Not His First Rodeo

Sheriff Brennan Connelly knows he should avoid anything that could hint at scandal while he’s running for reelection, such as falling for a gorgeous young widow. But despite the age difference and the political risks, Bren and Lauren Danners share a remarkable connection. And as he coaches her young son in the rodeo, the former Green Beret is drawn ever closer to her.

Lauren Danners may be young, but she’s long past the age of swooning over devastatingly handsome men. And Bren Connelly may be handsome, but Lauren has had her fill of men in dangerous jobs. To protect her son—and her heart—she tries to keep Bren at arm’s length. But whenever she’s around him, all she wants is to be in his arms!

“Is it unlocked?” Lauren glanced toward his truck.

In response Bren moved to the passenger side and opened it. She hadn’t had a man open the door for her in…well, a long, long time.

“Thanks.”

He nodded. She had to look away.

Great. Less than two minutes in his company and it was all she could do to look him in the eye. He caused her heart to pump at what felt like a million beats per minute.

“Need help up?” he asked, holding out a supporting hand.

“No, no.”

But he helped her anyway, his hand capturing her elbow and gently guiding her. She might have moved, but inside everything froze, her breathing, her heart, even her vision as she stared straight ahead. And then he let her go and she wilted into the cab of his truck, the door sealing with a pop.

Oh, dear Lord.

How would she ever make it through the next few hours?

Dear Reader,

I’ve spent a lot of time at junior rodeos, but not because I have a kid who likes to compete. Actually, I have a kid who’s a junior rodeo queen—complete with the big silver crown.

Recently, as I watched my daughter proudly represent her rodeo, I spotted an anxious mom helping her steer-riding son, and I was grateful I didn’t have to deal with that. I couldn’t imagine watching my kid compete in such a dangerous sport. I found myself wondering if the woman was a single mom, and if so, how she managed on her own.

I love it when an idea for a book comes to me full-blown. Authors will tell you the “what if” game is how stories are born. I started thinking about that single mom, imagining that her life had been torn to shreds, yet she’d made it through to the other side. That poor woman at that rodeo has no idea she was the inspiration for a romance novel.

Lauren Danners is my favorite kind of character. Smart. Driven. A great mom. She’s pulled herself up by her bootstraps and changed her life all on her own. She doesn’t need tough-guy lawman Bren Connelly. She’s doing just fine. Or is she?

You’ll have to read the book to find out. As always, I hope you enjoy my grown-up-girl horse story. I always try to write about ranching and the animals I love. I hope you like reading about them. Drop me a line if you’re so inclined. I’m on Facebook at Facebook.com/pamelabritton.

Pam

Her Cowboy Lawman

Pamela Britton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With more than a million books in print, PAMELA BRITTON likes to call herself the best-known author nobody’s ever heard of. Of course, that changed thanks to a certain licensing agreement with that little racing organization known as NASCAR.

But before the glitz and glamour of NASCAR, Pamela wrote books that were frequently voted the best of the best by the Detroit Free Press, Barnes & Noble (two years in a row) and RT Book Reviews. She’s won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award and a nomination for the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award.

When not writing books, Pamela is a reporter for a local newspaper. She’s also a columnist for the American Quarter Horse Journal.

MILLS & BOON

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Dedicated with heartfelt gratitude to all the men and women who protect this country.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Lauren Danners leaned against one of the five wooden columns that supported the rodeo’s announcer’s stand and tried not to hyperventilate. In front of her—a mere two feet away—a young steer tried to jump out of a rodeo chute. A flurry of voices called, “Watch out, watch out,” around her, but she didn’t look away. She had eyes only for the young boy intending to sit atop the steer—her ten-year-old son.

Please, God. Don’t let him get hurt.

“You know you could always watch from the grandstands,” said a man wearing a black cowboy hat and a commiserating smile. “You could put your head between your legs up there if you feel like you’re gonna vomit.”

She pulled herself out from beneath a haze of panic to note the man had a gold star pinned to the front of his polo shirt, one with the word Sheriff clearly etched into the metal.

“Bren,” someone said, another cowboy, this one older and with a bushy gray mustache that matched the hair beneath his ratty old cowboy hat. “I would have thought for sure you’d be helping out.” He nodded toward the bucking chutes.

“Nah. They’ve got things under control.”

The man beside her sounded like a cartoon character of a Texas lawman. Low drawl. Deep voice. Slow words. But they were in Via Del Caballo, California. A long ways away from Texas.

“You new around here?” asked Bren.

She could barely see Kyle between the half dozen men helping him mount his first rodeo steer. Her son hadn’t looked once in her direction. Not once. She didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved because clearly he’d decided to focus on the task at hand. That was good, because if he’d glanced at her with fear on his face and terror in his eyes, she would have run over to him and ripped him off the dang cow...or steer...or whatever it was called.

