Doesn’t he get that she’s blind?

Barrel racer Amberley James wants to join the premier rodeo circuit more than anything, but she faces the ultimate hurdle when she loses her eyesight to a rare genetic condition. All she’d ever wanted seems out of reach. Giving up is the only option...until her best friend and local hero Jared Cade steps in. The last thing she wants is Jared’s help. But his persistence at encouraging her to get back in the saddle is ridiculously annoying. And undeniably inspiring...

KAREN ROCK is an award-winning young adult and adult contemporary author. She holds a master’s degree in English and worked as an ELA instructor before becoming a full-time author. Most recently, her Harlequin Heartwarming novels have won the 2015 National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award and the 2015 Booksellers’ Best Award. When she’s not writing, Karen loves scouring estate sales, cooking and hiking. She lives in the Adirondack Mountain region with her husband, daughter and Cavalier King Charles spaniels. Visit her at karenrock.com.

Also by Karen Rock

The Lottery Winner

Second Chance Mom

Starting with June

The Secrets of Her Past

A Better Man

The Ties that Bind

The Price of Honor

Her Tycoon to Tame

Wedding His Takeover Target

Executive’s Pregnancy Ultimatum

His High-Stakes Holiday Seduction

Bedding the Secret Heiress

More Than a Millionaire

Bargained Into Her Boss’s Bed

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Falling for a Cowboy

Karen Rock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08084-2

FALLING FOR A COWBOY

© 2018 Karen Rock

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Jared shoved his hands into his pockets.

Standing with her back against the porch railing, her tense shoulders near her ears, she looked fit to be tied. Her beautiful blue eyes searched for him. He stepped closer and cleared his throat.

“He’s my horse,” she said.

“You can’t sell Harley without my say-so.”

An exasperated noise escaped her pale lips. “I trusted you.”

“Trusting me is the smartest thing you can do, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Her vehement tone caught him off guard. He called lots of woman darlin’. Why did she act like it meant something?

Because you mean it when you say it to her.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to the world of Rocky Mountain Cowboys! I adore writing about these strong, rugged men who shepherd the land and its animals, who fall hard and love forever. In Falling for a Cowboy, you’ll meet another bold, passionate, fiercely independent Cade: Jared. Everything comes easily to Jared—success, friends and even women—until new feelings for his best friend, Amberley, make him face the biggest challenge of all: winning her heart.

I love a good comeback story. Rooting for the underdog and hoping to succeed against all odds makes a story unforgettable. Falling for a Cowboy is a timeless comeback story that was a joy to write. Not only did legally blind Amberley deserve a comeback, but all the characters did, including the children with special needs in her equine therapy program, my hero, and Amberley’s horse, Harley. And don’t we all love a good horse story full of heart? Black Beauty, National Velvet and Misty of Chincoteague are some of my favorites, and they deeply inspired me.

I hope you enjoy book two in my Rocky Mountain Cowboys series. If this is your first time reading this heartwarming series, I hope you’ll check out the prequel, A Cowboy to Keep, and book one in the series, Christmas at Cade Ranch. Look for book three in the series this April! Visit me at www.karenrock.com to learn more about future books or to let me know what you think about the book and series. I’d love to hear from you!

Happy reading!

Karen Rock

To Dusty, the first horse I ever rode. You bucked me off and broke my wrist, but you also made me fall in love... And a girl never forgets her first love. If you look closely, you’ll see yourself on these pages...especially the hugs, the laughs and, most of all, the love.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

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

Extract

Chapter One

“HERE COMES THE CHAMP!” bellowed a rodeo announcer over the Las Vegas Thomas and Mack Center’s PA system. “She won her second straight WPRA World Championship title right here last year. Can she do it again? Ladies and gents, this is the amazing Amberley James from Carbondale, Colorado.”

Amberley tapped the top of her dad’s black Stetson for good luck, lightly kicked her nine-year-old quarter horse, Harley, and galloped out into the arena to raucous applause. Ignoring the buzz of adrenaline inside her, she slowed her breathing and focused on the hunt. She could not—would not—lose. Winning was a state of mind. A way of being. Life. All that she knew and all that she’d ever strive to do.

As her father always told her, if you’re not first you’re last, and if you’re last, you’re not much.

Daddy, if you’re watching, which I know you are, this one’s for you.

She charged forward, leaning low over Harley’s neck. The world around her dimmed, muted, then fell away save for her, Harley and the first barrel. Her ears attuned to the sound of her horse’s pounding hooves, her body to the muscular rhythm of his enormous strides. A free-runner, the gelding ate up the distance in a breathless few seconds, rocketing beneath her like a locomotive. Then the first yellow barrel flashed up.

Electricity slammed her, straight through the breastbone. Without a moment to lose, she positioned Harley and rose in the saddle. Her leg drew even with the brightly painted side, but then something odd happened to her eyes. Stars burst at the corners of her tunneling vision like fireworks and she felt herself tilt forward. She pushed down on the saddle horn a millisecond later than she should have and dropped.

Air rushed from between Amberley’s clenched teeth. In a sport won or lost in hundredths of seconds, she’d just cost herself.

She moved her hand toward Harley’s withers, opening him up a little more, squeezed with her inside leg and strove to keep him off the barrel. But that blink-fast delay caused Harley to bend too far. His rear swung, hip disengaged, his hooves kicking up clouds of dirt as he dug in and turned wider than she’d wanted.

Make-or-break time.

Setting her jaw, she pulled her weight forward, brought her rein hand closer, then reached and slid as he accelerated, balancing on the horn and staying out of his mouth to give him his head. She squinted her eyes, straining to keep the blurring world in focus.

Two...three monster strides away from the barrel and then she grabbed the reins with both hands, angling him for the next turn, mentally preparing herself in case he overreacted to the approaching wall, a rare quirk of his that’d landed her in hot water before.

Play it safe or go for it?

Driving Harley hard, they hurtled full out toward the second barrel, making back precious time, she prayed. Her lungs burned and her eyes stung, her face flaming as Harley’s silver mane streamed across it. She kept her eyes trained to the side of the barrel that seemed to slide and waver like a mirage.

Keeping her hands still despite the tremors in her gut, she angled her body back to keep Harley from anticipating and turning too soon.

The tension squeezing her chest eased a tiny bit as he responded to her cue. His gait held steady. Still. She could feel him tensing. Better play it safe, especially since the barrel seemed to jump before her eyes. Keeping her hands light on the reins, she gave him extra time she couldn’t afford on the back end of the turn in case he blew through it and didn’t bend enough. She rotated her entire body as they rounded and squinted in the direction of the last barrel.

Go, Harley.

Go.

She dug her heels into his flanks, asking for whatever Harley had left, and he responded, lunging faster still, closing the distance to the final barrel at lightning speed. Would she be able to judge it with her vision playing tricks? Air stuck in her lungs, and her pulse throbbed painfully in her throat as they committed to the final turn. They had to get around this perfectly. No room for error.

She eased back to her pockets and applied steady pressure, willing him to arc smoothly. In a flawless pivot, Harley beamed around the barrel like a champ. Then they dashed past and the world rushed back in, a tidal force, the crowd erupting as she swept under the arena and down the gated corridor.

“Fourteen ten,” the announcer crowed as she pulled up, then hopped off Harley.

“Not a bad start,” she said to him, patting his steaming neck, grateful to have made it through clean given her distorted vision. Her eyesight, corrected with strong contacts, had never been great. Lately, though, she’d begun seeing spots on bright and sunny days. Then parts of her vision started shifting in and out of focus. Exhaustion from her nonstop schedule seemed the most likely culprit, but she’d been through years of touring without anything like this ever happening before.

Harley’s silver tail lashed a fly on his rippling black hindquarter. He nickered at her and gave her a sidelong look.

“Not satisfied, champ? Me neither.” She threw her arms around his neck for a quick squeeze. His reassuring warmth seeped through her shirt and slowed the gallop of her heart. Her eyesight struggles had been a constant, growing drumbeat these last couple of weeks of the season, a dreadful worry she’d kept to herself.

If word got out, it would set the racing community abuzz. Her sponsors would phone and her endorsements dry up. No sense raising red flags before she had answers. The sooner she returned home, caught up with her rest and got some new contact lenses, a stronger prescription maybe, the better. Hopefully, that’d be the end of it.

And the old, irrational fear she’d once had as a glasses-wearing kindergartener, that she’d go blind, would leave her for good.

The familiar aroma of dust, sweat and leather rose off Harley as she turned and led him back to his stall. Some people associated the smell of apple pie, baked bread, garden flowers with “home,” but for Amberley, the smells of the stable—sweet hay, pungent manure, musky animal pelts—embodied her home, and even her church really, where she’d worshipped all her life, most of it alongside her departed daddy.

