Читать онлайн книгу «Accidental Hero» автора Loralee Lillibridge

Accidental Hero
Loralee Lillibridge
HE'D COME TO CLAIM HER HEART…But he didn't seem to have one of his own. Yet from his midnight-black hair down to his dusty cowboy boots, Bo Ramsey still radiated sexiness. Months ago he'd left without saying goodbye, on the arm of another woman, but now he was back, as seductive as ever though broken in body and spirit. But since he'd disappointed Abby once before, she told herself that Bo's troubles were none of her concern….Yes, that's what she told herself. Until Bo turned up on her doorstep, with a plea for forgiveness and a look of such love in his eyes that she stopped listening to the voice in her head and started hearing the one in her heart….



“Stop. Just stop it. I don’t want to hear any more.”
Abby jumped down off the tailgate and started for the front of the truck.
Bo’s hand snaked out and captured her arm with one swoop, drawing her back. “It’s the honest-to-God truth, Abby. If I’d wanted to make up a story, I sure as hell wouldn’t cast myself as the villain.”
She hesitated, then reached up and placed her fingertips on his face, against his scars. He could barely feel the butterfly-soft touch of her caress but wanted to fall to his knees in gratitude when he felt Abby’s body soften against his. Restraint, good judgment, rational thought—hell, everything sensible—collapsed, and he was hit by a longing so acute, the intensity of it staggered him.
God help him, he had to kiss her. Just once.
Dear Reader,
If you’re eagerly anticipating holiday gifts we can start you off on the right foot, with six compelling reads by authors established and new. Consider it a somewhat early Christmas, Chanukah or Kwanzaa present!
The gifting begins with another in USA TODAY bestselling author Susan Mallery’s DESERT ROGUES series. In The Sheik and the Virgin Secretary a spurned assistant decides the only way to get over a soured romance is to start a new one—with her prince of a boss (literally). Crystal Green offers the last installment of MOST LIKELY TO…with Past Imperfect, in which we finally learn the identity of the secret benefactor—as well as Rachel James’s parentage. Could the two be linked? In Under the Mistletoe, Kristin Hardy’s next HOLIDAY HEARTS offering, a by-the-book numbers cruncher is determined to liquidate a grand New England hotel…until she meets the handsome hotel manager determined to restore it to its glory days—and capture her heart in the process! Don’t miss Her Special Charm, next up in Marie Ferrarella’s miniseries THE CAMEO. This time the finder of the necklace is a gruff New York police detective—surely he can’t be destined to find love with its Southern belle of an owner, can he? In Diary of a Domestic Goddess by Elizabeth Harbison, a woman who is close to losing her job, her dream house and her livelihood finds she might be able to keep all three—if she can get close to her hotshot new boss who’s annoyingly irresistible. And please welcome brand-new author Loralee Lillibridge—her debut book, Accidental Hero, features a bad boy come home, this time with scars, an apology—and a determination to win back the woman he left behind!
So celebrate! We wish all the best of everything this holiday season and in the New Year to come.
Happy reading,
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor

Accidental Hero
Loralee Lillibridge

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

LORALEE LILLIBRIDGE
grew up in Texas loving cowboys and rodeos, but relocated to Michigan after her marriage to a handsome Yankee who stole her heart. She still favors country love songs, and seeing a field of Texas bluebonnets can make her cry, but she admits the west Michigan lakeshore has a special beauty all its own. She enjoys writing heartwarming stories about ordinary people and extraordinary love.
Loralee is former president and founding member of the Mid-Michigan Chapter of Romance Writers of America. You can write to Loralee at P.O. Box 140095, Walker, MI 49514-0095 or visit her Web site at www.loraleelillibridge.com.
Dedicated to my wonderful husband, children
and grandchildren whose belief in me is amazing.
I’m so blessed to have your love and support.
Special thanks to my awesome critique group—
Nancy Gideon, Laurie Kuna, Dana Nussio, Connie Smith
and Vicki Schab. You’ve been the wind beneath my
wings. I couldn’t have done this without you.
My admiration and deep appreciation to Jeri Wilks,
director of Therapeutic Horsemanship of West Michigan
(THWM), all the volunteers and especially the students
whose courage and determination inspired this story.
Any inaccuracies about the program are unintentional
and entirely the fault of this author.

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 One
“Bo Ramsey’s back.”
The shock of her father’s words riveted Abby Houston to the spot where she stood at the kitchen sink, up to her elbows in dishwater. It took a minute for the words to sink in. When they did, she gripped the counter with soapy hands and waited for her heart rate to return to normal before she spoke.
“What did you say, Pop?” Surely she’d heard him wrong. That name had been censored from their conversation for almost two years. Hearing it now sent her stomach spiraling in a swirl of unwanted sensations. She hated experiencing symptoms that smacked of weakness; she prided herself on being strong enough to close the door on her past. Now, it seemed her strength was about to be tested again.
She held her breath as Buck Houston crossed the room to stand next to her, sympathy written all over his aged face.
“Just thought you should know, kitten. I ran into Shorty Packer down at the feed mill earlier this morning. Said Bo’s staying with him out at his ranch. Been there more’n a week already.”
“I…I suppose he has a right to come back. He always did as he pleased.” Abby grabbed for a towel and busied her hands, angry because she couldn’t stop them from trembling. She was determined to keep that bit of emotion hidden from Pop’s scrutiny.
Buck snorted. “If you ask me, he’d be a heap smarter if he stayed away. Nobody in these parts will be too happy to see him again.” His arm went around his daughter’s shoulder in a comforting embrace.
“Have you seen him?” She couldn’t keep her voice steady. Where was the nonchalance she’d been practicing for so long? She blinked away angry tears.
Buck shook his head. “Nope, and I don’t want to, either. Got no use for the likes of him. You stop fretting, Abby-girl. Chances are that cowboy won’t be around long enough for your paths to cross. I just didn’t want you to be surprised when you heard it in town. You know how Sweet River folks love a good gossip. I’m surprised Shorty’s managed to keep the news a secret this long.”
Abby leaned against Buck’s chest and let him hold her the way he’d done so many times during her growing-up years. There’d been just the two of them ever since she was twelve. Lord knows, he’d done his best to be both mother and father to her. She knew the real reason he fought to hang on to the often unproductive ranch was because of her. She’d watched him struggle to provide for her, often at great expense to himself. She understood his sacrifice and loved him dearly for always being her champion.
Somehow, they’d survived those lean years. How ironic that now, she was the one trying to keep the wolf from the door. There were a dozen students in the equine therapy program she directed, as well as inquiries from interested out-of-town parents. Her determination to ease the load on Pop’s shoulders was the motivation behind her drive to succeed. Bo Ramsey and her past were no longer important.
“Don’t worry about me, Pop. I’ll be fine. I’m sure Bo won’t try to see me. Why should he?” Her voice was soft and husky, its quiver hinting at the panic hovering just beneath the surface of her self-control.
“Abby, I wish….”
“Don’t, Pop. Don’t even start, okay? That was a long time ago and best forgotten.” She pulled away and started for the back door, grabbing her hat from the wall hook on her way out. “Let’s get the chores done before I go to town. I don’t have any students today, but I promised IdaJoy I would help during the lunch rush. Saturdays are the café’s busiest days.”
Abby was halfway to the barn before Buck caught up with her.