“Just moved here,” she admitted, recognizing the words for what they were. A lifeline. A way to distract her from the fact that her son was about to do something she really didn’t want him to do but that his uncle thought would be “good for him.” And now her brother was the one up in the grandstands watching from a distance while she was the one about to throw up.

“He’ll be okay,” said the man next to her. “The steers aren’t half as bad as bulls. That’s why they use them for the junior rodeos. The most they’ll do is buck a few times and maybe run off.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. Run off. With her son strapped to his back. Good Lord, she didn’t need that visual.

“Look, Officer...”

“Sheriff Connelly,” he said, holding out his hand. “Brennan Connelly.”

“Lauren Danners.” She took the hand, and she wasn’t so preoccupied that she didn’t notice how firm his grip was. And that his tan arms had tight cords of muscle running along the length of them, and that dark hair spotted the surface, the ends bleached blond from the sun. Good-looking didn’t even begin to describe him.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Danners.” He tipped his hat, something she’d only ever seen men do in movies.

“Same here.” She smiled as brightly as she could. “But please don’t take this wrong. I appreciate your friendliness, I really do, but talking means I have to open my mouth and I really am afraid I might spontaneously vomit all over the front of you and that would only add insult to injury where this day is concerned.”

His smile grew. A couple feet away, the steer Kyle tried to mount had settled down and the sudden quiet made her stomach turn even more. She’d been hoping they’d let the steer go. That he’d get to try riding another one, a calmer one. Maybe one that was so old it could barely get out of the gate. Obviously not. She stood on a raised wooden dais, one that allowed spectators to peer down into the rodeo chutes, and against her better judgment she took a few steps forward, bringing her so close she could smell the steer and the sweat of the men around her.

“Easy there, Sparky.” Bren placed a hand on her shoulder. She barely noticed. The rodeo announcer told everyone to put their hands together because a local kid new to riding steers was about to make his debut, which meant...

The gate opened.

Kyle.

Her son, her baby boy, shot through the air. He didn’t ride for one second, much less eight, arms akimbo, limbs splayed as he landed on his backside. She knew this because she’d jammed herself up against the edge of the chute without even realizing it, her son in a heap practically at her feet. Then and only then did he look around for her, his eyes catching her own, the grin beneath the metal face guard attached to his helmet unmistakable.

“That was great!”

She turned around and the man behind her caught her. She struggled for a moment because she really did think she would be sick, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“Don’t ruin this for him,” he said softly. “Just breathe. The sickness will go away. He’s all right.”

She clung to him even though she’d just met him, even though a part of her felt outrage that he wouldn’t let her go, even though it took all her strength to do as he asked and breathe.

“Look. He’s getting up.”

She turned. Sure enough, Kyle slowly stood, his beige protective vest, his green shirt and his jeans all covered in mud. In the arena, the steer had already left through the exit gate. Her son waved to the crowd, who applauded in response, and she could swear she heard her brother yell, “Attaboy, Kyle!” all the way from the grandstands.

“I don’t think I can do this again,” she muttered.

She made sure that Kyle really was okay before turning back to the man who stared down at her. She had to have been distracted earlier because this time it hit her. The size of him. The breadth of him. The gorgeous golden-brown color of his eyes. Those eyes gave her such an odd sense of déjà vu that she took a step back, almost falling over the top of the chute.

“Whoa.” His hands caught her shoulders. “Careful there.”

“Sorry.” She forced herself to smile. “I’m a little light-headed.”

Because you almost tossed your cookies.

Nope. Not because of that. She was long past the age of swooning over handsome men, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t acknowledge when one took her breath away. This one did. And he seemed so familiar somehow. As if she’d known him all her life. She’d had the same sensation when Kyle had been born and she’d stared into his eyes for the first time.

“Mom! Are you proud of me?”

It was as if fate had turned on the stereo of her inner musings and called up the voice of her son. Kyle had crawled back over the chute, cowbell clanging, bull rope dangling, a grin she’d seen only on Christmas morning plastered across his face.

“I stayed on for at least a minute.”

She almost laughed. She was too aware of the man standing next to her. Kyle suddenly became aware of him, too, drawing himself up. She’d seen that reaction before. She rarely brought men home, but when she did, it was as if Kyle bristled invisible hair.

“You did great,” Sheriff Connelly said, tapping the top of her son’s helmet.

Kyle jerked the plastic cap off his head, hazel eyes never wavering from Sheriff Connelly. The crowd of men who’d helped had since moved on. They bustled around the next rider as the announcer droned on about something she couldn’t quite catch. Her son’s hair stuck straight up, but instead of the scowl she expected to see, all she spotted was something close to stunned surprise.

