced the lariat border design on the flyer. Once upon a time, she had dreamed dreams similar to her father’s. As a child she loved riding, roping and all things adventurous. One of her favorite childhood pictures was her and her dad on horseback, Sam wearing nothing but a diaper and a big baby grin. Wade Jenson taught Sam to ride not many years later, and she barrel-raced in local junior rodeos until she turned sixteen. Even after her dad quit the rodeo circuit, his tips and tricks still seemed to subconsciously leak out of his sentences. Heels down, Sam. Don’t look at your rope, look at your target. You’ll never earn the title of Rodeo Sweetheart with that form. Let go of that saddle horn, girl, what are you afraid of? Sam eventually felt more comfortable around horses than people—a fact she proved by skipping her prom to tend to a new baby foal, and standing up more than one date in favor of helping her dad trailer horses to a new client.

When Wade passed away, the thrill seeker in Sam died along with him. She watched herself—and her life—slow down until it nearly stopped. Afternoons galloping bareback across meadows were suddenly spent soaping up saddles and hosing down horses. The chores had to get done, but she could have snuck away for some fun once in a while. Could have—but didn’t. Fun meant danger, and that first year after Wade’s death, Sam couldn’t even mount a horse without thinking of her dad. It seemed wrong to be the same person she always was when he wasn’t there to see it, wasn’t there to offer his advice and big congratulatory hugs.

Sudden tears stung her eyes and Sam’s grip tightened on the advertisement in her hands. The annual rodeo was coming up in August—only a few weeks away. A couple of years ago, she would have entered the barrel racing or roping competition as usual, and would have already been practicing for months.

The writing on the flyer blurred before her eyes, and Sam blinked rapidly to clear the moisture clouding her vision. Her life wasn’t about the rodeo anymore, couldn’t ever be again. Even if she wanted to compete, Angie would never allow it. At twenty-four, Sam was obviously long past grounded as a means of discipline, but putting disappointment or fear in her mother’s eyes was far worse than any childhood punishment. Things changed, and Sam had to change right along with them.

She started to put the flyer back in the box, but the bold numbers on the bottom stopped her hand midreach and Sam’s eyes widened. Things changed, all right. The grand prize a few years ago for the bull-riding competition was the exact amount she needed to buy Noble Star. Add two years’ increase, and it was more than enough to get the breeding farm in the black.

The paper rustled as she stuffed the flyer in the box and shoved the entire thing under the bed. Maybe obtaining Noble Star wouldn’t be a matter of luck after all, but rather, divine providence. Surely it wasn’t coincidence about the money being the amount she needed. Was God finally going to offer assistance to get the Jenson family out of their financial crisis?

It’d be about time He stepped in.

Sam slipped beneath the cotton sheets and lay staring at the ceiling, arms crossed behind her pillow. Her heart hammered, and this time it wasn’t from bad dreams, a busy day or thoughts of Ethan.

She had a plan.

The sun streamed through the miniblinds, scrawling patterns of light across the worn bedspread. Ethan grunted into his pillow but made no motion to move. He couldn’t if he tried. He needed an ice pack. Or maybe a hot compress. Anything to ease the soreness that glazed his muscles with a constant, annoying ache.

He closed his eyes, then blinked them open at a snicker. Daniel sat on his bed a few feet away, pulling on his ridiculous boots and grinning. “You should have played darts at the lodge by the main house with me yesterday instead of going on that ride, man. I warned you.”

Ethan pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing against the pain. He refused to look like a sissy in front of his cousin—but the grimace probably gave him away. “Yeah, right. You said be careful, riding a horse would make me sore. You didn’t say riding a horse would make me feel like I’d been trampled by one.”

Daniel shrugged as he stood. “I’m heading to the main house for breakfast. You coming, or do you prefer to limp around here instead?” His boots clomped on the wooden floor.

“I’ll be there. Go ahead without me.” Ethan slowly eased off the bed. “It’ll take me a minute.”

“Might be lunchtime before you make it.”

