The cowboy wants solitude...

until she makes him an offer he can’t refuse

Including his property in the local historical society’s grand tour could have huge benefits for Kent Ritter, but he has no clue how to decorate it. So he strikes a deal with town newcomer Erin Dearborn: she’ll give him decorating advice if he’ll make repairs to her home. It’s a fair bargain...but love was never meant to enter the mix.

Award-winning author MYRA JOHNSON writes emotionally gripping stories about love, life and faith. She is a two-time finalist for the ACFW Carol Award and winner of the 2005 RWA Golden Heart® Award. Married since 1972, Myra and her husband have two married daughters and seven grandchildren. Although Myra is a native Texan, she and her husband now reside in North Carolina, sharing their home with two pampered rescue dogs.

Also by Myra Johnson

Rancher for the Holidays

Her Hill Country Cowboy

Hill Country Reunion

The Rancher’s Redemption

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Rancher’s Redemption

Myra Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09630-0

THE RANCHER’S REDEMPTION

© 2019 Myra Johnson

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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All he wanted was to take his girls for a ride and picnic.

His girls. When had he begun thinking of Erin and her daughter that way?

One look at Erin when she stepped outside and he was a goner. “You look great.”

“Thanks, cowboy.” Grinning, she eyed him up and down. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” She called for her daughter. “Mr. Ritter’s here, honey. Let’s go.”

“Would you have a problem if she just called me Kent?”

“I guess not. But I’ve taught her to respect her elders.”

“Elders?” Kent winced. “Maybe I should have brought my cane.”

Erin’s laughter sparkled like summer sunshine.

She explained to her daughter that since Kent was now a good friend, she could use his first name.

The little girl grinned. “Does that mean that you’ll be calling him ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’ like my friend’s mom does her dad?”

Kent stifled a gasp as he slid a glance at Erin. They were names he’d never expected a woman to call him. So why didn’t they suddenly seem so bad?

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed this visit to the Texas Hill Country for Erin and Kent’s love story. Writing about two characters dealing with painful pasts, I remember so well when I came upon this verse from Isaiah: when thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee...

In this life, there will always be difficulties, yet God never abandons us. Even in the darkest times when God may feel so far away, we can trust Him to see us through to the other side.

If you or someone you know is living in an abusive situation, be assured that enduring in silence is not God’s will. God desires that everyone should come to saving faith in Him, so holding the abuser accountable—always from a place of safety and involving the authorities when necessary—is an act of grace. The National Domestic Violence Hotline, www.thehotline.org/is-this-abuse/, offers resources and advice.

Thank you for being one of my faithful readers. You complete the journey from idea to fully realized story. I’d love to hear from you, so please contact me through my website, www.myrajohnson.com, or write to me c/o Love Inspired Books, Harlequin Enterprises, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

With blessings and gratitude,

Myra

When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

—Isaiah 43:2

For my brother Ralph, who settled in the Texas Hill Country more than sixty years ago to pursue his ranching dreams. This city-girl author will always treasure childhood memories of horseback rides and other Hill Country adventures during our fun family visits.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

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

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

A sunny azure sky overhead, contented cattle grazing beside a tree-shaded pond, field upon field of bluebonnets stretching toward the horizon—in all his thirty-six years, Kent Ritter had yet to see anything prettier than an April day in the Texas Hill Country.

Until he rode out to round up a couple of strays and came upon a waiflike stranger sitting cross-legged beneath an oak tree.

His oak tree. On his land.

Facing the opposite direction, the girl didn’t seem aware of Kent’s approach. An assortment of grasses and twigs lay beside her on a multicolored quilt. She bent low over something in her lap, chin-length auburn curls falling toward her face and her fingers flying.

Not of a mind to announce his presence until he had a better idea of what she was up to, Kent pulled on his cutting horse’s reins with a whispered “Whoa, Jasmine.”

He guessed he wasn’t as quiet as he’d thought, because his visitor’s head shot up and she turned with a startled gasp. As she scrambled to her feet, whatever she’d been working on fell to the quilt. Panic filled her eyes, but her stance—fists clenched at her sides, feet apart as if preparing for combat—sent a different message: don’t mess with me!

Kent’s stomach fell straight to his boot heels. Clearly, this fully grown woman wasn’t the truant teenager he’d assumed her to be. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes suggested late twenties or early thirties—much closer to Kent’s age than he suddenly felt comfortable with, since his initial curious concern now vied with an undeniable and completely inappropriate attraction. Yep, more than likely, this woman’s appearance had something to do with the unsettling letter he’d received two days ago, the one he’d been doing his dead level best to ignore.

He clenched his jaw. “If you’re from the Juniper Bluff Historical Society, you can leave right now. This is still private property.”

“I’m so sorry.” Looking both startled and confused, the woman dropped to her knees and began gathering her things into the center of the quilt. “I was just out exploring, and I don’t know anything about the historical society. I’m actually new in town and—” Her hands shook so hard that she kept dropping everything.

First he’d jumped to conclusions, and now he’d scared the poor lady half to death. “Hey, it’s okay.” Afraid she’d have a heart attack, Kent dismounted and strode over to help. “Ma’am, it’s okay, really.”

As he drew closer, he saw what she’d been making—a basket woven from twigs and dry pasture grass. He picked it up and studied the intricate design. Blades of grass had been twisted and shaped to resemble miniature bluebonnets and woven into the outside of the basket. Between two of the flowers, a thinner, more pliable twig formed the letter A.

Glancing up, Kent found the woman standing at the edge of the quilt, arms crossed and her expression wary. He held the basket out to her. “You made this? Just now?”

