“I Made A Promise To Protect You.”

But pregnant Ali Silver’s husband broke his vow and walked away from her. After being injured in combat, Jericho has finally come home to Bitterroot Valley to make peace with his father and regain Ali’s trust. But the single mom’s keeping secrets of her own. And someone’s killing off Ali’s cattle and sabotaging her horse therapy business. Jericho will do whatever it takes to protect his wife and be a real father to his son. Because when it comes to love and second chances, he’s one determined cowboy.

“Do you even know what day it is?” Ali asked. “How difficult this is?”

She whirled to walk into the house, but Jericho captured her arm and made her face him. Setting the basket down, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Today is the nine-year anniversary of the day the girl of my dreams married me. It was the happiest day of my life. I could never forget.”

Tears made her eyes look like melted chocolate. His gut twisted. He never wanted to be the cause for this woman crying ever again.

“Your anniversary gift is in there on the table.”

“My gift?”

He smiled. “I owe you a heap more. I’ll make up for the lost years, too, if you’ll let me.”

JESSICA KELLER

As a child, Jessica possessed the dangerous combination of too much energy coupled with an overactive imagination. This pairing led to more than seven broken bones and countless scars. Oddly enough, she’s worked as a zookeeper, librarian, camp counselor, horse wrangler, housekeeper and finance clerk, but now loves her full-time work in law enforcement. Former editor of both her college newspaper and literary journal at Trinity International University, Jessica received degrees in both Communications and Biblical Studies. She lives in the Chicagoland suburbs with her amazing husband and two annoyingly outgoing cats who also happen to be named after superheroes.

Home for Good

Jessica Keller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,

but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.

—Proverbs 13:12

Thank you to Mom and Dad, for all your support. To Lisa, who always believed in me. The Wunderlich sisters, who were never shy about feedback, and for both being as in love with Jericho as I am. Special kudos goes to Sadie who urged me to write in the first place. Thanks George and Wanda, for taking the time to answer all my questions about living in the country. Carol and Kristy, my beloved NovelSisters, your prayers made this book a reality. And to Matthew, I could never express in words how much your support and encouragement means to me. I love you so much.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

After what seemed like a lifetime of bad days, Ali Silver couldn’t wait to share a carefree afternoon with her son at the city picnic. Sunshine washed through the valley, giving a glow to the rivers and casting shadows out of the sharp mountain canyons to the west. With the pickup’s windows rolled down, the air drifted in, spiced with alfalfa and silver sage. Fields of bucking hay splashed across the landscape, juxtaposed with the occasional lone apple tree—relics leftover from once substantial orchards.

Ali drove with one hand on the wheel, the other cocked in the open window. “Hang on to that. We don’t want to spill it before the soldiers get to taste it.”

Her son, Chance, hugged the bowl on his lap. “I know. This is the special potato salad. The one you only make for special people.”

“Like you.” She winked at him.

After waiting in a line of traffic to enter the park, Ali maneuvered her beast of a truck into one of the last available spots. She took the potato salad from Chance, and they ambled toward the crowd near the food tables. A couple local firefighters manned the grills. They waved. The smell of sizzling brats tickled her nose.

Hannah, a shop owner in town, signaled to Ali. “Isn’t this just the nicest thing? I do believe the Hamilton Civic Club pulled out all the stops to honor these troops.”

Ali balanced the bowl against her hip. “Having a picnic to honor the local servicemen who have returned this year was a great idea. I’m glad the town is doing something. And Chance loves anything to do with the army, so he’s tickled to meet them.”

Hannah clasped her hands together. “Oh, yes. I like them teaching the young people to support the troops.”

Chance yanked on Ali’s arm.

Hannah chuckled. “That boy’s eager!”

Messing up his hair, Ali smiled down at her son. “Go on and find Aunt Kate and see if you can snag an empty table for us.”

Without waiting to hear more, Chance took off running. Ali’s heart squeezed. He might mirror her brown-sugar-like freckles, but the thick maple-colored hair that stuck up on the side when he woke in the morning, his square jaw, the angular nose and intense pale blue eyes—all of that belonged to his father. Chance looked just like...

Ali shook her head. She did not want to think about him. Not today. Not ever.

Instead she chose to weave through groups of mingling neighbors, greeting them with a nod since her hands were full. She located an empty place for the potato salad on a table already loaded with deviled eggs, baked beans and desserts. Satisfied that the food situation was under control, Ali snatched a gooey-looking brownie and raised it to her lips.

“Hiya, Ali.”

The voice from her past rocketed through her with the force of a kick drum. The brownie flew out of her hand, leaving a powdered-sugar trail down her shirt on its way to the hard dirt. She spun around.

Jericho Freed.

All six feet of him, clad in jeans and a fitted gray-striped button-down. His bold, masculine eyebrows rose as he surveyed her with look-me-in-the-eyes-if-you-dare blues. He wore a straw cowboy hat with unruly hair poking out, and a five o’clock shadow outlined his firm jaw. More than eight years later, and the man still made her mouth go dry.

It frustrated her that after everything, he still had that power.

So she did the only rational thing she could think to do. Flee.

In a fluid movement, Ali sidestepped him and took off sprinting at a breakneck clip. Her hat flew off.

He yelled out her name.

And just like in the past, his voice poured sweet and velvety, like chocolate over each syllable. Ali’s nails dug into her palms. She didn’t want to hear him. She never wanted to fall under his spell again. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she ran.

Why was he here? Oh, why hadn’t she moved away when she had the...chance? Chance! Suddenly she pounded faster, the narrow toe of her boots chafing against her feet.

Jericho couldn’t see Chance. She wouldn’t let that happen. God, please!

Ali zeroed in on her sister Kate milling next to the volleyball court.

She waved her arms. “Quick! We have to find Chance! Now!” Ali pressed a hand to the stitch in her side as she looked over her shoulder, scanning the crowd for the cowboy with impossibly blue eyes. He hadn’t followed her.

Kate jogged toward Ali, her eyes wide. “Sis? I don’t see smoke coming from your hair, so if it’s not on fire—what is?”

She seized Kate’s arms, clamping down on reality. “He’s here. He’s back. What am I supposed to... What if he... What about Chance?” Her voice rose in a frenzy.

