“Chance! Did you ever think Jericho might have other things to do with his time?” Ali’s eyes widened. Please let Jericho have something to do that day.

Jericho spread out his arms and let a low, rumbling laugh escape his lips. “I’ll be there, champ. I’m free.”

“Then will you promise to teach me to ride a ewe?” The child’s eyes lit up, hands clasped together.

Jericho rose. He rubbed his jaw and looked to Ali. She shook her head. “I think you’re too big for mutton bustin’. The kids who do that are five or six.”

Chance crossed his arms. “It’s not fair. Our ranch hand, Rider, won’t teach me. Now you won’t, either.”

“I could teach you something else. How about roping? Do you know how to lasso a steer? ’Cause that’s loads harder than riding sheep.”

“You promise you’ll come teach me?”

“I’ll bring the dummy steer and everything.” Jericho smiled down at Ali’s son, and her heart squeezed—with panic or tenderness, though, she couldn’t be sure. One thing she knew—Jericho Freed was back in her life, whether she wanted him there or not.

Chapter Three

Scientific research said mint-and-tan-painted walls were supposed to soothe her, but each step Ali took toward her mother’s room weighed her down like shuffling through deep mud. She nodded to other residents of the facility as they teetered down the hallway, gripping the railing that ran waist-level throughout the nursing home. She clutched her purse against her stomach. Mom didn’t belong here. People in their fifties shouldn’t be stuck like this.

Paces away from Mom’s door, Ali leaned against the wall and sucked in a fortifying breath. It stung her throat with the artificial smells of bleach and cafeteria food. She pulled the paper out of her purse and read it again.

I saw you together at the Independence Day picnic. If you value what’s important to you, you’ll stay away from him. You’ve been warned.

Ali didn’t know whether she should run to the police department or laugh. The glued-on magazine letters looked straight out of a cheesy television crime show. But was the threat serious? Who would leave such a thing tacked to her front door? Thankfully, her head ranch hand, Rider, found it before Chance woke up. Her son could pretend bravado, but with something like this, he would have dissolved into a puddle of tears.

She racked her mind, tallying a list of the people she remembered seeing at the picnic yesterday. Not one of them would have cared in the least if they saw her speaking with Jericho. Who wanted to keep them apart? Not that she minded. That’s what she wanted anyway, right? All the more reason to steer clear of the man, but it grated to be threatened.

Unless... No, it couldn’t be. Abram Freed had never been fond of his son’s attachment to her, but she’d made her peace with the cantankerous cowboy years after Jericho left. Besides, with the paralysis on the right side of his body, the man couldn’t move—he lay in a bed here in the same nursing home as her mother. He couldn’t harm her, and he’d keep her secret about Chance, too.

A nurse wearing a teal smock broke into her thoughts. “You gonna go in and say howdy to your ma?”

“Hi, Sue. How’s Mom doing today?”

The nurse’s blond eyebrow rose. “No disrespect, but your ma’s the most ornery patient we have. But we don’t mind none. She’s a fighter at that. I think most people would be gone already with what she’s got, but she just keeps hanging right on.”

Ali gave a tight-lipped smile. “She’s a handful.”

Jamming the menacing letter back into her purse, she smoothed down her shirt and ran a hand over her hair before entering her mother’s room. The sight of Marge Silver—weak with pale skin hanging in long droops off her arms and a map of premature wrinkles covering her face as she whistled air in and out through the oxygen nosepiece—always made Ali’s knees shake a little bit.

“How you feeling, Ma?” She came to the side of the bed. Ali felt a deep emptiness. Her mom’s eyes stared back, cold and hopeless. Shut off, like her spirit had already given up.

“Dying... Been better.” The words wheezed out, stilting every time the oxygen infused.

Ali crossed her arms and buried her balled-up fists deep in her armpits. She wanted to take her mother’s hand in both of hers, but she knew better. Never one to show affection, her mother wouldn’t have considered the touch comforting. “You aren’t dying.”

“Want to.... Nothing left...here.”

“You know that’s not true. There is Kate and me and Chance.”

“Not that any of...you...care.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care, and I know Kate visited just the other day.”

“The ranch?”

Ali straightened a vase on the bedside table. “It’s fine.”