“Very funny.” Ethan winced. No wonder all the cowboys in those books he’d read as a child walked with such a wide stance. It was the only way to compensate. He swaggered toward the dresser and winced as he pulled out a pair of jeans.

Daniel tugged a cowboy hat down on his head and swiped his room key off the nightstand. “I’ll save you some bacon.”

“Why are you wearing all that stuff anyway?” Ethan gestured toward Daniel’s Western gear, and his biceps quivered. Probably from that death grip he had on the saddle horn yesterday, despite making fun of his mom for doing the same. If Vickie felt even half as sore as he did, she’d probably already changed her mind about “appearances.” He hated to agree with his dad on, well, anything—but this time, Jeffrey had a point about not all of them having to keep up the charade at every moment. Ethan would be more likely to see his dad hanging out the moon roof of a limo than he would ever see him aboard a horse.

Daniel tapped the brim of his hat. “Hey, I think I look good. Or at least, the girls I met at the lodge last night thought so.” He winked.

“So that’s why you stayed out so late.” Mystery solved. Ethan shook his head and pulled on a green polo.

“Nothing wrong with mixing a little business with pleasure.” Daniel paused at the front door. “Aren’t you doing the same? I know you took that trail ride to check out the owner’s daughter—Sarah, or whatever her name is.”

Ethan worked to keep his expression neutral. “It’s Sam—and hardly. I went riding so my mom wouldn’t be alone.”

Daniel’s eyebrow twitched. “Right.”

“Believe what you want. I have no interest in Sam.” Her full name hovered on Ethan’s lips and he couldn’t but smile at her ire if he were to say it. Somehow, he suspected she could sense it even from across the ranch.

“Of course not. You always grin real goofy when you’re not attracted to someone.” Daniel rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.” Ethan grabbed a pair of socks. It wasn’t true—was it? Sure, Sam was pretty, and there was something different about her, something that went beyond the Western attire and massive chip on her shoulder. But Sam wasn’t his type. So what if he’d wanted to tease her a little on the ride? There were worse motivations to have—and his had nothing to do with attraction. He was an Ames. An Ames wouldn’t date a cowgirl.

Apparently, they just bought out their land.

Ethan brushed aside the sudden burst of conscience. It wasn’t his plan, it was his dad’s—not like Ethan had much of a choice. He never had, and at this rate, never would.

Daniel shook his head. “Send me a postcard from your vacation in denial, dude. I’m going to breakfast.”

The front door had just shut behind him when a knock sounded. Ethan finished buckling his belt and opened the door. Jeffrey Ames waited with a frown on the other side. “Morning.” Ethan fought back a sigh and moved aside for his father to enter.

Jeffrey strode inside the cabin with his usual air of dignified expectation. “What’s wrong with you, boy?”

Ethan shut the door. “What do you mean?”

“You’re moving like a robot.”

“Sore muscles from the ride yesterday.” Ethan eased onto the bed and reached for his loafers under the nightstand.

Jeffrey’s frown deepened. “Your mother is fine.”

“Mom does Pilates and yoga three times a week.” Ethan slipped his feet inside the leather shoes, hoping his lowered head hid the shock he felt claiming his expression. His mom had always been a fitness guru, but he’d figured she’d be at least a little sore like he was. Was he that much of a Wild West sissy? He quickly stood, hoping to put an end to the conversation. “I was just heading to the main house to eat.”

“I’ll join you. But first, we need to talk.” Jeffrey shoved his hands in his pockets of his slacks and jingled the loose change. The corners of his lips tightened beneath his mustache—the closest Ethan had ever seen his dad come to a real smile. “There’s been a new development.”

Ethan bit back a groan at the overused pun. “What’s that?” Better not to encourage him with a forced laugh. Humor and Jeffrey Ames went together about as well as fast cars and speed limits.

Jeffrey’s eyebrows furrowed. “I had a brief conversation with Angie Jenson yesterday. It seems like we’re going to need more ammunition than we thought in order to convince that Jenson woman it’s in her best interest to sell.” His lips quirked. “To us.”