“Well, yes. But not just now, exactly.” Taking the basket, she offered a guilty frown. “I—I’ve been here most of the day.”

Even if she wasn’t a historical society snoop, Kent ought to feel a lot more annoyed that a perfect stranger had been trespassing on his property—he’d chased off ignorant city kids looking to go cow tipping on a dare, hunters who’d unknowingly crossed boundaries, even a few lost hikers and trail riders. But never in all the years he’d been ranching had he come upon anyone quite like this nervous and oh-so-pretty artisan.

She tugged on the quilt, drawing attention to the fact that he was standing on the edge. Stepping off into the grass, he bent and grabbed the two corners closest to him. When all her craft supplies—bits and pieces of his pasture—were folded inside the quilt, she hugged the bundle against her chest. Her chin rose in defiance. “You really ought to put up signs. How was I supposed to know this was someone’s property?”

Kent’s jaw dropped. “Miles of barbed wire fencing wasn’t enough of a clue? How’d you even end up this far from the main road?”

Glancing around, the woman started looking panicky again. “Um, which way is the road?”

Okay, this was just too much—probably a good thing because, at the moment, Kent’s annoyance was a whole lot easier to deal with than being discombobulated by a damsel in distress. He whipped his tan felt Resistol from his head and slapped it against his thigh. “You ride?”

“Ride?”

“Yeah, ride. Because the easiest and fastest way for me to get you back to the road is if I take you on my horse.”

She eyed the big black mare uneasily. “Thanks, but I’d rather walk.”

“You realize we’re a couple miles in, right?”

“That far?” A swallow tracked up and down her throat, so thin and delicate and lovely it made Kent’s chest ache. “I must have explored farther than I thought.”

“Guess so.” He inched his gaze upward, only to find himself riveted by a pair of eyes bluer than a whole field of bluebonnets. With a rough cough, he slammed his hat back onto his head. “So. You want a ride to the road or not?”

After an uneasy glance in all directions, she peeked at her watch. “Oh, no, is it really nearly three?”

“Afraid so. That a problem?”

“Yes, it’s a problem.” She was already striding toward Jasmine. “My daughter gets out of school in twenty minutes, and I’m going to be late.”

Daughter. Which meant there had to be a dad in the picture. Wildly, that came as both a disappointment and a huge relief. Kent caught up with her at the mare’s side, and then he was the nervous one. Riding double—what had he been thinking? Sure, he could let her ride while he led Jasmine from the ground. After his three tours of duty as a navy corpsman in Afghanistan, hiking a couple of miles over rough pastureland was a walk in the park.

Just one problem, though. This walk in the park—the most direct route back to the road—covered a section of his property where he’d recently spotted a rattler’s den. The lady was plumb lucky she hadn’t encountered one while traipsing across the pastures with bare ankles and wearing those flimsy sneakers, or instead of offering her a ride, he might have been administering first aid from the snakebite kit in his saddlebag—and only if he’d found her in time.

Taking hold of Jasmine’s bridle, he brought the horse’s head up from the clump of grass she’d been munching on. “So,” he said, teeth clenched, “if we’re gonna get up close and personal on the back of my horse, we should at least introduce ourselves. Name’s Kent Ritter.” He stuck out his right hand.

She stared at it for a moment, then released her hold on the quilt long enough to accept his handshake. “I’m Erin. Erin Dearborn.”

Pretty girl, pretty name...

The sooner he got this woman back to the road and off his property the better.

* * *

When Erin decided to take a drive down a country road in search of interesting items for her basketry creations, doubling up on horseback with a perfect stranger was not how she saw her day unfolding. Served her right for her city-girl ignorance. Before parking her car along the roadside, she hadn’t passed a house for miles. The barbed wire fence? Well, those were everywhere out this way. Why should she assume it meant keep out?

The cowboy climbed into the saddle first, then had Erin pass him her quilt bundle. He removed his left boot from the stirrup and shifted his leg forward. Pointing toward the empty stirrup, he instructed, “Put your foot here, grab my arm and swing your other leg over.”

She did as she was told, and with a breathtaking burst of motion, she found herself straddling the horse’s rump just behind the saddle. The man shoved the wadded-up quilt around behind him, and she hugged it close, grateful for the space the bundle created between her chest and the lean, muscular torso in front of her. “I could have walked, you know. I’m not a wimp.”

“Uh-huh.” The cowboy’s laconic reply said he didn’t quite believe her. “If you didn’t get lost. Or snakebit.”

Her eyebrows shot up. She sat a little straighter. “Snakes? There are snakes out here?”

“This is the Texas Hill Country. Of course there are snakes.” He glanced over his shoulder with a snort. “Weather’s warming up, rattlers are getting more active—”

“Rattlesnakes?” Skin crawling, Erin drew her knees higher on the horse’s sides.

The man chuckled. “Rattlesnakes can’t fly. Anyway, Jasmine’s got a keen sense for snakes. She won’t take us anywhere near one.”

“That’s... That’s good to know.” After a couple of calming breaths, Erin relaxed her legs.

Picking up the reins, the cowboy suggested Erin might want to hold on.

“To what?”

“To me.” He reached behind and found her right wrist, drawing her arm around his waist. “I don’t bite, I promise.”

Erin didn’t have a reply to that. But when the horse—Jasmine?—began to move, holding on felt like a really good idea. The horse’s rhythmic, rocking gait reassured her, though, and before long, Erin was almost enjoying the ride—or would be, if not for the nearness of the man in front of her.

“So,” he said, “do you make a habit of wandering across private property to do your—whatever that art stuff is called?”

