Hearts Crossing Ranch: The Anthology: A Collection of 8 Christian Romance Novellas

By Tanya Hanson

Take a trail ride to Hearts Crossing Ranch where you'll encounter a family full of love, a land rich in history and contemporary challenges...and a band of brothers and sisters who'll do anything for each other and the men and women they love. Hearts Crossing Ranch Anthology contains all seven Hearts Crossing Ranch series of Christian romances plus the never-before-published "Cross Your Heart", the final chapter in the Martin siblings' stories of heartbreak, triumph and finding those happily-ever-afters western style.Includes:Hearts Crossing RanchRedeeming DaisySanctuaryRight to BraggSoul FoodAngel ChildSeeing DaylightCross Your Heart

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pelican Book Group
• Release date: Jun 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781611165654

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Hearts Crossing Ranch Anthology

Includes 8 stories in 1

Hearts Crossing Ranch

Redeeming Daisy

Sanctuary

Right to Bragg

Soul Food

Angel Child

Seeing Daylight

Cross Your Heart

by

Tanya Hanson

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Hearts Crossing Ranch Anthology

COPYRIGHT 2010-2016 by Tanya Hanson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

Publishing History

First White Rose Edition, 2017

Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-565-4

Published in the United States of America

Hearts Crossing Ranch

1

Mountain Cove, Colorado

Underneath the brim of his black Stetson, Kenn Martin squinted against the sun rising over Hearts Crossing Ranch. He rubbed Joe Montana’s flank, and the sorrel gelding whickered happily. Ah. Nothing he liked better than horse lather under his fingernails. It sure beat out chalk dust from a blackboard. He grinned. At least Mountain Cove High School had finally entered the 21st century and planned to put up white boards with dry-erase markers in September.

That was months away. He grinned again as he dismounted. No more school, no more grade books. No more students’ dirty looks. Aw, teaching was all right. It had paid his bills for six years now, and for the most part, he got along well with the kids. But trail master of wagon trains full of tourists was how he spent his summers, and he loved every second of it. Except…

I’ll take care of Joe, bro. His brother Bragg had come up behind him, silent like most cowboys. Kenn nodded and handed over the reins, barely able to meet Bragg’s eyes.

He’d ruined the boy’s future and hadn’t been brave enough yet to tell him so. Instead of the endorsements and fame of Olympic gold, Bragg was tied to the ranch. He had been the only one of the eight kids with an ambition to see the world and the talent to make it happen, and Kenn had taken that away from him.

I had a good ride, was all Kenn said as guilt rumbled in his gut.

I’ll bet. How could it be otherwise? This is God’s country. His brother’s words comforted Kenn a little as Bragg waved a hand toward the Northern Front Range alongside the Martin family’s three thousand acre ranch. Snow still tinged the mountaintops. As Kenn watched Bragg’s face light up, he wondered if maybe Bragg belonged here after all.

Nope. Kenn ground his teeth. God’s country? Even if Bragg felt that way today, he hadn’t always, and it had been Kenn who’d helped end Bragg’s dream. God. How could the rest of the clan admire Somebody so much who so often let them down?

Airport shuttle’s pulling up, Bragg called as he led the horse to the corral and brought Kenn quickly back to matters at hand.

He recalled the city slickers scheduled for three days of authentic Wild West adventure. A set of parents with twin boys. Two middle-aged couples and a mother-daughter combo. Kenn assessed them as they tumbled from the van. Boding well for the trip, the grown-ups all chattered like they’d been friends for years. Even the look-alike teens—probably starting ninth grade (Ah, Kenn knew the age well)—started to whoop eagerly when they saw the covered wagons. Kenn counted. Ten had been booked for the trip. Eight emerged…Make that nine.

The ninth guest reached for her gear, and Kenn’s heart bounced against his ribs in a way it hadn’t done since the first time he met Daisy. At the memory, he ground his teeth. She’d broken his heart, pure and simple. Still, he couldn’t help admiring this young woman’s beauty as well as her independence. Although she smiled at a ranch hand, she grabbed her big fat duffle bag and tossed it onto the luggage cart by herself. He couldn’t help a little snort. Like any woman, she didn’t dare travel light. Then she saw him, and her face brightened.

As she walked toward him, he leaned against a hitchin’ post and enjoyed the view. Maybe he ought to do his part, go halfway, but truth was, she walked like she belonged here, and he liked watching her confident strides. From beneath the brim of her straw western hat, she examined her surroundings; the way she peeked up at him, he knew the hat was no stranger to her head. And the rest of her attire fit the part, too. Turquoise beaded earrings that matched the bauble in the center of her hat’s crown dusted shoulders clad in a denim jacket. And her western boots, well, they were worn and broken in, and fit like a pair of socks over her skinny jeans. A June wind, still with a touch of spring, tossed her long, black hair and his heart pittered a tad.

You must be Kennedy Martin, she said, holding out her right hand, the ranch’s info brochure in her left. You actually look just like your picture.

That tends to happen unless it’s a driver’s license. You can call me Kenn. He touched his brim and then returned the hearty shake, liking the warmth of her fingers, but knowing full-well his professional parameters.

Named for JFK, I presume. She smiled and leaned her head back, deep-breathing the pristine air.

You’d think. But no. My mother’s maiden name. She’s never forgiven me for shortening it. He shrugged. She makes sure all the PR materials display the entire moniker.

I’m Christy Forrest.

Welcome to Hearts Crossing. It was his automatic response, but he read people well and knew she had more to say.

Those mothers of ours. She tsked with a bit of a smile, but her eyes held pain. "I regret that mine had a last-minute change of plans. But nothing would keep me away."

Glad to have you. He was, but hoped there wouldn’t be hassles with the no show/no refund policy.

Whatever. Her lavender scent mellowed him.

When do we leave? Christy nodded firmly.

He nodded back at her eagerness, at everybody’s. Well, it still thrilled him a bit when the big wagons set off, the remuda of horses thundering behind. It was as close to the pioneer spirit modern folks could get.

Soon as we’re loaded.

Her gaze followed the ranch hands as they piled the passengers’ gear into the buckboard that would carry personal supplies and travel alongside the covered wagons. Built to be as authentic as possible, but with modern comfort in mind, the wagons had cushioned bench seats inside and rubber tires to ease the jostling of the trail. Kenn studied her and, just for a moment, he wished he had the opportunity to join her inside, but he’d be up ahead on horseback.