“I don’t get it. Why are you smiling? How is that good news?” Other than the fact they could possibly give up now and go back to New York. But for some reason, the thought of leaving so soon seemed more disappointing than alluring. Ethan frowned. Must be that country air getting to him. He needed Starbucks, a massage and a good couple miles on his treadmill. That’d get him back to thinking more like a businessman and less like John Wayne.

“It’s good news because her daughter is the reason she’s hesitating, and I now know who is going to help fix that.” The twinkle was back in Jeffrey’s eyes, and worry churned in Ethan’s stomach.

“Who?” He didn’t want to ask, but he and his father had played the cat-and-canary game for so long now, Ethan just automatically fluffed his feathers.

Jeffrey clamped his large hand on Ethan’s shoulder, his diamond-and-gold ring digging into his collarbone. “You are.”

Chapter Five

Sam still hadn’t gotten used to eating her breakfast at a table full of strangers, but it beat sitting alone in her room. She scooped a spoonful of eggs on her plate and tried to ignore Daniel, who sat to her left, Ethan, who sat to her right, and Jeffrey, who chugged coffee directly across from her. Talk about a bad way to start her Sunday—sandwiched between two preppy, clueless tourists. Daniel had been trying to get her attention ever since he sat down, and Sam could have sworn she even saw him flexing beneath that striped Western shirt. Strangely enough, Ethan hadn’t spoken a single word to her yet—just kept darting glances at his dad across the table. Jeffrey in turn would cough and send pointed glares right back.

Men could be so weird.

Sam peppered her eggs and focused her attention on the other end of the large table. Her mom nibbled delicately at a piece of bacon while the same flirtatious man from yesterday—Mike—chatted her up. His troublemaking, ball-kicking son, Davy, sat ignored to his left, building a waffle sculpture on a plate covered in syrup. The sculpture wobbled on its liquid foundation, and if Sam’s predictions were accurate, it would go sloshing into Mike’s lap any minute now. It would serve him right.

She blew out her breath in an impatient huff. At least the group of vacationing, giggly college-aged girls were absent from breakfast this morning—the ones she’d seen Daniel eye more than once. It also appeared that their resident honeymoon couple was sleeping in. Sam really missed the mornings when Sunday breakfast consisted of just her and her parents—not a host of strangers and hired help. Sure, the food was better now than the cold cereal or lumpy oatmeal they used to have before rushing off to church, but it had been family. Familiar. It had been home.

A concept that apparently died along with her dad.

Sam gave a tired smile to Clara, the newly hired cook, who hovered over Sam’s shoulder with a fresh pot of coffee.

“Refill?”

“Yes, thanks.” Sam inched her cup closer. She needed the caffeine after last night’s 3:00 a.m. stroll down memory lane. If her family went to church anymore, she’d probably have yawned through the entire service. But the work—and the animals—couldn’t wait, and with the addition of a busy new dude ranch came the loss of a church home for Sam, at least until they could afford to hire more help. But despite the fact she couldn’t quit yawning, the emotional journey last night had been worth it. She knew how to get the money to buy Noble Star. She just needed a fresh supply of courage—and someone to help her.

Clara stretched over with the coffeepot. “Not a problem, Ms. Sam.” The hot liquid bubbled into the mug.

“You can just call me Sam.” She lowered her head and breathed in the hearty aroma of the brew. One sip of that strong concoction and she’d wake up for sure.

“Okay.” Clara moved to refill Daniel’s cup. Her tight black curls and ebony skin heightened her youthful appearance, but Sam knew Clara had to be closer to a grandma’s age herself. She nodded at Daniel. “Coffee?”

Daniel shook his head, his mouth full of toast. “I’ve reached my limit.” Crumbs sprayed on his nearly empty plate and Sam winced. And he wondered why his charms weren’t working on her.

“I’ll take a refill.” Ethan twisted in his seat to offer his mug. His eyes caught Sam’s and he smiled.