“We’ll do better next round,” she promised, guiding Harley past an overturned water bucket. After all, what choice did she have? If she didn’t plan on winning, she wouldn’t have bothered showing up in the first place.

Hopefully her eyes wouldn’t act up again...

Several hours and ten rounds later, Amberley shifted on tired legs beneath a floodlight, trying to look as fresh as she had when she’d begun interviews in the cordoned-off press area. The center of her vision shimmered, and her eyeballs ached with the effort to focus. All around, the humid night pressed close. She held her arms out a little from her sides, her body slick beneath her denim shirt.

Rain had been threatening all day. She wished it’d start and release some of the tension in the black, cloud-covered night. Most of all, she wanted to duck under some covers and get the sleep she needed so badly.

“Congratulations,” crowed a big-bellied rodeo blogger named Hank Andrews. Or Anderson. She sometimes struggled to recall names—and lately, faces, too. “Another world championship makes it your third consecutive win.”

Powering through her exhaustion, she shot the florid man, and the camera, a friendly smile.

“Thank you very much. I’m just as surprised as anybody. I didn’t think I’d be standing here. So. You know. I’m just really excited and thankful.”

“No surprise for the rest of us, Amberley,” he gushed. Behind a pair of heavy-framed glasses, he had kind hazel eyes. Or were they green? Everything looked a little fuzzy, especially under this artificial light. More evidence of worsening symptoms? Dread rose in her throat. “You’ve barely lost a round let alone a competition.”

She winced and shooed away a bothering fly. “Don’t remind me.”

When Hank stared at her, confused, she forced a laugh to pretend she joked.

In fact, she recalled every loss in excruciating detail. They served as warnings of the consequences when her vigilance lapsed, like earlier this month when her eyes failed her for the first time. She’d missed a barrel and didn’t place high enough to secure a coveted spot on the ERA Premier Tour. All her life, she’d dreamed of traveling with the world’s top-seeded rodeo athletes.

“Another great ten rounds. You gave the fans everything they wanted.”

Behind Hank, a tall, dark and handsome cowboy ambled out of the shadows. He moved with an effortless athletic grace she’d recognize anywhere, even in this dim light with her eyesight fading fast: Jared Cade, Heisman Trophy winner, Denver Broncos halfback and a member of Carbondale’s biggest ranching family. He planted his brown boots wide, hooked his thumbs through his jean’s belt loops and shot her an easy grin that gave her a ridiculous beat of warmth—he was her best friend, not a beau or anything...

“I hope so,” she replied, feeling her lips twitch up when Jared crossed his eyes at her earnest tone. She couldn’t quite focus in on the details of his face given her fatigue, but she knew those features by heart, sight unseen. “I just try to come out here and do my best every night. And, you know, I just got lucky.”

Jared rolled his eyes at that. They were both extremely competitive. They’d been friends since they’d met on the rodeo circuit in middle school, trading achievements like some kids traded baseball cards, always keeping score. They shared a hard-work ethic and drive to be the best. Number one. He knew, like she did, that you only spoke about luck, you didn’t actually believe in it.

She cleared her throat, shot Jared a stern, “knock-it-off” look and continued. “I had a good week and Harley worked great and he was real consistent for me. Real solid.”

“You’ve been riding him for...” Hank stopped a moment and whipped out a pad of paper from his back pocket.

Jared held up some fingers.

“Six years,” she supplied. A raindrop smacked the tip of her nose.

Jared waved his hand.

“Almost seven,” she amended hastily, reminded of when she and Jared had spied the rangy black-and-silver colt going cheap at auction and decided on the spot to train him together. They’d always made a good team, never letting the other quit or coast, never satisfied until they’d pushed each other to achieve top spots in whatever they pursued.

“It was so good to come back here and have another finals with Harley. It’s just unbelievable.”

Jared brought his fingers up to his temple and fake shot himself in the head, a grin the size of a dinner plate on his face. She could feel the matching one on herself. Good thing this last reporter didn’t have video since she must look like a total loon.

“Hey, you nailed it.” Hank stared at her a moment, momentarily flummoxed, then continued, “Final round. Did you feel any real pressure? All you had to do was keep him up.”

She laughed, despite the rain that’d now kicked in, steady wet mist.

“I don’t know about that. You know, I—uh—never even thought about it.”

Jared cleared his throat quietly, a scoffing sound, skeptical. True friends like Jared called you out and didn’t let you get away with anything...even trying to schmooze a reporter when you just wanted to kick off your boots and eat a pepperoni Hot Pocket.

“It was just kind of the same thing that goes through my head every night. Go fast, be tight, get around the barrels and try to win some money. That was my goal.” That earned her two thumbs-up from Jared. Little did he know her other worries—and he wouldn’t ever know them since it’d all turn out to be nothing.

She let go of a breath she didn’t know she held.

“I don’t really have any sort of thought process before I go in other than that.” The rain picked up now. Heavy drops pelted them. “I just knew that I needed to focus all day and think about what I needed to do in there. And that’s what I did. I focused.”

Jared made a circling motion with his index finger. Wrap it up. She gave him a slight head shake. She’d worked hard for this all year and she’d bask in the moment, even if she felt faint, the world growing dimmer. Was it getting even darker out? When she swayed slightly on her feet, she caught Jared’s quick, concerned frown and snapped her spine straight.

She couldn’t stand being fussed over.

“I didn’t hardly talk to anyone today. My mom and my friend were about the only two people I actually spoke to...”

It touched her that Jared had flown out to spend the week with her and help her prepare. They always gave each other pep talks before big games or competitions, sometimes tough, sometimes inspirational, sometimes just to make each other laugh and calm down.

Today, Jared had been full-on comedian, making her giggle whenever her anxieties about the race—and her eyesight—started winding her up. Several times she’d caught herself on the brink of confessing her concerns. Would he think less of her if he learned of her weakness? He didn’t know the girl who’d once been called four eyes and been teased so hard she’d spent her lunches hiding in her grade school bathroom.

And he would never know her.

That girl disappeared long ago. Amberley had spent her lonely childhood with her horses until she’d worked her way up into competitive barrel racing and become the winner whom Jared respected. Liked. And winners didn’t complain.

They got the job done.

“It just was one of those days when I needed to take it to myself and focus on what I needed to do.” Her look clicked against Jared’s for a minute. “And it scared me on the first barrel today. I knew that it was going to be tight, and I was thrilled we got around it.”

The rain fell heavier, in weighty splats, not that Hank seemed to notice. She shivered in her soggy shirt as he forged ahead with his next question. Would this interview end before she caught pneumonia? If not, her next interview could be from an ICU bed.

“And another world championship for Colorado today. What do they say about you up there in the Rocky Mountains?”

Jared mouthed something obnoxious—it had to be, given the wicked twinkle in his eyes—and she fought back a giggle. He was the worst.

“I don’t know what they’re going to say.” She earned an eye roll for that. “I hope I made them proud. I know I’m proud to be a Rocky Mountain rider. And I have to thank all of my fans today. They’ve been awesome. I love that they came down and cheered me on. It meant a lot.”

That, spoken directly to Jared, wiped the grin off his face and did something funny to his large, wide-spaced eyes, darkened them somehow. For a moment, she glimpsed the heartthrob her girlfriends gushed about, and it unsettled her. Sure, she recognized his attributes. Every female with a pulse appreciated his lean, square-jawed, gorgeous face, his towering height, slim hips, muscular torso and endless legs that turned a pair of worn jeans into a work of art. He had the kind of red-blooded American male good looks that made a gal want to salute and thank God for everyday miracles.

She wasn’t blind, despite her recent vision hiccup.

But she wasn’t stupid either. Fruit flies lived longer than Jared’s romantic relationships, if you could call them that. Conquests was more accurate a term. Their friendship worked because she inoculated herself against his lady-killer charms. The only woman to see the frog and not the prince. In fact, she preferred the goofy frog to the prince. Their friendship meant too much and she’d never want him in any other role, especially after losing the only other important man in her life, her dad, to cancer two years ago.

Nope. No way would she ever jeopardize their friendship.

She tore her eyes from Jared and peered at Hank through the steady curtain of water dripping off her hat brim.

“A 13.95 average through ten rounds.” Hank whistled. “Pretty neat day. Brings you that average title. How important was that to you?”

“You know, it was real important to me. Every contestant that comes here dreams of winning and that, of course, is one of my goals, and so to achieve it is huge. Though it’s surprising, I’ve worked really hard for this and I just have to thank everyone who’s helped me get here.”