Kate shook her gently. “Who’s here?”

“My husband.”

* * *

“Ali! Alison!” With his hands looped onto his belt buckle, Jericho kicked, sending a cloud of Montana dust into the air. Maybe he should chase after her, but his knees probably couldn’t handle running at that clip.

Great. Just great.

He rubbed the back of his neck as Ali hightailed it like a spooked filly. At that speed, she might make the Canadian border by nightfall. It sure wasn’t funny, though. A man couldn’t laugh, not when the rejection felt like a sledgehammer hitting him square in the chest. The cold look in her hazel eyes told him where he stood. Unwelcome. Unforgiven. How could he have expected anything else? But her reaction rankled him all the same.

He rubbed his jaw and growled. Could he blame her? No. What kind of man envisions a warm welcome after eight years of silence? Jericho Eli Freed. Stupid man.

A young boy with floppy hair ambled toward him. “Are you really a soldier?”

Jericho cleared his throat, pulled at the fabric of his army pants and dropped to one knee. “I sure am.” Or was.

“That’s cool. I want to be a soldier someday.” At this confession, the child looked down and dug his toe into the ground.

Keeping his voice low to draw the kid out of his shell, Jericho asked, “Do you feel funny around new people? ’Cause I sure do. When I was your age, I just had one friend in the world and she was the only person I’d talk to.” Jericho laid a hand on the boy’s scrawny shoulder.

Suddenly a shadow loomed over them. “Get your hands off of him.”

Jericho jerked back and looked up—and his mouth fell open. Fire in her eyes, Ali Silver stood there, an arm wrapped around the boy as she pulled him close.

Jericho jumped to his feet, putting his hands palm up in surrender.

Even seething mad, beauty radiated from her. Sure, she had changed in the last eight years, but in a good way. Auburn mellowed her once fire-truck-red hair. The long tresses he remembered were now cut so they skimmed her ears. Cute.

Ali. His Ali. She’d been a slim thing, barely entering womanhood when he left. Now she had gentle curves that he had to school his eyes not to explore. Her hazel eyes held a soft sincerity that drew him in. A familiar tightening gripped his stomach as his pulse started to go berserk.

The kid pushed against her. “No, Mom, he’s not a stranger. This is a soldier. We were becoming friends.”

Jericho’s mind raced like a mouse caught in a maze. Mom? The single word sent a zap through his body, like someone had dumped a vat of ice over his head. Ali was a mother? Had she remarried? Impossible. The kid was what? Six? Seven—?

“Ali?” He tried to meet her gaze, but she looked away.

“Hey, Chance.” Ali leaned over to speak close to the child’s ear. “I think I see your teacher, Mrs. McBride, over there. Can you do me a favor and find out how she liked those pies we made her?”

“Ali?” Jericho repeated. His mind latched onto the name Chance and filed it away for later.

Chance’s brow creased. He looked at Jericho, then back at his mother. “How come he knows your name, Mom?”

Despite the sweltering day, a cold sweat pricked the back of Jericho’s neck.

* * *

Her mouth went dry. No matter what, Ali had to get Chance away from Jericho. She placed her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t matter, Chance. Now go visit with Mrs. McBride for a minute.” After sending Chance away, she took a deep breath and turned to address Jericho, but couldn’t make herself completely meet his gaze. “I don’t know why you’re here—”

“We need to talk.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“There is no ‘we.’”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I disagree. Unless I slept through signing some sort of papers, you and I, well, we’re still married.”

Her tongue suddenly felt like a dried-up riverbed. We’re still married. Fear skittered down her spine like racing spiders. Of course. As a teen mom on her own, she didn’t have spare money to toss around on lawyer fees.

She balled up her fists. “I want you to leave.”

He shook his head, reached a hand out toward her, then dropped it to his side. “I’m back, Ali—back for good.”

“Why?” The word came out more whisper than force.

She stared into his intense blue eyes, her gaze dipping to the single freckle above his lip. Same dime-sized scar near his eye, the slight tug of his lips—always ready to joke.

He stepped closer. “I need to talk to you. Explain about being away.”

“Just being away? How nice. Sounds warm and fuzzy, like you took a vacation.”

He ran a hand over his hair, cupping the back of his neck as he tipped his head to the side. “I always wanted to come back. But—”

“Stay away from me. Stay away from my son.”

“I need to—” He reached for her.

She slapped away his hand.

“Ali...” He grabbed her elbow, and a thrill skittered up her arm and down into her stomach. She let out a muffled cry. Why? Why, after all these years, was his name still branded across her heart?

Fighting the hot tears stinging her eyes, she jerked from him. “Don’t touch me. Please, don’t touch me.” A sob hung at the back of her throat. “I can’t do this. I can’t handle being this close. I can’t talk to you.”

“But I have to talk to you. Give me fifteen minutes. Please?” His voice flowed, soft and reassuring.

“No!” She swiped at the traitorous tears squeezing from her eyes.

A warm, steady hand touched the small of her back. She turned to find Tripp Phillips, local lawyer, old classmate and friend, beside her. In his usual dress pants and polo, his stability brought an ease of calm to her shaking nerves. She gripped his arm.

“Alison, is something wrong?” Tripp’s voice came out controlled and comforting. He had a manner that made even the most skeptical of strangers immediately warm to him. “Is Freed bothering you?”

“Tripp Phillips, I don’t believe you were a part of our conversation.” Jericho’s voice hardened.

“Rightly so, but I’m not going to stand around while you make Alison cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Ali mumbled.

Tripp turned her into his shoulder. His hand cradled the back of her head as he wedged his body between her and Jericho.

Jericho growled.

Chance chose that moment to come bounding back. “What’s wrong, Mom?” He wrapped his arm around Ali’s waist and peered at her from under thick black eyelashes. “Mrs. McBride liked the pies, but I didn’t tell her about the green worms we found in the berries. Did you think I did? Is that why you’re crying?”

“I’m not upset about the worms, honey.” Ali caressed his tanned face, and Chance rewarded her with an impish grin.

Tripp cleared his throat. “I think your mom’s not feeling well today, buddy. We better take her home.”