“It’s basketry. And no. I just thought—” She forced out a sharp sigh. What was the point of explaining? He’d just pile on more ridicule for her foolishness. And he’d be right. She had no business wasting her time on such a useless hobby when she should be getting serious about the interior design career she’d postponed so many years ago. Scary stuff, starting over after a divorce. Especially when starting over felt a lot more like starting from scratch.

“Basketry, huh?” the cowboy harrumphed. “Next time you’re looking for twigs and stuff, maybe check with the property owner first.”

“Duly noted.”

When he deftly opened a pasture gate without dismounting, then guided the horse through and closed the gate behind them, Erin couldn’t help being impressed.

Off to their right, a herd of black cattle grazed, their musky smells mingling with the earthy scents of grass and cedar. “Are those your cows?” Erin asked.

“Mmm-hmm. Minus the two still off somewhere by themselves because I got sidetracked rescuing you.”

“Look, I’m sorry, Mr...” She’d already forgotten his name.

“Ritter,” he supplied, sounding irritable. “And don’t worry about it. Road’s just up ahead. Tell me where you left your car.”

They’d come a different way from the route Erin had taken cross-country, so nothing looked familiar. Noticing a dilapidated two-story farmhouse off to the right, which she didn’t remember passing on her drive out, she decided her car must be up the road to the left.

“I’m pretty sure it’s that way,” she said, pointing. Another glance at her watch made her stomach clench. School would be letting out about now, and it was only Avery’s second day at Juniper Bluff Elementary. The almost seven-year-old had suffered enough trauma in her short life. She didn’t need to wonder if Mommy had forgotten her. “Can you hurry, please? My daughter’s going to be so worried.”

“All right, hold on.” After guiding the horse through another gate, the cowboy made sure Erin’s hold was secure before clucking to the horse.

Unprepared for the burst of speed, Erin gasped and tightened her grip around Mr. Ritter’s waist, the quilt bundle trapped against his back. They galloped past a weathered barn and onto a gravel lane that ran alongside the old farmhouse. Even as they sped by, Erin couldn’t miss the peeling paint, sagging porches and flower beds overgrown with weeds. An unexpected pang of sadness struck—this must be where the grumpy cowboy lived.

He slowed the horse to make the left turn onto the road, then picked up speed again. Seconds later, peering around the cowboy, Erin glimpsed her dark blue Camry where she’d left it parked on the shoulder. By the time Mr. Ritter halted his horse next to her car, her heart was pounding as hard as if she’d run the two miles on foot.

He swung his right leg forward over the horse’s neck and dropped to the ground, then reached up to help Erin dismount. The quilt still smashed against her chest, she backed toward her car door. “Well, um...thank you for the ride.” Deep breath. She tugged her keys from her jeans pocket and nearly dropped them before she could press the unlock button on the key fob. “I’m sorry again about trespassing, and you don’t have to worry about me ever bothering you again.”

Without waiting for his response, she climbed into the car and shoved the quilt onto the passenger seat. She could only hope she hadn’t crushed the special basket she’d been creating for Avery. After making sure the cowboy and his horse had moved out of the way, she executed an awkward U-turn. As she drove away, a glance in her rearview mirror showed the cowboy back in the saddle but watching from the same spot.

She shivered. Okay, God, what was that all about? Her first week in town and she had to run afoul of one of the residents. Not to mention having her life flash before her eyes on that wild ride. Horses were her older brother Greg’s department, at least vicariously. His daughter rode for her college team, and as CFO for the family’s San Antonio philanthropic organization, Greg had negotiated a partnership with a Juniper Bluff guest ranch to sponsor riding camps for disadvantaged kids.

But Erin, Greg and their middle sibling, Shaun, had grown up 100 percent city kids. Greg was now a successful businessman, and Shaun served as an ordained minister on the mission field. Their late father had been a highly respected San Antonio pediatrician, and their mother, also in heaven now, had founded her own interior design company. Erin had hoped to follow in her mother’s footsteps, but those career plans had short-circuited not long after she’d met Payne Dearborn.

Fresh out of med school and interning at a Dallas hospital, Payne had been on duty when Erin’s roommate at the University of North Texas tripped on the stairs at a shopping mall and broke her ankle. Erin had to drive her to the ER, where the handsome intern had asked for Erin’s number. One date led to another and another, and within a year, they were engaged. Erin spent her last semester of college planning their June wedding, and afterward her whole world had revolved around Payne.

If only someone else had been in the ER that day. If only she hadn’t given Payne her number, gone out with him the first time, fallen desperately in love with him—or, more accurately, with the idea of marrying a doctor just like her kind, caring, devoted dad. Because Payne Dearborn had turned out to be nothing like Erin’s dad. Why hadn’t she recognized the signs—if not before the wedding, then certainly before bringing a child into the marriage? As the years passed, Payne came to depend more and more on alcohol to relieve the stress of his profession. And the more he drank, the more his cruel side came out.

Nine years, a broken collarbone and entirely too many bruises later, Erin had had enough. Though Payne had never laid a hand on Avery, Erin could no longer take the chance. For both their sakes, she got out.

Brushing away an unexpected tear, she shoved the memories aside and concentrated on her driving. A few minutes later, she pulled into the nearly deserted school parking lot. As she glanced around for Avery, her heart plummeted. Surely, the little girl wouldn’t have accepted a ride from someone else.

Then the fair-haired first-grade teacher Erin had met when she’d enrolled Avery on Monday strode from the building, her hand wrapped around Avery’s. Spying her mom, Avery lit up with a huge grin. She broke free from the teacher and galloped toward the car faster than the grumpy cowboy’s big black horse.