“You’re Brennan Connelly.”

Whoa. Wait. What? She knew the name. Her big brother had told her all about the man who’d walked away from the sport of rodeo to join the military. The world champion turned lawman.

“I am,” he said with an easy smile.

“Your poster is hanging on my wall.”

That’s why he looked so familiar. That’s why she’d been taken aback by the eerie sensation that she’d met him before. She had met him before. In her son’s bedroom. Every night she saw this man’s face when she kissed her son good-night, a much younger version, more lean, less...friendly looking, but still devastatingly handsome. If she were honest, she’d gone back to her own bedroom and...

No, no, no. Don’t go down that road. Not now. Not with the real thing standing here in front of you.

“My poster?” Bren asked, including her in his grin. “How the heck did you find one of those?

“I ordered it online. My uncle Jax told me about you. About how you lived close by and about how you won the world championship, but that you walked away from it all right after and became a Green Beret. I looked you up, watched your ride on the internet. It was awesome.”

Green Beret? No wonder the man oozed testosterone.

“These days he coaches our high school rodeo team,” said the same old man who’d greeted him earlier. He patted Bren on the back. “Taken them all the way to the national finals four years in a row. Almost won the whole shebang this year. We would have, too, if Will’s hand hadn’t slipped out of his wrap.”

“You teach kids how to ride?”

It was Kyle who’d spoken and she recognized the tone in his voice. She knew what was coming next, moved to intercept the words. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff Connelly. Thanks for helping settle my nerves.”

“You were nervous?” her son asked before turning back to Brennan. “Can you teach me?”

“Of course he can,” said the gray-haired man Lauren suddenly wanted to kill. He had skin as worn as his blue jeans, but the blue eyes were still sharp as a tack. “Been teaching kids for years.”

“Now, Samson,” Bren said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “This nice young woman doesn’t want my help.”

“I want your help,” said her son. “I really need to learn how to ride, but my mom won’t let me practice because she thinks all bull riders are dumb. Actually, she thinks everything to do with the rodeo is dumb. I’ve been trying to tell her that isn’t true, and that I could get a scholarship or something for college if I’m good enough and that I could make lots of money. Ouch.” Her son jerked away from her. “Mom.”

She hadn’t even realized she’d dug her hands into her son’s shirt.

Earth, just swallow me whole.

When she spotted the amused twitch in Bren’s eyes, she felt her face flame with color, too.

Dumb, huh? his grin seemed to ask.

“Kid’s right,” Samson interrupted with a firm nod. “There’s intercollegiate teams that compete for titles. Sure, it’s not as glamorous as, say, football or basketball, but it’s a good, clean sport.” The man all but wagged a finger at her. “You don’t hear about no bull riders beating up their girlfriends or making money on fighting dogs. Rodeo’s an honorable sport that’s known for turning boys into men. Just look at Brennan here. Rodeo team in college. Went pro for a couple years, then went off to serve his country.”

Oh, dear Lord.

“I know.” She glared at Kyle, silently telling her son they’d have words later. Kyle had the grace to look slightly abashed. “But he’s never ridden anything in his life. We just moved to my brother’s ranch outside of town and now Kyle thinks he’s a cowboy, and I told him it takes more than petting a horse to make you a cowboy. Now he’s got it in his head that he can be a bull rider, and my brother encourages it all. The man all but blackmailed me into entering him today, something I didn’t want to do, because I think he needs to learn how to ride a horse before he can ride a steer, and clearly I was right about that because he didn’t stick on for more than a second today.”

“It was longer than a second,” Kyle protested.

She was rambling, feeling stupid and out of place and, yes, guilty thanks to the look of recrimination on the old man’s face.

“Who’s your brother?” Bren asked.

The question threw her for a moment. “Jax,” she said. “Jax Stone. He owns Dark Horse Ranch.”

She should have known the name would be recognized. If she knew anything about Via Del Caballo, it was that it was a small town and everyone seemed to know everybody.

“That’s that newfangled therapy ranch at the old Reynolds place, isn’t it?” Samson asked. “For army vets.”

“Actually, it’s for veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder, and he only bought a portion of the Reynoldses’ place. He didn’t buy it all.”

But he could have. Her brother could afford to buy pretty much whatever he wanted, like her son’s new bull-riding vest and the helmet, which had been a birthday present to Kyle last month. She’d wanted to kill her brother at the time, only she’d spotted the pride and joy and excitement on her son’s face, emotions she hadn’t seen since before Paul had died.