We’ll get to Shadow Ridge for lunch, he said as a blink of morning sun flashed in her dark eyes. Chuck wagon’s already on its way. Nothing beats burgers, beans, and brownies on the trail.

I can’t wait. My airline doesn’t even give out pretzels unless we pay. I’m starving. How far is that?

He shrugged. Four miles or so. Then we’ll head to Hawk Meadow where we tent up for the night. Right now, you can get a cup of coffee in the bunkhouse if you want. Scones, too.

Scones? Her laugh was bright and happy. Shouldn’t I expect corndodgers or hard tack?

Aw. That’s all my sister Kelley’s doing. She’s chuck cook. All modern and trendy and vegetarian on top of it.

But you said burgers…

I also said beans and brownies. He laughed out loud, and it felt good. We’ll be on our way in twenty, thirty minutes. Hoop will give his orientation talk in a bit.

She peered at her brochure again. I presume you mean John Hooper Martin

Yep. Hoop’s ranch foreman and my big brother.

The oldest of the eight, in charge of everything since Pa’s untimely death, it had been Hooper’s idea to start up the wagon train tours to stave off bankruptcy. But Kenn didn’t tell Christy any of that. Come on. I’ll introduce you. I need to say howdy to the other newcomers, too.

As they headed toward the bunkhouse, he noticed that her head barely reached his shoulder. Yet there wasn’t anything frail about her. That hat, those boots, her suntanned face, she was every bit a woman of the West.

****

The warm air of Shadow Ridge cuddled her shoulders as she looked out at the ranchland studded with cattle. The meadows were alive with wildflowers, and the mountains guarded Hearts Crossing like protective arms. Christy could almost feel God in the beauty surrounding her. She clenched her teeth. Almost. Because God wasn’t her friend. Not anymore. Not after enfolding Daddy in His arms for that brief space of time only to end his life before anybody was ready. On Easter Sunday yet, with his retirement just a month away.

To celebrate the conclusion of his academic career, Daddy had planned a trip like this. Christy had gone ahead with the plans for her and her mother, but at the last minute, Mom hadn’t been able to bear Colorado without her man.

So Christy was here alone.

Missing her father more than ever, she sighed loudly and wondered if the woman sitting next to her heard. From the wagon rim, she forced herself to follow yellow butterflies chasing a creek along the trail. Even in everybody’s excited states, chitchat had ceased as eyes took in the glory outside. Christy settled onto the bench seat and let the churning sound of the wagon wheels relax her. To her amazement, the bench seat was comfortable, and she grinned. The brochure had promised Old West sensibility with a touch of 21st century sense.

Thinking of that brochure brought Kennedy Martin firmly to mind. For a flash, she wished he was sitting beside her instead of Jennie Blake. Of course, her seatmate was plenty nice. But whenever Christy could, she caught sight of Kenn atop his sorrel, striking and rugged as his picture, a real man of the Western outdoors with sun-squinted eyes, a storybook Stetson framing light brown hair, several days of scruff brushing his cheeks. His way on a horse let her know he’d been riding since before he could walk. Maybe they’d even keep in touch after these three days. Maybe…Hmmmm. Behind their bandannas, his brothers all wore manly silver crucifixes as testament to the family’s trust in God. Maybe he could help her regain the faith she’d lost.

Something she knew she needed to regain.

I smell grub, one of the Blake twins shouted as they neared the stopover. Christy’s stomach growled. The chocolate chip scone had been delicious, but that had been hours ago. She couldn’t wait to meet Kenn’s sister Kelley. The irony of a vegetarian chuck cook in charge of hearty menus that featured hefty portions of Hearts Crossing’s own cattle had Christy giggling.

How’d you do? Kenn was at her side to help her down as soon as the wagon parked in a sun-bright meadow so breathtaking words stopped in her throat. For a moment, she wobbled as she got back her ground legs.

Oh, Kenn, it’s grand. Glorious. More than I could have imagined. She smiled with delight at the sight of him, and all thoughts of her wavering faith vanished in Kenn’s presence. Although I don’t think the Blake boys are happy about leaving their iPods and cell phones behind.

He chuckled. That’s the rule. No electronic devices. Hearts Crossing Wagon Tours are as close to nature as we can get. One customer pouted the whole trip. He couldn’t believe we don’t have Wi-Fi.

Yeah. Mitchell firmly believes three days without texting will ruin his life.

Both of them laughing, Kenn led her to a fragrant meal, arranged buffet style on the back of the chuck wagon. Portable tables and chairs were set up, but a group of boulders did nicely for seating as well. Around the bluff, ponderosa pines and mountain alder trees thirty feet tall reached to the clouds. The creek she’d noticed along the trail burbled nearby, and with birdsong in the air and that exquisite sky overhead, Christy couldn’t imagine a setting more perfect.

It’s like I had a checklist and could mark what I want. And it’s all here, she mumbled as Kenn handed her a tin blue spatter plate.

Hmm? Deep brown eyes looked down at her, sun-streaked brown hair ruffling the back of his neck in the breeze.

It’s just perfect. More even than your brochure promised. For a flash, she pondered what Mom would be doing back home in Pomona. After his retirement, Daddy had wanted to move to Palm Springs near Aunt Ruth, but so far, Mom refused to leave the house on Faculty Row.

Christy filled her plate with fragrant down-home fare while Kenn took twice as much. Just perfect, she repeated.

Well, we aim to please. Without even talking about it, Kenn and she headed for the boulders at the same time. Through her jeans, the rock was warm and soothing.

So, cowgirl, it’s perfect, huh? Kenn definitely had a triumphant tone in his voice, but his eyes had a glint that set her heart to smacking hard against her ribs three or four times.

She gobbled a brownie before answering. No dainty manners here despite that glittering gaze. Absolutely. The only thing I need now is to ride a horse. I can do that, can’t I?

You’re a horsewoman? Kenn didn’t sound completely surprised, and she got it. Her hat, the boots. Gear she wore on her landscaping projects.