Sam decided to blame the accompanying jitters in her stomach on the greasy bacon, and forced a tight-lipped smile in return before focusing once again on her food. The eggs were suddenly tasteless in her mouth despite the salt and pepper she’d heaped on them. She was probably too nervous too eat. She really needed to talk to Cole about her plan before the day got fully started. If he refused to help her, she’d be right back to square one.

The fact that Ethan’s presence radiated on Sam’s right side like a portable heater had nothing to do with her lack of appetite. Nothing at all.

“Samantha?” Ethan’s quiet voice sounded in her ear.

She dropped her fork with a clatter. “It’s Sam. Why is that so hard for you? I don’t call you Evan, or Eric. My name is Sam. You want me to start calling you Elvira?”

Ethan held up both hands in defense, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

“I bet.” Sam tossed her napkin on her plate. She needed to find Cole, now—before she lost her opportunity to talk to him alone and before she completely snapped and threw a piece of bacon in Ethan’s face. Never in her life had anyone so adamantly insisted on calling her Samantha. That was her father’s right, and no loafer-wearin’ city boy was going to take that away.

“It really was a slipup. Look, I was going to ask if you wanted to take a walk. Show me around the ranch or whatever.”

Sam studied Ethan. His cheeks pinked the longer she stared, and the expression in his eyes didn’t quite match his tone. He looked guarded—almost annoyed. She glanced across the table at Jeffrey, who beamed and nodded at his son.

Something was up. Sam shoved her chair away from the table. “Sorry, I’ve got things to do.”

“Sam!” Angie looked up from the other end of the table in surprise. “Don’t be rude.” Mike smirked and Sam wished she could shove her mother’s glittering diamond ring in his face.

“Duty calls, Mom.” Sam gulped a mouthful of coffee, then wished she’d let it cool just a moment longer. Refusing to water down her dramatic exit with a wince, she stoned her features, bumped her chair under the table with a scrape and stalked toward the back door.

The satisfying slosh of waffles and syrup, followed by Mike’s squeal, sounded just before the door slammed shut behind her.

Rejected. Ethan excused himself from the breakfast table and hustled—well, limped was probably more accurate—outside before his dad could finish his breakfast and come after him. Ethan refused to stick around for a lecture on failure from his father. Before breakfast, his dad had directed Ethan to strike up a friendship with Sam in order to make Sam’s mom see her having a good time. One of the reasons Angie was considering selling the ranch over Sam’s objections was because she wanted her daughter to have a chance to live her life and not be burdened by a failing business. It was also his chance to get inside information about the ranch. Any pitfalls, any problems, any information that could be useful for their securing a low offer on the property was now Ethan’s job to report.

Ahead of him, Sam blazed a trail to the barn as if her boots were on fire. It was surprising the grass at her feet didn’t puff up in smoke as she passed. Ethan hesitated. He’d never been the type to pursue a woman scorned—Shakespeare definitely had that one right—and that’s exactly what he’d done to Sam with his incessant teasing.

But Shakespeare hadn’t met Jeffrey Ames, and any minute now, his father would be about five steps behind Ethan, demanding to know why he wasn’t trying harder to weasel into a friendship with Sam.

Ethan kicked at a rock in the dirt with his loafer. Take a walk? Pretty lame. Not really surprising Sam turned him down after that ridiculous attempt. He really hadn’t meant to say her full name, it just slipped out while he was mentally rehearsing his next line.

A rehearsal that led to a less than successful opening curtain. Why was she so picky about her name, anyway? Samantha was a beautiful name. He understood she was a tomboy, a cowgirl, but that shouldn’t be enough to make her hate her full name. It didn’t make sense.

Sort of like how what happened at breakfast wouldn’t make sense to his dad. Ethan could just hear his response now. Daniel wouldn’t have that kind of problem with a woman. Daniel could get any girl he wanted. You should learn from your cousin. Yeah, right. One day Daniel and Jeffrey both would wake up and realize there were more important things in the world than money and manipulative games. One day they’d come to the same conclusion Ethan eventually had come to—that they wanted something more from life than just a trust fund, a successful if borderline shady business and empty relationships.