“I’ve heard a lot of good things about Jax Stone,” Bren said. “Been meaning to drive over to his place and introduce myself.”

“You could do that today,” Kyle said excitedly. “He’s here at the rodeo.”

“I’m sure Mr. Connelly has more important things to do than meet my brother,” Lauren said gently, forcing a smile.

“Actually, I don’t.”

She should have known he’d say that.

“Mom, pleeeease?” Kyle begged. “Let’s go over there right now, ask him what he thought about my ride.”

The announcer’s voice grew loud again and they all turned to watch as a steer burst from the chutes, its rider clinging to its back. One jump, two, three. The steer bucked left and then right, the kid never once losing his grip.

“That’s Pete Hale, one of Bren’s students,” Samson said. “Gonna make it big if he keeps this up.”

The air horn blew. The boy made it look as if he hopped off a carousel horse. Kyle’s hand found her own. She glanced down, and she saw it then. The hope. The desire. The need to be good at something when he’d only ever been bad at sports. Too short for basketball. Too skinny for football. Perfect for riding steers.

Don’t ruin this for him.

She’d been angry about Bren Connelly saying that, but he’d been right. If her son had seen how badly she’d been affected by his ride, he might have realized just how much she didn’t want him riding. He’d give it up for her. He was that kind of kid. Always had been—even before Paul’s death.

Damn it.

“All right. Let’s go.”

“Awesome!” Kyle cried.

Chapter Two

Nervous mothers.

They were the bane of a bull rider’s life. His own mom had given up going to rodeos. He suspected Kyle Danners’s mom would be no different. Once she let go of the apron strings, she’d realize it was easier to sit at home and wait for a phone call. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s what his mom used to say.

“My uncle Jax will love meeting you,” Kyle was saying as they walked around the edge of the rodeo arena. The Via Del Caballo Rodeo Grounds was a small venue compared to Redding’s or Cheyenne’s. They’d used the hillside next to the arena for grandstands, building right into the side of them, and it might be a junior rodeo, but it was still packed. Young and old sat beneath the partly cloudy skies. By the time they made their way through the horses and people milling around the outside of the arena, the steer riding was almost over.

“Pete Hale is going to win it,” Kyle said, whipping around to face him.

“Looks that way.”

“I can’t wait for you to teach me how to ride, too.”

“Kyle,” Lauren interrupted. “You shouldn’t assume Sheriff Connelly wants you for a student.”

People watched him walk by, but it was like old home week for him. Usually he spent his time at a rodeo behind the chutes and not in uniform. Half the town seemed to call his name or wave or simply smile. It was a campaign year, which meant every handshake might count for a vote, although in truth he took pride in knowing the names and faces of many Via Del Caballo citizens.

“Besides, it looks like he probably won’t have time for you.”

“Actually, I might have time to help him out.”

“Really?” Kyle cried so loudly a few people glanced in his direction. “Awesome!”

“Your mom’s right, though. The best thing for you is to learn how to ride. And not just regular riding but how to jump.”

“What?” Kyle said.

His mom looked just as perplexed, but she’d stopped at the end of an aisle and he could see a man staring at her, a man a few years younger than he was, which only solidified his earlier assumption that Lauren Danners was at least ten years his junior. Far too young for him, and made to look even younger with her tiny little nose and big hazel eyes. He’d wondered where her husband was.

“You don’t mean over obstacles, do you?”

He bit back a smile. “Actually, I do.”

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a man calling out, “Good job, little dude.”

“Did you see me, Uncle Jax?” Kyle asked with pride on his face. “I did it. I didn’t chicken out.”

“I saw.”

They had to bump and nudge their way down the aisle. Someone called out his name again, and Bren waved at them blindly.

“Jax, this is Bren Connelly,” his sister said, sitting next to her brother, the resemblance startling. They both had dark hair and hazel eyes, but Lauren’s were more green than gold. Looking at them sitting there next to each other, he realized Jax was quite a few years older than his sister.

“Wait a second,” Jax said. “Brennan Connelly. The bull rider?”

“One and the same.”

They shook hands. “Heard a lot about you.”

“Guesswhatguesswhatguesswhat?” Kyle bounced in his seat.

“What?” asked Jax.

“Sheriff Connelly is going to teach me how to ride steers.”

Jax’s brows lifted in surprise. “You teach steer riding?”

“Kyle, stop.” Lauren shook her head, shooting both men a look of apology, her long dark hair falling loose around her shoulder. “He has a bad habit of assuming things.”

“But he said he would.”

“Actually, what I said was that first you need to learn how to ride.”

“You said jump,” Kyle said.

“Which means riding.”