Erin reached across to shove the passenger door open, then stuffed the quilt bundle into the back seat. “Hi, honey! Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay, Mommy.” The little girl swiped messy auburn curls out of her eyes as she bounded into the car. “While we waited for you, Miss Adams let me help her feed the gerbils.”

“Wow, gerbils—how fun!” Erin looked past her daughter to cast an apologetic smile toward the teacher now leaning in the open door. “Thank you for looking after her. I totally lost track of time.” Among other things.

“My pleasure. Avery was a big help.” With a reassuring smile, the teacher added, “And she’s doing fine. Already making friends. Aren’t you, Avery?”

“I am, Mommy. My new bestest friend is Eva Austin. She’s kind of new at school, too, ’cause she used to be homeschooled. She lives on a ranch and has her very own pony.”

“A pony. How special.” Erin returned Miss Adams’s wave as the teacher closed Avery’s door.

Apparently, just about everyone in this little Hill Country town had some connection with horses and ranching. She might have been born and raised a Texan, but her exposure to cowboy culture was pretty much limited to the TV Westerns she’d watched as a kid on the oldies channel.

What could Greg have been thinking? Her big brother had assured her that moving to Juniper Bluff could mean a fresh start, a chance to leave the past behind and figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. But couldn’t she have done so just as well in San Antonio, maybe rented a small apartment near Greg’s place? If she really did have hopes of launching an interior design business, wouldn’t her prospects be a lot stronger in the city? The part-time job Greg had arranged for her at a Juniper Bluff gift shop would never pay enough to support her and Avery for the long term.

And she had to take some positive action soon, while she still clung to what few remnants of self-esteem Payne Dearborn hadn’t managed to crush.

* * *

Riding out to search again for those two stray heifers, Kent hoped getting back to work would distract him from dealing with his unexpected visitor. Because she’d sure enough distracted him. And while he appreciated a few diversions at the moment, that kind he could do without.

Recalling her reaction at the mention of the snakes, though, he allowed himself another brief chuckle. He also made a mental note to ask his neighbor LeRoy if he’d come by one day soon and help him deal with those rattlers—preferably without the use of a rifle. Kent loved ranching, but he despised guns. The mere sound of them from a nearby hunting lease could evoke flashbacks from Afghanistan that made his palms sweat and his heart race.

Another reason the letter from the historical society had him so flustered. He’d worked for ten years to preserve his quiet way of life out here on the ranch—and now they were telling him this place was one of the original Juniper Bluff homesteads. And they were planning a huge sesquicentennial celebration next year and wanted to feature his property on a grand tour.

True, Kent had known the place was a fixer-upper when he bought it—but a hundred and fifty years old? That had come as a surprise. Previous owners over the years had added modern plumbing, wiring and other basic updates. With a few minor repairs now and then to keep the place livable, it had served Kent just fine. He couldn’t imagine who’d be interested in touring a run-down old house and barn.

And spending his hard-earned cash to make things presentable for a bunch of gawkers? Uh-uh. Not happening. With fewer and fewer calves being born each year, his ranching account was dropping deeper into the red. If he hoped to keep this dream alive, every penny he could put aside had to go toward a quality registered bull to replace the old fella who’d outlived his productive years.

Thanks to a recent spring storm, though, he’d had no choice but to dip into his savings to repair the leaky barn roof. Last year, it was his septic tank, and the year before, his rattletrap of a truck needed a new timing belt.

Yep, much as he loved ranch life, it was definitely one challenge after another.

He found the strays at the westernmost border of his land. Apparently, they’d discovered a weak spot in one of his pasture fences and wandered down to drink from a burbling creek running deep and fresh from spring rains. He had to do little more than wave his hat, whistle through his teeth and keep centered in the saddle as Jasmine expertly turned the heifers in the direction of home.

Once they’d rejoined the herd, Kent rode the fence line to look for any other sections in need of repair. Finding two more trouble spots, he made quick temporary fixes to hold until he could do the job right tomorrow afternoon after his shift ended at the hardware store. Supplementing with part-time work in town gave him a little extra to live on anyway.

Back at the barn, he unsaddled Jasmine and brushed her down before leading her into her stall. He tossed in a flake of hay, refilled her water pail and dumped a scoop of feed into her tray. The mare gave a nicker of gratitude and settled in for her supper.

Kent chuckled to himself. He should have it so easy.

When he walked through his back door and into his empty kitchen a few minutes later, the weight of living alone hit him like a punch to the gut. Which was crazy, because the solitary life was exactly what he wanted—no, needed. Peace and quiet and green growing things all around him. And his animals—a trusty cow horse, a couple of gentle mares he’d rescued, a few head of cattle and the sleepy old dog, who on day one of his adoption, had claimed Kent’s easy chair and relegated him permanently to the sofa.

“I’m home, Skip.” Kent tossed his dusty felt hat onto the breakfast table and stooped to pick up Skip’s food dish. “Hungry, boy?”

A thud followed by toenails clicking on hardwood announced the yellow half Lab’s lazy approach. Kent filled the dog’s dish with kibble, and while Skip munched, Kent’s gaze swept the drab walls, bare of any adornments except for the calendar his boss at the hardware store gave out to all his customers every December. The kitchen, like every room in the house—and the outside, too, for that matter—badly needed a fresh coat of paint.

Except for the couple of times a year when his folks came down from Tulsa for a visit, Kent never much concerned himself with appearances, and why should he start now? Yeah, his mom was always on his case about how the place could sure use a woman’s touch. Every visit, she’d get busy cleaning light fixtures and rearranging his badly disorganized cupboards, while Dad puttered around outside, pulling weeds or shoring up sagging porch steps.