Jericho held her gaze. “Ali, I’m not done trying to talk to you.”

Tripp turned and led her away from the monster of her past. Good old Tripp. At least one dependable man remained. If only Tripp had been the one to chase her in high school instead of Jericho, life might have turned out differently. At least Tripp stood by her now, always helping and advising her. His sound counsel lifted a weight from her shoulders, and she was grateful.

Chance twisted around, then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Wait! Are you going to be at the fireworks show tonight?”

A chill ran through her veins.

Then that voice from her dreams over the last eight years answered back. “’Course, Chance. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

Jericho wanted to hit something. No, he wanted a drink. A nice, tall amber malt with a high head of foam. Hadn’t wanted that for five years, but there you go.

Looping a hand over the back of his neck, Jericho tensed as Tripp guided Ali away, like an auctioneer showing off a prized mare.

Could Tripp be Chance’s father? Fear sliced through him.

Jericho stalked past the picnic and grabbed the door handle on the rusted Jeep he had found at his dad’s house. So she ran into another man’s arms when he left? And if he was right about the kid’s age, she didn’t even wait for sunset before finding comfort in Tripp.

He kicked the tire.

Maybe he had left Ali, but he’d always been faithful. Always loved Ali, and only Ali. Left because he loved her too much to stay and watch himself destroy her.

Jericho climbed into the vehicle and slammed the door. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. What was a man to do? He came home to mend his marriage. After all his wandering, Jericho finally felt like a man worthy of being a husband.

Was he too late?

Chapter Two

As Ali drove under the American flags suspended above Main Street, panic welled up in her throat.

She’d have to see him.

“Mom, drive faster. We’re gonna be late to the fireworks.” Chance bounced in the backseat.

From the passenger’s seat, her sister Kate laid a hand on Ali’s arm. “Are you all right?”

Ali glanced back at her son. “This traffic’s pretty bad.”

Kate shrugged. “Everyone is just excited. A week ago we thought the show would be canceled like last year.”

“I still can’t believe the donations the city got at the last minute. Wish I knew who had purse strings like that. I could tap them for Big Sky Dreams.” Ali bit her lip. The worry she felt over the financial problems of her nonprofit organization was never far from her mind.

“This is different. The Fourth of July. People get excited about patriotic stuff.”

“You think blowing up a bunch of cardboard is more important than helping handicapped kids?”

“Now don’t go putting words in my mouth, big sis. You know I think what you do is worthwhile. I’m just saying, the draw for something like this is more universal.”

Ali bumped the truck along the grass-trodden lot being used to park overflow for the fireworks show. The three climbed out, scooped up their blankets and plodded across the fairground’s field, looking for a spot to claim. Ali stopped often to chat with her neighbors, wave to her horseback-riding students and embrace folks she’d grown up with.

As the first explosion resounded in the sky, Ali relaxed. Propped on her elbows, she laid back, watching her son’s face more than the Fourth of July display. His mouth hung slack as his eyes sparkled to match the show lighting up the night sky. He wore a giant toothy grin. She wished she could recapture that feeling in her own life. Would she ever again know that feeling of freedom, of trusting and letting go? Where had her joy gone?

Jericho Eli Freed. That’s where. The man had successfully smashed her hope of a white knight when he ran off like a bandit with her dreams.

* * *

Standing there, ten feet away from the love of his life, watching her smile and sigh, an ache filled Jericho that reached clear to his toes. So his Ali wasn’t all mountain lion snarls and rattlesnake warnings. As she watched her son, softness filled her face. Beautiful. Staring at his wife, his mind blanked out.

“Hey, lover-boy.” A warm hand touched his arm, and he glanced over. Kate stood at his elbow. “Are you going to look at her all night? Or will you man up and do something?”

“You’re talking to me? I figured all the Silvers hated my guts.”

Kate motioned for him to follow her a few paces away from where Ali and Chance sat. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Are you still in love with my sister?”

Jericho swallowed hard. Bold little thing. The last time he’d seen Kate, she’d been a skinned-knee kid.

“Well? Answer me, cowboy.” Her eyebrow drove higher.

Jericho cleared his throat. “Yes. ’Course. I’ve always loved her, always will.”

Kate nodded. “Bingo. Well, if that’s the case, I’ll help you.”

“You wanna help me get Ali back?”

She let out a long stream of air, like he was daft for not tracking with the conversation. “Yes. When you left, Ali fell to pieces. You know better than anyone that she didn’t have the easiest life. But with you, when you were there for her, all that other stuff didn’t strangle her. Then you left, and...”

You destroyed her.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’d do anything to change the fact that I left.”

“But I need to know, before we become partners in this, are you a better man now?” She jammed a finger into his chest, and he knew exactly what she meant. You still a drunk? Ornery? Will you leave again?

He lifted his hands, palms out. “I’m a man surrendered now, Kate. Still make mistakes. But I haven’t touched a bottle in five years, and I’ve made a promise to God that I never will. I won’t hurt Ali. I came back to make good on my wedding vows...to honor and protect her, to fix what I did. But she doesn’t want me at all.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“But what about Chance?”

Kate held up a hand and shook her head. “Not my story to tell.”

Sweat slicked his palms. “Don’t know, Kate. I was watching her just now. She smiles for everyone but me. She started crying when I talked to her. I think she’d relish watching the buzzards pecking at me before seeing me again.”

“That’s because if she lets down her guard with you, she stands to lose the most.”

“Meaning?”

“You cowboys are all seriously dense.”

He rolled his eyes. “Continue.”

“She’s closed off to you because she loves you the most. That makes you the biggest danger of all. If someone else rejects her or betrays her, she can shrug that off, but you? That’s everything to her. Has been since you two were kids.”

Well, that was clear as mud.

“So here’s the plan.” She glanced back at Ali, then leaned toward him. “In a minute these fireworks will be done, and I’m going to ferret away Chance with the lure of some sparklers.” She patted the bulge in her purse. “That’ll leave you a good amount of time to talk to Ali.”

“But what do I say?”

“If you can’t figure that out, cowboy, then you don’t deserve my sister.”