The rain had turned Jared’s long lashes into dark wet spikes around his golden-brown eyes. He didn’t blink, just stared right back at her for a long moment with an unreadable expression she should be able to decipher. She usually knew almost every thought inside his pretty head. “They all helped me get through this week and all through the year. I just can’t thank them enough.”

Jared mouthed something and pointed to the parking lot where his pickup waited. She didn’t have to read his lips to guess he’d said something like, “Let’s go.”

“Final numbers were one hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars on the week, and that leads you to another world title,” pressed Hank.

How many followers did his blog have? Millions? As much as she wanted to please her fans, she needed out of this weather. She felt a sneeze coming on, held it in, then jerked as it exploded in her sinus cavities.

“How does this one stack up?” Hank asked, undeterred.

She took a deep breath and launched into what she hoped would be a good enough answer for him to quote and move on. Please...

“Well. You know. The first one is always special and so unreal and indescribable. But this one feels so much more hard-earned. And that’s what it felt like all this year. Harley got injured right before the season started, so that was a challenge. I didn’t think I had a chance to even be thinking of a world title.”

Especially with her eyes failing.

A tremor lanced through her.

Jared gave her a firm, “you got this” nod that bolstered her. He’d said those words when she’d worried she and Harley wouldn’t be competition ready in time for the season. Every chance he got, he’d come home to work with her and Harley until they got up to speed. She and Jared had always been each other’s number one fans.

Would he still stand by her if she had a serious vision problem? She kicked the dumb thought aside. People her age didn’t up and go blind for no good reason.

“And I have to give credit to all the girls here because they put on a great barrel race all week and they’re tough competition,” she concluded and shot Hank a hopeful look.

Got enough?

“World champion barrel racer Amberley James,” Hank intoned into his recorder. “Congratulations on another great year.”

She ducked her head and sent a shower of water on her rain-splattered boots. “Thank you.”

Please let this be the end. Her heavy lids drooped momentarily, and the ground seemed to tilt a little bit. Or was that her?

“Hank, good to see you,” she spied him now standing just a couple of feet away, shaking hands briskly with the lingering blogger.

“Well.” Hank’s ruddy face turned tomato. “Didn’t expect to get a double scoop here.”

“Oh, I believe Amberley’s done a great job of giving you all the material you need,” Jared drawled, polite, friendly and respectful as ever, with just the right amount of firm. “Y’all have a good night, now.”

He swept an arm around her waist and led her toward the parking lot.

“Any special reason you came out here? Are you two going to make it official?” Hank called.

Jared halted and peered down at her. She blew out a long breath. Why couldn’t men and women just be friends? They’d battled the misimpression they were a couple for years, right down to rumors claiming they dated, held hands, kissed even. She blushed a bit thinking how they’d come close to doing just that right before her father got ill. Luckily, they’d come to their senses and avoided a huge mistake.

“I’d be a lucky man if that were true, but Amberley and I are just longtime friends. If that changes, I’ll be sure to give you the exclusive.” He tipped his hat and pulled her into the unlit, mostly deserted parking lot.

Under cover of darkness, they ran, hand in hand, splashing through puddles, laughing, soaked and breathless when they arrived at his truck.

“Why’d you do that?” she asked, one heel up and back on the step bar.

He placed his hands on the wet body of his truck, boxing her in, and leaned down. The clean, masculine scent of him, leather, soap and a hint of spice, had her breathing deep.

“To rescue you. Plus, I owe you for bailing me out at the bachelor’s auction last week.”

A bright laugh bubbled up from within. It felt good after so much worry. “Still not sure if I got my money’s worth...”

“Chili dogs and chips?” he scoffed, looking not the least bit offended. “That took a lot of effort. Planning.”

She pressed lightly on his muscular chest. “Yeah. Right.”

He trapped her hand against his heart, and for a breathless moment they simply stared at each other.

Tell him about your eyes, urged the angel on one shoulder.

Keep quiet, the devil on her other shoulder whispered.

She cleared her throat and ignored the strange sense of letdown when he released her and stepped aside. “Anyway, I had to even up the score.”

“Never,” she shot back, forcing a teasing tone, needing to lose this strange awareness tugging her from the friend zone.

He angled his head and raised his thick, perfectly shaped brows. “As in you don’t want me rescuing you or pulling ahead in the tally?”

She lifted her chin and ignored the twinge inside about her eyesight. “Neither. Do I look like someone that needs rescuing?”

“Not a chance.” He chucked her gently under the chin and considered her. “It might be what I like about you best.” Her heart flailed at the deep, serious timbre in his voice. “That and your burned grilled cheese sandwiches.”

She laughed, but it didn’t break the intimacy swelling between them. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Acquired? Maybe. Taste? That’s debatable.”

The air in her lungs faltered at his tease. Strategic withdrawal time.

She hopped into the truck but left the door open. Today had been a strange day with lots out of focus, especially these all-over-the-map feelings for Jared. Friends didn’t look at each like that.

“Get me out of here, you fool.”

“Always a fool for you, darlin’.” Deep dimples appeared in his flashbulb smile, and for a moment, she almost believed him. He winked, then shut the door.

She leaned her forehead against the window and watched her breath fog the glass. Flirting was as natural and necessary to Jared as breathing.

It didn’t mean anything.

And if she ever let herself think so, then she’d be the biggest fool of all.

Chapter Two

“STARGARDT’S DISEASE?”

Amberley strained to bring the wavy lines of her ophthalmologist, Dr. Hamilton, into focus. Shameful tears pricked the back of her eyes. It’d been a long six weeks of appointments and tests since she’d returned home and begun searching for an answer about her failing eyesight, and now this...some strange name that seemed like it had nothing to do with her.

Dr. Hamilton’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “It’s a genetic disorder that causes macular degeneration.”

Her heart dropped all the way to the floor and splattered.

Was there a cure?

Lately, her central vision had deteriorated at a terrifying rate, hobbling her at home, her spirit and independence vanishing with it.

“Should we have discovered this when she was born?” her mother asked in what Amberley called her “Interrogation Voice.” She’d been a Carbondale county judge for almost ten years and a prosecutor for fifteen before that.

Out of the corner of Amberley’s eye, she spied her mother’s white face in sharp detail. A line where she hadn’t blended her makeup. A mole the size of a pencil eraser. A few strands of gray-brown hair that’d escaped her braid and fell across her cheek.

Strange that while the center of her vision failed, her peripheral vision still worked fine.

“Not necessarily. The condition appears, symptomatically, in childhood with some vision deficit that’s correctable with glasses or contacts. However, the loss of sight increases rapidly in the twenties, in some instances progressing to legal blindness.”

Her gasp cracked loud in the ophthalmologist’s office.

A hand—her mother’s—fell on Amberley’s knee. Squeezed.

Suddenly it became hard to breath.

“Am I going blind?”

Dr. Hamilton moved his head toward her. That much she could tell, but if he nodded or made a face, she didn’t have a clue. He appeared as just a fuzzy blob of tan and brown wearing something white—a lab coat she guessed.

“Complete blindness?” He paused—maybe waiting for her to affirm the question? Her mouth froze along with the rest of her, her heart beating down deep in a block of ice. “That would be rare, but we can’t rule it out.”

Panic rose. Would her vision be this way from now on? Forever? The world had morphed into a carnival fun house full of twisted, stretched and squashed reflections.

“There isn’t a procedure that could help? An implant? Gene therapy?” Her mother’s crisp voice turned sharp.

Another knee squeeze.

A drumming sound signaled Dr. Hamilton tapping on his desk. Then a long sigh.

“Gene therapy studies are still too early to be conclusive. Charlotte, I wish I had a better prognosis for Amberley. This is a heck of a thing.”

“So—so that’s it?” Amberley’s voice shook.

“We can arrange for a service dog.”

“I don’t need a dog,” she cried. “I need my eyes back.”

My life.

“The Lord doesn’t give us more than we can handle—”

Easy for a sighted person to say. Amberley shook off her mother’s hand, shot to her feet, stepped forward, then bumped into the desk with her thigh. Hard. Her teeth ground together. She’d become a hermit these last few weeks for this exact reason. At home, she navigated the space well enough, keeping the tormenting sense of helpless, hopeless at bay.

But here—here she couldn’t hide from it. In the real world, her vision blossomed into a bigger problem and she shrunk into someone incompetent, dependent, weak, a person she never wanted to be.

“I can handle a fifteen-hundred-pound stallion at fifty miles an hour. But this—I can’t deal with this. What am I supposed to do with my life?”

She’d been planning on trying out for the ERA Premier tour team again at their end-of-summer qualifiers. Now she’d never be good enough to ride with them.