But standing here now, and with visions of this afternoon’s pretty basket weaver playing through his mind like a video on an endless loop, Kent found himself wondering what Erin Dearborn would have to say about his bleak living conditions. She clearly had an eye for beauty, not to mention a talent for creating art from what anyone else would toss aside. He could still recall the delicate feel of the little twig basket in his hand, still picture the amazingly realistic straw bluebonnets and the dainty letter A, so perfectly formed. He wondered what the initial stood for—maybe her daughter’s name?

You can ask next time you see her.

Startled by the realization that he wanted there to be a next time, Kent pulled a quick breath of air into his lungs. Seriously? He was allowing one random encounter to make him question everything about the life he’d so carefully constructed for himself? Kent had long ago decided he wasn’t relationship material anyway, not with the baggage he carried from his wartime service as a corpsman.

Nope, this bachelor cowboy had everything he needed right here. He’d stick a frozen dinner in the microwave, and after supper, he’d fall asleep in front of the TV while his dog snored in the easy chair. Tomorrow morning, he’d get up early for chores, work at the hardware store till noon, come home for lunch and then get busy fixing those fences. Routine was his comfort zone, and nobody better mess with it.

Yep, the historical society could just find some other old house to show off.

Chapter Two

“Avery, get a move on. We’re running late.” Erin scooped up her purse and keys from the kitchen table, then snatched Avery’s lunchbox off the counter. “Grab your backpack, honey. And don’t forget a sweater.”

“I’m hurrying as fast as I can, Mom.” Stomping feet echoed from the hallway. “And anyway, you should have woken me up sooner.”

Erin pressed the button to open the garage door. “I know, and I’m sorry,” she said as Avery bounded past her. “I forgot to set my alarm.”

She wasn’t sure when it began, this struggle to get anywhere on time. Growing up, she’d earned a reputation for being early to everything. Maybe it was the people pleaser in her, the same part that had kept her married to an abuser in hopes that if she was good enough, if she tried hard enough, she could eventually change him.

Now, with Payne out of the picture, apparently she’d relaxed her standards. Or else it was rebellion, pure and simple. Her way of reclaiming a semblance of control over her life.

Whatever the case, she needed to redevelop the habit of punctuality. Getting her daughter to and from school on time was important, yes, but when Erin reported to her new job at Wanda’s Wonders next week, she couldn’t expect the gift shop’s owner to overlook tardiness.

As she sped through downtown Juniper Bluff toward the school, Avery kicked the seat back. “You’re driving too fast, Mom. You’re gonna get a ticket.”

At that very moment, Erin spotted a patrol car parked where the school zone began. Guiltily, she eased her foot off the accelerator and allowed the car to coast until the speedometer dropped below twenty miles per hour. Pasting on an innocent smile, she steered past the officer and into the school’s drop-off lane.

A teacher’s aide opened Avery’s door, and she scooted out. “Bye, Mom. See you after school!”

Waving to her daughter, Erin swallowed down the lump in her throat. She still couldn’t believe her little girl would soon finish first grade. Where had the years gone? This Saturday would be Avery’s seventh birthday. Erin still needed to put the finishing touches on the basket she’d started yesterday. It wasn’t much of a birthday gift, but for now, it was something Erin could afford. Besides, Avery loved collecting pretty things—beads, rocks, feathers, leaves—and this basket would be a perfect place to keep her treasures.

Before Erin could finish the basket, though, she had another chore on her to-do list. The small three-bedroom bungalow her brother Greg had helped her purchase suited their needs just right, and the neighborhood seemed safe enough. But living on her own for the first time in her life, she couldn’t shake her apprehension. Ideally, she’d prefer to install an alarm system—another expense she couldn’t afford. Instead, she’d decided to invest in security lights for the front and back of the house. Those shouldn’t cost too much, and how hard could they be to install?

Picking up groceries last weekend, Erin had noticed a hardware store across from the supermarket. A few minutes after leaving the school, she pulled into the Zipp’s Hardware parking lot and found a space between a dirt-encrusted pickup and an older-model hatchback. The brick building with the green metal sign across the front appeared to have been around almost as long as the town itself. All kinds of intriguing gadgets lined the display windows on either side of the entrance, and Erin grew so entranced that she almost forgot why she’d come—until the door burst open and a crusty old guy in overalls and a baseball cap nearly plowed into her. He mumbled an apology, climbed into the dirty pickup and drove away.

So much for small-town friendliness. With an annoyed shake of her head, Erin marched inside. She paused to get her bearings, her gaze skimming the signage over each aisle: Plumbing, Tools, Fasteners, Electric...

“Can I help you?”

Erin turned with a start. “You?”

“You!” yesterday’s cowboy said at exactly the same time.

She backed up a step, yesterday’s butterflies returning with ferocity. “You work here?”

“I do.” One brow arched. “Did you make it on time to pick up your daughter?”

“Yes. I mean, no. But it was okay. She was helping her teacher feed the gerbils.” And why did Erin feel the need to explain herself?

The cowboy looked at her askance, one wayward lock of brown hair sliding across his temple. “Gerbils. Aren’t those just glorified rats?”

“They’re actually pretty cute. I had a pair when I was a kid. And then they had babies and Mom made me give them away—” Lips pursed, Erin crossed her arms. “I—I’m actually looking for security lights. Do you carry those?”

“Lighting’s in aisle seven.” Starting in that direction, he peered over his shoulder. “Erin, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, hurrying to follow. “I’m sorry. I’m terrible with names. Ken?”