The rodeo announcer’s voice drowned out the sound of the crowd and they all turned and watched the last rider burst from the chute. The boy threw his arm up in the air and rode for one jump, two and then three. Bren wondered if the kid would cover for eight, but the steer changed directions and the poor boy didn’t stand a chance. In a heartbeat it was all over.

“Pete won!” Kyle said with youthful enthusiasm tinged by hero worship. “That’s so cool.”

“Actually, he hasn’t officially won yet. There’s more steer riding tomorrow.”

People began to stand up. The rodeo announcer thanked everyone for attending. Jax Stone didn’t move.

“You said he needed to learn how to jump. As in horses, yes?”

Bren nodded. “He should take some lessons from your neighbor Natalie Reynolds. She’s been working with a few of my kids.”

“I don’t understand,” Lauren said.

He turned to her, although that meant facing her again and being reminded of how young she was. “It teaches them how to center themselves on an animal’s back,” he explained. “Like a pendulum or a teeter-totter. The rider stays straight up and down while the horse—and later a steer or bull—rocks beneath them. Once a rider learns how to stay centered, the rest is easy.”

Jax was nodding. “Makes sense.”

“I don’t have to wear those riding tights, do I?”

“Kyle, really.” Lauren pursed her lips and shook her head. “I haven’t agreed for you to take lessons with Sheriff Connelly. I’m not even sure what he charges.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t worry about money,” her brother said.

“And I’ve told you I didn’t move out here to accept your charity. It’s bad enough I’m living in your housekeeper’s quarters.”

“I built that for you.”

“Yeah, for when I visited. Not permanently.”

“So what if you live there now?”

“I refuse to live with my brother.”

Lauren glanced in Bren’s direction, clearly embarrassed by their outburst. “Sorry,” she said. “You don’t need to hear our dirty laundry.”

Kyle stood up. “It’s not dirty laundry. It’s true. Ever since Dad died, Uncle Jax has wanted us to live with him, but you wouldn’t let us.”

“Kyle!”

“I have eyes and ears, Mom. I see how hard you’re struggling to finish school and take care of me and everything. But it doesn’t have to be like that. I want to live with Uncle Jax. You’re the one that’s making this hard.”

He turned and ran off. Lauren tried to grab his hand. She missed.

“I’ll go after him,” Jax said, standing, but he had an admonishing look on his face, too. “You should listen to your son, Lauren.”

They both watched them leave, and Bren could tell Lauren wished she could slip through the slats in the grandstand.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“Don’t apologize. I understand.”

She met his gaze and her eyes asked the question Do you? and he found himself wondering why a pretty little thing like her had so much sadness in her eyes. He looked away from her, troubled by how easily her sorrow tugged at his heart. The grandstands were nearly empty now, just the two of them sitting there. They both watched as Jax caught up with his nephew, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. He still wore his rodeo number and it flapped in a sudden breeze as he came to a stop. He didn’t know what Jax said to his nephew, but the boy’s shoulders slumped. He reached for his uncle’s hand and together they walked out of the grandstands together.

“A year ago I would never have thought my brother would warm up to my son like that.”

He glanced back at her, the same breeze kicking her brown hair across her face, Bren admitting once again how pretty she was. “What do you mean?”

She peeked down at her nails. “There was a time when the military was his whole life. And after that, when his business was all that mattered to him.”

“Darkhorse Tactical Solutions. DTS. I know.”

She smiled slightly. “Everyone knows everything about everyone in this town.”

He smiled, too. “I’m the local lawman. I make it my business to know who’s moved in and out.”

But she’d tuned him out, he could tell. She stared after her son with such a keen sense of longing it made his heart tighten in pity all over again.

“He begged me to move here.” She looked over at him. “We came here for a visit last year—before the house was finished—and it was all I could do to drag Kyle back to the Bay Area. He kept going on and on about his uncle Jax and his big ranch and how we could move to Via Del Caballo.”

“So you did.”

“We did, and to be honest, it’s a lot easier to make ends meet when you live in a small town, and it helps that my brother’s offered us free room and board.” She shifted, placing her elbows on her knees, resting her head in her palms. She looked so young then. Years ago she would have been exactly his type. No fake hair. Very little makeup. Easy smile. He’d been drawn to her the moment he’d spotted her standing there by the chutes.

“But I can’t stay there forever.” She straightened again. “The whole point of my going back to school was so that I could finish my degree and find a good job.”

“What do you do?”

“Nursing.” Her smile turned bashful. “I’ve always felt compelled to help others. Turns out it’s a family trait.”

“You could work for a local nursing home.”

She shook her head. “No. I need to make enough money to support me and my kid. That’s the whole point. I want a good life for him, the best. That’s only going to happen at a big hospital, which is why I’m going for a bachelor of science in nursing”

“So this is just temporary?”