Or ride at all...

The life she’d always wanted ended before it’d even started, and she had no contingency plan.

“Honey, let’s not think so far ahead.”

Dr. Hamilton made a soothing noise. “Your mother’s right. Take it day by day.”

“And what do I do with those days?”

Unable to pace for fear of smacking into anything else in her obstacle course of a world, she dropped back into her seat. A sense of helplessness washed over her. Crushing. Unfamiliar. Did her life matter anymore? One without riding? Competing? Winning?

If you aren’t first, you’re last. Her father’s words floated inside, stinging.

What am I if I can’t compete?

Nothing.

No. Less than nothing.

You may as well not even exist.

She dropped her head in her hands.

“There’s plenty you can do,” her no-nonsense mother protested. Staunch as her pioneer ancestry.

“Like...”

After a painful beat of silence, her mother cleared her throat. “You could come down and assist my office clerk.”

“Doesn’t that require reading?”

Metal grated on metal. A drawer opened by the sound of it. Then Dr. Hamilton said, “There’s an equine therapy program for people with disabilities.”

“I can’t help people with disabilities,” Amberley protested. “Not when I’m...”

Silence. Shifting in chairs. A light cough from Dr. Hamilton. A short exhale from her mother.

And then it dawned on her. She had the disability. She was a disability. And a liability. The realization settled in her chest like pneumonia, cold, dense and painful.

A strange urge to seek out her gelding, Harley, and share the news seized her. He’d always been her rock. Her confidant. Him and...

Jared.

Suddenly she pictured her best friend’s wide-open smile and his teasing, amber eyes. What would he think of her if he knew her marginalized status, someone without a purpose or real worth? A loser. Not a winner at all.

She hoped she’d never find out.

Sidelined by an injury last season, he’d return to the Broncos’ preseason training in a few weeks. Until then, she’d continue dodging his texts and calls and hole up in her room.

After that...

Her future stretched ahead of her, as narrow, bleak and distorted as her vision.

“So what do I do now?” she asked when the silence in the room stretched to its—her—breaking point.

“I’ll give you the number for the equine program and write you a referral to an occupational therapist. They’ll help you regain your independence and improve your quality of life.”

Her fingers curled around the worn wooden edge of her seat. Her quality of life? That made her sound a hundred years old. Then again, maybe the description fit: someone barely hanging on to a life that was, for all intents and purposes, over.

“No, thanks.”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Hamilton’s chair scraped and he stood.

“We’ll take the number and the referral, Doctor,” her mother interjected smoothly, in a brook-no-argument voice which had secured her status as the state’s most successful prosecutor turned judge.

Amberley’s nose tingled and her eyes ached with the effort to hold back her grief. She needed to get home, crawl into bed and bury herself under the covers.

“Is our time up?” She headed in the direction of the door, unmoored. Her life whirled, out of control, her independence—gone. She couldn’t even take off when she wanted—not when she couldn’t drive. And she missed her other Harley, a 2010 black Breakout that matched the one Jared bought the same year.

No more hopping on her bike and chasing down sunsets, free, the wind on her face, blowing through her hair, as close to flying as any human could get. No. With her wings clipped, she just wanted to duck under her covers and hide.

Her foot connected with the bottom of a tree stand. It tilted forward and fell on top of her.

“Amberley!”

Her mother and the doctor rushed to help, and she balled her hands at her sides.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

You may not have much, but you still have your pride.

A few minutes later, they were out the door and in her mother’s pickup. The warm June air flowed through her cracked-open window as they drove home. She picked out the scent of Smokey’s barbecue, sweet and tangy, and pictured the crispy, white-and-red awning and blue-covered picnic tables instead of the passing color smear.

Would she ever see it again?

No.

Another loss, one of the many ahead to grieve. Her future rose black and immutable, her past a cemetery filled with everything she once loved and now lost.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m going to be with you every step of the way. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of.”

The faint twang of a country song crooned through the radio. “No,” her mother said gently. “I suppose you don’t. You never did.”

Amberley let out a breath. “I love you, Ma. It’s just that I need not to need you right now.”

“Of course.”

They rode a while more in silence. Amberley dropped the back of her head to her seat and shut her eyes. When the air turned thick with pine scent, she imagined them crossing out of town and onto the highway that led to their home, a small log cabin with a deep porch that her father had built himself.

What would her dad say to her now?

He’d be so let down.

Sorry, Daddy.

Three more turns and the truck bounced on rough track. When the right side dipped, she imagined the ruts that marked the halfway point up her packed-dirt drive. Then her mother pulled to a stop and Amberley jerked open the door.

“I’m going to bed,” she called once she found the porch banister and stepped up the stairs.

“Shoot!” her mother exclaimed behind her.

Amberley stopped and turned—a pointless gesture since she could make out only her mother’s tall, thin shape. She pictured the narrow oval of her face, the long brow and upturned nose that’d always given her comfort as a child. Her heart squeezed. She’d never see her mother’s face again.

This was real.

Not temporary.

Not fixable.

Forever.

The porch step creaked, and her mother’s soft hand fell on Amberley’s wrist. “I completely forgot. We have company coming for supper.”

“I’ll just stay in my room. Tell them I have a headache.” A deep ache now clawed her brain.

Her mother guided her up to the porch, then paused by the front door. In the distance, chickens squawked and the American flag atop a flower bed’s pole snapped. The warm wind carried the scent of newly blooming wildflowers. “I don’t think he’ll accept that.”

“Why?” she asked through a yawn. Her heavy-lidded eyes closed. Sleep. She just wanted to sleep and not wake up for a long, long time.

Or ever.

“It’s Jared.”

* * *

“JARED!”

Jared Cade waved at a former high school buddy, then swept chalk over the tip of his pool stick. “What’s up, Red?”

“Not much.” Red clomped over in heavy boots, hitching up drooping work pants, a faint burnt odor preceding him. His short auburn hair stuck up around his smudged face.

“Phew.” Lane, one of their Saturday night poker buddies, wrinkled his long nose. “You come straight here from a cookout?”

A couple of the guys guffawed at their long-standing joke with the lone firefighter in their group. Many worked on ranches or in rodeo and gathered at this pool hall most nights.

From corner-mounted speakers, a George Strait tune blared. Pictures of local and state sports teams covered every inch of the wood-paneled walls, jockeying for space. Jared had signed a few of them, he recalled, eyeing a framed eleven-by-sixteen photo behind the cash register. It featured his senior year, record-breaking catch during a state division championship.

One thing he liked best about Carbondale, he’d always be its hero.

“Just finished toasting marshmallows on I-77,” Red drawled, referring to the location of a small wildfire that’d broken out over the weekend. He lifted a finger and waved it in a circle, signaling the waitress for a round of drinks. “What can I get you fellas?”

“I’ve got this,” Lane insisted. “Plus, it’s my turn to buy.” He turned to Jared, eager to please, a fan of Jared’s since high school. “Another beer?”

He shook his head, then eyed the striped balls remaining on the pool table. “Heading out to Amberley’s in a minute.”

Roseanne, the pool hall owner’s daughter and part-time waitress, hustled over. She laid her hand on his arm and peered at him beneath lashes so long he guessed they were either fake or she was an alien.

“You goin’ to hear Back Country play at The Barnsider next weekend?”

His lips curved into a smile at the flirty look she shot him. She was short and thin and kind of twitchy, filled with the kind of restlessness that set her earrings swinging. A long sweep of cropped platinum hair fell in her face—pale with clean quick features, eyes covered in a haphazard blue.

Roseanne no longer interested him, exactly, seeing as how they’d already been out a couple of times and that’d gone nowhere, but he wouldn’t turn his nose up at the attention.

“Could be.”

“I might be goin’,” she said, coy.

“That a fact?” he answered lightly, shooting for a tone that was friendly but not encouraging.

His brothers, and especially his younger sister, Jewel, teased him mercilessly about his “girl problem,” calling him lady-killer or heartbreaker. But the women, they came to him. He never aimed to hurt anybody. Just wanted to keep things light. Fun. No strings roping down this cowboy. If they got their hearts broke, well, he did feel bad about that, but he’d never done it intentionally. That would have required him to put effort into it, which, like most things in life, he didn’t since everything came kind of easily to him. Sports, friends, ladies’ hearts...

Roseanne finished taking drink orders, snapped her pad closed and turned to him again. “Wouldya like to go with me? If we get too drunk, we could just crash at my place after.”

He shot his buddies a quick side eye to stop the guffaws he sensed coming. Roseanne might be misled, but she didn’t need to feel bad for it.