“Kent.” He stopped about halfway down the aisle. “Here we go. Security lights. You want manual or automatic?”

Erin bit her lip. “What’s the basic difference?”

Slanting her a crooked smile, Kent picked up a box. “This one’s manual. That means you have to turn it on and off yourself from the light switch.”

“Of course.” With a silly-me eye roll, Erin bent to read the printing on another box. “So...automatic means the lights come on by themselves, obviously. How do they know?” She cringed at how ignorant she must sound.

“Well, there’s the kind where you set a timer for exactly when you want the light to go on and off. Then there’s this one,” he said, indicating the box she was examining, “which has a simple light sensor. On at dusk, off at dawn.”

“I like that.”

“Or there’s one other option,” Kent said, reaching for a box on a higher shelf. “This one has both a light sensor and a motion detector. If you don’t want the light on all night, you can set it to come on only when there’s activity to trigger it.”

Erin hadn’t realized she’d have so many choices. An amber warning light blinked in her brain. “That one’s probably the most expensive.”

“Yeah, they do go up in price when you start getting fancy. Where do you plan to use it?”

“Front and back porches.”

“Any reason you wouldn’t want the lights on all night? Like bedroom windows nearby, or neighbors who might be annoyed?”

Valid points. Points Erin hadn’t considered. “How much exactly is the motion-detector style?”

Kent brought a box down from the shelf. “This one’s our bestselling model. It’s priced at $69.95.” He must have noticed her flinch, because he returned the box to its place and chose another one instead. “Now, this one here has fewer bells and whistles but works just as good, and it’s $30 cheaper.”

Still a lot, but definitely more affordable. Erin pictured her minuscule checkbook balance. Maybe she could buy one today and hold off on the second one until after she got her first paycheck.

She felt Kent’s eyes on her. Thoughtfully, he asked, “You were wanting two, right?” When she replied with a hesitant nod, he drew a hand across his chin. “This is actually a closeout model. With the newer ones expected any day now, we need to clear out shelf space. I’ll sell you the second light for half price.”

Erin brightened. “Really? That would be great!” If things went well, she could have the lights installed before she picked up Avery from school. And maybe tonight she’d actually get a full night’s sleep instead of tossing and turning and listening for every little sound.

* * *

What was it about this woman? Clenching his teeth, Kent tucked two of the security light kits under his arm and strode toward the cash register. Good thing ol’ Ben Zipp, the store’s penny-pinching owner, wasn’t in this morning. Kent hadn’t lied about a newer model coming out—this manufacturer typically updated the line every year—but there’d been no catalog info as yet.

As for the discounted price? Kent would have to ring it up as quoted and then make the correction after Erin left the store. He’d make up the difference out of his own pocket. And maybe settle for PB&J for lunch at home instead of stopping for a sub sandwich at the supermarket deli.

He keyed in the purchase and stated the total. “Cash, check or charge?”

“Check.” Erin tugged out her wallet. “I know hardly anybody writes checks anymore, but it helps me keep to my budget.”

He understood about tight finances. “No problem, as long as you have some ID.”

“Yes, of course.” She handed him a check along with her driver’s license.

Frowning, Kent compared the information. The driver’s license showed a Dallas address, but the check indicated she lived in San Antonio. “Uh, which is it?”

“Oh. Neither.” A blush brightened the dusting of freckles across her cheeks. “I used to live in Dallas, but then I moved in with my brother in San Antonio for a short time, and now I live in Juniper Bluff. With my daughter. We just moved here last weekend actually. We’re still getting settled.”

“I get it. All this changeover stuff takes time.” Kent had strict instructions from his boss about check acceptance, though, and conflicting addresses definitely put this one on the questionable list. “Do you have any other form of ID? Something showing your current place of residence would be best.”

Erin plopped her purse on the counter and began rummaging through it. “How about this?” She pulled out a creased and crumpled paper, smoothed out the page and turned it to face Kent. “I just got this from the post office confirming my change of address.”

“That’ll work.” Kent entered the payment in the register. While the receipt printed out, he slid the light kits into a large plastic shopping bag. “All set.”

“Thanks.” Scooping up her purse and the bag, Erin mumbled, “Now I just have to figure out how to install them.”

Kent figured he’d regret this, but the look on her pretty elfin face was quickly banishing all reason. “If you need some help, I moonlight as a handyman.”

“I’m sure I can manage.” Her shaky smile said otherwise. “These come with directions, right? How hard can it be?”

“How much do you know about electric wiring?”

Her shrug said, Not much.

“Seriously, I work cheap.” Not really. He was saving for that bull after all. So why was he going off the rails to help a complete stranger? “My shift ends at noon. Why don’t I come by and at least walk you through it? I don’t want you getting electrocuted or anything.”

At the word electrocuted, Erin’s face paled. She set the bag back on the counter. “The thing is, a handyman currently isn’t in my budget. If these are that complicated to install, then I should probably—”

“How are you at making sandwiches?”

“What?”

“Sandwiches. Bread, mayo, a slice or two of cold cuts?” He’d kick himself later, but the thought of this tiny woman playing with live electric wires while standing on a wobbly stepladder... Not happening on his watch. “What I’m saying is, I’ll trade you an hour or so of security light installation for whatever you’ve got on hand for lunch.”

Lips pressed together, Erin eyed him doubtfully. “You’d actually do that, after I already inconvenienced you by trespassing on your property and requiring a horseback ride to my car?”