* * *

Alone, lying back and scanning the night sky through the leftover smoke hanging in the air, Ali almost breathed a thankful sigh—but then he sat down next to her, took off his hat and tapped the brim against his leg.

“I don’t want you—”

“I know.” He wound his hat around in his hands, and the motion tugged at all the broken places inside her. “I know you don’t want me. And after a time, if you still feel that way, I’ll honor that. I’ll leave you alone for good.”

“Good, I want that. Now.” She started to sit up, gathering the blanket Chance and Kate shared during the show, but his warm hand on her arm stopped her. He gently turned her to face him.

She sighed. “Okay, if I let you talk, we’ll be done? You’ll leave after that?”

“If that’s really what you want.” He ran his fingers over the rim of his hat.

“It is. So go ahead, shoot.”

He gave the slightest sign of an outlaw smile. “Not a good thing to say to a cowboy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Speak, rover. Talk. Say whatever it is you’re so bent on telling me.”

He shifted. “I should have never left.”

“You’ve got that right.”

He placed a hand on her arm and gently squeezed. “Let me talk, woman, please.” Jericho removed his hand. “That day. You’ve got to understand that I had to go. I had no choice. I was so afraid that I’d hurt you, Ali. I loved you so much, and I sat there watching myself destroy the one person in the world who meant anything to me. That day when I lost it...tossed your lamp...well, I saw a streak of my pop in me, and it made me sick. I got in my car and just took off, kicking up a cloud of dust.”

Blinking the burn away from her eyes, Ali moved to stand up. “I don’t need to hear a replay of this. In case you forgot, I was there.”

He stopped her with a touch of his hand. “Please stay.”

Who was he to beg her to stay? But like a fool, she hunkered back down.

“I stopped at Pop’s house and had an all-out yelling brawl with him, then lit for the state line. I got a job driving a tour bus at Yellowstone. They canned me a couple months later when they found out I hit the scotch before the rides. I spent the next year or two working as a ranch hand at different places, most of the time herding at the back, eating cattle dust and that’s about all I felt I was good for. I thought about coming back—wanted to—but I was a sorry mess that you didn’t need. I drank more than before. Drank all my money away. But God kept me alive, so I could come back to you and—”

“I hardly think God has anything to do with it. You were a drunk, lying, good-for-nothing boy.”

He nodded. “I can’t argue you about that. I was. And I took the coward’s way. I just needed—” he closed his eyes “—escape.”

Ali bit back a stream of words. Adults didn’t get the choice of escape. They bucked up and dealt with it, like she had. “Escape from what? Me?” Her muscles cringed. Never enough. Her love couldn’t heal him. She’d failed as a wife, and that’s why he left.

“No. Never you. I needed to escape me.” He thumbed his chest. “I was furious at God for taking my mom, hated Pop for becoming a cruel drunk—then hated myself just as much for becoming everything I despised in him. I was angry that I couldn’t be what you needed. I talked you into running away from your family in the middle of the night, into marrying me when you were only eighteen. I had nothing to give you but my heap of troubles. I was just a kid myself, and I didn’t have the first clue how to take care of you properly. What kind of man was I? So I drank. I wanted to be numb. I wanted nothing to matter anymore, but I kept seeing your face, kept catching whiffs of pretty flowers that reminded me of you.” His ratty straw hat flaked apart as he twisted it round and round in his hands while talking.

With a bull-rider’s grip on her purse, Ali chewed her bottom lip. Jericho’s humility unnerved her. He was supposed to be cocky. He was supposed to smell of alcohol, combined with the cigar smoke from whatever bar he’d rolled out of at three in the morning. But no, he sat here emitting an intoxicating mixture of hard work, rain and alfalfa.

He paused, his soft eyes studying her. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “It got worse, though. I found myself sneaking into barns at night just for a place to sleep away the hangover. Homeless...can you imagine?” He gave a humorless laugh. “The great ranch baron Abram Freed’s son, homeless.” He threw up his hands. “One night an old rancher found me, and I thought he was going to shoot me between the eyes, but he invited me inside. Let me sleep in his guest bedroom. He was a veteran, and when he talked about his time in the service he just became a hero to me. This man had been through so much terrible stuff, but he was even-keeled and kind. And I wanted to be him. So I enlisted. I owe that man the life I have now.”

“You’re really a soldier, then?”

He put back on his hat, steepling his hands together. “Ali, who’s Chance’s dad?”

The question froze every inch of her that had thawed during his story. “He doesn’t have one. He’s my son. That’s it.”

“Unless he’s adopted...that’s not really possible.”

“Are you done?” She knew her harsh tone would wound his open spirit, but she didn’t care. Not when Chance got pulled into the conversation.

He sighed and worked the kinks out of the back of his neck. “After I enlisted, I went through training and spent some good time learning what it means to be a man of discipline and determination. After a couple years my group got drawn for deployment, and I wanted to call you, wanted to say goodbye, but didn’t feel like I had the right to. Not one person I cared about knew I was over there, knew I could die at any minute.”

Die? Her head snapped up. Could he have died without her ever knowing? Wouldn’t her heart have felt the loss? Regardless of her anger, she would never have wanted that.

Across the field, Kate and Chance picked their way toward her.

“...but then one day we were sent on this mission and—”

She cut him off. “That’s great, Jericho. Sounds like life without us worked out just fine for you. Our lives have been good without you, too. I got some schooling and started a nonprofit that I really care about.” She rose, hoping he’d follow suit.

“Without us?” He took the blankets from her arms.

“What?” Her tongue raced against the back of her teeth.

He quirked both eyebrows. “You said us, plural.”

She pushed him away with her best glare. “Us...as in the Bitterroot Valley, your dad, the people here in Montana that you grew up with.” Her hands shook. Almost gave it away. Foolish mouth.

Chance’s rapid steps approached.

“Your story, well, it doesn’t change much for me. I still want you to turn on those boots and do that walking-out bit you’re so good at.”

“I can’t, Ali, not yet.”

“But you said you’d leave if that’s what I wanted, and I do.”

“I came back because I have to ask your forgiveness. And if we can, I want to fix our marriage. Be there for you like I promised nine years ago.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Hey, Mom! You found Jericho!” Chance frolicked around the two adults.