She let her feet slide back to the ground. “Before the year’s out, I’ll have graduated and found a new job, and I don’t think Kyle likes the idea.”

He didn’t blame the kid. He hated the big cities. It was why he’d settled back down here once his military career had ended.

“So let him enjoy himself while he’s around,” he said. “Let him take some riding lessons and maybe get on a few more steers.”

Her eyes became serious. “I’ve seen what happens to bull riders. I’ve been an intern in an ER.”

“All the more reason to make sure he learns how to ride correctly. He could have been injured today coming off that close to the chutes. He needs to learn how to fall in addition to how to ride.”

Her brows lifted and he could tell she understood his point, but then she glanced toward where her son and Jax had disappeared It was almost as if he could sense the thoughts going on in her head, an inner battle of some sort. She must have arrived at a decision because she straightened suddenly, nodded, turned back to him. “So will you teach him?”

Would he?

Despite what he’d said earlier, he hadn’t planned on taking Kyle on as a student. His focus was high school rodeo. But he wasn’t proof against the imploring look on her face.

“I could maybe help him out a little bit.”

She reached for his hand. Bren glanced down, noting how refined her hands were against his own, how they were so white and his were dark. Her skin was soft and smooth. His was worn and calloused. Old and young. Worn and new.

“Thank you.”

When he looked back into her eyes, he suddenly wished he were in his twenties again. Now he’d be cradle-robbing—and he wasn’t about to do that. Not now. Not ever.

“No problem.”

But as they stood together, she flung her hair over her shoulder and the wind caught it and blew it around her face, and he realized she could be a serious distraction.

But it was an election year and small-town constituents had old-school values. They would frown on him dating a younger woman, especially a single mom. And that meant he’d have to keep things purely professional.

“How does this weekend sound?”

She looked up at him and heard her say, “Perfect,” but saw on her face that she thought it was anything but, and he knew how she felt, but for a whole other reason.

Chapter Three

There were times you did things for your kid that you didn’t really want to do. At least, that’s what Lauren thought as she drove toward Bren’s house later that week. She supposed she should be grateful Kyle wouldn’t be climbing aboard a half-crazed animal today. He would just be learning some of the basics, Bren had explained.

Lauren glanced at her son. He had the same look on his face as he did staring at a pile of birthday presents: eyes wide, shoulders taut, upper body leaning forward, the freckles on his face standing out like specks of dirt. She loved those freckles even though he got them from his dad. The rest of her son—hair, eyes, jaw—that was all her.

“Are we there yet?” he asked, completely oblivious to her study.

She almost laughed. “Looks like it.”

When she slowed down for Bren’s driveway, he rested a hand on the door frame, peering at Bren’s ranch house with anticipation in his eyes. She took in his home, too.

Nice place.

Being town sheriff must pay well. Of course, it was nothing compared to her brother’s ostentatious, obnoxiously huge, over-the-top mansion, but this was nice and in many ways more her style. Dark brown paint covered a single-story home that had a cute porch across the front and wide dormers poking out of the A-frame roofline. It was in the heart of town, other homes and corrals off in the distance making her think this was some sort of equestrian subdivision. All the homes in the area were evenly spaced apart, but while those homes featured white fencing, Bren’s was made out of some sort of metal piping that looked sturdy enough to house elephants. There were trucks parked out front, and standing outside near the front of them, Bren and a group of men. He waved as Lauren wedged herself into a parking spot.

Kyle shot out of his seat before she put her compact car in Park.

“Hey!”

But he was gone, his door slamming shut, Kyle going up to Bren and the men gathered there. She saw him laugh and pat Kyle’s head before pointing him somewhere. Her son waved and ran off, presumably to the back of the house and to the barn that she’d spotted out back.

Here goes.

She slipped out, smiling and shielding her eyes from the sun. “Should I follow him around?”

In answer, Bren beckoned her over, continuing his conversation with the three older cowboys. “Lauren, this is Andrew, Jim and George. They’re part of my campaign committee.”

Only then did she notice one of the trucks was black with a gold sheriff’s star on the side. Bren rested a hand on the hood, the black shirt he wore sporting the same image.

“Guys, Lauren’s new to the area,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” said Andrew and Jim, smiling. Andrew was much older than Bren, his shoulders stooped, his blue eyes still bright. Jim seemed nearer in age. The two of them said, “Welcome,” at almost the same time.

“Thanks.”

George hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and then he turned to Bren, and there was something about the look on his face that Lauren didn’t like. Sort of a “well, well, well...what have we here?” He was older, too, but that didn’t stop him from winking at Bren just before saying, “Now I see why you agreed to help the son.”