“Consider it my way of welcoming a Juniper Bluff newcomer.” People had certainly been helpful to Kent when he’d first moved here ten years ago with little more than a dream and his VA loan. Almost everything he knew about cattle ranching he’d learned through the kindness of strangers—a few who had quickly become friends. Thankfully, most didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t much of a socializer.

One of the best of them was walking in the door right now. Kent nodded to Seth Austin, part owner and manager of Serenity Hills Guest Ranch. “Be right with you, Seth.”

The lanky cowboy tugged off his Stetson and ran a hand through his hair. “No hurry. I’ll be over here in Plumbing.”

Kent turned back to Erin. “So are we on for lunch?” Yikes, that sounded way too much like a date.

“Only if you’re sure.” She fingered the plastic bag.

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have offered.” Truth be told, he wasn’t all that sure, but he wouldn’t back out now. “Let me see your post office form again so I can get the address.”

Once he’d copied the information into his phone, Erin gathered up her purchase. On her way to the door, she thanked him several times and promised to have lunch ready a few minutes after twelve.

Before he forgot, Kent made the adjustments to the sales record and chipped in the difference for the second security light. Pushover, his inner voice taunted. He’d have to make up some excuse to explain why part of the purchase was made with a check and the rest in cash.

Ambling down the plumbing aisle, he met up with Seth in front of a bathroom faucet display. “Looking to replace something?”

“Yeah, we’re continuing to update cabins.” Seth tried the handle of one of the faucets. “So who’s your pretty new customer?” he asked with a grin. “And did I actually overhear confirmed bachelor Kent Ritter making a date?”

A nervous chuckle rumbled in Kent’s throat. “It’s not like that. She’s just somebody new in town. I’m going to help her install security lights.”

“She wouldn’t be Greg O’Grady’s sister, would she? I heard he bought Diana Matthews’s house for her—well, Diana Willoughby now, since she and Tripp got married.”

“Wouldn’t know. Her name’s Erin Dearborn.”

“That sounds right. She’s had a pretty rough time. Greg’s helping her get a new start.”

Kent had heard about Greg O’Grady and the San Antonio charitable organization that hosted the camps at Seth’s guest ranch. If Erin was Greg’s sister, Kent worried a whole lot less about the risks of accepting her check.

“What kind of a rough time?” he asked.

“Bad marriage, complicated divorce—that’s all I know.” Seth examined another faucet. “Would you have three of these in stock?”

Kent found two boxes on a lower shelf, then had to run to the back for the third. Seth met him up front at the checkout and added a couple of pipe fittings and a roll of plumber’s tape to his purchase. Kent ran Seth’s credit card and bagged the items.

Seth slapped on his Stetson. “Pretty clear what I’ll be doing the rest of the day.”

Guilt niggled at Kent’s nape. If he weren’t so stubbornly single-minded, he’d be doing some fixing up of his own. “Say,” he began, “know anything about this Juniper Bluff sesquicentennial thing?”

“Yeah, they’re planning some big doings for next year. My grandparents are on the committee.”

“Is your ranch one of the historical sites?”

Chuckling, Seth shook his head. “Serenity Hills has been around awhile, but not a hundred and fifty years. Which is too bad, because being declared a historical site means a sizable discount on property taxes.” He cocked his head. “Hey, you own the old Gilliam place. Have you checked to see if it qualifies?”

“I, uh...heard it might.” Tax savings? Yep, this definitely bore looking into. “Any problems with those faucets, let me know.”

“Thanks.” Seth winked as he picked up his purchases. “Gotta get going. You have a nice lunch date with Erin.”

“It’s not a—”

Too late. Seth had already breezed out the door.

* * *

At five minutes after twelve, Kent climbed into his grimy tan pickup parked behind the store. With only two more customers after Seth left, the morning had crept by, which meant Kent had plenty of time to mull over Seth’s parting words: sizable discount on property taxes. How could he turn up his nose at anything that could help him keep the ranch going? Sesquicentennial tour? Bring it on.

On the other hand, fixing up the place wouldn’t be cheap, and then he’d have to deal with all those people traipsing through his house. Maybe not such a great trade-off after all.

Yep, he needed to think on this awhile.

And then there was Erin Dearborn, yet another disruption, albeit a pretty one, to his comfortable, quiet life. Sooner than he was prepared for, he pulled into her driveway. The garage door stood open, and a blue Camry sat inside, the trunk lid raised. As he stepped from the pickup, he glimpsed several cardboard boxes in the trunk.

The house door opened, and Erin appeared alongside the car. “Oh, you’re here already. Sorry, I was just moving in a few more of my things.”

“You say that a lot,” Kent observed, striding toward her.

She cast him a questioning frown. “What, that I’m still moving in?”

“No, that you’re sorry. It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize all the time.”

“I didn’t realize I did that. I’m sor—” She stopped herself with a hand to her lips, and for a moment Kent thought she might start crying. Then a strangled chuckle burst from her throat. Blue eyes twinkling, she hiked her chin. “In that case, I’m not sorry. Not one bit.”

Kent grinned. Did she have any idea how irresistible that smile was? Except he had every intention of resisting. How many times did he have to remind himself this wasn’t a social call? He nodded toward the trunk. “All these go inside?”

“Yes, but I’ll get them later. You’re probably ready for lunch, and I’m sure you’d rather get started with those lights so you can be on your way.”

“No hurry,” Kent heard himself saying, as if a complete stranger had taken over his body. He hefted one of the boxes from the trunk, only to risk his knees buckling at the unexpected weight. “What’s in here—boulders for your rock collection?”