“The...lawsuit?”

Ali bit her lip. She should be used to this by now; her mom asked the same questions every time she visited. But somehow, the little girl in Ali who wanted to know her mom loved her came with expectations that left her drifting in an ocean of hurt every time. Besides, she didn’t want to think about the deaths of that poor couple. It was an accident.

“Don’t worry about that. Tripp’s taking care of it. He always does the best for us.”

“Has to.... None of the rest of you...have any thought...in your heads. Never...happen...if your father...still alive.”

Ali pulled her purse tighter up on her shoulder, then gripped the bed rails. “I miss Daddy too, Ma.”

“Your fault...he’s dead.”

“Don’t say that.”

“So...selfish, had...to ride. Had...to...rodeo.”

“It’s hardly my fault Dad got caught under that bull’s hooves.” Ali stared out the window, fanning her face with her hand to dry the tears clinging to her eyelids. She tried to block out the memory of her dad, the amateur rider Buck Silver, being crushed again and again by two thousand pounds of angry muscle and horns. She saw his body go limp, remembered trying to run into the arena but Jericho’s strong arms held her back.

“Your fault...men leave. Your dad...your husband.”

“You’re wrong. Jericho’s back,” Ali ground out.

“If he finds...out. He’ll...take your son. You’ll...be alone.”

“He doesn’t know about Chance, and he has no reason to ever know.”

“People...always leave.”

“That doesn’t have to be true. Chance will always be with me. And Kate’s back right now.”

“How long...before she goes...too?”

“I don’t know, Mom. Here, I brought you some stuff from the house.” Ali set a bunched paper bag on the nightstand. “I’ll see you next week.”

Ali barreled out of the doorway—and straight into Jericho Freed’s solid chest.

* * *

“Whoa, there.” Jericho grabbed Ali’s slender biceps to steady her.

“I’m not a horse.” She jerked away.

“Of course you’re not.” He tipped her chin with his finger, and her red-rimmed eyes, tears carving twin paths down either side of her face, made his stomach flip. “Why are you crying?”

She swiped her face with the back of her hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Pop.”

“Oh, I knew that. I’m sorry. It was so sad—he was all alone. They aren’t sure how long he lay there...”

“You’re avoiding my question.” He gave a smile he hoped exuded safety and reassurance. “Why the tears?”

She tossed her hands in the air. “Oh, just another invigorating talk with my mother.”

“She’s here, too?”

Ali shrugged and gave an unflattering grimace in what looked like an attempt to hold back emotion. “She has lung cancer. I mean, we should have expected it. She smoked three or four packs every day of my life, and only got worse after we lost Dad.”

“And let me take a guess—she’s still as bitter and mean as ever.”

Ali met his gaze, and the tears brought out the gold flecks in her eyes. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. “She’s had a hard life.”

“True, but she doesn’t have to take it out on you. Don’t blame her moods on yourself. It’s fully her choice how she treats people.”

“You’re one to talk,” she mumbled and he swallowed a growl.

Could she never forgive him?

He blocked her path when she moved to walk around him. “Are you going to be all right?”

She dug her toe into the floor, and in a small voice confessed, “She still blames me for killing Dad.”

He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and feel her head resting against his chest, trusting his strength as he carried her away from all the people who tried to tie millstones around her neck. Quashing that desire, he settled for cupping her elbow and leading her outside, away from the oppression and doom of the nursing home. Thankfully, she walked right along with him, even leaned into his touch a little bit.

When they got outside, he led her to her truck then turned her to face him. He rested his hands on her shoulders. His blues met her sparkling hazels as he said in a soft, low voice, “It wasn’t your fault. Your dad made a choice that day to get on that bull. He took a risk, and it turned out to be a disastrous one. But that’s all it was, an accident.”

She worked that bottom lip between her teeth. “But he would have been trucking. He wouldn’t have been at the rodeo if I hadn’t been so bent on barrel racing.”

“He loved the rodeo. I’m just sorry we were there to see it that day.”

Ali nodded in an absent way, then pushed up on his wrists. Jericho let go of her, but as he stepped back he noticed something curious. “Your tires are on their rims.”