Well, I don’t know about that, but I can ride. I took lessons at Girl Scout Camp when I was thirteen. Of course that had been, well, seventeen years ago, but wasn’t it like typing or skiing? Once you learned, you never forgot?

Kenn swallowed a big bite of burger and then pursed his lips. He had a hearty appetite to be sure, but took his time. Nothing messy or wolf-down for this cowpoke. Yeah, all right. We got some mounts good for greenhorns.

Obviously he’d done the math and realized it had been a long time. She gave him a rueful grin.

I read your rules, she said. I’m wearing padded bike pants.

You’re somethin’. He chuckled as his words warmed her through in a little drawl all his own. Then you can mount up after we eat. How’d you hear about us? He took another masculine, but mannerly, bite.

Glad for her own mouthful, she gathered her composure and took her own time to reply. She’d save the sob story for another time. My late father. He was a professor of American studies and loved the Old West. I guess growing up with TV Westerns, this is something he always wanted the family to do.

Suddenly she realized she had to explain somewhat. She was here alone, after all. But he… passed away before he got the chance. So I’m here representing all of us. She nodded, her hat bouncing along with her head. Daddy had given it to her one birthday not long ago.

Well, whatever reason brought you here…. Kenn’s voice was soft, but she heard every word above the lunchtime chatter and wind in the trees. …I’m sure glad it did.

She liked what he said, wanted to know whatever he would share with her without being nosy. I know all the nightmare stories, about real wagon trains getting caught in snow in the Old West. So I know you don’t do these tours in winter. What do you do then?

Ski on weekends. Rest of the time, I guess I’m a kindred spirit of your dad. I teach American Lit at Mountain Cove High. About eight miles from Hearts Crossing.

Something fun and crazy skittered up her spine. A teacher? American Lit? Didn’t they say girls always ended up with guys like their fathers? She held off an eye roll and shoved the foolish thought from her brain.

What about the rest of your family? she asked, quick to change the subject. Do you all help out?

Yep. All eight of us, Kenn stretched out his legs. When we were kids, Pa told us right off the ranch couldn’t sustain everybody. So we have other jobs and help out here when we can.

Wow. Eight. That must be some Thanksgiving dinner. I’m an only child. Even she heard the trace of wistful in her tone.

Must be lonely.

Christy shrugged over her last bite of brownie. Never shy about food, she’d taken two. Well, yeah. But Faculty Row was a tight community. Most of the profs had kids. But tell me about the eight of you.

"Me and Hooper, you already know. I’m the fourth. Kelley, after me, is sous chef at a restaurant in Denver. Uses her vacation time to cook for the tours. He slathered more barbeque sauce onto his burger. It was delicious, and she wondered if Kelley made it from scratch. You sure you want me to go on? Could be a snooze-fest."

Oh, yes. Inquiring minds want to know.

He shrugged. All righty, then. Rachel’s second-oldest, after Hoop. She’s an attorney, and Hearts Crossing is her biggest client. Right now, she and Nick are expecting their first child. A boy. His shy grin melted her heart. Third born, Pike is a wrangler— he pointed to another good-looking cowboy working with the string of horses —as well as a large animal vet. Scott comes after Kel. He and I take turns as wagon master and alternate running our Cowboy College. He’s also our webmaster and runs our on-line store.

Cowboy College?

Yep. Back at the ranch. Our three-day workshop on ranching skills. Roping steer. Branding. All the things you can imagine a cowpoke ought to know how to do.

Cool. It did sound great, inviting even. His large and busy family intrigued her. But that only brings us to six, she said.

Bragg’s a CPA.

For whatever reason, he stumbled over the name, and his fingers tensed around his fork, but then he spoke up in his usual tone. He’s busy during tax season for folks all over Jackson County, but rest of the time, he tends the ranch finances. And Chelsea, well, she was Ma and Pa’s little afterthought. She’s a freshman at Boulder. My alma mater. You?

Oh, I love Boulder. It’s noted as a ‘green’ campus. I’m a landscape architect in Calabasas, California.

For a moment, sadness surged. It was Dad’s insurance money that had helped her expand Forrest for the Trees Landscape Design in the high-end community. Business had really taken off, recession or not. Of course the guest feature on HGTV last winter had certainly helped.

She forced out the words as casually as she could. "Dad used to read to me every night. Regular stuff like Where the Wild Things Are and Little Women. When I was in middle school, he started me on Walden. Thoreau taught me something about myself I hadn’t known."

What was that? His voice was soft.

She looked down at her toes, somehow shy. That I wanted to get down and dirty with nature.

Thoreau’ll do that to you. Kenn spoke the name almost reverently. Wind rustled like music. We’ve something in common, then. After reading him, I knew I was meant to teach American Lit. And get my nature fix here at Hearts Crossing.

Something in common. Christy liked the sound of that.

2

Night took a long time falling over Hawk Meadow. Tops of tall pine trees sketched a squiggly line across the twilight sky overhead. Over a plate of Kelley’s marvelous beef stew and jalapeno cornbread, Christy chatted with Jennie Blake, longing for the after-supper program of songs and stories around the campfire. She might have a chance to sit near Kenn. Along with the other wranglers, Kenn had swallowed a quick meal and now busily set up camp for the night.

Although he’d helped her mount a mare called Sugarfoot after lunch, he’d ridden at the head of the train. She found herself missing him terribly, her ride slow as she got used to the horse. On the trail, he had caught her eye frequently but with business-like nods as if satisfied with her riding skills. Nonetheless, meeting his gaze any time at all managed to take her breath away.

Ah, what riding skills? She groaned as she got up from the supper table.

 You OK? Jennie asked.

 Christy patted her backside. I wore the cycling underwear they recommended, and I’ve sure got more padding of my own back here than when I was thirteen. But seriously, it’s been way too long since I learned horsemanship at Girl Scout camp.

 Want some Ibuprofen? Jennie asked maternally, although she couldn’t be but a few years older.

 Christy laughed out loud. I suspect that’s too modern for Hearts Crossing’s Wild West experience. Maybe I should hunt down some willowbark instead.

Wincing as she walked, she joined Kelley at the chuck wagon. Although the wide-eyed Blake twins eagerly joined the forces pitching tents, the adult guests relaxed over their tin cups of coffee, which Kelley had called Arbuckle’s.