Erin reached out to steady the load. “Oh, sorry—I mean—”

Kent felt downright sorry to think Erin’s lousy marriage could be the reason she seemed so unsure of herself. “It’s okay. Just show me where you want this.”

With a tight nod, she spun around and held the door for him. They stepped into a brightly lit kitchen, and he followed her into the adjoining family room.

She motioned toward a half-filled bookcase. “That’s more books, so right here on the floor is fine.”

The box hit the floor with a thud. How in the world had a petite woman like Erin figured to lift a box that heavy by herself? Kent straightened to ease his back. “Why don’t you get started on lunch while I bring in the rest of those boxes?”

Before she could protest, Kent shot her a no-arguments smile and tramped back out to the garage. By the time he’d carried in the last of her packed belongings, the savory aromas of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches had him salivating. Erin directed him to the powder room so he could wash up, and when he returned to the kitchen, she’d set two places for them at a small dinette.

“Fancy,” Kent murmured as he took in the teal straw place mats, napkins folded just so and the sandwiches cut into four neat triangles surrounding each soup bowl. An intricately woven twig basket, slightly larger than the one he’d seen her making yesterday, graced the center of the table and held an assortment of fresh fruit.

Erin gripped one of the chair backs. “Did I forget anything? Would you rather have something besides water to drink?”

“Water’s fine. And it all looks great.” Amazing, in fact. Unaccustomed to dining in such style, Kent had the sudden urge to do the gentlemanly thing and get Erin’s chair for her.

She didn’t give him the chance. Scooting into the seat, she motioned for him to do the same. “Would you like to say grace?”

“I, uh...” Kent swallowed something hard in his throat. Probably a chunk of his hardened heart, the result of seeing too much action in Afghanistan.

“I understand if you’d rather not.” She smiled as she smoothed her napkin across her lap. “Please, go ahead and eat.”

As he picked up a sandwich triangle, Erin dipped her chin, eyes closed in a moment of silence. He waited respectfully until she looked up. “My turn to apologize,” he murmured. “It’s been a long time since I did any praying.”

“It’s okay. ‘Called or not called, God is present.’” Erin dipped her spoon into her soup and blew gently across the surface.

Kent pondered the words as he took another bite of his sandwich. “Is that a quote from somebody?”

“I don’t know the source, but it’s always given me comfort.” Her gaze shifted toward the window. “There have been plenty of times when I doubted God’s presence. It’s reassuring to know His love and constancy don’t depend on my belief.”

Something else Kent would have to think on for a while. But not today. Best to get through this meal, take care of those security lights and head for home. He still had fences to fix and cattle to tend—things that made sense to him, unlike God and women and anything else that threatened his safe little world.

* * *

Bracing the stepladder with one hand, Erin passed Kent a screwdriver. After a few quick turns, he had the second of the security lights installed, this one over the backyard patio. Before they began, Erin had glanced at the directions. If she had tried to install the lights on her own, she’d still be at step one and utterly confused.

“Almost done,” Kent said. “Pass me up the bulbs and we’ll make sure everything’s working.”

Erin reached into the box at her feet and handed him the floodlight bulbs one at a time. Once he’d screwed them in, he gave her the go-ahead to flip the switch at the breaker box. By the time she returned from the garage, Kent had his tools packed up and the ladder folded.

“Working fine,” he said. “I’ve set the detection zones for both the front and rear fixtures. After it gets dark, anything larger than your neighbor’s cat should trigger the sensor and turn on the lights. Any problems, let me know and I’ll come back to make some adjustments.”

“Thank you. Really, thank you so much.” Erin walked with him around the side of the house to his pickup. As he shoved his toolbox into the space behind the driver’s seat, she said, “Please let me pay you something, though. Lunch hardly seems like a fair trade.”

“Are you kidding?” Kent laughed in a way that made her insides all tingly. “Haven’t eaten so fancy since my last trip home when my mom cooked for me.”

“Where’s home?” Erin asked, realizing she wasn’t particularly anxious for him to leave.

“Tulsa, Oklahoma. My dad has a car dealership there.” Hefting the stepladder, Kent moved around to the pickup bed and laid it inside.

Admiring the way his biceps flexed beneath the sleeves of his Zipp’s Hardware polo shirt, Erin gave herself a mental shake. “Never been to Tulsa. Is it nice?”

“Pretty country, if you can stand the blazing summers and the likelihood of winter ice storms or the occasional blizzard.”

“Is the weather why you moved to Texas?”

A faraway look in his eyes, Kent braced one hip against the side of the truck. “Just always wanted to go into ranching, and when I found the right place at the right price... Well, here I am.” With a smirk, he pivoted to climb in behind the wheel. “And now I’m off to work my cattle. Like I said, call if you have any problems.”

Watching him drive away, Erin sighed as she fingered the Zipp’s Hardware business card he’d given her after jotting his personal cell phone number on the back. She liked Kent Ritter. Liked him a lot. If a man as nice as Kent had come along before she’d met Payne, her life could have turned out a whole lot differently.

Maybe.

Or maybe not. Because she’d had a lot of growing up to do since then, and still had a ways to go. Kent’s words from earlier this afternoon played through her thoughts. You don’t have to apologize all the time. That was the people-pleaser side of her again, making her think the only way to be liked or accepted—or loved—was to continually put others’ needs before her own.

But wasn’t that biblical? Paul wrote in Romans that Christians mustn’t think more highly of themselves than they ought, being kind to one another and putting others first. Jesus Himself said, But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.

Instinctively, Erin’s hand went to her cheek. She could still feel the sting of the last time Payne had slapped her. Her breath quickened. Her heart slammed against her breastbone.

Never again.

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