“What? I just drove here. They were fine.” Ali turned around and then slapped her hand over her mouth.

Jericho bent down to examine the tires. Sure enough, each one bore a deep slash. Intentional. His stomach rolled. “Cut. Know why someone would want to make mincemeat of your tires?”

She dragged in a ragged breath and clutched her purse close to her chest. “Yes.”

“Well?”

Her eyes widened. “I can’t tell you.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. If you have a problem with someone, tell me and I’ll take care of it for you.”

Ali’s brows knit together. “Why would you do that?”

He stepped forward, propping a hand on the truck above her head. He leaned toward her. She was so close. If he dropped his head, he could kiss her. Taste the sweet lips he’d dreamt about for the eight years he’d been gone. He wanted to, badly. Would she meld against him like she used to, or would she slap him and run?

“Nine years ago, I made a promise to protect you. I went and made a real mess of that, but I’m back. You can call on that promise if you want to. I’ll be here for you. You hear me?”

“I’ll be fine. I just have to walk to Mahoney and Strong—Tripp’s an associate with the law firm. It’s not that far.” She looked around him toward downtown. Jealousy curled in his chest.

“I can drive you there.” He hated himself for being any part of bringing her near Tripp, but he’d just made a promise, and he’d stay true to it no matter the personal cost.

“I’ll walk.”

“It’s farther than you think, and it’s hot as blazes out here. Let me drive you.”

She shook her head.

“Can I pick you up from his office and drive you home?”

“I’m sure Tripp will drive me home. I’ll see you around.”

She brushed past him, but the sweet smell of her lingered—something flowery. Jericho walked back to his Jeep. His pop would have to wait another day or two for a reunion.

He needed to find four new tires and get them on that beastly truck before Tripp could swoop in with some kind of heroic act.

Chapter Four

With his legs tossed over the edge of the porch, Chance swung his feet, banging them against the house with the rhythm of an Indian drumbeat.

Ali leaned an elbow on the armrest of the Adirondack chair, resting her chin on her palm. “Hey, little man, cut that out.”

“Is that your truck, Mom?” He sprang to his feet and squinted in the direction of the driveway.

Her green monster of a vehicle rattled over the gravel. “Looks like it. I left my keys with Tripp, and he said he’d have someone fix the tires. That must be him.” She pushed up out of the chair and crossed to the steps.

The man climbing out from the driver’s side looked about the same size as Tripp, but that’s where the similarities ended. Ali pursed her lips.

Chance jostled past her. “Jericho!”

“Hey, bud.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Ali.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you have my truck?”

He looped his thumbs in his pockets. “You left it at the nursing home. It’s got new tires. The old ones couldn’t be saved. But these are good ones. You won’t have to put chains on them in the winter.”

“I’ll go inside and get my purse. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? The tires I had were almost bald. I priced out new ones weeks ago, and the lowest I could find from anyone was around a thousand. I can’t...won’t be able to give you all of that right now, but I can mail you the rest and—”

He shook his head. “Like I said, you don’t owe me anything. But your engine’s making an unnerving jangling noise, so I’m going to take a peek at that sometime this week.”

She thrust out her hand. “My keys.”

“Funny thing about that.” He leaned a foot on the steps and rested his hands on his knee. “I didn’t have keys so I had to hot-wire it.” He scratched his neck. “Hadn’t done that since high school. Remember how we used to drive Principal Ottman up the wall?”

Ali bit back a grin. “He never could quite figure out how he kept losing his car, or why the police kept finding it at Dairy Queen.”

Chance leaped off the last two steps, landing beside Jericho. “What’s hot-wire?”

“Well, it’s how you can drive a car if you don’t have keys. You see, first you take a screwdriver and pull the trim off the steering column. Unbolt the ignition switch, then—”

Ali cleared her throat.

Jericho’s lips twitched with the hint of a smirk. “Right. Not something you need to know, bud.”

The front door creaked, and Kate popped her head through the opening. “Al? Oh hey, Jericho. Your hot chocolate’s boiling over. I shut it off. Hope it’s not scalded.”

Ali slapped her hand over her heart. “I’d completely forgotten. Do you still want cocoa, Chance?”