“Well, now, I appreciate that offer. I do. But I might have already promised to take Amberley, so...”

“Oh,” Roseanne nodded fast. “Of course. You and Amberley, I mean...”

She scurried away, her face aflame. He hung his head a moment. Now he did feel bad. Although he and Amberley were just friends, everyone assumed more. Here he’d gone and added fuel to the fire.

“Thought you two broke up,” Red taunted as the guys exchanged knowing, irritating looks.

Jared shrugged, then stooped over the pool table. It bugged him that Amberley had been ignoring his recent calls and texts. The word friend didn’t describe how much she meant to him. Family neared the mark, but then that’d make her a sister. Given how pretty he found her when he forgot to think of her as just his bud—well, thinking of her as a sister was every kind of wrong.

No. Being his best friend made Amberley one of the most important people in his life. Tonight he’d get to the bottom of her freeze-out. Right after he won this pool game.

His fingers tightened around the stick he now angled over the table. He had two shots, he assessed, doing his level best to tune out his exasperating friends and win the game. Fifty dollars rode on it, but more than that, Jared just plain hated losing, especially to a member of his family’s longtime feuding neighbors, the Lovelands. His opponent, bull rider Maverick Loveland, a middle child out of five brothers like him, and a smug, tight-lipped, mean son of a gun, not like him at all, had stopped by his table and challenged him twenty minutes ago.

He didn’t care about the money. His thirst to win was rooted in decades of fighting with the ranching family that constantly trespassed on their land for nonexistent water access rights, damming up a river that didn’t belong to them, and all because they blamed his family for stringing up one of their own over a hundred years ago.

Yet the murdering, kidnapping, jewel-thieving Lovelands started the feud, putting them squarely in the wrong...not that anyone could ever talk any bit of sense into that mulish clan. The Cades and the Lovelands had struck back at each other for so long it’d become a way of life, despite the fleeting truce they’d called last Christmas. For the first time in generations, the Lovelands had attended the Cades’ annual neighborhood party, a surprise move that’d ended about as well as could be expected—with nearly all of them sharing a jail cell overnight for brawling.

His deputy sheriff brother, Jack, who’d been visiting from Denver, and local sheriff Travis Loveland had agreed to release the disorderly group in the morning if they hadn’t killed each other by then. Somehow, they’d made it through the night without anyone dying. More shocking still, it turned out his brother James’s girlfriend, Sofia, had invited Boyd Loveland to the party because he and his ma wanted to start dating.

Jared still struggled to believe that.

And he and his brothers and sister sure as heck wouldn’t permit it. They suspected cash-strapped Boyd, threatened with his ranch’s foreclosure, sought their mother’s money and—of course—those water access rights. Fortunately, Ma came to her senses after the Christmas fiasco and stopped taking calls from Boyd. Still, she swapped too many looks with him at church for his comfort. A plan to rid themselves of Boyd for good was in the works.

For now, he’d content himself with Maverick.

He eyed his shot choices again, evaluating the easier target. He hated losing and avoided it at all costs.

“Heard Amberley dumped him stone cold,” Lane guffawed.

The eight ball jerked forward and smacked into the lone solid ball left on the table. Loud laughter followed on the heels of a brief stunned silence when it sunk into a pocket.

Maverick Loveland clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, dude. Though if you wanted to give me fifty bucks, you could have just handed it over. Saved me some time.” He plucked the cash off the table and ambled away, as sarcastic and conceited as every other rotten Loveland.

Jared swore under his breath, stung.

“Sorry, Jared!” Lane jittered around him, shoving his hands in his pockets, then yanking them out again. “That’s on me. If I hadn’t distracted you, you would have won it for sure.”

The rest of the crew nodded quickly, and Jared relaxed a tad. Lane was right. He hadn’t lost. He’d been sidetracked by thoughts of Amberley.

Why was she avoiding him these past few weeks?

He fitted his stick back in the holder. “Loveland got lucky.”

“Yeah, he did,” Red vowed. He lifted the mug Roseanne offered him and sipped.

“Exactly,” murmured another friend.

“Heck, yeah,” said a third.

The tight group, former high school football teammates who’d won the state division championships together, shared plenty of glory days. He’d missed them when the NFL drafted him out of college. After last year’s injury, an ACL tear that sidelined him from his starting Broncos position, they’d rallied around him, supportive of their hometown hero.

Life was simpler in Carbondale, where he wasn’t some nobody with nothing much to offer. What good was being in the middle of the pack? When his agent called recently with the Broncos’ offer: a one-year contract, at a lower salary—basically a benchwarmer position—he’d turned it down.

He’d rather be here, where people knew him, appreciated him, where he could fulfill his vow to his dying father.

“Later.” With a wave, he headed outside, hopped on his motorcycle, donned his helmet and roared out onto the two-lane route that cut through Mount Sopris’s eastern side. He let out the throttle and ripped through the dark night. Around the edges of his light beams, a dense forest crowded each side of the road. Each breath dragged in the spring-fresh scents of fresh earth, pine and growing things mixed with gasoline fuel. Waves of heat rippled up from the engine, and the wind rushed past.

Life was lived for moments like this, he thought, effortlessly guiding his Breakout around a fallen branch from this morning’s storm. Astride his Harley, listening to the rumble from his straight pipes, seated in his low-slung seat, he felt in control of the elements regardless of their severity because only the ride mattered. Sure, not returning to professional football bugged him, but he’d made that call, not the team. An important distinction. One that preserved his status as a winner. Not a failure.

He slowed at a flashing red, then stopped, peered side to side, and peeled off the line with a deep burrrrrooomboomboomboom. At the top of a steep incline, his Breakout went slightly airborne, and for a quick second he imagined himself flying. Nothing above or below him. Just moving through space, wind, and its feeling of force on his face and body.

Dad would have enjoyed this ride, he thought, glancing up at the full moon crowning over a distant peak. Growing up, his father called Jared a star. He’d attended every football game, cheered the loudest and told Jared nothing made him happier than seeing Jared win, especially during his final months of life when he’d battled liver cancer.

Jared’s wins on the football field distracted his family and gave them moments to cheer in a dark time. His pa insisted Jared was the glue that held the family together. Before passing away, his father told Jared his siblings would need someone to look up to after he’d gone. He made Jared promise to be that hero.

Since things came easily to Jared, he’d had no trouble fulfilling his pledge until his injury. When he’d tried, and failed, to make a full comeback, however, he realized he’d never fulfill his designated role as family hero if he remained a bench warmer. He opted, instead, to return home. At least here he remained a small-town hero, his reputation intact. Much better than enduring seasons as a second-stringer with little chance of making it back under the big lights.

Or worse, getting cut.

Still. Returning to the ranch hadn’t fulfilled him either, no matter how much the community treated him like the “big man” in their small town. A champion. Maybe because such treatment left him feeling like a fraud. He needed something to take his mind off wondering what he’d do with his life now that he couldn’t play ball. He sped faster. Amberley was just the distraction he needed.

A few minutes later, he pulled up beside Amberley’s cabin, cut the engine and lowered the kickstand. Something immediately seemed off about the place. Light streamed from every window, and the front door hung open.

“Hello?” he called, swinging his leg over the bike seat. His boots clattered on the porch steps. “Amberley?”

He swept off his hat, ducked inside the cabin and peeked at the kitchen. No signs of cooking. No evidence of anyone anywhere. Huh.

Striding across the small space, he stopped at the start of a short hall that led to the back bedrooms. “Amberley?” He listened. Nothing.

“Charlotte?”

Concern brewed along with his confusion. He’d spied Charlotte’s white pickup outside. They were here. Just not in the house.

He paced back outside and tramped down the stairs, his heart picking up speed when he spotted Charlotte walking his way, her hands cupped around her mouth.

“Amberley!” she called.

He caught up to her and his breath whistled fast, pulse thrumming. “Something wrong? Where’s Amberley?”

“I don’t know!” Moonlight reflected on her damp cheeks. “She ran off when we got back from the doctors. I tried following but I twisted my ankle. Now there’s no sign of her.”

He peered at the shed where Amberley stored her bike.

“She go for a ride?”

“No. She can’t because—” Charlotte stopped and clamped a hand over her mouth. So many expressions collided on her face, and he couldn’t read any of them. She didn’t seem to breathe.

Neither did he. Worry punched him in the gut. Hard.

“Because why? Charlotte, what’s going on? I don’t see...”

“She can’t either.”

“What?”

“She’s going blind. We just learned about it today and—”

“Blind,” he cut in, repeating a word that suddenly made no sense. Not when it came to Amberley.