“How were the sparklers, buddy?” She dropped down and pulled her son into her arms.

Chance’s gaze flew to Jericho, and his cheeks colored. The little imp wiggled free. “They were great. My friend Michael told this girl Samantha that he was going to put a sparkler in her hair and light it on fire. But Kate told him that someday he’ll be sorry he ever talked to girls that way.”

“I’m sure he will be.” Still on her knees, she smiled.

Chance turned toward Jericho. “You’re a guy. What do you think?”

“I think your mom and your aunt are right. A real man is always nice to a girl.” His gaze locked on Ali. “Always.”

Chance grabbed Jericho’s sleeve, pulling the man to his level. “Were you talking to my mom again? Do you know her?”

Ali jumped in. “Jericho and I did know each other, but it was a really long time ago, pal. His dad’s ranch backs up to ours. We were neighbors.”

Chance took her hand. “That’s cool, so we can share him.”

Behind him, Kate attempted to hide a laugh with a cough.

“Hey, Jericho, it’s my birthday in two days. Will you come to my party? Looks like you already know where our house is.”

“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?

Chapter Five

Ten children tromped like a herd of mustangs around the dining room, over the checkered kitchen floor and out the back door as Ali tried to pull the last of the food from the fridge to set out on the table.

“Don’t let the door—”

The last child jumped the three steps down into the yard, and the screen door smacked against its hinges, tearing the hole in the screen a few inches wider.

“I’ll fix the screen tomorrow.” Jericho took the heavy pile of plates from her hands and set them on the counter.

Heat blossomed on her cheeks. He had no right to look that good in a clean pair of jeans and shined boots. His tucked-in, starched red button-down hugged the coiled muscles in his arms.

The sight made her wish she’d taken another minute to give herself a once-over before guests arrived. But the emotional mess Kate had tossed on her that morning made her work slower in the barn. By the time she came back to the house, less than an hour remained until party time. Enough time to shower, but not enough time for makeup or to blow-dry her hair. Jericho probably thought she looked like a wet prairie dog.

She waved her hand, dismissing his comment. “You don’t have to fix that screen. It’s been like that for months.”

“I know I don’t have to. But I don’t mind. I have to come to tune that clank out of your truck anyway.”

Kate stuck her head into the kitchen, a smile on her face as she looked between Jericho and Ali rearranging the table. “Need any more help in here?”

Ali surveyed the room. “I think I’ve got the food under control. If you want to get one of the games started outside, that would be great.”

Kate saluted and meandered out the back door. Satisfied that everything was taken care of, Ali turned, nearly slamming into Jericho. She gasped. She’d almost forgotten he was in the room with her. Alone.

His gaze shifted down and up, then down again.

“What are you staring at?” She wiped her hands on a dishcloth and tossed the rag into the sink.

The hint of a roguish smile pulled at his lips. “You’re beautiful. I didn’t have a picture of you. For eight years I had to rely on my memory. Couldn’t do you justice. It’s nice to look at you.” Ali wanted to accuse him of lying, but his voice wrapped around her, ringing with sincerity.

“Ha.” She tucked a damp clump of hair behind her ear, only to have the doggone thing fall forward again. “Then you need to get out more.”

Jericho raised a dark eyebrow. “Nope. I don’t need to look anywhere else to know that this—” he swept his hand to indicate her “—is my favorite sight.”

She harrumphed. “I’m all wet, and I don’t have any makeup on. And I’m pretty sure I’m wearing yesterday’s socks. Still the prettiest sight?”

He leaned against the counter. “Yes, ma’am.” Teasingly, he continued, “But if you want to get good and soaked, I saw a horse trough out front I could dump you in.” He moved toward her.

Ali swatted at his hands. With a laugh, she bumped into the garbage can. “Jericho Eli! Don’t you dare. I’m too old to get troughed.” She dashed behind the table.

“Mom!” Chance burst through the door. “Can I open presents now?” A battalion of kids trailed in his wake.

“Sure, bud. We’ll open presents in the front room right now, and then we’ll eat.”

“Did you make your chocolate cake? The one made with—” he leaned toward her, knowing he wasn’t supposed to give away the secret ingredient “—mayonnaise?”

She winked, and her son’s gray-blue eyes danced with merriment. As he clomped away, a wave of joy washed over her. Threatening letters, lawsuits and financial woes couldn’t touch her today.

But an unwanted husband could.

Jericho took her elbow, turning her to face him.

“I may be asking you to kick me in the teeth, but I need to know.” Jericho stopped and looked down at his boots.

Her heart lurched in her chest. The muscles on the side of his jaw popped, and Ali’s gut rolled in anticipation of his question. A drunk she could keep secrets from, but a man who proved thoughtful, patient and kind? Everything a father should be?

But—no. He was still the same man who had run off on his wife without looking back, discarded his responsibility to her when it suited him and left his child growing inside of her. The shrapnel in her heart from his departure still chafed, and she wouldn’t open Chance up to that world of hurt. Jericho hung around for now, but he could still leave at any moment. A child deserved better than that.

Walking to the sink, she turned her back to him and rinsed off a plate. “I don’t really have time right now.”

His footsteps moved closer, but she didn’t dare turn around. He was so near. Ali’s breath caught in her throat. One look into his earnest eyes would unglue her resolve.

He took a breath. “I’ve been thinking. I did the math...being Chance’s birthday today, and him turning seven...”

Her hands gripped the cool metal of the sink.

“It only leaves two options.”

“Two?” Her voice came out small.

“Unless he was a preemie. But he wasn’t, was he?”

Ali locked her gaze through the window over the sink, to the corral. “No, Chance wasn’t a preemie.”

She felt him take another step closer. “Then it happened when I was still around.”

Spinning, she faced him, arms crossed. “It? It happened? I think you better go.”

Her emotions reflected in his eyes. The same torment. The longing for everything to be right again.

“Is Chance...is he mine?”

“Chance is mine. I asked you to leave.” Ali pushed against his chest, and he caught her wrists. She pressed her elbows into him. “Let go of me.”