That meal was fantastic, Kelley. Now let me help clean up, Christy insisted. It’ll be dark soon.

Well, we do have lanterns, Kelley teased. We like our tours realistic but we do spare you hardship. She’d just finished grinding some coffee beans in a hand cranked machine.

Kenn’s next-youngest sister looked the part of Cookie in her black gingham shirt and homey calico apron. With her western hat pushed back on her head, it was easy to enjoy her hazel-flecked eyes and sun-streaked braids. But…Christy noticed right off the interlocking hearts tattoo on her forearm and her black Roper Rockstar boots. This was no country bumpkin.

I like your tat, she said and recalled yet again the brochure in her pocket. It’s the ranch logo, right?

Yep. Our brand, too.

I like it. I’ve always… She had thought about getting a dainty tattoo of Daddy’s initials, but after his terrible accident, she had decided it was more important to be a regular blood donor, making piercings and tattoos impossible. She pushed away the pain. You shouldn’t have to clean, too. Let me get the others to help. You take a load off.

Kelley shook her head. It’s that way at the ranch. The cook doesn’t wash up. But out here… Hands up, she shrugged at her tidy little chuck wagon, I’d rather do it myself. Things don’t get lost or mislaid that way.

Christy pointed to the nearest tree, ready to scrape the plates stacked at the tailgate of the chuck wagon. Where can I dump the scraps? She figured behind a tree was good enough compost.

Kelley held out a box of trash bags. Right here. We take home everything we bring in.Ah. That explained the port-a-potties discreetly hidden behind a tarp.

I like that, Christy said simply.

Kelley nodded, dipping a plate in a dishpan. Even my dish soap is biodegradable. Sure, it would be easy enough to dump everything in the stream and hope for the best. But that’s just not our way.

I like your way, Christy told her, sparing her a Thoreau lecture. Being Kenn’s sister, Kelley had probably already heard one. Or more. She grinned, recalling Hooper’s orientation before they left the ranch. He’d said quick wash-ups in the stream with biodegradable soaps were OK. But shampoos and full-body had to be done under a big black bag filled with water that heated up during the day and had a shower head attached. Somehow, that reminded her.

Is it hard, being a vegetarian in this group?

Kelley rinsed a cast iron frying pan. Not as hard as you’d think. We’re increasingly getting guests who are vegetarian. Vegan, even. I know how to fix up garden burgers and portabella. Then she winked at Christy although her eyes held a tinge of sadness. I was nine, had raised my sweet steer from the ground up. He was Grand Market Champion at the county fair that summer, and I was as proud as a mommy. Then Pa raised a small fortune on him at auction for my college tuition, and he went away to slaughter. And that… she nodded firmly, was my life’s defining moment.

Ouch, Christy said foolishly, feeling more than a twinge for that little nine year old girl.

Kelley chuckled. Now, twenty years later, I’ve healed up. But I have never since then eaten anything with eyes. Oh, I used to get Pa so mad!

From the corner of her eye, Christy watched Kenn start up a campfire. Somehow his movements were musical and muscular at the same time. He was in splendid shape, and she guessed winters full of skiing and summers riding herd over tourists in the great outdoors would do that to a man. For a flash, she wondered how it would be to run her fingers over the shadow of whiskers lining his cheeks. Would it feel soft?

Like slow motion, she noticed Kelley observing her.

My favorite part of these trips, Kelley remarked softly over the clang of drying pans. The campfire. Marshmallows. Music. Kenny plays a mean harmonica. Ma’s a great fiddler, but she didn’t make this trip. Had a bunionectomy last month. Pike, now, his guitar riffs are good enough for Keith Urban.

Pike? Like Peak?

Exactly. Kelley’s white teeth and pretty smile reflected in the lantern glow as she lit it. Zebulon Pike Martin. Ma claims she was hiking half-way up the Peak when she went into labor with a ten-pounder.

Christy gasped and stumbled against a tree root. You’re kidding.

Kelley shrugged. You never know with Ma.

For an instant a vision of her own mother, pale and tragic, flashed inside Christy’s head. Sometimes her sympathy tangled itself with irritation, and she didn’t like the sensation.

Handing her a dishtowel, Kelly asked casually, So are you married, engaged, or involved with anyone?

The frankness of the question made Christy burst out laughing. Slowly, she plunked a dried-off tin plate onto a shelf before replying. For almost five years, she’d thought Jacob was The One before she was brave enough to realize he wasn’t. Even with all her sorority sisters married and pregnant and worried about her, the lone bachelorette.

No to all three, she said firmly. Why do you ask?

Although deep inside, she hoped she knew the answer.

With raised eyebrows, Kelley gave her busy brother Kenn a full-on glare of significance.

Christy tingled, but no. Kenn lived in Colorado. She was a Californian through and through. Thoreau was good, but he wasn’t enough, and neither was three days on a wagon train.

Aw, come on, Christy. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And if I may be so bold. The way you look at him. Kelley’s face had reddened, but her voice held strong.

Heat rose in Christy’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the exertions of the day.

"You come on, Kelley, she said lightly. He takes these trips all the time. With people just like me."

He’s been lonely too long.

The unlikelihood of it all didn’t amuse her anymore. She shook her head and finished drying a handful of tin forks. You don’t know anything about me. I could be a…an axe murderer. And I don’t know. I may be best as a singleton.

 Aw, Christy. Everybody wants somebody.

She’d thought so once. I had a long-term relationship with a guy I thought was the love of my life. Until one day it hit me. Right between the eyes. He wasn’t. I didn’t want to settle. After all that, I think I’m just too independent.

What do you mean? Kelley’s head bent as she scoured another big black cast iron frying pan, but then her gaze met Christy straight on. Today’s men don’t want a lapdog.

I know. Not exactly what I meant. Christy sighed, squeezing her fists tight about her towel. My dad died fifteen months ago, and my mom can barely breathe. My heart can’t depend on anybody that hard.

Kelley quickly dried her hands and sympathetic fingers touched Christy’s shoulder. Oh, I’m so sorry. But it isn’t always like that. My ma misses Pa, no doubt, but she always holds her own. Anyway, Kelley moved away to pour a pan of dishwater behind a tree. Kenn got burned bad a while back. I think he could be ready again.