She drew up sharply. Bren frowned. “Her kid’s why I’m helping. Get your mind out of the gutter, George.”

The man guffawed and Lauren sure hoped he was better at raising money than he was at handling social situations.

“I can just drop Kyle off if you want,” Lauren told Bren.

He shook his head. “No, don’t do that.”

She’d planned to leave, but something about the look in George’s eyes made her want to stay, even though a part of her, like, really super-duper wanted to escape.

“The boys are all around back, if you want to join them.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at the men. “Nice meeting you.”

Not you, she telegraphed to George, but he was too busy making faces at Bren. Old fool.

She walked off with her head held high, turning her attention to the boys surrounding her son. They stood in front of a barn that matched the house and they were like cloned images of each other. They all wore jeans and Western shirts—some solid, some stripped—and cowboy hats that were either black or tan. They all wore leather belts, too, some with sparkling new buckles, others without, and dusty old cowboy boots. Most were older than her son, but they seemed welcoming even as they stared at her curiously.

Yes, I’m the overprotective mom, she silently told them.

“Sorry about that,” Brennan said, coming to stand beside her.

“It’s okay,” she said over the sound of trucks starting up out front. “How’s the campaign going, by the way?”

“Pretty good,” he said. “Of course, you never know.” He set off toward the barn. She hung back. “Gather around, boys.” Bren motioned with a hand for the kids to join him inside the barn. “Last week we were working on finding our center. Anyone want to tell Kyle what that is?”

From town sheriff to bull-riding instructor. He handled the transition well.

One of the kids, a young teenager clearly going through puberty judging by the acne on his face, stepped forward. “It’s when you’re the middle and the bull spins around you.” The kid made bucking movements with his hand. “Or beneath you while you stay perfectly center.”

Bren smiled at the boy and Lauren noticed that he had a great smile. The kind that lit up his eyes and made the corners of them wrinkle and sparked the gold.

“That’s right.” That smile landed on her son and she found herself leaning against the back of the house. “Kyle, you need to work on that a little more. I noticed at the rodeo the other day that you came out of the chutes leaning forward. Anyone want to tell Kyle why you don’t do that?”

Another kid raised his hand. “Because once the bull starts moving, it’s hard to get back to center.”

“Exactly.”

Suddenly she was staring into those gorgeous eyes, the smile on his face slipping away as their gazes connected, making her wonder what was wrong. She hated the way he made her feel as if she should check her appearance in a mirror, so much so that she self-consciously scanned the fancy jeans she’d donned for the occasion, the kind with rhinestones on the pockets. She wore a blousy shirt. It concealed her figure and hid her curves. She’d even put her hair into pigtails, for some reason feeling the need to play down her looks around Bren, and yet the way his smile faded made her skin catch fire and wonder what she’d done wrong.

“Today we’re going to work on helping Kyle find his center, if that’s okay with you, Mom.”

A dozen eyes turned in her direction and her face grew even more red. “Of course.”

What was with her? The man just asked a question. So what if he didn’t act all friendly-like while he was teaching. No need to feel as if she’d been put on the witness stand and he was judge and jury.

“Who wants to work the controls today?”

A chorus of “Me! Me!” erupted from the kids. She looked around for these so-called controls, but there weren’t any that she could see. She understood in a second when four of the boys broke apart from the group and headed toward the ropes that suspended a barrel off the ground. It was some sort of...ride. One of them even went into an empty stall and pulled out a mat of some sort, a fabric-covered piece of foam her son would land upon.

Oh, dear goodness.

She took half a step forward before stopping herself. This was her problem, she admitted. This right here. This overwhelming need to protect Kyle all the time. Of course, that was a mother’s job—to keep her child safe from harm. But even she recognized she was a little out of control in that department. She freaked about him wearing a seat belt. She hated when he rode rides at carnivals. She refused to let him play in the ocean. And she wanted to vomit every time they went to the water park and she was forced to watch him slide into one of those little plastic tubes that spat him out on the other end. For some insane reason, she always worried he’d drop into some sort of water-ride black hole and never come out again.

Stupid. But it was because of him.

She didn’t want to think about him. About the man who’d stolen her heart and then broken it into a million pieces.

It’s in the past.

Because Kyle was her future and damned if she’d let Paul ruin her life all over again.

“Climb on aboard here, son.”

Her chin tipped up. She forced herself to lean back again, even crossed her arms and made herself watch, one of her pigtails sliding over a shoulder.

You should leave.