“Bo Ramsey’s back.”
For the second time that day, the impact of those words slammed Abby’s heart against her ribs. With a calmness that was a total sham, she concentrated on making her legs carry her across the room to the nearest stool at the lunch counter.
The Blue Moon Café was empty except for IdaJoy Sparks, sole owner of the local diner and main information center for the entire community of Sweet River, Texas, population not quite a thousand people on a good day. IdaJoy’s announcement, made the minute Abby walked in the door, came as no surprise. Still, Abby was grateful there were no others around to witness her moment of weakness.
She thought she’d prepared herself for this. Knew IdaJoy would confront her with the juicy gossip. Didn’t need the questions that were bound to be asked.
“I know,” Abby said, as soon as she could breathe normally.
“You do?” IdaJoy’s voice screeched up a whole octave at the end of her sentence. She had a unique way of sounding like an angry blue jay when she got excited—which was most of the time.
Abby put a death grip on the cup of coffee the waitress shoved in front of her. Her hands were shaking so hard, she didn’t dare try to lift it to her lips yet.
IdaJoy snapped her gum between her back molars loud enough to rattle windows and arched her penciled eyebrows at Abby.
Abby nodded. “Pop told me this morning, but there’s no reason for me to—”
“Land sakes, hon,” the woman interrupted. She reached across the counter to pat Abby’s arm. “Of course, there’s reason. Why, everybody in town figured you two as practically married before he up and ran off with that—that Marla person.”
She popped her chewing gum again and smoothed her lacquered beehive hairdo. “By the way, how do you like my new color?” She swiveled around to present Abby with the full view. “It’s called Bustin’ Out Blond. Thought it was time for a change. Life’s gettin’ way too boring.” Without waiting for Abby to comment, IdaJoy grabbed a cup of coffee for herself and came around to sit on the stool next to Abby.
Eager to get on with the gossip session, the woman’s chatter never slowed down long enough for Abby to change the subject. IdaJoy could jump from one thought to another without batting a mascaraed eyelash. Sometimes it was hard to keep up.
“I declare, I never thought Bo would do such a thing,” she said, her blond beehive wobbling precariously with each shake of her head. “Men! Fickle, fickle, fickle. What that cowboy ever saw in her is beyond me. She was always a troublemaker for her Uncle Shorty, you know, ever since he took her in. Remember…” IdaJoy stopped midsentence and eyed Abby sharply. “You all right, honey? You look a teensy bit peaked. Want some water?”
“I’m fine,” Abby assured her with a weak smile.
“You sure you feel like waitin’ tables today, hon? You skipped breakfast, didn’t you? Now, you stay right where you are and I’ll go fix you some toast. Back in a jiffy.”
With another motherly pat to Abby’s shoulder, the woman sailed away in a swirl of heavy musk perfume, leaving Abby sitting there, staring at the cup still clutched in her hands, too numb to answer. Too weak to stop the flood of memories.
The first time she’d ever seen Bo Ramsey, he was a newly hired hand for the spring roundup on Shorty Packer’s ranch and the best-looking cowboy ever to stroll down the streets of Sweet River. His skill with horses and expert riding ability soon gained him the respect of the other Packer ranch hands, but the female population of Sweet River, Texas, admired him for very different reasons. His smoke-black eyes and X-rated smile put fantasies in the minds of every woman in town over the age of sixteen, and Abby was no exception.
Shorty’s niece, Marla, lived on the Packer ranch and had wanted Bo right from the beginning, so it was no surprise to see her work her wiles on the good-looking cowboy. Marla always wanted to be first, no matter what the prize. She collected men like most women in Sweet River collected recipes.
The big shocker came several weeks later, when Bo delivered a young steer to Buck Houston’s ranch and met Abby face-to-face. Intense didn’t begin to describe the immediate attraction that caught them both by surprise. Faster than the speed of small-town gossip, their relationship catapulted beyond anything either one had ever imagined or hoped for. By early summer, the entire town, including Abby herself, expected wedding bells to ring in the near future, even though no promises had been spoken. Then Bo had announced he was leaving to make a career in the rodeo circuit. Riding, especially the challenge of bull-riding, had always been in his blood. He knew he was good and had wanted Abby to share in his success. Abby had tried to make Bo understand that her father needed her on the ranch. She couldn’t leave. Not with the ranch’s finances finally beginning to climb out of the red. She didn’t dare leave the bookkeeping to her father’s hard-to-follow system. His simple belief that everything would eventually take care of itself was the very thing that got the ranch in trouble in the first place. Buck Houston knew ranching, but was too easy-going to worry about crunching numbers. Besides, she considered rodeo life too risky. She wanted stability in a marriage. And a family. They argued, fought, made love and argued some more. In the end, neither one surrendered. And in the blink of an eye, Abby’s whole life changed.
Even now, there was no way to describe the crushing pain Abby felt at Bo’s betrayal. He left in late August without saying goodbye, but Marla made sure the whole town knew what a wonderful father Bo was going to make. That bit of information was the final blow that had shattered Abby’s heart. Never again would she believe in ever after.
She looked at her shaking hands, dismayed that those bittersweet memories still posed a threat to her carefully monitored emotions. Anger at herself for allowing such a thing to happen burned deep inside her chest.
“Now, eat up, hon.” IdaJoy pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen with well-curved, swaying hips, a plate of wheat toast and homemade strawberry jam in one hand, coffeepot in the other. She placed both in front of Abby, then frowned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She leaned across the counter and lowered her voice. “I guess maybe that’d be the case, if you saw Bo again, huh? I hear he looks a whole lot different now. That’s what Louie LittleBear told me, and he should know.”
Abby forced her thoughts back to the present. “Different? Oh, well, it’s been two years, after all. We all look…”
“I’m talking real different, like Louie almost didn’t recognize him at first. Saw him when he took some feed out to Shorty’s place. Bo was in the barn, but hurried off without so much as a howdy when Louie said ‘Hey.’ Shorty was the one who told him Bo was staying there. Didn’t say why, though.” Her eyes widened. “You reckon Marla’s there, too…with their kid? Louie said he didn’t see ’em. What else did Buck tell you?”
IdaJoy’s penchant for gossip was tempered by her honest concern for the people she loved, and Abby knew the older woman cared about her. It was just so awkward, being the object of sympathetic looks and whispers in a town the size of Sweet River. Everybody knew everything about everyone and nothing was sacred. She should be used to it by now, but it still stung a bit.
“Only that Bo is staying at the ranch for a while. Shorty didn’t offer any other information.” Abby was proud of the way she managed to keep her voice from faltering. With IdaJoy hanging on her every word, the woman would no doubt latch on to the very first sign of nerves and blow it all out of proportion. Good thing she couldn’t hear the rata-tat-tat of Abby’s heartbeat right then.
IdaJoy hugged Abby’s shoulder right before she rose. “Well, hon, you just make sure you hold your head up and don’t you be feeling bad. No sir. You’ve done all right for yourself, even without a man.”
And that’s supposed to make me feel better? Abby stood and made her wobbly way to the kitchen, right behind IdaJoy. Work—that’s what she needed to take her mind off the past. She yanked a blue denim apron from the shelf and tied it around her waist, then grabbed an order book and pencil. Shoulders squared and chin jutting, she prepared to forget about Bo Ramsey one more time.
The Saturday noon crowd at the Blue Moon was a noisy, hungry bunch of locals. Most of them were ranchers and every last one of them knew Abby. They remembered Bo, too, and the majority of them already knew he was back in town. One out of every three old-timers managed to make some pointed comment about him to Abby. Not that she was counting or anything.
When the last of the diners left, Abby heaved a sigh of relief. Finally. Her face ached from keeping a false smile pasted on it for the last two hours. Maintaining a who cares attitude while she dodged all the probing questions had strained her self-control to the limit. Hadn’t anyone in town forgotten that humiliating episode in her life?
She was clearing off the last table when the growl of a truck slewing into the graveled parking lot caught her attention. Through the slatted blinds of the front window, she saw Shorty Packer heading for the café. Abby’s pulse stuttered. Behind Shorty another cowboy followed, his hesitant gait somewhat unnatural and one-sided, the set of his shoulders much too familiar. Abby watched him yank his hat low, obscuring his face, but she knew…oh, God, she knew.
With her hands pressed to her chest, she felt her heart take off in a marathon race. Her mouth went dry. Her face grew hot. She closed her eyes and imparted a silent prayer. Lord, please don’t let me make a fool of myself.
For the first time in two years, the man who had loved her and left her was almost close enough to touch. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or call 9-1-1.
With a nod, Shorty said “Howdy” and headed for the lunch counter, but Bo remained motionless in the middle of the room, his face shadowed beneath his wide-brimmed hat. Abby knew he’d recognized her by the sharp intake of his breath. Not being able to see his eyes didn’t keep the heat of his gaze from igniting a high-voltage intimacy that sizzled straight into her raw-edged senses. His very presence caused her breath to catch in her throat and created a weakness in her knees and that produced an acute longing that both terrified and dismayed her.
Her own gaze drank in his shape swiftly. His body was thinner, harder than she recalled, yet every bit as seductive as it had always been. A missing button caused his wash-softened denim shirt to gap just enough to reveal the white T-shirt stretched taut across his chest. Hard-muscled arms, so achingly familiar in rolled-up sleeves, evoked images she tried desperately to push away. Everything about him tore at her heart. Those low-slung, faded jeans hugging his hips and long legs. The same well-worn boots that had—just once—been hastily discarded by the side of her bed.
A tiny gasp escaped her lips as bittersweet memories flashed in instant replay. She didn’t need to see Bo’s face to remember. Dark, smoky eyes. A mouth that could pleasure her with slow, burning kisses and coax her body into a hot, pliable mass of desire. Midnight-black hair she could almost feel sliding between her fingers, grasping it as the final shudder of ecstacy claimed her. Oh, God, why was she doing this? Why couldn’t she make herself forget?
She licked her lips and searched for something to say. Before she could find words, he turned. She heard him swear when he bumped the corner of a table, nearly falling in his rush for the door. She watched him limp away, shoving chairs aside and slamming the door behind him. How ironic that after all this time, Bo Ramsey was still in a hurry to leave her. And the pain in her heart was still the same.
Gravel spit and gears groaned as the pickup spun out of the parking lot. Shorty just watched the dust settle, then eased himself onto a red vinyl-covered stool at the end of the counter.
“Damn fool ain’t supposed to be driving yet.” He shrugged. “Guess I shoulda’ told him you might be here.”
Abby wondered if her heart would ever return to normal. With shaking hands, she concentrated on pouring Shorty’s coffee into a thick, white mug. She managed to get most of it where it belonged. The rest she wiped up with a cloth.
Shorty looked at her over the rim of his half-full cup. “You knew he was back, didn’t you?”
She nodded, trying to ignore the way her pulse was thrumming. She didn’t trust her voice enough to speak just yet.
“Well, hell’s bells, girl, ain’t you gonna say something?” He plunked his cup back on the counter, skewered her with his gaze.
Abby swallowed around the lump in her throat. Her eyes stung and she blinked hard to hold back the tears.
“What do you want me to say, Shorty?” She could barely squeak out a whisper. “That was a rotten thing to do,” she said, swiping at an invisible stain on the already spotless counter one more time.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” the old cowboy said. “Ain’t you got nothin’ to say about how he looked?”
“Looked? He was in such a hurry to get out of here, I barely saw him.” Oh, my heart saw him, though.
“Aw, girl, that boy’s had a terrible time of it. He’s come back to stay with me at the ranch until he’s done healing. Had a run-in with a nasty bull at a rodeo back in February. Lucky to be alive and walking. Only thing is, he ain’t used to people lookin’ at his face yet. I’m surprised you didn’t notice the scars.”
Abby sucked in her breath when a pain sharper than a razor’s cut sliced through her heart. So that’s the reason for the low-tipped hat. She gripped the edge of the counter, leaned against it for support. “Tell me what happened.”
Shorty took a swallow of what was left of his coffee and dug around in his pocket for a cigarette. Abby frowned at him hard enough to make him put it back. He fished out a wooden toothpick instead and tongued it to the side of his mouth, set his hat on the stool beside him and rested his elbows on the counter.
“Bo was in Dallas when I got a call from one of his rodeo buddies that he’d been busted up pretty good and was in the hospital there. I figured Marla was with him, but his friend said she’d already been there and gone, so I drove up there to see what the hell was goin’ on.”
He set his toothpick aside and blew on his already cold coffee, sipping it so slowly, Abby thought her hair would turn gray before he ever finished the story. When he lifted the plastic cover of the pastry display, she gave an impatient sigh and slapped her hand over his. “Shorty, please. Tell me the rest.”
He withdrew his hand with a shrug, picked up his toothpick and tapped it on the counter. “You know, the people at the hospital told me the doctors did all they could in surgery. Bo’s leg and face were the worst off. Had some busted ribs, too. A messed-up cowboy but lucky to be alive, even if he don’t walk so good. I couldn’t stay with him no longer, so I came on back here and kept in touch by phone, ya’ know.” He lifted his cup, drained it noisily before he continued.
“He stayed in the hospital a long time before he was transferred to some kind of therapy clinic. When he got done with the treatment there, he phoned me. Said he didn’t have no place to go and asked if I could come and get him.” Shorty heaved a sigh and closed his eyes as if remembering. “I wasn’t about to let him down.”
Abby fought the tremors coursing through her body. Hearing about the accident made her blood run cold. Even though she had just seen Bo with her own eyes, it was hard to believe he’d survived what Shorty had just described.
“You mentioned his face. I wasn’t able to see it when he came in. What’s wrong with his face?” A sudden urge to grab Shorty by the collar and insist he talk faster forced Abby to grab her own hands instead and clasp them tight.
“Well, he’s got some powerful scars,” Shorty drawled. “That bull made a mess of his face. The doc did what he could. Hell, he was the best plastic surgeon around, but he couldn’t give Bo back his good looks. He don’t look so awful, though. Just, uh, different.”
Abby caught Shorty watching her with a cautious eye while he kept on reciting his tale.
“That’s what Bo can’t accept, ya’ see. People stare at him and he can’t stand their pity. That’s why I brought him back here. Figured he could stay out at the ranch with me until he decides what he’s gonna do with the rest of his life. Truth is, Abby, he says he ain’t gonna ride the circuit again because of his crooked leg. And besides, he’s broke. Somebody’s gotta take care of him.”
“Well, where’s that high-falutin’ niece of yours…and their kid?” IdaJoy never minced words. “Why isn’t she here takin’ care of her man?”
Abby was relieved when IdaJoy asked what she hadn’t dared.
“Well now, I’m thinking that’s Bo’s business,” Shorty said.
“Nothin’ good ever comes from hiding the truth,” IdaJoy pointed out. She waggled her finger at Shorty.
Shorty shrugged. “Maybe so, but that’s Bo’s tale to tell, not mine. Right now, I’d be much obliged for a big bowl of your five-alarm chili. Oh, and how about puttin’ some in one of those take-along cartons? For Bo. Then I’ve got to find me a ride home.” He shot a hopeful glance toward Abby.
She hesitated when IdaJoy shot a disapproving look her way, knowing if she offered, she’d risk seeing Bo again. But then again if she didn’t, she would regret it later.
“I’ll be finished here in about half an hour. If you want to wait, I’ll take you back to the ranch.” Abby turned to head for the kitchen and bumped smack into IdaJoy, who stood there with her hands on her hips, snapping her gum and shaking her beehive hairdo.
“Oh, you are so asking for it, Abby Houston.”
Abby frowned. “Yeah, you’re probably right, but…” But what? her conscience asked innocently, as her heart danced a Texas two-step.
Shorty grinned like he’d just won the lottery.