Christy huffed, a little uncomfortable now. He might be, but it was weird for his sister to come on to a perfect stranger on his behalf.

****

From time to time, Kenn could feel Christy’s gaze on him. His face heated in a way that had nothing to do with the campfire he’d just set to raging inside a circle of rocks. Catching sight of her and Kelley in deep discussion over the dishes, he could tell he was the subject of their chitchat from Kelley’s peeking and pointing. He couldn’t help preening a little. Since his sister wasn’t a matchmaker at all, Christy Forrest must really be interested in him.

Self-conscious, he ran a hand over his scruffy three-day beard. Maybe he should have gone clean-shaven this trip. A girl from an upscale California suburb might not go for the rough and tumble look of the trail even though most guests did.

Yo, Kenn? Bragg broke into his thoughts. You spinnin’ the yarns tonight or is it me?

His kid brother was awfully good at mesmerizing folks over a campfire, but tonight Kenn just might do the honors himself. His rendition of Twain’s tall tale of Calaveras County’s jumping frog was a popular one. A girl with an American studies prof for a father might like that. But…if he let Bragg do it, or his mean Pecos Bill, Kenn might get to sit by Christy around the campfire.

You go, bro, he told Bragg, wishing again he’d not let the kid down so hard. But soul searching was something for another time. Bragg seemed somewhat at peace these days.

Not, Kenn grumbled deep inside, that he himself had a soul worthy to work peace on. If only…if only he’d turned in the swim coach who was doping the athletes instead of kowtowing to the man’s threats and lies.

Come on. For the millionth time, Kenn forced away bad thoughts to think through some other time. With an expansive gesture, he herded the guests around the fire. He had a job to do. Time for an authentic cowboy concert. You ain’t heard nothing like this on CMT.

He continued with his practiced drawl. And let my little brother regale you with tales of the Old West. All the while feasting on my sister Kelley’s award-winning version of S’mores. He bowed toward her. Four years now. Blue Ribbon at the Jackson County Fair.

 S’mores? P.J. Blake called out eagerly as he crossed his legs in the dirt. Isn’t that just marshmallows and chocolate on a graham cracker?

Not when Kelley makes graham flatbread herself and shows you how to add blueberries, which we grow ourselves. Kenn had the group laughing as they settled down, but it was the sweet haze of Christy’s lavender perfume that finally brought him down into the circle, right beside her, calm and eager.

How do you like it? he managed to ask while the rest belted out All Day on the Prairie in a Saddle I Ride to Pike’s hectic guitar.

He felt her smile all the way to his toes. Again, perfect. Everything I imagined and more.

Did that include him? His heart thumped. Glad to hear it. He leaned closer, over the noise, and fought for something normal to talk about. Looks like the twins will sleep under their wagon tonight. Just like the old days.

On cue, Christy peered around the camp. The wagons had formed a circle where the horses grazed on its outer edge and small tents sprouted in the center.

More power to them. Christy chuckled. Me, I find it amazing how safe I’ll feel inside those three square feet of nylon. As the song petered out and the attention turned to Bragg, she whispered, I think we better listen.

Kenn nodded, and watching her face, he realized her father’s interest in American Lit lived on in her. After the raucous applause, when Bragg finished his energetic Twain recitation, she looked Kenn straight on, a glaze of tears visible in the firelight. Daddy and I loved that story. It’s almost like he’s still here with me. I better go thank your brother.

He’ll be around for days yet, Kenn reminded her softly, not wanting her to leave his side. And she didn’t, for another sing-along started, full of lullabies and heart-tugging love songs. When he took out his harmonica, he watched delight shine in her eyes, and he played the best he ever had.

Oh, Kenn. ‘Lorena.’ That was so beautiful. Her eyes glinted with tears as she looked at him. Said to be such a heartrending song during the Civil War, soldiers went AWOL after hearing it to get back to their sweethearts.

I didn’t mean to make you sad, he said softly.

She smiled, tears gone. You didn’t.

He nodded at Bragg, who pulled out his own harmonica. His rendition of Amazing Grace always got folks sniffling, and tonight was no exception.

By then, the fire was dimming and folks hid yawns.

Bragg stood. Good night to those of you wanting to hit the hay. But ya’ll are welcome to join me for an evening devotion if you’ve a mind.

Everybody but Christy and Kenn nodded eagerly. He had no use for God at bedtime or ever. And from the tight set of her jaw, maybe she didn’t either.

I think I’ll take a walk. See you all in the morning. Christy waved, and Kenn debated whether to follow her. About the only wildlife anybody had seen in Hawk Meadow for years were its namesake birds, deer, and foxes. Nobody had seen bears or cougars for a long time, but there was always the chance a city slicker like Christy might want someone alongside her in the dark.

If you don’t mind, let me come along, he said. You never know what things go bump in the night out there.

You serious? Her eyes widened in the glow of the dying embers as Kenn pulled out a flashlight. Are we in danger?

Nope…but you greenhorns always think you are. He winked and chuckled. But just in case, the guys and I take turns keeping watch all night.

She set off, her boot heels rustling the bluestem grass. Well, I don’t want to go far. But I am surprised. Don’t you stay for the devotions?

 Not always. Sometimes he did, of course, but just for show. The blessing and The Lord’s Prayer didn’t mean much to him. Not after a sleazy financial adviser had nearly wiped out Pa during the dotcom frenzy. Not after Bragg. Or Daisy’s betrayal. With the swim coach, no less. And then Pa’s sudden, brutal battle with cancer. The Martins had always loved and feared the Lord, and to have Him turn on them like that had increasingly done a job on what was left of Kenn’s childhood faith.

Right now, he shrugged. Christy didn’t need to know his struggles. We’re not a faith-based camp, as you can tell from our literature. But it seems a lot of folks just like that down-home little ritual at day’s end. Outside of the circle of wagons, Christy leaned against a wheel and paused to look up at the stars. He wondered if she was searching for something she had lost. Or would like to find.

I’d like to feel that way. The way I did once. Suddenly she reached for the bandana Kenn wore at his neck and lifted it. Sorry, but I wondered if you wore the cross. Like your brothers do.

He never wore it, although it was safe in a dresser drawer. Nope. Don’t want to lose it. Pa gave one to each of us when he knew he wasn’t going to make it. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Although it meant nothing to him as a symbol of faith, he didn’t want to lose it, for Pa’s sake.