A rising wind lifted the hem of Charlotte’s long skirt and ruffled her sleeves. She twisted at the waist, eyes darting every which way.

“It’s a genetic disorder that starts with blurring of her central vision. She’s been having trouble with her eyes for a while but she didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t want to worry us.”

A short burst of air escaped him. “That’s Amberley.” As tough as they came and not one for sympathy. He’d never met a stronger woman. Or a more stubborn one. He had to get to her. Darn it. She needed him. Whatever the issue, they’d work it out together like they always did.

“She was upset when she found out I’d invited you to dinner.” Charlotte’s voice kept taking on air, getting higher and higher, thinner and thinner. “Jared, what if she’s hurt? Trapped out there?”

A long low howl rose in the dark night, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Wolves. And they weren’t the only animals a person had to worry about in the Rocky Mountain wilderness.

He slammed his hat back on, mind racing, thinking as Amberley would. He knew her as well as he knew himself. Maybe even better. Where would she go?

The answer smacked him full in the face.

Of course.

Dirt sprayed from beneath his boots as he sprinted down a familiar trail.

“I’ll find her, Charlotte!” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll bring her home safe and sound. Promise.”

Chapter Three

AMBERLEY STUMBLED ALONG a rutted path, her gasps of breath harsh in her ears. Her boots sunk into puddles forming atop the hard-baked soil. Soaked, her plaid shirt clung to her like a frigid second skin. It’d begun drizzling only ten minutes ago. Then, in that unpredictable way of Rocky Mountain weather, the sky turned on the world with what appeared to be crack-white flashes of lightning. Thunderous booms shook the electric air and thick sheets of rain pelted the earth, shaking her from the inside out.

Worst of all.

She was lost.

Clamping her chattering teeth, she trudged on, one foot in front of the other. Where was she? She’d run off a half hour ago, she estimated, and should have reached her destination: a small, abandoned one-room schoolhouse that had once served the local ranching families a hundred years ago. Its shape should have caught her attention by now. The dirt path that ran from her cabin led straight there, yet somewhere along the way she’d gotten turned around. Now she didn’t recognize which path she followed since staring straight at anything was like looking through a smudged, cracked, warped windshield. Reining in her mounting panic, she used her side vision to guestimate her location.

The waterfall of sky blurred the dim landmarks worse than her slipping eyesight. Skyscrapers of pitch-green trees, pines she supposed based on the smell and shape, loomed to her right. To her left, the land turned to beige shale and seemed to slope down. In fact, it seemed to disappear—

Her foot encountered air and she teetered for a gut-cramping moment on the edge of a drop-off. Her arms pinwheeled. A flash-thought forked in her mind. Would it matter so much if she tumbled right off this mountain? What difference would it make?

A wild shriek flew from her, voicing her anguish, her fear, her hopelessness, her rage, her despair.

Then a strong arm snaked around her waist and yanked her back. Hard. She and her rescuer smacked to the boggy earth with a sploosh. The man grunted, the air knocked out of him, and she blinked up at the shifting, whirling sky, winded herself.

An instant later, she scrambled away and rocked back on her heels. A tall, lanky man leveraged himself up on his elbows, then shot to his feet in a smooth, agile move she’d recognize anywhere.

Jared.

He opened his mouth to say something, but just then a deafening flash-bang splintered the fizzing air. The sky lit up and lightning burned through a nearby tree, amputating a crane-sized branch. It crashed with deadly force inches from their feet. Burnt wood and sulfuric fumes rose.

The sky growled, low and ferocious, readying for another salvo. Goose bumps broke out across her skin.

Jared gestured. “Come with me!”

Amberley nodded. No time to argue. He laced his fingers in hers and together they slid and stumbled through the howling tempest. The streaming air launched debris at them, hard bits of wood whizzing fast enough to strike with maximum impact. When a trail marker sign winged at them, she didn’t spot it fast enough to duck and it bashed straight into her forehead, sending her to her knees. She clutched her stinging face, and her fingers came away a sticky, blurred red.

She felt dazed. She shook her head to clear it, but the move only shot a bolt of pain through her. Without a word, Jared scooped her up in his arms, held her tight to his broad chest, and jogged down the trail until the outline of the old schoolhouse appeared. She grasped her thrumming head, afraid it’d either fall off her shoulders or explode if she didn’t.

Without pausing, Jared kicked open the door, shoved it closed behind them, strode inside the dark interior, then lowered to a tottering wooden chair at the front of the room. All at once, the world muted itself. The now-muffled rain snare-drummed softly on the roof. The fangless wind batted against the rattling windowpanes. The dank, musty space closed in. Their ragged breaths mingled. Beneath her ear, Jared’s heart galloped and the hands smoothing up and down her back shook.

She’d never sensed Jared flustered a day in his life, and for some reason this scared her as much as anything.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh,” he murmured, low in her ear. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”

She stiffened.

“You’re safe,” he crooned in a rumbling, husky voice.

Enough. She didn’t want to be safe. Least of all because of someone else rescuing her or seeing her at her weakest. Even worse, that person was Jared.

She wriggled free of his arms and faltered back a couple of steps. Her hands groped the emptiness behind her, a new habit, to feel for what she couldn’t see. Frustration and helplessness brewed in her belly, toxic and nauseating. When her fingers encountered the soft edge of an old desk, she leaned on it, testing her weight partially, before trusting herself to sit atop it.

“Let me.” Jared brushed back the hair sticking to the gash on her forehead. Something dripped from her temple. Warmer than water.

She’d never fainted in her life. Yet suddenly, a light-headedness stole over her, and she grasped the edges of the desk with both hands.

“Stop.” She jerked away and nearly cried out from the pain. A red drop splattered on the dusty floor.

Jared pivoted with her. “Hold still.” He flipped off her hat, grasped her chin in one strong hand and studied her. A deep longing to see his amber eyes seized her. Yet if they held pity, she’d rather not know. “This is going to need stitches.”

She started to shrug and realized that even the slightest movement made her head whirl and her stomach revolt. “A flesh wound,” she said, trying to joke, a reference to one of their favorite Monty Python movies, but her voice cracked like a thirteen-year-old boy’s.

“Not funny, Amberley,” Jared growled. “You could have gotten yourself killed out there.”

He pulled something from his back pocket, wrapped it around her head and tied it in the back. It smelled like him, she thought, breathing in the crisp cotton, clean soapy smell. His lucky bandanna, she guessed.

“So what if I had?”

He knelt in front of her and gathered her hands in his. Though she tried to stop them, tears of pain welled. She didn’t cry easily. In fact, she could count the number of moments on one hand. The time her glasses got knocked off and she’d had to crawl around on the playground looking for them while other kids laughed. And once when she’d dislocated a shoulder during a barrel racing accident. Then the day they’d buried Daddy.

“Well, if you’d gotten yourself killed, then I would have lost my mind,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, almost a croak.

Her frog prince. Back.

Only she didn’t want him anymore.

She didn’t want anyone.

Not even herself.

At least not who she was now.

She screwed her eyes shut. Jared brushed at her damp lashes with his thumbs, the gesture so tender it ached. “Your mother told me about your eyes.”

A painful lump formed in her throat.

“Amberley, talk to me.”

She stood. Halting steps carried her to the window. Although she couldn’t see much in the writhing darkness, she imagined the tumult and wished it’d sweep her away, too.

“I want to go home.”

Jared joined her. When his fingers laced with hers, she jerked her hand away. “Charlotte told me you’ve been having trouble for a while now. Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

She shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to.”

Because I couldn’t bear for you to think less of me.

To pity me.

“Why? I’m always here for you.”

“I can manage on my own,” she fired back.

“But you don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

“We’re a team.”

Only when they were both equal. But those days were over. “Not anymore.”

“Just tell me what I can do, Amberley.”

“This isn’t about you, Jared,” she snapped.

“The heck it ain’t.” She flinched at his suddenly angry tone. In all their years, they’d never fought. Not seriously. Sure. They’d had their share of good-natured arguments from time to time. Squabbles. Bets. Competitions. Rivalries. But this? It was foreign and felt every kind of wrong.

Still. She’d rather he be angry than sorry for her. Angry meant you mattered. Pity? That rendered you inconsequential.

“We’ll get through this.”

“Get through this?” She pressed her burning forehead against the cold glass. “I’m going blind, Jared. I’m never getting through this.”

He cupped her shoulders and turned her slowly. “There’s got to be a cure,” he insisted. “Surgery. A donor list. Didn’t I hear once—something about cadavers...”

“Stop.” She put her hands over her ears. “Just stop. Everything comes easy to you. Heck. You’ve never had to work for just about anything in your life, so I get your not understanding this. But I.” She poked a finger in his chest. “Am. Not. Getting. Better.”