If you could even call them relationships. Ethan lifted his face to the morning sun and let the warm summer breeze dry the sweat on his forehead. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe his parents lived in marital bliss. He purposefully tuned out the details he didn’t want to know.

His parents were glued together only by money, and if that ever changed, they’d probably head to divorce court faster than a Ferrari off the line. Ethan wanted something more solid than that, something to really stand on. No wonder he’d never felt a true connection before with the girls in his past—as much as he loved his mother, they all seemed like carbon copies of her. Materialistic, superficial.

Every girl but Sam, that is.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and continued his slow trek to the barn. He could move out and avoid the drama, but his parents’ house was big enough for him to be out of the way, and it was rent-free. If he hoped to break away from the family business one day, he’d more than likely be cut off financially and would need a decent amount of cash saved—in a place his father couldn’t access. All the more reason to save money now.

A horse whinnied from the other side of a nearby fence, and Ethan squared his shoulders in determination. His plan A in reaching Sam might have been a bust, but that didn’t mean plan B couldn’t succeed. If he needed to amp up the flirty image, so be it. Ethan hated the pretense—it reeked of Daniel—but if it would get his father off his back, then it’d be worth it. Plus he’d like to see her smile more. No twenty-four-year-old should have to work so hard just to stay afloat.

He just needed to remember not to use her full name.

Ethan turned up the collar on his polo, cracked his neck and strode inside the barn with a slightly crooked smile.

“Crazy city slickers.” Sam ran the grooming brush over Wildfire’s back in short, firm strokes. Loose hair flurried in her face like miniature red snowflakes, but she didn’t care. Who did Ethan think he was, asking her to go for a walk while his father grinned from the sidelines? The invitation was probably a joke, some “let’s tease the cowgirl and make her think I’m interested” ploy so he and his dad could laugh behind her back later. Like she’d ever be interested in some New Yorker who didn’t know which end of the horse went first.

Sam brushed faster. The only bright spot on this cloudy morning was that Cole had agreed to help her out. The loyal stable hand had assured her he’d have a steer in the north paddock by eleven o’clock that night for her to practice riding, and that her secret was safe with him. Apparently Cole hated dealing with the downfalls of the new dude ranch business as much as Sam and was game for her plan—absurd as it must have sounded.

She looked up as a dark figure, silhouetted by the sun, strolled inside the barn. The cocky gait seemed familiar, and within moments Ethan’s features became distinguishable. Great. He was back for round two. She kept brushing and refused to acknowledge his presence.

Ethan stopped in front of Wildfire’s stall and hooked his arms over the closed gate. “Mornin’, again.” He smiled and Sam couldn’t help her eyes darting to meet his. She quickly ducked under Wildfire’s neck to groom his other side. It put her closer to Ethan but at least her back was to him.

“You missed one of the guests swimming in waffles.” Ethan’s voice sounded smooth and rich over Sam’s shoulder, much like the syrup that must be clinging to Mike’s pants right about now. Too bad those waffles couldn’t have fallen in Ethan’s lap, too.

She dropped the grooming brush in the bucket in the corner behind her. “Sounds like fun.” She bent and snatched a comb from the same tub, and began picking through Wildfire’s tangled mane. “Is that all you came to tell me?” She felt more than saw Ethan’s startled response, and couldn’t but grin.

“No, I, just—well…” Ethan’s voice trailed off and he coughed. “I thought maybe I could help out, if you were too busy to take a walk.”

Sam turned to face him, the blue comb dangling from her fingers. Even Wildfire snorted, as if shocked. “You want to do chores?”

“Sure.” Ethan straightened his slumped position on the gate and smiled. “Why not?”

“Why not?” Sam laughed as she turned back to Wildfire’s mane. “Because you have no clue what you’re doing. Because you could get hurt. Because this is your vacation and you shouldn’t be working. Because—”

“Okay, I get it.” Ethan held up both hands. “But I don’t mind. I can learn.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Sam tossed the comb in the bucket and clipped the lead rope that she’d draped over the stall door to Wildfire’s halter. “Excuse me.”