Chapter Two
Abby’s pulse raced much too fast as she sped down the farm-to-market road with Shorty in the passenger side of her car. Her entire nervous system had been scrambled ever since Bo showed up at the café. Had it really been only a little over an hour since she’d seen him? Felt his presence? Nearly let her heart be bruised again? She took deep breaths and tried to concentrate on driving, even though the way to the Packer ranch was so familiar she didn’t need to watch the road. Some things you never forgot. Even when you tried.
Her damp palms were slick on the steering wheel and she swiped them across the front of her cotton shirt, one at a time. She had to swallow hard to keep the uneasy churning in the pit of her stomach from bringing her lunch back for reruns. The stifling afternoon heat kept her on the edge of nervous nausea. One of these days, she’d have enough money saved to repair the car’s broken air conditioner. Even with the windows lowered, the interior of the six-year-old Taurus was frying-pan hot. Right now, she had other things to think about.
When they’d left the Blue Moon twenty minutes earlier, Abby had made up her mind to stop when they reached the ranch, let Shorty out of the car and head right on home. She didn’t need to get out. Didn’t need to see Bo or anyone else that might be around. No need at all. Oh, right. Like that was going to keep her mind from slipping back to times and places best left undisturbed.
But undisturbed memories are like treasures stored away in dusty attics—often uncovered by accident and brought out to linger over. To cherish once again. So Abby blew the dust off her memories and drifted back to the time when Bo was the center of her universe—her reason for being.
Glorious. That’s what the time with him had been. He’d made her feel cherished. Special in a way she’d never felt before. She’d been swept off her feet and had fallen hopelessly in love. She’d believed he felt the same. Then he’d left without saying goodbye, and her world suddenly had become a black hole.
When she finally emerged from the darkness of heartbreak, anger took its place with an intensity that had almost destroyed her. Desperate to forget, but with a stubborn Texas pride too strong to let her give up, she’d focused on survival, facing the sympathetic looks of the community with her head held high. She’d believed her heartache had faded. Until now.
Her foot mashed harder on the gas pedal and the ribbon of highway blurred beneath tires she should’ve replaced last month.
“You tryin’ to get a speeding ticket or what?” Shorty snapped, his bushy eyebrows knit together in a gray scowl.
Abby checked the numbers on the speedometer and jerked her foot from its rigid position. “Sorry, guess I wasn’t watching.”
The old rancher stuck his toothpick back in his shirt pocket and drummed his fingers on his knee. He crossed and uncrossed his stubby legs, squirming around in the seat like a toddler with a bladder problem.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, guess you’ve got reason enough to have a wandering mind, seein’ Bo again and all.”
“Ramsey’s return is no concern of mine.” Abby shot him a sideways glance just in time to catch the flicker of distress in the older man’s eyes. “Shorty, is something wrong?”
“Uh, no.” He hesitated, then exhaled loudly. “That is…I reckon this might not be the right time to bring it up, Abby, but I was thinkin’…uh, just wonderin’ if you could use some extra help at that riding school of yours? You know, something a cowboy with a bum leg could do.”
Abby hit the brakes. The car lurched, swerved and with a cough, chugged to a halt on the side of the road.
Shorty peeled the safety belt away from his throat and pushed back in the seat, his eyes wide.
“Gawdamighty, woman! Didja’ forget how to drive?”
Ignoring his colorful roar, Abby slammed the heel of her hand on the steering wheel, counted to ten under her breath, then whipped around in the seat to stare at him in disbelief.
“Did I hear you right? You want me to let Bo Ramsey work with my students? With my horses? Not in this lifetime, Shorty.” She shook her head so vigorously, the scrunchy holding her thick ponytail flipped off and landed on Shorty’s knee. She didn’t even bother to retrieve it.
When he blanched visibly, Abby was pretty sure he got the message. A fleeting stab of remorse snagged her conscience. Verbal attacks were not her usual style, but Shorty’s ludicrous suggestion was anything but usual.
For heaven’s sake, she didn’t need any more problems to deal with, especially one as provoking and personal as Bo Ramsey. So why was she even considering Shorty’s request? She wasn’t, was she? No, of course not.
“I ain’t said nothin’ to him about your riding program yet, Abby.” Shorty gingerly retrieved the ponytail holder with two fingers and deposited it on the dashboard. “He’s powerful depressed, though, and I just thought…maybe…”
He scratched his chin, ducked his head in that sheepish way of his that made Abby grind her teeth.
She leaned her head against the back of the seat. Why, oh why had Bo come back now, just when she was getting her life in order? Finally learning to live without him. She didn’t want to feel sympathy toward him. She didn’t want to feel anything at all. She owed him absolutely nothing. She would not feel guilty.
Shorty kept right on talking. “You know, Buck mentioned that you were sorta’ hard up for helpers since you got a few more kids this spring. Bo’d be mighty helpful with the horses, even if he can’t ride right now. Just seeing the spunk those youngsters have and how they deal with their handicaps might show Bo a thing or two. There’s lots of things…”
Abby bristled. “They’re not handicapped, they’re physically and emotionally challenged, but they work hard for every goal they reach. And for the record, we’re doing just fine, thanks. Some of the volunteers have already offered to work two classes. We can’t afford salaried helpers yet.”
She turned the key in the ignition, revved the behind-schedule-for-a-tune-up engine and eased the vehicle back onto the blacktop. Shorty was right. Her students had spunk to spare and she was so proud of them. There was no denying the inspiration they gave to anyone who observed them in the arena.
“The program isn’t all that large, anyway,” she added, trying to soften her sharp refusal. “There’s only a dozen students so far. I don’t need any extra help.”
Shorty leaned back in his seat and released such a mournful, Oscar-worthy sigh, Abby was tempted to applaud. She would have, if the situation had involved anyone but Bo Ramsey.
“Well, that may be,” he drawled, giving her a beseeching look, “but Bo’s sure needing your help now.”
He needs me? Oh, that is so unfair. Abby could barely see the road for the sudden tears blurring her eyes.