Oh, I’m so sorry.

Kenn’s throat tightened over the words. Cancer. Didn’t feel good one Fourth of July. Thought it was something he ate. Pancreas. He died the end of August.

Unexpectedly, her hand left his scarf and reached for his, and her warmth scattered the cooling night air. Oh, I’m so sorry, she said again. She let go of his hand, and then her own words sounded tight. But at least you got to say good-bye.

That we did.

Not me. She looked away from him back to the fire pit where the small gathering held hands with heads bowed. Daddy had never believed. I guess he had the academic’s mistrust of religion. No empirical evidence and all that. Her feet rustled in the gravel of the trail, and her soft herbal scent tickled his nose.

 Kenn shifted against the wagon. I know. A lot of my colleagues at the public high school are like that.

Mom is the one who raised me a Christian. And bless his heart, Daddy always respected her views. And her raising me as one. But maybe it was retirement, leaving that ivory tower. Whatever, he dedicated himself to the Lord those last months of his life. Goodness, She laughed a little. I guess he felt he had to make up for all those empty years. First Community Church had nobody as active.

Her voice grew tighter. He was headed for the church early on Easter Sunday to set up for Sunrise Service. A drunk driver who’d been out all night drinking hit Daddy’s car head on. And that was that.

Oh, Christy. I am so sorry. He tensed, unsure of what to do next. Taking a chance, he reached for her hand, its warmth making him glad he did.

Yeah, everybody was. She breathed in deeply and squeezed once before letting go. But it’s never made me feel better, all those platitudes, the sympathy cards, the eulogies about him being in heaven. She snorted. How ‘lucky he’d found the Lord’ just in time. Lucky?

She stamped her foot now and gave him a quick glare. Heaven? I need him here! Even Mom’s big faith fizzled away like air out of a hole in a balloon. She’s just a shell of what she was. I guess for her it’ll take time. I know the cycles of grief, the anger, the depression. But the worst of it. The worst of it was…

With a sob, she sagged against the side of the wagon, and Kenn gave into the instinct to put his arm around her. To comfort another suffering human being seemed basic to him. Sunday school had taught him that, at least. He didn’t feel the need to prompt her. If she needed to share her thoughts, she would find the words somehow.

Finally she gulped and met his gaze, never moving out of his arms. The man who killed my dad was a prominent physician in town. His wife knew about his addiction but didn’t want to compromise his career or reputation. Or her status. He’s in recovery now, but my dad’s dead. She caused my father’s death as much as her husband.

Tragedy sparkled in Christy’s eyes along with the moonlight. If she’d stepped in, told somebody, intervened in some way, he’d still be alive. She began to weep, and Kenn wasn’t sure what to do.

But she didn’t do anything! Look at the consequences of her selfish decision. I’ll never forgive her. I’ll never forgive anybody like that!

Another sob wrenched Christy, and she ran from him to her little tent. Heart pounding, he watched her in the rays of the flashlight until she zipped the nylon and slipped from view. Her words slammed around his brain.

But she didn’t do anything! Look at the consequences of her selfish decision. I’ll never forgive her. I’ll never forgive anybody like that!

The night air chilled him. Kenn had been somebody who hadn’t helped another in need, all because it might affect himself. He had been certain of the coach’s actions, but he’d needed his teaching job to help the ranch survive. Tony O’Neal had insinuated he’d get Kenn fired and would blackball Bragg’s chances for athletic scholarships if Kenn didn’t keep the secret. Worse, Kenn had stupidly believed the coach’s promise to stop dosing Bragg. Deep down, he’d known better, but Kenn had decided to hide his head in the sand to keep his job.

 And Christy Forrest couldn’t forgive anybody like that. Kenn could never bear to have her learn his terrible secret.

3

The smell of frying bacon wafted through the chill meadow air. For a beautiful second, the morning sky overhead turned so blue Christy’s eyes hurt as she left her tent. She hadn’t cried herself to sleep after all, although she missed Daddy, missed her mother at her side on the trip, and missed the woman Mom had once been. Somehow, the sweet tunes of a soft harmonica had lulled her in the darkness.

 After taking care of her personal business, she headed toward the chuck wagon where Kelley—and Kenn— busied themselves making breakfast. Seeing him, her heart thumped, despite her words yesterday during Kelley’s bout of matchmaking.

Smells awesome, she told them. When Kenn’s face lit up, her blood pumped more furiously than ever, and she tried to tamp it, to no avail.

Even I agree, Kelley said with a laugh.

Some vegetarian you are. Kenn teasingly slapped his sister’s arm before he flipped a rasher and gave Christy such a smile her breath stopped for a full heartbeat.

Well, Big Benjamin was a steer, not a hog.

Christy joined the fun. Nonetheless, he did have eyes.

Kelley guffawed. Touché. Now if ya’ll excuse me, I’ve got some flapjacks to rustle up. She left for the opposite side of the wagon. Christy could hear a spoon slap against the sides of a bowl.

Did you sleep well? Kenn asked softly, looking down at her from underneath his brim in that way she already liked too much.

Yeah. That was you on the harmonica, wasn’t it?

He nodded. Yep. Folks seem to like it for the first little while after the fire goes out. Feels less alone.

Well, he’d called that one correctly. It worked. She’d felt comfort and compassion almost instantly. But whether that included a renewal of faith, she didn’t want to waste today analyzing. To lighten the moment, she smiled and recalled her dad’s stories.

 Just like cows on the trail, she said. You know. When cowboys played songs and sang lullabies to keep the herd from stampeding.

That’s right. Still do. The beeves don’t know what’s out there in the dark. Anything can spook ’em. Lighting a match. A tumbleweed rolling by in the wind.

Well, it isn’t dark now. And I’m ready for another sensational day.

Glad to hear it, he said, soft again. Last night seemed to send you off in a bad way.

She shrugged. It all gets to me at times. But each day is a little bit better, I’d say. Maybe being here in God’s country will help chase my demons away.

God’s country? Where had that term come from? She widened her eyes.

Demons. That’s quite a word. Kenn looked up at Shadow Ridge as if lost in thought. His seriousness touched her heart. Then, he slapped his thighs suddenly and brought her back to the present. We’re bound for Old Joe’s Hole after breakfast.