Ethan backed away from the gate as Sam and Wildfire walked through, giving Wildfire’s back legs a wide berth. “Then what about a walk later tonight? After dinner?” His tone held a hopeful edge.

Sam clucked to Wildfire and led him down the barn aisle. His shoed hooves clacked on the hard floor. “Again, thanks—but no thanks.” Sam refused to feel even slightly sympathetic or look back at Ethan standing alone in the barn aisle. She had zero interest in being a pawn for some rich boy’s family to manipulate with their weird games. She had chores to do, a ranch to save and a bull to ride.

Starting with a steer tonight at eleven o’clock.

Chapter Six

The moon hung low in the velvet night sky, a shiny silver orb against a sea of black. Sam trudged through the shadows toward the north paddock, her boots silent on the dewy grass. Despite the late hour, adrenaline pulsed in her veins and her hands shook. She shoved them into the back pockets of her jeans as she walked.

Maybe she was crazy. Riding a steer was nothing like riding a bull, as steers were significantly smaller, but it was all she had access to for practice. She’d sat on a bull once before on a dare—for about two seconds at a friend’s ranch as a young teenager. Of course, that was before her friend’s father ran outside, yelling at them for taking the risk and looking much scarier than the bull. After watching the competition at the local rodeo each year, Sam figured her brief stint couldn’t even come close to being the same.

She rounded the corner of the barn, and the outline of the steer’s narrow horns inside the paddock siphoned into view. Cole, dressed in dark denim from head to foot, waited by the fence, one boot hung lazily on the bottom rail. A long rope was coiled over his shoulder. He straightened as she approached. “You ready for this, kid?”

Sam nodded. Only Cole could get away with such a nickname. He’d started work at the Jenson farm right after he graduated high school, when Sam was a child, and stayed on full-time these past twenty years. Now he was more like a big brother than a hired hand. “Of course I’m ready. Bring it.”

The tremor in Sam’s voice almost cancelled out the confident words, but to her relief, Cole didn’t seem to notice. “That’s what I like to hear.” He opened the paddock gate and motioned for Sam to go through first.

She strode into the pen, keeping a wary eye on the steer. The miniature beast looked up from inside the makeshift chute Cole had concocted, and blinked lazily, grass dangling from its flabby lips. At this rate, riding would be a breeze—downright boring, even. But once Cole tied that rope around the steer’s hindquarters…Sam swallowed. “Where’d you get him?”

“A friend with a cattle ranch a few miles west owed me a favor. He said we can borrow Lucy here for as long as we’d like.”

“Lucy?”

“Short for Lucifer.” Cole winked.

Sam’s stomach flipped.

“I know he looks calm now, but this here is a flank strap.” Cole gestured with the fleece-lined leather rope he uncoiled off his shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll get him bucking good.”

That was the problem. Sam forced a smile, hoping the evening shadows hid her apprehension. She couldn’t back down now, not after Cole had gone to all that effort to bring the beast. Besides, kids rode steers in rodeos all the time—it was considered a junior event. If some 4-H preteen could do it, Sam could, too.

She just wouldn’t think about her father’s last bull ride in the process.

“What do we do first?” Sam crossed her arms, hoping to keep her pounding heart from bursting through her long-sleeved T-shirt. Too bad Cole couldn’t have found a steer with shorter horns.

Cole started toward the animal, which backed up a step. “I’ll tie the flank strap and bull rope on him, and you hop on.”

“And then what?”

“Hang tight.” Cole grinned, his teeth a white splash against dark stubble.

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t about to mount a giant cow with horns. Sam took a deep breath as Cole straddled the fencing between the rail and the makeshift pen and went to work securing the flank strap. Cowboy up, as her father always said. She could do it—for him, for the farm. Winning the rodeo competition was her only immediate chance at earning enough money to buy Noble Star from Kate’s dad. Without the stallion, the farm would continue having to front as a tourist trap. Going from trail rider to bull rider would be hard enough with months of training—and Sam only had a few weeks. There was no time to waste.

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