In all his thirty years, Bo Ramsey had never expected to return to Sweet River, especially like this, but with a body busted up from the wear-and-tear of riding rodeo bulls, and less than five dollars in the pocket of his jeans, he’d hit the bottom of the barrel with a loud thud. Shoot, he’d been down there so long, he had a personal relationship with every damned slat in it. And now, his pride had to take a backseat to being practical. Talk about bitter pills. The feeling of failure still stuck in his craw. He wondered if he’d ever be able to swallow around it.
He shifted his position in the vintage porch chair for the hundredth time, easing his left leg around to find a more comfortable angle. One that wouldn’t send those knifelike pains shooting clear to his eyeballs. He refused to give in and swallow any more of those damned pain pills. He reached for a longneck instead, knowing that wasn’t the answer either, but not really caring.
He’d been sitting there long enough to indulge in more beer and self-pity than was probably good for him, his only excuse being that the unexpected sight of Abby at the Blue Moon had blindsided him. Temporarily robbed him of his good sense. And, just like last time, he’d taken the coward’s way out.
Old memories he’d buried a long time ago crept out from their hiding place in the dark recesses of his heart. Persistent cusses, those memories, poking at him like cactus needles, paining him almost as much as the physical injuries to his body. Maybe more. He rubbed his hand over the scarred side of his face. Maybe not.
This wealth of land and cattle that made up Shorty’s ranch had been Bo’s home longer than any place he’d ever lived. Taking in the familiar view, Bo acknowledged that everything was pretty much the same as when he’d left. Everything but his own life. That was a mess of his own making.
His chest ached with deep regret for all he’d left behind. All he could never have. Bitterness crawled down inside his soul and lodged—a familiar, yet unwelcome tenant.
Bo shifted his leg again, his groan harmonizing off-key with a mournful groan coming from the far side of the porch. Shorty’s old yellow dog slowly made his way to Bo’s side and gave his hand a slobbery greeting.
With sad eyes nearly hidden in the folds of its loose-skinned face, and long ears drooping past bony shoulders, the mongrel looked like somebody’d smacked him with an ugly stick. Twice.
“Hey, Ditch.” Bo scratched the old dog behind the ears.
Ditch dog. That’s what Shorty’d called him, ever since he’d found the injured pup lying on the side of the road years ago. The pooch had to be as old as Shorty’s truck by now, because Bo had heard the rescue story at least a hundred times in the past.
Ditch dog. Bo felt like something of a ditch dog himself ever since Shorty’d fetched him back home from the hospital. Patched him up, too. Just like ol’ Ditch. Only difference was, the dog had become Shorty’s best friend. Bo wasn’t sure he could even lay claim to that anymore.
He tipped the longneck back, drank deep, then set the empty bottle aside. He left the porch to seek the solitude of his room. Hell, could life get any worse?
He’d gotten as far as the front room when he heard the car come up the gravel road. Bo knew in his gut who Shorty had persuaded to give him a lift home. Crossing the room, he stood by the window and moved the curtain aside just enough to sneak a look without revealing himself.
He watched as Shorty climbed out of the car. Ditch loped off the porch to greet his banty rooster-sized friend, wet nose nudging hopefully against the rancher’s hand for a pat on the head.
They make quite a pair, Bo mused, as a twinge of envy snuck past his good sense. The dog had gotten older, but the man hadn’t changed much. The Willie Nelson-style braid that dangled down his back was the same, except the gray hairs were beginning to outnumber the black ones. A few wrinkles creased Shorty’s leathery face, but the denim work shirt and faded jeans looked like the same ones he’d been wearing the day Bo had said goodbye.
On the backside of fifty, Shorty Packer had always cottoned to the belief that unless something was broken, you kept your hands off of it. Still, he’d give you his last biscuit and tell you he’d just eaten, if he thought you were hungrier than he was. He was generous to a fault if you were his friend, and meaner than a rattlesnake if you were his enemy. But he was fair. Bo respected him for that, and was shamed to the point of disgust, thinking maybe he’d lost the respect of this man who’d done so much for him.
Deep in thought, Bo didn’t notice the driver get out of the car until the door slammed shut. She stood by the car and looked toward the house. The instant thudding of his heart startled him. Damn. Sweat beaded his upper lip. He swiped at it, his fingers brushing across the raised seam of scars crisscrossing his face.
Cursing the clumsiness that prevented him from hurrying, he was almost within the safety of his bedroom when the front door opened and Shorty shouted.
“Bo, you in here?”
Where else would I be? He kept silent, listening. No other voice accompanied Shorty’s. Was that disappointment he felt? Hell, no. He was glad she hadn’t come inside.
“I’m here,” he answered.
When the other man’s footsteps echoed on the planked floor, Bo slowly, carefully, retraced his own. Guilt for taking off with the truck pricked at him unmercifully. Might as well apologize now and get it over with. He was halfway down the hall when he saw her.
Abby stood behind Shorty, taller only by a few inches, just enough to be visible. Shorty moved farther into the room, giving Bo an unobstructed view of her. His insides dipped on a wild roller-coaster ride.
There she was, standing in the doorway holding a big yellow bowl. She was totally unaware that the early afternoon brightness illuminated her with a halo of sunshine. Bo half expected a heavenly choir to break into song at any moment.
Instead, vivid memories flashed before him in living color. The softness of her sun-gilded skin pressed against his and the way it went all hot and damp when they made love; the curve of her rosy smile, the sweetness of her lips and the way her mouth melted beneath his when they kissed; the scent of honeysuckle that always clung to her and the way she glowed, all dewy and golden after he’d thoroughly loved her. Those memories were so intense, the pain of leaving her still crowded his chest. Restricted his breathing.
“Hello, Bo.” Her husky whisper trailed an erotic path across his skin as if she had physically touched him.
As soon as she spoke, the familiar tightening in his groin made his head swim. He ought to leave the room before he made a total ass of himself. He turned his head, ducking it slightly to avoid giving her a full view of his face. Damn, he’d gone and left his hat on the porch. He needed to get the hell out of here.
“Your hearin’ gone bad as well as your manners, boy?” Shorty scowled like an irritated parent. “Abby’s brought you some of IdaJoy’s mighty good chili. Least you could do is say thanks.”
Bo stared at the plastic-covered container clutched in Abby’s hands. She never gave him a chance to back away. Just marched up to him before he could turn his face. His heart flipped upside down when her unflinching gaze raked him up and down.
Dark blue eyes flashed undeniable disgust. Her summer-blond hair whipped around her face when she shook her head in apparent disapproval of what—or was it, who—she saw. He didn’t blame her for despising him.
“You smell like a brewery, Ramsey. Maybe this chili will burn off the excess alcohol. Enjoy.” With one swift move, she shoved the dish into his stomach so hard he had to grab it or end up wearing the contents.
She ran from the room and out to her car without another word. Bo heard the crunch of gravel as she drove away.
He turned to Shorty. “What the hell was that all about?”
Shorty gave him a look sour enough to curdle milk. “You ought to know, boy.”
Bo carried the dish to the table, wishing he’d never made that phone call asking Shorty for help. He hated being a damn charity case.
“You shouldn’t have brought her here,” he grumbled. He uncovered the yellow bowl and inhaled deeply. His mouth watered at the tantalizing aroma of fiery spices. He’d always been a sucker for IdaJoy’s chili.
“Brought her here?” Shorty’s voice rose and two shaggy eyebrows peaked over dead-serious eyes that bored straight through Bo. “The way I see it, she brought me here. You took my truck and left me stranded, remember? And that’s a whole ’nother matter. Who said you were fit to drive yet?”
“I got back here okay, didn’t I?”
“Maybe,” Shorty conceded, “but don’t try it again.”
“Hhmmph.” Bo hated being treated like a ten-year-old. He pulled out the chair to sit down. Before he could blink, Shorty was right there, spoon in one hand and a glass of water in the other. His explanation was typically Shorty—gruff and to the point.
“Get used to it, boy. From now on, water or milk’s the drink around here. The choice is yours.”
The older man’s no-nonsense tone drew a tight smile from Bo. It had been a helluva long time since he’d been handed an ultimatum like that. A long time since anyone even cared. Well, he’d deal with Shorty and his rules just as soon as he finished eating. Right now, all he wanted was the chili. He picked up the spoon and dug in.
A volcano erupted inside his mouth the instant the first bite hit his tongue, lava-hot and scalding a path clear through to his unsuspecting stomach.
Bo let loose with a bellow and a string of colorful cuss words, sending Ditch scurrying out of the room. His chair toppled backward and his water glass went flying in his haste to reach the kitchen sink. Angling his head under the faucet, mouth wide open and swallowing frantically, he almost cried with relief as the gush of cold water tumbled down his scorched throat.
When the fire in his gut finally subsided, Bo shook his wet head, spit, sputtered and glared at Shorty through watery eyes. He was helpless to form his question into words. His tongue—shoot, his whole damn mouth—was numb.
“Oh, yeah,” Shorty said, poker-faced, as he bent to retrieve Bo’s water glass from the floor. “I think Abby might’ve added a few extra chili peppers.”