At his words, Christy realized the camp had come to life. Up, dressed, packing gear. Even the horses seemed raring to go. Sounds like water, she remarked.

Yep. Nice little stream-fed lake. We’ve got canoeing, rowboats, fishing. A dock for diving. Some guests like to take a hike up the ridge. Others just hang loose on a hammock between two trees. We’ll spend the rest of the day there then head back to the ranch tomorrow.

Tomorrow? All of a sudden the word sounded way too soon. Kenn laid a hand gently on her shoulder.

Time’s going too quick to please me, he said. I’d like to get to know you better, y’know?

He loped off in a hurry before she could formulate anything to say. Holding a big iron griddle, Kelley made her way to the big camp stove, but paused as if she’d heard. Kenny’s such a good guy, but he carries a load.

A load?

Something heavy in his heart. He never talks about it, but I know it is more than getting dumped by Daisy.

Daisy. Christy repeated the name, remembering Kenn’s pensive look of a moment ago.

Kelley nodded. She taught P.E. at the high school, and they were quite the thing for a while. Then… Her voice lowered. …she left Kenn for the swim coach. Showed up first day of school on Coach O’Neal’s arm.

Ouch.

And Kenny couldn’t let it matter. Out loud at least. Because Tony O’Neal had such a strong swim team, and Bragg was the star. He even helped Bragg get a swimming scholarship to Washington. Full ride.

Wow, Christy remarked inanely, aching for Kenn’s broken heart. But maybe he’s better off.

Without Daisy? Yes. But without a woman of his own. No. There’s something eating at him, worse than getting dumped way back when. He could use a strong woman with a strong faith.

Well, that won’t be me if that’s what he needs. From the corner of her eye, Christy watched Kenn build another fire and realized that one blazed right in her own heart. She needed to extinguish it fast because she liked what she saw way too much. Obviously she wasn’t the right woman for him. No matter what his sister said, tomorrow was coming way too fast.

If he needed a woman of strong faith, she had no right to encourage his interest for even a second. Her own distance from God was enough to deal with. She reached for lightheartedness and laughed at Kelley. Now, I reckon you ought to stop matchmaking us, Cookie. I’m only here for three days.

Here. Help me get the pancakes started. Kelley greased the griddle and handed Christy a spatula. And I have a response to that.

To what?

To you being here just for three days. Think about staying on for Cowboy College.

Hmm. For some reason, she couldn’t help being tempted. She did feel better today than yesterday, and last night’s lack of tears had surprised her. Maybe she was healing up. Maybe God was at work. Maybe she could help Kenn with the load he carried.

****

Kenn saddled Joe Montana, eager for another day’s ride, and hoped Christy would mount up at his side. He’d go slow to accommodate the aches and pains he knew still lingered. So did her words. God’s country. Same term Bragg had used. Two wounded people must still have some seeds of faith lurking somehow.

With an angry shrug, he shoved off the notion. Well, good for them.

Hey, cowboy, just so you know. I’m thinking about Cowboy College. Christy’s voice rang sweet in his ears over the breeze rolling down the mountains, and he paused to watch her approach. Those boots of hers almost made him crazy. If she stayed on a few more days, he’d go crazier yet.

But for now, he reached for calm and stayed in the present. You here to saddle up your Sugarfoot?

With a pretty frown, she patted her backside. You betcha. I’ll cowgirl-up and make it work. So tell me more. About college.

 Like he showed her, Christy set to saddling the mare she’d ridden, and he stood watching her with a pang of pride. Obviously she had paid attention to all his directions.

 He couldn’t help grinning at her. You really serious about going?

Mebbe. She used her best western movie drawl. What kind of degrees do you offer?

 Hope raged, so he joked lightly as he handed her the reins. Bachelors in branding. Masters in roping. PhD in mechanical bull riding.

Her face brightened. Like two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Manchu? She quoted a lyric from one of his favorite Tim McGraw songs.

Nope. Tim’s was the real deal. And I was just kidding about the mechanical bull. We use the real deal here, too, but not on a tenderfoot like you. That’s all Rodeo College.

Then his good spirits crashed-and-burned as he remembered her firm vow last night. She’d never forgive any kind of enabler whose lack of action had caused heartache to someone else. Her words still scorched him. With his load of guilt, he had no chance with her, Cowboy College or not. He couldn’t bear the wound to his heart when she found out. He had to settle for the now. He would make today as perfect a day in Paradise as he could. They could get in plenty of alone time at the Hole.

He didn’t let his downer show and moved to help her to the saddle, but she mounted up just fine on her own.

Let’s get on to Old Joe’s Hole, he said. "We can talk more when we get there. Wagons, ho." He shouted to everybody else.

Atop his buckskin, Bragg waved, but his smile stabbed Kenn in the gut sure as real steel. Right now Bragg should be on top of the world, not a horse, covered in Gold Medals from Beijing. Preparing for the Olympics in London. One of People Magazine’s hottest young bachelors. Commercials. Cameos. Talk shows. Commentating. With his height, his wingspan, double joints and enormous feet, he had all the physical advantages of a legendary swimmer and had been considered the truest rival of Michael Phelps all along. Until the test results banned him for life.

 And it was Kenn’s fault. He hadn’t been his brother’s keeper. With a growl, he mounted Joe Montana. Somehow Bragg had made it through college, charming his way out of doping questions, faking tests, his psychological dependence on performance-enhancing drugs as real as a heroine addict’s. By then, the loss of the scholarship would have caused the family more financial hardship. And to this day, Tony O’Neal had never atoned for his sins. Nor had Kenn.

Bragg was the one who had gotten the worst of it, though.

But all that was then. Kenn sighed. Today belonged to him and Christy. That’s all they would have. Tomorrow, he’d be busy before sunup to organize the long trip back to the ranch and once there, he’d help Scott get ready for the next wagon train while he taught Cowboy College. Whew. He caught his breath. Christy an avid pupil in his class could be his undoing. The realization smacked him in the gut like a fist.

He had to do his best to convince her not to stay.

The thought busted him up. As she smiled a smile that weakened his knees, she headed off before she could see him touch his brim. His heart pounded like a freshman’s with pleasure, and with pain.