Her son’s affirmation propelled her into the house. She stuck a spoon into the pan full of liquid chocolate. She brought the hot cocoa to her lips, blowing on it before tasting. “Still good.”

Kate set out three mugs. “Jericho can have my cup. I’m headed upstairs anyway.”

“He’s not staying.”

“Guess again, sis. He and Chance are already out there, cozy together on the steps. It sounds like they’re swapping tall tales.”

The ladle rattled in Ali’s hand. “He can’t stay. I don’t want him on our property, not near Chance.”

“Too late.” Kate drummed her fingers on the counter. “Did he fix your truck?”

“The tires.”

Kate let out a long, low whistle.

“And he won’t let me pay him back. Not like I have the money to anyway.”

After wishing her sister good-night, Ali hugged the three mugs of steaming cocoa to her chest and strode back outside. Chance popped up, reached for his and then hunkered back down so close that he bumped knees with Jericho. She handed a cup Jericho’s way, and his fingers slipped over hers in the exchange. Ali inhaled sharply.

He took a sip, then tipped the mug at her in a salute. “This is good.”

She wrapped an arm around her middle and looked out to the Bitterroot Mountain Range. The snowcapped peaks laughed down at the fading sunlight in the valley. The sides were blanketed in a vivid green tapestry of pines. Each canyon crag vied with the peaks for splendor. The Bitterroots calmed her. Taking them in reminded her that even when life felt topsy-turvy, purpose and beauty remained in the world.

“It’s from scratch. Mom says none of the packaged stuff in our house, right?” Chance beamed at her, a whipped cream mustache covering his top lip.

“Right.”

“Jericho told me he used to ride the broncos in the rodeo. Isn’t that cool? But he said he never rode the bulls. He said it’s too dangerous, just like you always say.”

Ali leaned her shoulder against a support beam on the porch. “Yes, Jericho used to ride the broncs. He used to rope in the rodeos, too.”

Chance plunked down his mug. “Sounds like you were more than neighbors, ’cause I don’t know things like that about old Mr. Edgar, and he’s lived right across the field my whole life.”

Jericho shifted to meet her gaze. He raised his eyebrows.

She let out a long stream of air. “We used to be friends, Chance, that’s all.”

Chance tapped his chin. “Does that mean you’re not friends anymore?”

Jericho kept staring at her. His intensity bored into her soul, and she looked down.

“Jericho’s been gone a long time.”

She wandered down the steps and into the yard. Their pointer, Drover, trailed after her. She scratched behind his ears, causing his leg to thump against the ground in doggy-bliss.

That had been a close call. Too close. But it’s not like she could kick the man out right after that conversation. Doing so would only raise Chance’s suspicion.

The low rumble of Jericho’s voice carried as he launched into a story detailing an adventure from his days in the army. “We had to go in helicopters, only way to get there. We could hardly see through all the sand swirling around and—”

“So it was like a beach?” Chance peppered Jericho’s monologue with a constant stream of questions.

“Naw. Beaches are nice. This was a desert. Hot. It’d be about one hundred twenty degrees, and we’d have to lug around seventy pounds of equipment on our backs without an ocean to cool off in. Ants all over our food. Not too much fun.”

Ali coughed. “I think it’s about bedtime.”

“No way. C’mon, Mom. One more story.”

Jericho laid a hand on her son’s head. “Don’t argue with your mom, bud. Go on up. You’ll see me again. Promise.”

With a loud groan, Chance shuffled into the house.

A pace away from her, Jericho rose to his feet, his masculine frame outlined by the light flooding from the house.

She crossed her arms. “I can pay you back.”

He stepped closer. “I promised to protect you, remember? I made that pact, and I aim to keep it for the rest of my life. You owe me nothing.”

She bit her lip.

He tipped his hat. “Sleep tight, Ali.” Then he brushed past her and strolled, hands hooked in his pockets, into the hay field back toward his pa’s place.

* * *

Sweat trickled down Ali’s neck as she lugged the last saddle onto its peg in the barn. The triangular posts drilled into the wall were genius. Much better than tipping the saddles on their sides and storing them on the ground like they had been doing. She made a mental note to thank Rider.