Twilight pulled the sun below the horizon, leaving behind a rosy haze that promised another hot night. The air hung like a wet curtain, heavy and unmoving. Mosquitos, buzzing lazily alongside an occasional lightning bug, flitted past the two men sitting on the long, covered porch. The tension between them was as thick as the air.
Bo slumped back in his chair, a glass of milk, compliments of guess-who, in one hand. Some nightcap. At least, it wasn’t flavored with chili peppers. Granted, he’d never been much of a drinker until the accident.
For the past two weeks, the two men had done nothing but argue about his newly acquired habit. Shorty nagged and Bo ignored. He wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t like he thought the beer tasted good. He stretched out his legs and got ready for the argument he knew was sure to come. He wasn’t disappointed.
“I just cain’t figure you out, boy,” the old rancher began. “Ain’t like you to look to a bottle for answers. That never solved a problem yet.”
Bo grunted. “Save your sermons for the Sunday congregation, okay?” The sarcastic words spilling out of his mouth of their own accord tasted sour on his tongue, but he couldn’t pull them back for the life of him. Didn’t try. What the hell difference did it make anymore?
He hated being so damned dependent, but who would hire the likes of him now? He was about as useless as a bucket of warm spit. Until he could manage to walk without tottering like an old man, there wasn’t much he could do but sit on his backside and complain. He was getting to be an expert at that.
But Shorty wasn’t about to cut him any slack, it seemed.
“You’ve been back here nigh on two weeks now and so far, the only thing getting better is your leg, ’cause your attitude sure ain’t improving. It’s time you stopped wallowing in self-pity. I don’t aim to be wet-nursin’ you no more. Time for you to play the hand you been dealt, and get on with the game. Plain and simple.”
Bo muttered under his breath. Shorty was right, as usual. He knew his attitude sucked. He knew why, too. He just wasn’t ready to tell his friend the whole story. Not yet. There’d been a lot of things he’d meant to say the day Shorty picked him up from the therapy clinic, but the words had stuck in his throat. Hell, what do you say to the man who has just bailed you out of the hospital, chased the bill collectors from your door, and offered you a home without asking a single thing in return? “Thanks” just didn’t seem to cut it. And Shorty hadn’t even asked about Marla yet.
Marla. Shorty’s niece and the reason Bo had left Sweet River. The reason he’d left Abby Houston with a broken heart. Not to mention the damage he’d done to his own.
Ditch snored softly, his big head resting on Shorty’s boots, seemingly oblivious to any danger as his long tail darted back and forth underneath the chair’s wooden rocker. Every time Shorty rocked forward, the dog’s tail swished under and back, under and back, like a metronome with a mysterious timing device, never missing a beat.
Bo had been watching the dog’s laid-back attitude for the last half hour. “You ever catch his tail with that rocker?” he finally asked, pointing to Ditch.
“Nope.” Shorty kept on rocking. “Dog’s got more sense than most of us humans. Knows how to stay out of trouble, don’t back talk, and is a heap more grateful for small favors than most folks.”
Bo pushed out of his chair and shoved his hat back without giving a thought to the way it bared his face.
“Dammit, Shorty, I am grateful,” he said, plunking his glass so hard on the nearby wobbly metal table that Ditch thought it best to slink off to the other end of the porch. “There’s not a minute goes by that I don’t remember I’m in debt up to my eyeballs to you. Don’t you think I’m ashamed of the mess I made of things? You can’t begin to know how it really was.”
Shorty raised a shaggy eyebrow. “Then maybe it’s time you told me, son.”
The word son sucker punched him right in the gut. He couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. Especially not with the only man who had ever called him son.

Chapter Three
Pale morning light filtered through the open barn door, haloing the clock on the wall with dust motes. Abby glanced up wearily. Almost six o’clock and already the barn was hotter than a mouthful of jalapeños. The air hung heavy with the pungent smell of the horses. Hay, feed and freshly hauled manure combined in a uniquely familiar odor that Abby barely noticed.
She’d been out in the barn since four-thirty. At this rate, she’d have all the chores finished before Pop even woke up. Monday’s chores always seemed to take longer. She mopped her damp forehead with a frayed bandana and readjusted her baseball cap before tackling the last of the stalls.
Well, that’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? Dirty work. Hot, hard work. Any diversion to take her mind off last Saturday’s confrontation with Bo. Well, hot and hard wasn’t going to do it. Oh, yes, it would.
Knock it off with the fantasies. What on earth had she been thinking when she shoved that kicked-up chili at him? She’d reacted like a child in the throes of a temper tantrum. Nice going, girl. Real maturity.
She stabbed a forkful of new bedding straw and shook it over the clean floor, then made sure the last water trough was full. If she concentrated really hard, maybe she could keep her thoughts where they belonged—on the students that would be showing up in a few hours and not on the rush of emotions that kept her insides churning.
Since it was too soon to put the horses in the arena, Abby made her way to the large room at the back of the barn where the tack was kept. She smiled as she passed the horses. The animals’ objections had been very clear when she’d entered their stalls earlier. Her intrusion at such an early hour had definitely not been appreciated, but fresh oats and clean bedding quickly appeased their grumpiness.
“You are such sweeties,” she crooned, giving them each a loving caress as, one by one, they stuck their heads over the stall doors to greet her. Their whinnies and nickers made her heart swell with love. These docile creatures were her pride and joy. As senior citizens in Abby’s small equine community, the horses were patient beyond belief when it came to the students. Loving the attention they received, the animals were always eager to please and quick to respond to the sometimes timid commands of the novice riders. Somehow, they sensed their importance to the children. The uncanny communication between horse and student never ceased to amaze Abby, so she made pampering and indulging them a priority because—aside from the children—the horses were the most important part of her riding program.
Some had been donated by area ranchers. She had managed to convince a few local ranch owners that, even though the horses were too old to be of much use on a working ranch, they were invaluable to the special children who attended the Sweet River Riders group. Abby loved every one of the horses dearly and so did the few volunteers who showed up each day to complete her staff. The children adored the animals without reservation, and most of them had bonded quickly with a favorite.
In the long room where the tack was stored, Abby counted blankets, straightened the bump pads and lined up the helmets. While she sorted halters, reins, saddles and lead ropes, she thought back to when she had first begun her training to become a director of this worthwhile program.
She’d been drifting through the days in a zombielike state for those first few months after Bo had left Sweet River, nursing her hurt like a wounded animal. Humiliation kept her from leaving the ranch for anything other than business until a friend in Austin called her and urged her to volunteer at an equine therapy school. After two weeks, Abby knew she wanted to be an active participant, and that she wanted to direct a program of her own. The intensity of the instruction and the enormity of such an undertaking were welcome challenges, enabling her to focus her energies on something besides her shattered heart. The children needed her. And Abby sorely needed them.
Now, ironically, Shorty was insisting that Bo needed her. Well, she didn’t want to hear that and wasn’t about to be roped into feeling sorry for him. He had a wife. Let her do the honors. Hadn’t he chosen Marla over Abby and left Abby to face the sympathetic looks and whispers of the community all alone? Old anger reared its head again, triggered by the painful memory of rejection.
A sob tore from her lips and she swore under her breath at her inability to conquer the past. Disgusted, she lugged a box containing plastic spray bottles of waterless cleaner from the storage closet, slammed it down on the table, and counted out a dozen of them. With her eyes squeezed tight against the intruding sting of tears, she made a silent demand. Get out of my head, Bo, and stay away from my heart.
She plopped a stack of paper towels alongside the box and stepped back to make a quick visual check. Everything was in order and ready for the arrival of the twelve boys and girls. With six in each class, she could manage just fine. She was in control and darn well didn’t need Bo Ramsey around to complicate her life. Not now—not ever. But, bitterness still left a nasty aftertaste.
She slid the barn door shut and headed for the house, blocking out her heart’s cry of panic. Salty tears tracked her cheeks and she licked them from her lips. The man from her past might be back in Sweet River, but she refused to acknowledge the possibility that she might feel something besides sympathy for him. Absolutely not. She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes before she reached the kitchen door. Crying was so stupid!
“Breakfast is all ready, kitten.” Buck shoved a hot mat under the coffeepot and set it on the table. “You were already in the barn when I got up, so I figured you’d have chores done before I could get out there. Why didn’t you wake me?”
The delicious aroma of Buck’s dark roast coffee brewing, along with the sizzle of bacon and hotcakes on the griddle, met Abby as she entered the kitchen. The screen door slammed behind her.
“I woke up way too early, Pop. Besides, the hard work was good for me.” She gave him a good-morning kiss on his unshaven cheek and hurried to the bathroom to wash away the grime.
“Mmmmm, the pancakes smell delicious,” she called with forced cheerfulness. “Blueberry’s my favorite.” Hurriedly, she splashed cold water on her face, then pressed a wet washcloth on her eyes to eliminate the telltale redness and hopefully, to relieve her escalating headache.
By the time she returned to the kitchen, all evidence of her sudden, out-of-the-blue crying jag had been washed away. It would never do for Pop to know just how upset she was over Bo’s return. Pop’s health was her number one priority now, right along with keeping the school running in the black. Upsetting him would only add stress, and the doctor had warned her about that. His last checkup had shown a rise in his blood pressure, which surprised Abby, given her father’s even-tempered disposition.
“By the way,” her father said after he sat down. “Marsha called. She can’t help out today. Caleb’s got a tooth that needs to be pulled. With Jan gone to that quarter horse show in San Antonio, we’ll be two helpers short.” He poured syrup over his pancakes.
Abby frowned. “Darn, I hoped with you filling in for Jan, we wouldn’t have a problem. I don’t know who else I can ask on such short notice.” Would there ever be a time when she didn’t have some sort of crisis in her life? Lately it seemed she had to carry her share and everyone else’s, too. Shoot, she was turning into a first-class whiner.
She finished her coffee and pushed away from the table. “I’ll have to start calling around, but I don’t think it will be any use. The first group of kids will be here at nine. It’s after seven now.”
Buck rose and carried his plate to the sink. “What about that Kelly boy? He’s been hanging around the feed store since school got out, looking for work.”
“Does he know anything about horses?” Abby rinsed and stacked the dishes to put in the dishwasher later.
“One way to find out,” Buck said. “Pick up the phone.”
Abby’s headache grew from bitty-sized to mega-magnitude when Karl Kelly said, yep, he could sure use the work, and nope, he didn’t know much about horses but he reckoned he could learn.
She’d felt awful when she told him it was a nonpaying job and even worse when he sighed and said “Oh well, it don’t matter, Miss Abby. Pa’ll get a job one of these days.”
“Well,” Abby said thoughtfully, “I guess we could manage to pay you something.”
The amount she mentioned had Karl bubbling over with gratitude. When she hung up the phone, Abby knew she’d done the right thing. Replacing the dishwasher could wait a while longer. So could her car’s air conditioner.