“Let go of her!” Tripp crossed the kitchen in three seconds flat. Jericho dropped the light hold he had of Ali as Tripp sidled up beside her. “I don’t think you’re welcome here anymore, Jericho.”

“That true, Ali? If you want me to leave, I will.” His lips formed a grim line.

Tripp slid his arm around her waist.

She nodded. “I can’t deal with you right now. I need to take care of all the people here.”

Jericho narrowed his eyes, almost like he wanted to say something more, but then he put on his hat and dipped his chin. “Be talking to you later, then.”

When he left, Tripp took hold of her hands. “Alison, tell me what’s going on.”

“You saved me. I almost told him about Chance.”

The pressure of his hands increased a bit. Besides Kate, Tripp was the only other person in town who knew for sure that Chance was Jericho’s son. “You can’t ever do that. You tell him about Chance, and he’ll probably sue you for parental rights, or at least want shared custody.”

She broke away from him and rubbed her temples. “What am I going to do?”

“You need to divorce him. Make the separation legal. Divorce is your only option.” Tripp said it so easily. Divorce. The word tasted sour on her tongue. But the lawyer made it sound like going for coffee. His tanned arms showed from the rolled-up sleeves of his oxford, and his blue eyes seemed to take her in, while his wavy brown hair stayed perfectly in place.

She brushed at crumbs on the counter. “I don’t see the point.”

“I don’t see the point of not divorcing him.”

“I know him. He won’t sign any papers.”

Tripp shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. He abandoned you. Didn’t send word for eight years. No court will deny your petition.”

An uproar in the front room drew her attention. She glanced at the door separating the kitchen from the rest of the party. “Doesn’t a divorce cost a lot of money? You know about our financial situation.”

He waved his hand. “I have a friend at the firm who can do the paperwork for you. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll need your signature, that’s all.”

She wrung her hands. “I don’t know.”

Tripp took her shoulders so she faced him. “But what if...what if another man wants to marry you?”

Her gaze snapped to meet his, and she didn’t see a trace of mocking in his blues. Like a spooked horse, panic bolted down her spine. Another man? Did that mean...?

The door banged. “Mom! Look at what Jericho gave me. Where is he? I want to show him how I’ve been practicing.” Chance thrust a lasso into her hands.

She slipped away from Tripp and took the thick bound rope, running her thumb over the rough surface. “He had to go home.”

“Aw, man. I wanted him to show everyone. He’s so cool.” Chance started walking back toward his party, then stopped. “He’ll be here tomorrow, right?”

“I think so, honey.”

“Good. I like him the best out of all your friends.”

She hugged her middle as she watched Chance leave the room. What was she going to do about his growing attachment to Jericho? It couldn’t continue. For Chance to be safe, and her life to continue without any bumps, Jericho needed to leave town. Soon. Because if he didn’t, Jericho was bound to figure out that Chance was his son.

* * *

Adrenaline tingled through Jericho’s muscles as he walked the short length of the Silvers’ hay field toward his father’s expansive land—the Bar F Ranch. The pain in his knees throbbed, almost blinding him with intensity, but he limped without stopping to rest. He’d ice them at home.

He’d like to rub that smug look off Tripp’s face. How dare the man touch his wife?

Scooping up a rock, he tossed the stone into the deep gully separating their properties and waited, listening for the ping of it hitting bottom. His heart felt about as jagged and bottomless.

No wonder she didn’t like the sight of him. Ali hadn’t cheated on him. Chance had to be his son. Not only had he left his teenage wife, he’d left her pregnant and alone.

Why didn’t she tell him? He would have stayed. No. That was worse. To stay for the sake of the child when he hadn’t been willing to stay for the sake of his wife? Cow manure ranked better than him right about now.

The army chaplain’s voice drifted through his mind. You are not your past errors. You are redeemed. Jericho had rejoiced in that. He had learned to live in victory, but he wanted his wife’s forgiveness, too. What would he have to do to prove to Ali that he could be trusted? Would he ever get through to her?

Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.

The scripture whizzed through his head and stopped him cold in his tracks. He looked up at the sky as a burning Montana sun began to wrap purple capes over the mountains.

Love her. Keep on loving her.

That much he could do.

Chapter Six

Jericho stared at the clock on the dashboard.

Twenty minutes.

He ran a hand over his beard. He needed a shave. Maybe he should do that first. No. He refocused his eyes on the front doors of the nursing home. It was now or never.

Never sounds good. But he pushed open the Jeep’s door and climbed out onto the sun-warmed pavement.

The over-bleached smell of the nursing home assaulted his senses. The hollow clip of his boots on the laminate floor echoed along with the one word ramrodding itself into his head. Failure. Failure. Reaching the door bearing a nameplate reading Abram Freed, Jericho froze. He pulled off his battered Stetson and crunched it between his hands. Then he took a step over the threshold.

The sight of Pop tore the breath right out of Jericho’s lungs.

Once the poster of an intimidating, weathered cowboy, Abram now just looked...weak. His hair, brushed to the side in a way that Jericho had never seen, had aged to mountain-snowcap-white, but his bushy eyebrows were still charcoal. Like sun-baked, cracked mud, cavernous lines etched the man’s face. The once rippled muscles ebbed into sunken patches covered by slack skin.

Jericho waited for his dad to turn and acknowledge him. Or yell at him. Curse him. But he didn’t move. What had the doctor told him about Pop? The call came months ago. Stroke. He’d lost the use of his right side. None of it meant anything at the time. But now he saw the effects, and his heart ached with grief for the father he hardly loved. Abram Freed looked like a ship without mooring—lost.

“Hey there, Pops.” He hated the vulnerability his voice took on. Like he was ten again, chin to his chest, asking his dad’s permission to watch cartoons.

Pop’s body tensed, and his head trembled slightly. With a sigh, he raised his left hand off the white sheet by a couple inches. His dad couldn’t turn his head. A stabbing, gritty feeling filled Jericho’s eyes as he skirted the hospital bed and pulled out the plastic chair near his father’s good side. His dad’s eyes moved back and forth over Jericho’s frame, and the left side of his dad’s face pulled up a bit, while the right side remained down in a frown.