Ali placed her hands on her hips as her mind ticked over the accounting books for Big Sky Dreams. She’d never been great at balancing the ledgers, but even Ali could see that money was missing. But how?

Megan Galveen, the other riding instructor for Big Sky Dreams, sashayed through the back door in black designer jeans.

Ali smiled at her. “You’re a lifesaver. Thanks for taking care of Salsa when he started misbehaving. I don’t know what made the horse so skittish today. I know you’ve only been here a month, but have I told you how thankful I am for your help?”

Megan pouted her full, over-red lips and closed one eye, tapping her sunglasses to her chin. “Oh, only about every day. But please, do go on.”

Ali laughed. “Well, enjoy your afternoon off. You know you’re welcome at Chance’s birthday party, right?”

Her coworker flipped her long, glossy black hair. “A party for seven-year-olds isn’t really my thing.”

“No, I guess not.”

Why had Ali even asked her? The woman was more suited in looks to walk down runways than teach handicapped kids about horses.

Ali glanced down at her own mud-caked boots and dirty jeans. She grimaced. Maybe she ought to spend more time on her looks. She ran a hand over her flipped-out, short red hair. Yeah, right. She worked in hay and horse manure all day, and the only kisses bestowed on her came complete with animal cracker crumbs.

Someone cleared their throat, interrupting Ali’s train of thought. She looked up to find her head ranch hand, Rider Longley. The man looked like his name—taller than he ought to be and scrawnier than a cornstalk. With his junked-up Levis, scuffed boots, a blue shirt with white buttons and a new brown hat, he looked the part. But he would have been just as comfortable in a cubicle, wearing khakis while programming laptops. He lacked the cowboy snarl in his face, but he made up for his failings with heart and determination.

He looped a rope over his shoulder. “Someone’s been out messing with the fences in the heifer field again. I figure it’ll take most of the day to round them up off Edgar’s property and mend the cuts.”

Ali’s heart stopped. “What do you mean, messing with the fences?”

Rider adjusted his hat. “I’m not an expert on these sorts of things, but how the slices are, looks to me like someone snipped through our fences with wire cutters. Cows can cause damage, but not clean breaks like I’m finding.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Megan plunked down her suitcase-sized purse and pawed inside until she fished out her lip gloss. “Who would want to mess with Big Sky Dreams?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “I’m not a detective. Just know what I see.”

* * *

Pulling off her hat, Ali swiped a hand over her forehead. Now that Rider and Megan were gone, her thoughts swirled. The threatening note, slashed tires, money missing from the Big Sky Dreams account and now the fences—what was she going to do?

“I brought this for you.” Kate came beside her, handing over a chilled water bottle.

Ali held the bottle to her neck, then to her cheek. “Feels good. It’s really a scorcher out here today. I hope the old air conditioner in the house holds together for Chance’s party.”

“It’ll be fine. If it busts again, those kids won’t care.”

Ali stepped forward so she stood in the barn entrance. The wind ruffled through the valley, kicking up the smell of the nearby river and drying the sweat from her body.

“How’d lessons go today?”

She unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long swig, catching dribbles on her chin with the back of her hand. Ali loved nothing more than talking about her handicapped horseback-riding program. “Good. Alan’s coming along great. The movement’s strengthening his core and helping build some muscle tone.” It felt good to know that something she’d started made a difference. “Rebecca’s parents told me that her test scores have improved since joining the program last month. Can you believe that?”

Kate squeezed her arm. “That’s awesome, Al. How about those two?” She jutted her chin toward the sprawling side yard, near the practice corral where Ali usually ran her horse, Denny, through the barrels. Today two boys practiced their cattle roping. Ali gripped the barn wall. Well, if the broad shoulders and popping biceps of Jericho Freed could be classified as a boy. Okay. Man and boy.

Ali let herself breathe for a moment before answering. “I don’t know what to think. First he takes care of my truck, then this morning he shows up on the doorstep with a rope in hand, asking for Chance. What was I supposed to say?”

“I think you did the right thing, Al, by letting him spend time with his son.”

“But that terrifies me.”

“What? Him being here? Or him with Chance?”

“With Chance. Both. I don’t know.”

“What did he say when you two talked after the firework show?”