“Teddie, good morning,” Abby called later from where she waited near the gate to the arena for the morning’s first arrivals. The youngster being led across the yard made no response. “Hello, Caroline.” She acknowledged the child’s mother with a wave.
The young woman returned the wave but the boy hung back, pulling against his mother’s hand. He was shaking his head, clearly not wanting to come any closer. His reluctance tugged at Abby’s heart. Six-year-old Teddie North was one of the first students signed up for the therapeutic riding program, yet his progress was much slower than the other students in his class. Abby was still trying to break through the barrier of his shyness. Trying to win his trust. With both legs recently out of heavy casts, Teddie struggled with his limitations. So far, the only one he trusted besides his mother was the little mare, Star—the one he loved to pet, but refused to ride.
Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Buck leading Star out of her stall. She smiled. Pop could always be counted on. Her heart swelled with love and admiration. Without him, her school would still be only a dream. Buck had supported and encouraged her through all the tough times. She would be forever grateful. The children and their needs had pulled her through the loneliness—after Bo. Somehow, Pop had known they would. She’d never blamed her father for their financial problems.
Star whickered and bobbed her head. Buck let her trot to the fence where Teddie and his mother stood on the opposite side. Blowing softly, the little mare pushed at the fence until Teddie poked his hand between the rails. Immediately, Star nudged it, lipping his small finger in a gentle welcome. Teddie’s face lit up, and his childish giggle made Abby smile.
She approached him hesitantly, speaking softly. “Do you think you’d like to try riding her today, Teddie?”
The look of panic on the boy’s face was so pronounced, Abby quickly turned away to hide her disappointment. Every day she hoped for a breakthrough to reach the youngster. Today wasn’t going to be the day, but she refused to give up hope.
She dug in her pocket for a carrot and handed it to Teddie. “Here, why don’t you give her this, instead? She likes it when you give her a treat.”
Teddie took the carrot and timidly stuck it through the fence, a cherubic grin appearing when Star nibbled out of his hand.
“I don’t know why he won’t try to ride,” Teddie’s mother said, keeping her voice low. “All he talks about all week is Star. He loves her, really he does.” She reached out to caress her son’s tiny shoulder, then moved her hand to tousle his hair.
Abby spoke reassuringly. “Star loves him, too, and someday he’ll ride. You’ll see.” She gave the little mare a pat on the rump, then excused herself to check on the arrival of the other students.
Thankfully, the Kelly boy had turned out to be a fast learner and a tremendous hit with all the students. Even Teddie seemed to trust him although he was still afraid of the horses and never went beyond the gate. Abby decided that Karl’s help was well worth giving up a new dishwasher.
After everyone had gone, Abby massaged the back of her neck, and fell into step beside Buck. “Why are Mondays always so long, Pop? Karl did all right, don’t you think? Are tuna sandwiches okay for lunch?”
Buck shortened his stride and put his arm around his daughter’s shoulder. “Which question do you want me to answer first?” His warm chuckle was as comforting as his embrace.
Abby gave him a tired smile. Her habit of asking more than two questions in a row was an old joke between them. Pop’s answer never varied. She leaned her head against his arm and sighed. “I guess I know the answers to two of them. Mondays are long because they just are, and Karl definitely did all right. I think he likes working with the students as well as the horses.”
Buck nodded. “And a tuna sandwich is fine. Yeah, Karl’s a good kid. I wish there was some way we could give him a regular salary to help out with chores. His folks are having a tough time getting by since his dad got laid off.”
“I decided to take some out of the money I’d been saving to fix the dishwasher, Pop. It’s not much but maybe we can have him come a few more times.”
“Well now, that’s just fine. I knew you’d figure something out.”
“But, we still have the veterinarian’s regular visit coming up, plus the bill at the feed mill is due by the end of the month.” Abby couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed at the increasing debts.
“Something’ll turn up,” Buck said, his optimism sincere. “It always does.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze, then moved to open the gate. They walked in silence across the yard toward the house.
The growl of a pickup interrupted their thoughts. “Looks like it already has,” she said.
Shorty’s ancient truck clattered across the cattle guard at the ranch entrance and bounced up the drive, stopping right next to where Buck and Abby stood.
Abby’s heart hiccuped and stuck in her throat the minute she caught sight of Bo sitting on the passenger side. She heard his familiar voice as she hurried past, but didn’t stop until she reached the porch.
“Of all the damned tricks…” Bo sputtered at the man behind the wheel when they stopped in front of the house. He’d figured out where Shorty was headed as soon as the truck veered off the main road and headed west on the farm-to-market route.
By the time they’d skirted town, Bo’s protests had escalated right along with his blood pressure, but his stubborn friend ignored him with a possum-like smirk and kept on driving. That irritated the hell out of him, too.
“I’m not getting out,” he declared, crossing his arms over his chest and settling back in the seat. He glared at Shorty.
When he spied Abby coming from the corral, he yanked his hat down. He could almost feel the daggers shooting at him from Buck Houston’s angry eyes. He should’ve been suspicious when Shorty told him he’d found something for Bo to do. No way was he taking charity from the Houstons. Besides, the horses he glimpsed as they drove in looked like geriatric throwaways. They sure couldn’t require much more than a green pasture and a clean stall. Any kid could do that.
“Quit being a jackass,” was all Shorty had time to say before Buck walked around to the driver’s side and stuck his hand through the window.
“Hey, Shorty, good to see you.”
“You, too, Buck,” the older man said as they shook hands.
“Bo,” Buck muttered with a slight nod. He withdrew his hand.
“Houston,” Bo replied, curling his fingers in a tight fist. Well, damned if I need your handshake.
“Something special bring you out this way, Shorty?”
Buck still stood at the side of the truck, but Bo knew the man’s gaze was focused on him. Abby stood on the porch steps, obviously waiting to see what would happen next. He wasn’t quite sure what Shorty’s plans were, but he was positive no one around here was going to like them. Especially him.
“I got something I’d like to talk to you about, Buck.” Shorty moved to open the truck door.
“Sure,” Buck said. He jerked his thumb toward the porch. “Come on up. I’ll have Abby bring us something cold to drink.”
“Well…” Shorty hesitated. “I was thinking maybe somewhere more private.”
“Oh. Well, all right.” Buck started toward the barn. “We’ll be out of the sun in here.”
Shorty slammed the door to the truck and started to follow. “Back in a few, Bo. You ought to go and thank Abby for the chili.” He tossed the comment over his shoulder with a don’t argue tone that Bo couldn’t have missed even if he tried.
Bo slid a little further down in the seat. Banged his knee on the dash. Ow! Geez! He shot a glance toward the house…and Abby. Well, hell, now what do I do?
While he was wrestling with that question, Abby descended the steps and slowly made her way to the truck. The temptation to watch was more than he could resist.
The way she swung her hips in that sweet, seductive sway jump-started his pulse, and his temperature shot skyward. She’d always had the power to incite a riot in his body. He remembered how astonished she’d been when he’d revealed that very personal phenomenon to her. Surprised and delighted. Yes, and he’d been more than surprised at the way she’d enthusiastically proved her delight. Knock it off, Ramsey. That was a long time ago, before you turned into the world’s biggest fool.
As she walked toward him, Bo was reminded again of the reason he left Sweet River and what his reckless decision back then had cost him. He should have tried harder to understand Abby’s reasons for refusing to go with him. Maybe if he’d listened to her instead of stubbornly refusing to compromise, he and Abby would be a happy married couple by now.
And that thought, along with other notions crossing his mind as she approached the truck caused sensations he’d rather not acknowledge. But his physical reaction was impossible to ignore. He was only human, after all. And his jeans were suddenly unable to accommodate his uncomfortable response. Thankfully, he was still in the truck since a cold shower wasn’t an option right then.
Abby stopped and rested her hand on the open window, her eyes bright, questioning. He remembered those bewitching blue depths. Deep enough for a man to get lost in. Perceptive enough to find the hidden truth beneath his scarred exterior if he wasn’t careful. The very reason he didn’t want to be here. He lived every day with the painful knowledge that he’d never stopped loving her, but there was no way he could tell her that now. No everlasting way.
Abby wasn’t quite sure what made her decide to approach the truck and its occupant. Maybe she was just a glutton for punishment. Then again, maybe it was because Bo looked so uncomfortable in the noonday heat, and she felt obligated to offer him the hospitality of her shaded porch. Oh, who was she kidding? She just plain wanted to see him again. No excuses, no sane reason. Just wanted to. And maybe if she talked to him like a responsible adult, she could put a final closure on the crack in her heart, instead of the temporary bandage she’d been using.
With her heart in her throat, she greeted him. “Hello, Bo. I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
“You can blame Shorty for that,” he grumbled. “I didn’t know he was headed here, or I wouldn’t have come with him.” He turned to stare out the opposite window.
“Oh, really?” Like he didn’t know the way to her place. Did he think she was stupid? Well, she’d show him it didn’t really matter to her one way or the other. She would treat him the same as she would anyone else who happened to stop by. Courteous and no more.
“Since you’re here, you might as well get out of the heat.” Trying to be cordial while talking to the back of his head challenged her genuine inclination to be polite. And Bo wasn’t helping matters by refusing to look her way. He kept his face turned and his darn hat pulled so low, she wondered how he could even see anything but the underside of the brim.
“No thanks, I’ll just wait here,” he said. “Don’t know what Shorty wanted to see Buck about. He told me somebody had some horses to take care of, but guess he made a mistake. Doesn’t look like you need help around here. Not with those worn-out nags in your pasture. You’d be further ahead to sell them instead of paying out good money for feed.”
“That’s all you know, Ramsey.” Abby bristled at his condemning observation of her wonderful four-legged friends. “Those horses are a vital part of a very important riding program. Don’t criticize before you understand what you’re talking about.”
“A riding program?” He turned to her, and she realized she’d piqued his interest enough to make him forget his scars, at least for the moment. Then it dawned on her—a sneaking suspicion of why Shorty had brought him here. If anyone knew horses, it was Bo, but that didn’t mean she wanted him here. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to face the possibility of having him around on a day-to-day basis and not be tempted to hash over old memories. Did she even want to?
Looking at him, she could understand his reluctance to expose himself to public scrutiny, yet the scars didn’t keep her legs from going goofy or her pulse from singing karaoke at the sound of his voice. His crooked leg and awkward gait didn’t detract from his seductive Texas charm. No, there was nothing scary about Bo except the fact that he still had the power to hurt her. Deep in her heart, she acknowledged that secret and vowed to keep those longings and desires to herself. After all, he was a married man.
Still, his experience around horses would be a tremendous help and relieve Pop of some of his workload. To do or not to do? Was it worth the chance? Pop could sure use the extra pair of hands.
“Have you ever heard of using horses to help children with physical and emotional problems, Bo?” Her question slid out on the deep end of a sigh as she grabbed the door handle. “Come over to the porch where it’s cooler, and I’ll tell you about it.”
Without waiting for him to object, or for the chance to change her own mind, Abby opened the door, squinting against the noon brightness. “It’s too hot to stand out here in the sun. I won’t offer you a beer, but I’ve got cold, sweet tea already made.”
She started to help him out of the truck, then thought better of it, remembering how he’d shot out of the café parking lot on Saturday. She stepped aside to give his male pride a wide berth. Holding her breath might not help, but she did it anyway.
He reached for the sunglasses in his shirt pocket and settled them on his nose.
“You’re right, it is too hot to sit out here,” he said, surprising her with his swift agreement. “And I haven’t had honest-to-God sweet tea in a helluva long time.”
He eased out one leg, then the other, until he was standing outside the truck. After a moment’s hesitation when he hung onto the door for balance, he followed her to the shaded porch.
The shuffle of his uneven stride as he dragged his leg along the walk made her slow her own pace. But when his labored breathing sent a warm puff of air to tickle the back of her neck, it was all she could do to keep from breaking into a run.