Hey, Kenn, Jennie Blake called as the wagon rolled by, blonde hair bouncing under her ball cap. Paul and I are having the best time. Wish we’d signed up for the five-day trip. The boys love everything. Been a while since they were excited about anything.

I teach high school. Say no more. He chuckled at the happy parents inside the ballooning canvas, their grinning sons alongside, safely astride surefooted geldings.

The five-day trip. For a flash, he wished Christy had signed up for one, too. Scott generally ran the longer jaunts, but they’d been known to trade. With a sigh, he kneed Joe Montana gently and caught up to Christy.

Hawk Creek feeds Old Joe’s Hole, he said, although she hadn’t asked. But her smile had invited him to say something. Cold snow melt.

Seems like I might need some warmth, somehow, when we get there. Her voice was soft as her gaze.

Was she flirting with him? That made him feel like a freshman, too. It had been a long while since he’d dated anyone. Then he reminded himself. One day. This one. Then they’d both be back to their real lives.

They cantered quietly for a while, the wagons’ ponderous squeaks mixing easily with birdsong and the rushing creek. From time to time, Bragg and Pike shouted orders to the other hands. If they needed Kenn, they’d ask. The wagon master had every reason to ride ahead of the train, scouting, looking out for obstacles, shouting needed warnings. In the old days, the wagon master watched out for marauding animals, even angry tribes. But also pointed out things of beauty and interesting sites.

Besides, he wasn’t monopolizing Christy. The twins rode nearby, having caught on to riding like Velcro to a sneaker. Even still, they were newbies; Kenn watched them like a hawk.

Dad’s taking us fishing when we get there, P.J. announced contentedly as he reined up, while Mitchell rolled his eyes. On a rowboat.

I’d rather jump off the tire swing into the lake, Mitch complained.

Kenn laughed out loud. You boys can do both. Plenty of time. We’ll be at the Hole until tomorrow morning.

Then we head back? Mitchell’s voice was mournful.

Yes. Kenn and Christy spoke at the same time.

He didn’t dare glance at her, and instead, tried to forget today was their last.

 ****

 Three hours later, Christy walked the soreness from her legs on the shore of Old Joe’s Hole. A cool breeze teased away her perspiration from the ride and the hot morning sun. She paused to take in the gorgeous scenery. Around the small lake, tall pines waved, and above the treetops, the mountains loomed in a curve for miles around the land.

Christy tried to forget today was her last. Unless, of course, she decided on Cowboy College. Realizing she’d never see Kenn again if she didn’t might be reason enough, but there was always Mom to worry about. And her job. Even though her assistants were trustworthy and competent, Christy liked to take charge and see a project to the end.

Oh well. Things always seemed to get figured out. Right now, the surroundings touched her with so much beauty she almost trembled.

I’ve always wondered if this is kinda what Walden Pond is like. Kenn’s voice came across the breeze and shouts of the others.

A little thrill pittered across Christy’s heated skin as he neared. It’s about the same size, she said, amazed her own voice didn’t shake. But small hills, no mountains. She smiled as waves of happy memories washed over her. Daddy did the New England drill with me when I was in eighth grade. Boston. Lexington. Concord. You’d love it. You could make an awesome Power Point presentation for your students.

Ah, I mean to. Someday. He stretched his arms, reaching tall and wide; the chambray shirt pulled tight over his muscles, his boot heels firm on the pebbled shore. With that perfect Stetson and the sub range of the Rockies as a backdrop, he could easily be part of a painting on a museum wall. But I’m so busy every summer. Maybe some day.

Maybe someday. Christy liked the sound of that. I hope so.

Shouting and laughing, the wranglers and other guests bustled around as they struck camp. With a contented sigh and a sweating tin cup of Kelley’s fresh lemonade, Jennie Blake plunked herself into a hammock as her noisy boys dashed toward the lake. They’d quickly changed into swimming trunks after tending their horses while Christy had unsaddled and curried Sugarfoot.

So what do you want to do? Kenn asked, not looking at her. She couldn’t decide if it was a bona fide invitation or merely the polite banter of a good host. Could he possibly be shy?

Well now, cowboy. She placed her hands on her hips in a businesslike way. I should take a long hike around the lake. Or swim a few hundred laps to take care of that delicious lunch Kelley just made. That girl needs her own cooking show on Food Network. But… She looked longingly at the silver sheen of water. I think I could go for a rowboat ride. She chortled. Slip-sliding away without my backside taking a beating sounds mighty fine.

Let’s do it then, cowgirl. I officially have the afternoon off. He offered her his hand, and she took it gladly, the spark from his touch landing all the way down to her toes.

At the small wooden dock, he helped her into Life Is But A Dream, a weathered but sturdy-looking craft of deep forest green.

You row?

Christy felt a flush. Well, not exactly. I got my oar taken from me by a kahuna on an outrigger in Waikiki one time. But I am a fast learner.

Nah. You just relax. You gave Sugarfoot a good workout today. You deserve a break. He grabbed the oars and tossed her a crooked grin so engaging her breath caught.

You’re on, she managed, heart thumping like she’d run a 10K.

Anybody else want a boat ride? He called out in his professional way, and Christy held her breath. She exhaled with relief when everybody else waved them on.

The little boat glided through the water, and the sound of oars slapping almost lulled Christy. But she wasn’t about to waste her limited time with Ken by dozing. Deep in her heart, she longed to know everything she could about him. So who’s Joe?

Kenn’s strong arms pulled the oars effortlessly, and she grinned. It was probably a piece of cake after wrangling cattle. She admitted deep down she liked the sight of his carved muscles moving beneath his blue shirt.

From under his brim, his deep brown eyes smiled at her. Josephus Martin came through the cove in 1854 and summered here. Loved it. Staked a claim later on.

So the ranch has been in your family for a century and a half?

The black Stetson moved in a nod as Christy dangled her hand in the cold water. He’d warned the water was snowmelt, but the hot sun—or maybe the warmth of Kenn’s smile—took the edge off.

Yep. Along the way, a female descendent inherited and insisted her husband take her name when they wed up.

Women’s liberation, nineteenth century style?

Kenn howled.

But I don’t get the cove thing, she said, liking the crinkle