Loe raamatut: «Rodeo Sweetheart»

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.