Chapter Four
By the time she returned from the kitchen, Bo was lounging in a wicker chair near the porch steps. The sight of him sitting there looking right at home made her insides turn as cold as the ice cubes in the frosted glass she handed him. If only her hand would stop shaking. Her nerves were giving her fits lately.
“Much obliged,” Bo said and reached for the glass.
His fingers brushed hers. Warm, callused fingers. Sensual fingers. Abby abruptly hurried away to sit on the steps. Why, oh, why did I do this?
An awkward silence, broken only by the sound of ice clinking on the sides of their glasses, hung between them.
Abby fidgeted.
Mosquitos buzzed.
Bo inspected his drink. Cleared his throat. “So, what’s this horse therapy thing you’ve got going?”
Abby’s head snapped around. He was watching her through those damned dark glasses, and she stifled the urge to reach over and yank them right off his face. She hated being unable to see his eyes.
“Not therapy for horses, Bo. Therapy for anyone with special needs. Children, mostly, but there are a couple of young adults, also.” Slowly, deliberately, she emphasized each word. “It’s designed to give a sense of accomplishment and strength to the students. To make them proud of their achievement. Some have never walked, some have emotional as well as physical difficulties to overcome, but here with the horses, they’re no different from anyone else. Riding puts them on an equal basis. It helps them focus and learn to concentrate, not to mention that it builds self-confidence. There are numerous advantages to the program.”
She paused to catch her breath, realizing she must sound like an evangelist for the cause. “Sorry, sometimes I get carried away.”
Bo inclined his head. “And you accomplish all that by letting them ride horses?”
She struggled to keep her voice calm against the veiled pessimism in his question. She’d learned a long time ago that arguing with him never accomplished a darn thing.
“It’s more than just the riding. They learn about responsibility by taking part in the care of the animals, by remembering to put the tack away after their ride, by learning to give commands as well as follow them.” She looked at him straight on. “Even the students who can’t walk find a way to interact with the horses. It’s called trust.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Communication, Ramsey. A vital part of life. Something necessary in any type of relationship.”
When she saw him flinch, Abby was satisfied she’d made her point. She reached up to push a wayward strand of hair out of her face and tuck it back under her baseball cap. “Until you see one of the classes in progress, I suppose it’s difficult to understand.”
She wished he’d take those darned sunglasses off. Didn’t he know she could see his face anyway? The dark lens only hid his eyes, a fact that kept her on the edge of anxiety. She started to ask about Marla, but changed her mind when she realized Bo was actually listening to her.
His rapt attention pleased her. Satisfied an empty spot in her heart that longed for his approval, yet filled a need to prove to him she had survived their unexpected breakup, thank you very much. She had her self-esteem in place and her emotions carefully tucked away.
He removed his dark glasses as if he’d read her mind. His gaze zeroed in on her face. “You’ve done this all alone?”
Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. Almost as if he dared her to look at the jagged scar that snaked from his hairline to his chin, narrowly missing his left eye. But nothing could make her forget the way those sultry eyes could seduce with a suggestive flicker. The way they shuttered lazily when they darkened with desire. With raw need. How many times had she felt the heat of his gaze caress her naked body? How many times had he touched…?
“Abby?”
Bo’s soft drawl and hypnotic gaze held her captive. Kept her from rational thought for only a fraction of a second, but a millennium passed before she found her voice.
“Yes, alone…I mean no, I have Pop’s help. And volunteers. Lots of them. They’re invaluable. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to continue. There’s even a group of retired ranchers who come around once a week to help with repairs. And they bring feed when they can. It all helps.” Darn, she was babbling.
“I still don’t see how—” Bo was interrupted by a shout from Shorty before he could finish.
“Okay, Ramsey, let’s hit the road.” The rancher climbed in the truck and revved the motor. “See ya, Abby,” Shorty called over the engine noise.
Abby jumped to her feet, accompanied by a rush of disappointment. The unexpected sensation astonished her, but she was even more surprised at her next words.
“I have another class later this afternoon. Spectators are always welcome.”
Bo gulped a last swallow of tea and set his glass down. “No way,” he said so abruptly Abby cringed and stepped back. “But thanks for leaving the chili peppers out of the tea.”
She thought one corner of his mouth twitched right before he turned and carefully took the steps one at a time.
The X-rated way his hips swivelled in jeans so tight they should have been banned set off a meteor shower of white-hot desire zinging through her body as his uneven gait carried him to the truck. She took one final, greedy look before she bolted for the house.
The screen door banged shut behind her at the same time the raucous blare of a horn assaulted her ears. Swinging around, Abby saw a dusty black Tahoe pulling in the drive behind Shorty’s truck. The words Stuart C. Wilcox, DVM painted on the side of the vehicle in bold red letters reminded her that Buck had called the veterinarian earlier this morning about Jo-Jo’s swollen eye. She really didn’t feel up to dealing with the good-looking, totally nice, Dr. Stuart Wilcox right now. Especially with Bo still around.
Not that it mattered. In fact, if Stuart asked her out again, she might just say yes. Why not? Their last date had been enjoyable enough. Dinner at a charming little restaurant, a quiet drive through the hill country in Stuart’s sleek silver Lexus, followed by a nice, though somewhat uninspiring, good-night kiss at her door. No stress, no pressure. Nice was what she was looking for, right? And being with Stuart didn’t threaten her heart, a safety factor she rated right up there with smoke detectors and seat belts.
The Tahoe blocked Shorty’s truck, and from the shouts and honks coming from that direction, neither driver wanted to move. Abby put her hands on her hips. Now what? There was plenty of room out there to park a couple of semis. You’d think a decrepit, old vintage pickup and a shiny, uptown SUV could manage to share the space. Abby left the porch to referee, feeling a little like a pre-school teacher in the middle of a playground squabble. Where the heck was Pop? She could use some help here.
“Looks like someone forgot his manners,” she said, marching over to give Shorty her best “shame on you” look. “Dr. Wilcox needs to get on over to the barn. Can you pull up a little and let him go around you?”
Shorty shrugged, rolled his eyes and inched the truck forward.
Bo stood next to the truck, and Abby wondered if he was having difficulty getting in, or if he was just waiting while Shorty argued over the right-of-way. Something must have changed his mind, because the next thing she knew, he was standing in front of her, generating heat from his body like a kicked-up furnace. Would she ever stop reacting to him?
Bo jerked a thumb in the direction of the Tahoe. “He’s the vet? What happened to Doc Barnes?” The dark glasses were back in place, but there was no doubt his gaze was leveled at the latest visitor to the Houston ranch.
The challenging question made her frown. “He retired a year ago and Stu…I mean, Dr. Wilcox, took over his practice.”
“Stu, huh?” Bo shoved his hands in his pockets, cocked his head to one side. “Looks mighty citified for a country vet. He ever work with anything bigger than fancy poodles and cats with an attitude?”
Abby crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course. He’s worked with horses. Cattle, too, for crying out loud. He’s been helping the ranchers around here for quite some time. Ask Shorty. He uses the doctor’s services, too.”
Bo hesitated just long enough to take off his sunglasses.
“And you? Do you use his services?”
She bristled when he looked at her straight on. No hat hiding his face. No dark glasses concealing those soot-black eyes.
Her chin lifted. His subtle, double-edged question ticked her off, big-time. The defiant side of her nature wanted to punch his lights out. The practical side stifled that urge, but only after a struggle.
“If I do, Ramsey, it’s no concern of yours.” She kept her voice low, every word carefully measured. “My horses need the best care available. They’re old. One of them is nearly blind, and they all have aches and pains, just like a lot of people. Dr. Wilcox gives them excellent care.”
“Hey, I’m sorry.” Bo touched her arm. “I was out of line. Wilcox is probably quite capable of doing his job.” He turned to go, then said over his shoulder, “But if you ever need a gimpy cowboy to muck stalls, I know one who might be interested.” He climbed in the truck, jerked his hat down and slammed the door shut—hard.
“Let’s go,” she heard him tell Shorty.
The rancher swung the pickup around the Tahoe and made a new track down the drive.
Abby stared after them. Well, what brought that on? Certainly not jealousy on Bo’s part. He was a family man now. His sudden marriage to Marla had provided enough fodder for the town gossips. She certainly wasn’t going to give them any more by becoming the other woman. She’d been their object of pity long enough.
Heading for the barn, and Jo-Jo’s stall, she pretended not to see the inquisitive glint in Pop’s eyes as she passed him on his way to the house. She wasn’t going to answer his questions, either. She just wanted to be left alone.
“Looks like it’s only a minor infection, Abby,” the doctor said, looking up from where he’d been working when she entered the stall. His examination of Jo-Jo’s eye finished, Stuart set out a vial of antibiotic and readied the horse for an injection.
“This, along with the drops I’m leaving, should take care of it, but I’ll stop by at the end of the week to check it again, just to be on the safe side.”
Abby walked over and stroked the horse’s neck, trying to divert its attention—and hers—from the shot. She would never get used to the size of the needles necessary for the animals’ injections.
“I appreciate it, Stuart. I know I’m probably overly cautious about my horses, but it’s important for me to keep them as healthy as possible. They’re not exactly youngsters.”
“You know I’ll do what I can.” He finished with Jo-Jo, packed up his implements and headed for the clean-up area to wash his hands.
Abby leaned against the wall outside Jo-Jo’s stall and mentally added the cost of today’s visit to the balance she still owed the vet. Trying to figure out just how she was going to pay the mounting bill was keeping her awake too many nights lately. The more she delved into the mishmash of Pop’s on-again-off-again bookkeeping system, the more she realized she should’ve gotten involved sooner. Should’ve focused her attention on the business of the ranch instead of selfishly wallowing in the condition of her humiliated heart. How pitiful was that?
Lost in her disturbing thoughts, she didn’t hear Stuart’s approach. When he touched her arm, she spun around. He stood close enough for her to read the eagerness in his expressive face. Close enough for her to anticipate what he was about to suggest. She waited and tried to feel a measure of excitement.
“How about dinner tonight?” His cultured, calm voice didn’t threaten or demand, even as his thumb caressed the inside of her elbow. “There’s a new place on the outskirts of Austin I’d like to take you. I hear the chef does wonders with stuffed trout.”
Abby studied him—the sexy cleft chin, silver-gray eyes and thick, cropped hair that was neither blond nor brown, but shades of both. Even his physique was a photographer’s joy. He would be right at home on the cover of any top magazine. Smooth, polished, intelligent. A definite candidate for Texas’s most eligible bachelor list.
So, why didn’t she feel something here? Tingling nerve ends or goose-bumpy shivers? What kind of problem did she have, anyway? Why couldn’t she work up some good, old-fashioned lust? He’d made it clear on their previous date that he’d like to pursue their relationship, even though he didn’t push the issue. Were her hormones totally nonfunctioning? He was Mr. Nice Guy, for crying out loud. The type she’d convinced herself she wanted—deserved, even. The type that wouldn’t give her heart any reason to cry.
“Tonight? Well, I…” Abby took a step backward. Stuart slid his hand down her arm, entwining his fingers through hers.
“I know it’s Monday,” he said, “but we’ll make it an early evening, I promise. What do you say, Abby? Pick you up at six?”
There was nothing subtle about the desire in his voice or the admiration in his eyes, but he never overstepped the boundaries of good conduct. Stuart Wilcox was as honest and forthright as he was good-looking. She knew he wanted her.
“All right, six is fine.” Abby forced a smile and untangled her hand from his. “Now, I really need to fix Pop’s lunch and get ready for the afternoon class.” She hesitated. “I’d ask you to join us, but I’m afraid it’s only tuna sandwiches.”
His polite refusal nearly had her shouting with relief. The way he’d wrinkled his nose at the mention of tuna, she was pretty sure it wasn’t his favorite item on the menu. That little bit of information she tucked away for future reference and hurried on to the house. A quick glance at her watch reminded her of everything she had to do, and prompted her to contemplate how she could add a few more hours to the day. Instead of daylight saving time, she could call it sanity saving time. Specifically hers.
All afternoon, concentration eluded her as she struggled to get through the rest of the day. The hour-long classes were a blur, her attention scattered by mental arguments in Stuart’s favor and counterarguments from Bo’s intruding image. She really needed some alone time to sort out the disturbing thoughts that were making her unusually impatient and antsy. Not her normal self. By the end of the last session, she wondered if she had actually done any supervising at all. Thank goodness for the volunteers. She needed someone around here to stay sane.
And Pop. Bless him, he hadn’t even questioned her when she told him about accepting the dinner date with Stuart. Just raised his eyebrows in that way he had of silently asking if she wanted to talk. But when she hadn’t, he’d given her a hug and told her tomorrow would be better. The eternal optimist, her Pop. If only she could believe him.