A nurse bustled into the room. “Well, now, look at this, Mr. Freed, how nice to have some company. Saw you had a visitor on the log—thought it was that pretty little lady always popping by.” She moved toward his father as she spoke.

Pretty little lady? Jericho scanned the room. A fresh vase bursting with purple gerbera daisies sat on the nightstand next to a framed picture of Chance. The photographer had captured the boy’s impish smile, crooked on one side and showing more gums than teeth as his blue eyes sparkled. He was holding up a horseshoe in a victorious manner.

Ali?

The nurse poured out a cup of water and set it on the bedside table. “And who are you?”

“I’m his son.”

“Mercy me.” The nurse leaned down near Pop, speaking loudly. “I bet you’re glad to see this young man, ain’t you?”

“Ith...Ith.”

Unwanted tears gathered at the edge of Jericho’s eyes as he watched his father struggling to speak.

Abram smacked his left hand on the bed and closed his eyes. “I dondt know. I dondt know.”

Jericho searched the nurse’s face. She offered him a sad smile. “That’s the only understandable phrase we get. It don’t mean anything. He says it no matter what’s being talked about. But he can hear just fine. He likes when people come and talk to him. Don’t you, Mr. Freed?”

Pop’s drooping eyes slid partially open, and his head nodded infinitesimally.

Everything inside Jericho seized up. He clenched his jaw, blinking his eyes a couple times. His last meeting with his father whirled in his head—him screaming at Pop, blaming his father for all that had gone wrong in his life.

Over the last eight years, Jericho had pieced back together his world. He’d returned to Bitterroot Valley for two reasons—to repair his devastated marriage, and to restore his relationship with his father. But how could he do that with a man who couldn’t speak? He wanted his father to tell him that he was sorry for the abuse and neglect after Mom died. But that apology would never come. And like it or not, he had to be okay with that.

“Since you’re here, will you help me move your pa?”

“What?” Jericho scratched the top of his head. “I guess whatever you want me to do, just say.”

“We try to move him every hour or so. Prevent sores. It helps to fight the chance of pneumonia, which is always a possibility.” She leaned back to Pop. “But we’d never let that happen, sweet man like you. We take good care of you.”

She motioned for Jericho to move his father, and after a moment of hesitation, he lifted Pop’s frail body in his arms. The old man fit against his chest. Tiny. Breakable. His father’s right side hung limp, whereas the muscles on the left side of his body pulled, straining for dignity. A flood of compassion barreled through Jericho’s heart, burying all the anger he’d felt for the man who’d caused him such suffering. Abram Freed could never hurt him again. His dad deserved to be treated with respect, no matter their past.

The nurse indicated a beige wingback chair. Jericho recognized it from his childhood home. With extra care, he set Pop down. As he began to move away, his father touched his hand. Jericho turned, and Abram pointed to a nearby chair.

He looked back toward the nurse as she inched toward the door and raised his eyebrows. She smiled. “It’s okay. Just go on and talk to him.”

Clearing his throat, Jericho rubbed his hands together, eyes on the floor. He looked back at his father, and the despair swimming in the old man’s eyes unglued Jericho’s tongue.

So he began to ramble. Told Pop about the past eight years, and went on about still loving Ali. Told stories about the war, and in the midst of it an emotion filtered across his father’s face that Jericho had never seen before. Pride.

Swallowing the giant lump in his throat, Jericho leaned forward, and in a voice barely above a whisper said words he hadn’t planned. “Pop. I’m sorry I left that night. I didn’t just walk out on my wife. I walked out on you, too. We had our bad times between us, but it was never like that when Mom was alive. I understand now why you drank. Losing the woman you love...I get it. I forgive you.”

Jericho waited, bracing himself for the backhand to his face or the kick to his side that didn’t come. Instead a soft, weathered hand covered his and squeezed. He looked up and his breath caught at the sight of tears slipping from his father’s eyes.

“Forgive me?” Jericho whispered.

With his good hand, Pop patted Jericho’s cheek, trailing fingers down his chin as if memorizing every inch of his face. His father sighed. He pointed, shaking his finger at the top drawer of the nightstand.

Jericho shifted his chair and set his hand over the handle of the drawer. “Want me to open this?”

“Yeth, yeth.” Pop nodded. He opened the drawer and found a single envelope with “Jericho” written on the inside. Could Pop still write? Or had this always been waiting for him?

“You want me to have this?”

His father waved his arm, motioning toward the framed picture of Chance. Jericho scooped the photo up and handed it to him. Pop stroked the picture, tapped the glass then pointed at the envelope bearing Jericho’s name.

Jericho gulped. “Should I open this now, or you want me to wait until later?”

Pop tapped his finger on the envelope and then pressed the packet into his son’s hands. Jericho nodded and slipped his finger under the lip. Into his hand tumbled a gold watch and a very thin copper-colored key. The tag on the key ring bore the number 139.

“This is Grandpa’s watch. You sure you want me to have it?”

“Yeth.”

Eyes burning, Jericho slipped the watch onto his wrist. His dad had worn it every day that Jericho could remember. “And what’s the story with this key?”

Pop jabbed his finger at the photo of Chance.

“It has to do with Chance?”

“Yeth. Itha. Tha. I dondt know.”

Jericho covered his dad’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it, Pop. I’ll figure it out.”

* * *

Denny’s rhythmic pounds worked the knots out of Ali’s muscles as he galloped across the wide field near the grove of cottonwoods. The trees stood like a gaggle of old women with their heads bent together sharing gossip. Hunching, she avoided the low-growing branches as her buckskin horse carried her.

She sighed. If Ali could have her way, she’d stay on Denny’s back and ride off into the horizon like the heroes did in those Old West movies. No stress. No responsibilities.

“You’re better than any therapist money can buy. Know that, Denny?” His giant fuzz-covered ears swiveled like a radar to hear her better.

“What are we going to do, huh, bud?” Swinging out of the saddle, she stood beside him, tracing her fingers against the yellow-gold hair covering his withers. He nudged his forehead into her shoulder, and she laughed. “You know I have a carrot in my pocket, don’t you?” She pulled out the offering, giggling as his big lips grabbed the food. The warmth of his breath on her fingertips was as comforting as a loving mother’s arms.