“So you won’t even try?”

“I just want to be left alone.”

“What’s that mean? Holing up in your room? Hiding out from the world? Ignoring your friends?” He cleared his throat. “Me?”

“It’s not hiding. It’s being realistic. Facing facts.”

“About what?”

“That I can’t do anything anymore.”

“You can do plenty.”

“Not barrel race.”

She angled her head and viewed him from the corner of her eye, using her working, peripheral vision. Those perfect brows of his slanted over his straight nose, and white rimmed his golden-brown eyes all around. He appeared every bit as uncomfortable and confused as she felt.

And she couldn’t bear it.

He surrounded himself with capable, successful people. Winners. She couldn’t blame him for not understanding how to handle someone disabled like her. Disabled. She already hated the word. It meant not able. Who wanted to be known as that—even if it was true?

“You can’t see at all?”

“Not dead on. Everything’s a blur of color in the center of my vision. From the sides, I can focus some.”

“You can’t see my face?”

Her insides shriveled at the pained note that entered his voice. “Not all of it. Not at once. And soon.” Her voice fractured. “Soon I might not be able to see even that.”

He brought her hands to his warm, smooth cheeks. When he swished her fingers over his down-turned lips, she yanked free.

“Let me help you,” Jared insisted.

“Do what? I can’t compete anymore. Can’t ride. Can’t drive. Heck. I can’t even walk alone on my own. I don’t want to depend on anybody for anything. I don’t want to be reminded of—”

“Reminded of—” he prompted.

“Of how helpless I am.”

“No one’s saying you are.”

“But they’ll be thinking it. You’re thinking it.”

The beat of silence spoke volumes and hurt way more than she’d imagined it could. They’d never lied to one another, and she didn’t expect anything less than brutal honesty from her best friend now. Outside, the battering rain eased, then trickled. The thunder and lightning moved off to torment another mountain.

She glimpsed Jared’s chest rise, then fall with a long exhale. “You’re no quitter, Amberley. That isn’t the gal I—” he stumbled, fumbled for a word. “I care about.”

She flushed. What’d he been about to say? Oh. No matter. None of it did anymore. Jared liked being around her because she challenged him. Once it sunk in that those days had ended, he’d come around only out of pity. She didn’t believe for a second he’d abandon her. His decency and loyalty meant he never turned his back on his friends. But she wanted to be his equal, not his charity case. Better she cut things off while she still had her pride. Jared ran with a fast crowd and she’d only slow him down.

“Then stop caring about me,” she forced herself to say, “because that girl’s gone.”

“Not happening.”

She paused, thinking fast. She needed to get rid of him once and for all. For both their sakes. “So as my friend you’ll do anything for me?”

He nodded quickly. “Now you’re seeing sense.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Anything?”

“Name it,” he vowed.

“Alright. Then bring me home and don’t ever come around again.”

“Amberley...” he protested, his voice full of air like she’d sucker punched him.

She shook her head. Firm. “You promised.”

* * *

“AMBERLEY, PHONE!”

At her mother’s call, Amberley roused herself ever so slightly from the 24/7 stupor she’d fallen into these past few weeks. “Tell them I’m sleeping!” she called without opening her eyes. She turned and burrowed deeper under her covers, ignoring the slight bump up in her heart rate.

So far, Jared had kept his word and not called since that night on Mount Sopris, but a part of her, a lowdown, cowardly, traitorous part, still hoped, every time she heard the phone ring, that he hadn’t respected her decision...

Hadn’t given up on her.

She missed him. Missed her friend. Missed that smile. Not that she’d ever see it again anyways.

Oh. Stop bellyaching. It was for the best. If she cared about him, she’d let him go. She sighed and flopped over on her back, arms flung wide, her best thinking position.

What was the saying? “If you can’t fix it, you just have to stand it.”

She glanced over at the bedside table cluttered with cans of pop, bags of chips and dishes left over from eating meals in bed the last few weeks.

Or wallow in it...

Inertia. Another good word for her current state. Suspended animation. That summed it up, too. Maybe she should request to be cryogenically frozen. Least then she’d do something for science.

“Amberley!” shrilled her mother again.

She shoved herself upright, and her covers dropped to her lap in a messy heap. “Can you take a message?” From the corner of her eye, she spied the digital clock with the oversize display her mother had brought home recently. It read 1:20 p.m.

Outside her open window, the sky was a blue so brilliant even her eyes picked it up, the air was still washed clean from recent rain, and birds warbled from the two rustling maples that stood sentinel at the end of their drive. It was the kind of weather that usually woke her feeling elated, glad to be alive, wishing she could belt out some musical number like “Oklahoma” or the “Sound of Music.”

Not that she could sing a lick, but on days like this she’d always felt anything was possible. Even singing on key. Like maybe she could ride to the end of the earth and back before it’d even had a chance to circle the sun.

“It’s about Harley!”

Harley? She tossed off her covers and stumbled down the narrow hall to the kitchen, hands brushing the walls to keep her bearings. Her wrinkled sleep shirt swung around her knees.

She mouthed “Thanks” to her mother and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Sorry to bother you, Amberley, what with, ah, all you’re going through and all.”

Harley’s stable owner, Benny Jordan, an asthmatic former champion roper turned rodeo clown who’d retired to this area fifteen years ago, breathed noisily into the phone.

“Is Harley okay?” Her fingers gripped the handle hard, and she dropped into the seat her mother pulled out. Inside her chest, her heart skittered every which way. Although it’d been weeks since she’d seen Harley, not a day passed where she didn’t wonder how he was doing and if the stable was taking good care of him. Prior to her accident, they’d spent most of every day together. Now, the thought of seeing him again only reopened the wound of all that she’d lost.

When her mother pointed at the phone, then her ear, Amberley nodded, fumbled around for the speaker button, then pressed it.

“Well, now. That’s the thing. See. He’s not eating like he should.” More wheezing, then, “Been skittish when folks come near. This morning, I sent in Joan to muck out his stall.”

Joan? A former rodeo pro herself, she’d become the local horse whisperer and founded the equine therapy program they ran out of Harley’s stables. She had much more important things to do than clean stalls.

“Did something happen?”

A kettle whistled, and her mother’s chair scraped back as she rose to grab it.

“Well. Now she’s going to be fine.”

“Benny. What happened to Joan?” Her pulse picked up tempo and her fingers drummed along with it on the wooden tabletop. Across the way, she glimpsed her mother’s form twist to face her. Something hung from each hand. Mugs, Amberley guessed.

“The doctor says it’ll heal in about six weeks.”

Alarm bells shrilled in her ears. “What happened?”

“Harley busted out her kneecap. Kicked her full on.”

Every bit of air in her lungs rushed right out of her. “I’m so sorry.”

The sound of poured liquid reached her ears followed by the rip of paper as she imagined her mother opening tea bags.

“Not your fault.”

But it was. She saw that suddenly. “I should have been down to care for Harley.”

“Understandable that you haven’t.” She heard a couple of quick inhaler puffs from his end. Then, “Sorry to bring you the bad news, but I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to house Harley anymore.”

She hung her pounding head. “Is that final?” Jordan Stables provided the only home Harley had ever known. If he couldn’t manage there, who knew where he’d end up?

The painful thought of being separated from him branded itself on her heart, burning straight through.

And it’s not like you’ve done anything to help, whispered that angel on her right shoulder.

What’s the point? whispered the devil. Not like you can ride him again. Care for him.

But she and Harley had a bond that went deep. Besides handling him morning and evening, she’d talked to him a lot. While grooming him, or letting him eat “better” grass on the stable’s front yard, she’d filled him in on rodeo winners, cried over barrel racing icon Scamper’s passing, sympathized with his “picked last in gym” herd status, and generally kept up a running conversation. She believed she could rattle on about the rising price of corn feed and Harley would think all was right with the world.

And after her father’s cancer diagnosis, Harley had been there. She’d cried lots of tears into that silver mane of his. Had hung on to him when it’d felt as though her whole world was falling apart. He kept her from crumbling, too. She never could have gotten through that terrible time without him...or Jared...

Abandoning Harley was inexcusable.

A spoon clanged against ceramic. Her unflustered, steely-souled mother stirring the tea.

Daddy’s last words came back to her. “I know you’re going to be okay. You are strong.”

And she’d believed it, until now.

“When do you need Harley gone by?”

“Joan’s in quite a state, as you can imagine. She’s got students booked for her program, and now she’s laid up. Plus, we won’t be able to get anyone to care for Harley. So—”

“I’ll come down,” she cut him off.