She was ready when Stuart arrived exactly at six o’clock. He looked handsome in his charcoal slacks and gray silk shirt. Not at all like the man who had grubbed around in her horse barn that same morning.
“You look lovely, Abby,” he said. He opened the car door for her and she slid in.
She thanked him and wished she’d worn something a little snazzier than her navy silk shift.
“I hope you like this restaurant. It has a five-star rating,” he said when they reached the highway and sped toward Austin.
“I’m sure I will.” Abby leaned back against the leather seat and ordered herself to relax. She needed the break and Stuart was wonderful company. Wasn’t he?
“Tired?” He reached for her hand. “I wish there was more I could help you with.”
“It has been pretty hectic, what with the new students and all, but things are slowly coming together. Pop and I appreciate the care you’ve given our animals.” She let her hand remain in his. The feeling was nice, but there weren’t any of those delicious shivers tickling her spine. No rapid heartbeat, either. She sighed.
“I’d do a lot more if you’d let me.” Stuart’s attention briefly left the road. His sincere smile should’ve lifted her spirits. It didn’t.
“Thanks, Stuart, I appreciate the offer.” She eased her hand away, smoothed her skirt.
“Well, put your problems aside for a few hours tonight and leave everything to me.”
He exited the main highway and by the time he pulled the Lexus into the inn’s valet parking area, Abby had made up her mind to stop making comparisons between Stuart and Bo. She’d concentrate on having a good time. How difficult could that be?
Dinner passed comfortably. Stuart had been right—the food was delicious. “More wine?” Stuart said later, as he poised the bottle over her glass, when they had finished their meal.
Abby shook her head. “No more, thanks,” she said. “Two glasses are my limit.” She didn’t need any more of a buzz than she already had.
Wine was not her drink of choice, but Stuart had made such a to-do over the wine selection, she didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d rather have tea. Especially after her obvious dismay when the waiter served their stuffed trout entrée. Well, how was she to know the thing would be served with its whole face staring right at her? Give her a nice blackened catfish dinner with fries any day. She was relieved when the meal was over and they left the inn. She just wasn’t cut out for gourmet dining.
The moon cast a pale light on the ribbon of road leading back to Sweet River. Replete with the fine wine and the meal, Abby fought to keep her eyelids from drooping.
She heard Stuart slide a CD into the slot. Soon, Andrea Bocelli’s thrilling tenor voice filled the car with romantic Italian love songs. Abby couldn’t understand a single word, but the beauty of his music touched her heart.

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