What would she do about Tripp Phillips’s attention toward her? Ali rubbed her temples. She didn’t want that. Not with Tripp. Not with any man. Marriage? No, thank you. But she didn’t want to lose his friendship, either.

She walked away a few paces, then leaned against the trunk of the largest cottonwood. She slowly let her body slump to the ground. Cocking her knees, she looped her arms on them and looked out across the river as it rippled past. The scene felt familiar, and she instinctively turned and glanced up at the initials Jericho had carved there so many years ago. Funny, the things that could fill her heart with peace. The crudely chipped JF loves AS shouldn’t cause anything to stir in her, but it did nonetheless.

What was she going to do about that man?

Denny nickered, as if reminding her of her real purpose. “Thanks, bud.” She pulled the now crumpled warning letter from her back pocket and smoothed it over her thighs.

If you value what’s important to you, you’ll stay away from him. You’ve been warned.

No more threats had arrived. But that morning, Rider had reported that their fence line bore malicious damage. This time it caused one of the heifers to tumble to her death in the gully. Ali couldn’t afford to lose any of the stock so carelessly.

It had been alarming enough to find all the horses in the front yard yesterday morning, and she’d wasted hours catching them. One stall left unhitched, she could believe. But ten stalls unlocked and the barn door left wide open? No coincidence, especially since Ali had been the one to lock the barn last night. And, although she wouldn’t give fear lease enough to voice it, she thought she’d heard something outside the house while she lay in bed.

Nine years ago, I made a promise to protect you.

Startled by Jericho’s voice in her mind, she pushed it away and tried to focus on a solution. One he was not a part of. Wasn’t his presence the cause of all the problems anyway? The answer was simple—get rid of Jericho. If he left her alone, this magazine-gluing maniac would stop pestering her.

What Jericho had to say didn’t matter. It also didn’t matter that he’d showed up this morning on the steps with a giant bouquet of her favorite flower—he’d remembered about the daisies. Nor did it matter that, even now, he buried his biceps in grease, putting her truck’s engine back together. Nor that Chance’s eyes lit up at the sight of the man.

Ali looked at the sky to keep the wetness from trickling out of her eyes.

She shoved the letter again into her pocket and clicked her tongue to call Denny back to her side. Running a hand down his glossy muzzle, she leaned her forehead against his face.

“And it doesn’t matter that it still feels like my heart’s a hummingbird stuck in my rib cage each time I see him. Or that he really does seem changed. The ranch. Chance and Kate. Protecting them. That’s what’s most important, right?” Holding his bridle, she stepped away. His gentle eyes, fringed with thick black lashes, surveyed her for one long moment before blinking.

Climbing back into a saddle that felt more like home than any other place on God’s green earth, Ali gave Denny his head. He cantered across the field as if he knew she needed the easy back-and-forth rocking motion to cradle her lost hope one last time.

Jericho Freed needed to leave. For good.

* * *

Denny plunged his lips into the trough. “Go easy, big guy. No colic for you.”

“Hey, Mom!” Chance showed up at her elbow. He gave Denny’s thigh three solid pats.

“Hey there, Chance-man.” She ran a hand over her son’s hair that stuck up at all angles. “Where’s your aunt?”

Chance rolled his eyes and grabbed the edge of the trough. He used it as leverage and swung side to side. “She’s making rhubarb jam. Bor-ing. And I told her that, so she banished me from the kitchen.”

“Banished you, huh?”

“Yeah, but Jericho said he could use my help, and he showed me how to fix your truck. Then we changed the oil. Good thing I was there to hand him all the tools. Did you know how dirty your engine was, Mom? Major gross-out. Jericho had to use lots of rags just to see stuff.” His earnest little expression made Ali bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling at him.

She nodded solemnly. “That sounds serious.”

Handing him Denny’s lead, Chance fell into step beside her toward the corral. “And then he fixed a bunch of stuff on our truck.”

“A bunch?” Ali wrinkled her nose.

“Yes. You’re lucky he had so many tools in his car. He said—” Chance dropped his voice to imitate Jericho’s “—‘We’ve got to keep your mom safe. Got to fix all these things.’” Chance shrugged. “Then he did.”

Great. What was he trying to do, heap coals upon her head? He was supposed to leave, not make her truck purr.

“I know a secret, Mom. Jericho told me.”

Ali grabbed her son’s shoulder and clamped down. There was only one secret Jericho would have involving Chance. No. He wouldn’t—would he? “Secret?” she croaked.

“You have to promise you won’t tell him I told.”

“I promise. What is it?”

“I told Jericho that I like Samantha.”

Ali’s heart started beating again. “Oh, honey, you told me that months ago.”

“That’s not the secret.”

“What is, then?”

“Jericho said you were pretty.”

Ali rolled her eyes. “Secret’s out. He told me that, too.”

“But then I told him if he thinks that, he should marry you.”

“You didn’t!”

Chance gave two nods. “He said he liked that marrying part.”

She popped a hand on her hip. “And where is Mr. Jericho right now?”

“He had to clean up, so I told him to use the hose out back and not to go in the house because I knew you’d yell at him. Remember when Drover and I played in the puddle and then we went in the kitchen and you were so mad you turned red? I told Jericho about that, and he said he’d better take his chances with the cold hose.”

“He did, did he? Hey, can you do me a huge favor and find Rider for me? Let him know I need to talk to him about the fences.”

The ranch—and maybe Chance—were in danger. If Jericho wanted to keep them safe, he needed to leave them alone. That thought propelled her forward. Drover trotted beside her, banging into her leg as Ali rounded the back of the house.

* * *

Jericho crouched. With the hose pressed between his arm and side, water splashed out in front of him. He rubbed his grease-covered hands together under the stream.

The Silvers’ dog, Drover, pounced forward, snapping at the fountain. “Crazy dog. You’re going to get all wet.” Jericho laughed and backed up, right into someone. He peeked over his shoulder and spotted Ali, her eyes wide as the moon in surprise. Looking all cute and startled.

“Oh. Sorry.” He dropped the hose and it sprayed into the air like a geyser, soaking his jeans and shooting at Ali in the process.

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