Ali crossed her arms, propping her shoulder against the barn. “He said he wants forgiveness. He said he wants to repair our...marriage.” A gritty lump formed in her throat as she watched Chance loop the rope over the fake horns and give a loud whoop. He clapped victorious hands with Jericho, whose deep laugh drifted across the yard. A person would have to be blind not to see the resemblance. They had the same eyes, same unruly hair, same slight swagger in their walk, same full-chested laugh. Ali rubbed at her throat.

Kate touched her shoulder. “What are you gonna do?”

“He’s a drunk, Kate.”

“I haven’t smelled beer around him, and I sure haven’t seen him staggering around. He might have been at one point, but it doesn’t seem like he drinks anymore.”

Ali closed her eyes. “If he’d walked out on you like he walked out on me, would you forgive him?”

“We’re called to forgive everyone.”

“He gets to turn my life into a nightmare. Then with a little ‘I’m sorry,’ we act like it never happened? Convenient.”

Kate placed a hand over hers and Ali looked down, not realizing that her knuckles had become white from her iron grip on the barn door. She let go of the metal and flexed her hand, drawing the blood back into her fingers.

“I don’t think forgiveness has to mean forgetting, Al. The consequences of sin will always be there, and I think he’s suffered them. Forgiveness means you grant pardon for what happened. It’s you saying you won’t be bitter and hold those actions against him.”

Ali hugged her middle with both arms. “I can’t do that. He left. It bothers me that his life’s been fine without me, while I had to struggle and scrape and wish each day he’d come back and rescue us.” Her voice caught.

“I wouldn’t say he got off easy. He’s missed seven years of his son’s life. Eight years with the woman he loves.”

Ali snorted. “Right. He loves me loads.”

“And he’s back—maybe now’s the rescue you waited for.”

She shook her head. “I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. There are no white knights, Kate. No one is riding in to save the day. Life is about pressing on when things happen. It’s all about who has the most grit, and I think I’ve proved my worth.”

“Maybe that’s your problem.” Kate’s voice took on a sad tone.

Ali jerked back. “My problem?”

“You’re right; Jericho’s not your white knight, but he was never supposed to be. What chance did your husband have of succeeding with those kind of expectations? He can’t be the one to rescue you. Not in the way you need. Just like Ma, you’re letting hate and bitterness eat away at you, and you think your misery gained you some sort of badge of honor. You think you can punish Jericho for what he did by closing yourself off and holding him at a distance.” Kate thrust out her hand. “But look at him. He’s free, Al. You’re the one still locked up and suffering. And you will be until you offer forgiveness.”

Ali shoved the bottle into her sister’s hands. “I have work to do. Thanks for the water.” She stomped back into the barn. Twine bit into her hands as she grabbed a bale of hay.

Her sister could go chew on screws. Kate had no idea. She was so young when Dad died, and Ali had stepped into the gap to take Ma’s wrath. What did Kate know of suffering and pain and the consequences of sin?

“Nothing.” Ali yanked a razor from her pocket and sliced the twine. Pulling the hay into even squares, she placed a bundle in each horse’s stall. Drover, playing supervisor, padded along, making sure each horse got their fair share. She caressed the dog’s head and smiled when he yawned.

In the moments when Ali looked back at her short-lived marriage objectively, she could see the truth. The judge should have stamped disaster in bold red letters on the marriage certificate. In her needy state, did she drive her husband to the bar? In their small apartment, she’d watched the man who was supposed to save her morph into the man he most despised. Had it been her fault?

She swiped away treacherous tears. Infernal hay dust.

I was so afraid that I’d hurt you, Ali. I loved you so much.

Jericho Freed, hurt her? Not possible, not the way he imagined. If she thought the man possessed any tendency toward violence, he wouldn’t be alone out there with her son right now.

No. She saw the man she knew. A memory of Jericho taking a beating from his father to protect a runt puppy flashed through her mind. Then one of him at nineteen years old, stepping in between her and Ma, telling her she won’t be speaking to his wife that way anymore.

Even that last night, with clear eyes, she could see that he left to protect her then, too. In his own way, Jericho always had put her first, but then what kept him from coming home? Didn’t he know how much she needed him the past eight years?

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Home for Good

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