A hand appeared in her line of vision, and the mug her mother set down banged against the table. Puffs of pungent steam swept off the surface and curled beneath her nose.

“Not sure if that’d make a difference.”

“If I keep up his stall, can he stay? Least until I figure out next steps?”

She could see general shapes when she was close-up and in small spaces, like a stall. Heck, she’d cleaned the stable’s stalls so many times, she could do it blind. It’d hurt to be nothing better than a stall mucker, but she’d do anything to help the horse that’d done so much for her.

Benny made a noise like a shrug. “Well. That’d solve some of the issues.”

“Some?”

“He’s not socializing well with the other horses in pasture. Acting out.”

“Needs exercise,” her mother murmured beside her.

“That Charlotte?” Benny hollered.

“Howdy, Ben!” her mother called. “Just thinking there isn’t anything wrong with Harley some regular riding wouldn’t sort out.”

“That a fact.”

Amberley’s body tightened, her muscles clenched. She’d been resisting her mother’s plea to sell Harley. Now it seemed she faced a rock-and-a-hard-place decision. Sell Harley, or find a way to interact with him that wouldn’t leave her feeling worse than ever.

She’d avoided anything that reminded her of the old days. Had asked her mother to remove all her trophies. Stopped listening to rodeo on the radio. Cut Harley and Jared right out of her life. Now she understood how much her decisions affected others. Jared called her selfish, and he had the right of it when it came to Harley.

A steel band tightened around her chest at the thought of letting Harley go. Yet Harley’s needs mattered most. First step, visit Jordan Stables, settle him down, get him comfortable and put out feelers for buyers.

Champion barrel racers like Harley sold quickly. He might even make the ERA Premier touring team she’d dreamed about, and he deserved that spotlight. The glory. He’d trained hard for it, right alongside her.

She recalled something she’d read on a poster once: “If you love something, let it go, even when you know it’s never coming back.”

Or something like that.

It applied to her and Jared, too.

“Just give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be down.”

“Mighty appreciated,” Benny said, then hung up.

A little while later, her mother pulled to a stop in front of Jordan Stables. The familiar scents of manure, hay and horse assailed Amberley as she eased out of the car and stood with a hand on the warm car hood. Memories, sharp and sweet, rushed through her, stinging her eyes and heart. Once this had been her sanctuary. Now she felt like a stranger. Worse. Like she didn’t belong.

“Howdy, ladies.” Benny’s unmistakable twang rang out.

She turned in the direction of his voice and recognized the barrel shape of him, the rolling gate of his bowed legs. He wore the same ten-gallon hat. That much she could make out. As for the rest, her memory about the grizzled man filled in the blanks.

“How’s Joan?” Amberley jumped, then swatted at a biting horsefly. In the distance, a group of riders lined up atop horses in one of the corrals.

“Resting for now, otherwise I’d take you to her.”

“Please give her this and our apologies.” Charlotte handed over a couple of banana walnut loaves she’d baked this morning. The sweet, nutty smell passed beneath Amberley’s nose as the foil-wrapped rectangles exchanged hands.

Now that Amberley thought about it, her mother cooked a lot lately and she’d taken time off from work to care for her. Was her career suffering? Did she resent being tied to the house alongside Amberley? Regret flashed inside. She didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. She’d been taught better than that.

Amberley’s life might be done, but that didn’t mean the same was true for her mama. Or Jared. Or Harley.

She had to find a way to cut ties with all of them. Otherwise she would bring them all down.

“That’s mighty kind. Thank ya,” wheezed Benny.

“Wish we could do more,” her mother demurred.

Speaking of which...

“Mind if I go and check on Harley?”

“Still got him in the third stall.” A sweep of movement, Benny’s arm, she guessed, pointed her in the right direction.

“Thank you.” She took a tentative step toward the long, ramshackle building that housed most of the stable’s horses. Overhead, birds twittered among the rustling branches of the mighty oaks that covered much of the property. A horse’s neigh spurred on two more, and a shifting movement from the mounts in the corral caught her eye. Her foot encountered something sticking up from the ground, a root maybe, and she stumbled forward, only to feel her mother’s hand at her elbow, steadying her.

“Got you, honey.”

Amberley swallowed down the loss of all that she couldn’t see and focused on Harley. Several paces farther and her fingers brushed the rough edge of the half door to his stall. Inside, a large black shape lifted its head and twisted its neck to eyeball her.

“Hey, Harley,” she cooed, and he lowered his head and blew. His stamping hooves shifted through the straw bed. “Sorry I haven’t been around.”

Lifting the hard metal latch, she eased open the door and made to slide inside.

“Honey. That may not be safe,” her mother cautioned.

“It’s Harley.”

In an instant, she threw her arms around his warm neck and buried her face in his tangled silver mane. When had he last been brushed? The rise of dust from his pelt itched her nose, and she sneezed.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she crooned, and Harley dropped his head to her shoulder at last, nickering, shaking slightly in his withers. “Should never ever have abandoned you.”

Another rumble emerged from the back of his throat. His soft lips brushed against her jawbone and his warm breath rushed by her ear.

“I was scared. Still am. But I’m going to do right by you now,” she vowed, feeling around for a brush. Harley needed her and she needed him. That was plain.

An hour later, she and her mother led Harley by a corral on their way to the pasture. The rise and fall of excited children’s voices indicated a lesson in progress.

“You need to wear your helmet,” she heard an adult exclaim.

“Watch her back brace,” someone else warned.

“No! I don’t want to!” she heard a girl scream. “Please don’t make me. Please!”

Harley slowed and his ears twitched. She clucked to keep him moving, but he seemed more interested in the commotion. Was this the therapy program her doctor had mentioned? If so, good thing she hadn’t joined it. Why force people with disabilities to confront everything they couldn’t do? It was demoralizing.

“Is that Amberley James?” she heard someone squeal. She froze.

“Yes, it is!”

“Amberley!”

A rush of movement, color and shapes, closed in on the fence. Harley sidestepped but otherwise stayed calm.

She’d gotten recognized plenty in her old life. But now, she just wanted to be forgotten. Since she had stayed away from the news, she hadn’t yet heard how the rodeo community responded to her vision loss. Her mother and her agent resolved her former contract obligations. That much she knew, but little else.

Still, she couldn’t deny that a bead of warmth expanded inside at the children’s excitement to see her.

“Howdy,” she called in their general direction.

“Ride? Ride? Ride?” demanded a little boy. A blur of motion at his sides suggested he flapped his hands.

“Can you teach me to be a barrel racer?” asked a child who didn’t appear to have any hair given the bare flesh tone surrounding her head.

Cancer?

Her heart squeezed.

“Oh. No. I—uh—I don’t ride much anymore.”

“See!” cried the child she’d heard earlier. “Amberley’s blind like me and she won’t ride, so I don’t have to either. I want to go home!”

“Well. Ah...” She stalled, unable to agree with that sentiment. Riding helped her during the years her thick glasses made her feel different from other kids. Working with horses gave her a taste of success and achievement. She didn’t want this little one to leave defeated because of her.

“It sure would mean a lot to the kids if you’d join us today,” said a voice she recognized. Joan’s daughter, Belle, home from college. “Not to mention we’re a bit understaffed at the moment.”

Amberley winced, thinking of injured Joan and Harley’s role in it. She owed it to the Jordans to help. At least for today.

“I might take Harley around once,” Amberley said slowly, hardly believing the words as she spoke them. “If you will, too. What’s your name?”

The little girl bowed a head of what looked like blond curls. “Fran.”

“Alright, Fran. If I walk Harley around, do you think you might try for me?”

“Okay.”

A moment later, she guided Harley into the corral, surprised at his lack of hesitation. He stepped forward, sure-footed and eager. In fact, she’d never sensed him this excited, not even before a barrel race.

Was he showing off for the kids?

“Here you go.” With an oomph, Benny hefted Harley’s saddle over her horse’s back. She didn’t need her eyesight for this, she mused, while her fingers flew nimbly, fastening and cinching out of habit. A budding light of confidence flickered inside.

With a boost from Benny, she swung her leg around Harley, and her lips twitched up in an unstoppable smile. Settling back in the saddle felt good. Like coming home.

“Fran? Kids? You ready?”

“Yes!” they chorused.

“I’ll lead you around,” her mother called from below, but Amberley shook her head. She could manage this small-sized corral, and she’d discern the fence in time to avoid it.

Most important, at least for today, she wanted to imagine that she could ride Harley on her own. She owed it to her horse, to injured, shorthanded Joan, and to her mother, who needed to stop fussing and get her life back.

Maybe, in this insular little world, Amberley could pretend she had a purpose after all.

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