No. She wasn’t ready to do that yet. So she watched as Kyle raced up to the dark green barrel and Bren’s smile slid back on his face. She could tell the man loved her son’s enthusiasm and that he approved of his eagerness to learn. She wondered why he didn’t have any kids of his own. What had stopped a good-looking man—as in a seriously hot older man—from settling down and having children? What was his story? Then again, maybe there was a Mrs. Bren Connelly inside the house. Crap. She hadn’t even thought to ask.

“The first thing I want to see is how you take a wrap,” she heard him say to her son.

And so what if there was a Mrs. Connelly? It wasn’t as if she would ever consider dating the man. Yeah, he was handsome in an older-sexy-ranch-hand kind of way, but that wasn’t her type. She preferred the more bookish type of men, like the men she went to school with—the kind that didn’t like to deal with loaded guns. Besides, it was clear Bren didn’t like her. Every time their gazes connected, his smile faded. Not a big fan of hers, clearly.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” he asked Kyle.

Kyle sat on the barrel even though she didn’t recall him climbing aboard. He smiled up at Bren in a way that flipped her stomach for another reason.

“I watched a video on YouTube,” he announced.

She forced herself to pay attention. He had, indeed, watched videos. Tons of them. That’s how she’d known he was serious about this whole steer-riding thing. It’d taken her weeks to admit to herself that nothing she said to dissuade him from the idea would work. It was her brother who’d stepped in and made her admit the truth. If she couldn’t keep the Bubble Wrap on him his whole life, she might as well embrace his enthusiasm. She needed to let him go. If she kept him off steers, he’d find something else to do, Jax had warned, and he might not ask her permission the next time. That more than anything had scared her. Jax was right. Too tight a rein might push him to bolt, and so here they were.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” she muttered as Bren looked up and caught her eyes again. Something about the way he kept doing that prompted her to move forward, despite telling herself to stay back and give them both some space.

He didn’t like her, or he didn’t like something about her, and darned if she would let that keep her away.

And so she didn’t.

* * *

DON’T COME OVER. Don’t come over. Do not come over.

She pushed away from the back of the house.

Bren tried not to groan. And stare. And gawk.

Damn that George.

He’d been doing just fine at ignoring how gorgeous Lauren was right up until George made a fuss about her looks. Now he couldn’t get her looks off his mind, either. He even had to blink a few times to get her out of his head. What was he saying...?

“The only thing I’d like to see you change is maybe how tight you wrap the rope around your hand.” He glanced up and against his better judgment stared in her direction again. She was, indeed, headed this way.

Focus.

The bull rope—a prickly hemp tool that served as a bull rider’s lifeline—came back into focus. “YouTube can’t teach you the feel for how much pressure to use when you pull tight. It’s like this. Here.” Two of the boys stepped back as he went to work. “Do this.”

He pulled, getting the thing tight around Kyle’s hand. The boy’s eager eyes watched his every move and for a moment he forgot about the kid’s mother and how sexy she looked in her tight jeans and pigtails. Pigtails! They made her seem about twenty years younger than him—and served as a reminder of the age gap between them.

“I get it,” Kyle said. “Not so tight that my hand tingles.”

“Exactly.”

He caught a whiff of her, and she smelled as good as fresh waffles on a Sunday morning. Sweet and with just a hint of vanilla.

“So if you’re ready, I’m going to have the boys here start pulling on the ropes real good. It’s going to get kind of hard to stay on, but that’s okay, right, boys?”

The kids nodded, their faces eager, too. There was nothing they liked better than trying to knock each other off the barrel. He just hoped Lauren didn’t freak out. Once glance at her face told him all he needed to know about how much she liked the idea of her son riding that barrel.

She should find her son another hobby, he thought. That would make both their lives easier.

“Ready?”

Hazel eyes looked up at him with complete determination. The kid had more freckles than a spotted trout, but the resolve in his gaze made him seem older. For the first time Bren wondered if Kyle was the real deal, something he’d only ever seen rarely, a kid who really wanted it. He didn’t do it for the bulls or the glory but because he was drawn to it.

Like he himself had been once upon a time.

“Go!” he told his students.

One tugged down, another sideways, and one pulled a rope toward him. Poor Kyle didn’t know what hit him. One moment he sat in the middle of the barrel; the next he was flat on the safety mat.

“Kyle!” Lauren called.

“I’m fine, Mom.” Kyle sat up so quick Bren could tell he did so for his mother’s sake. It was his grin that told him that he wasn’t hurt. Not in the least. His eyes had lit up like an ocean sunrise. “Can I do it again?”

Bren pulled his gaze away from Lauren. At least she’d stopped short of bending down by her son’s side. She must have spotted the brief warning in Kyle’s eyes, the one that had clearly said, Don’t humiliate me, Mom.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Lauren glanced at Bren as if seeking his help to convince her son, but he shook his head.

“He needs to do it again. Had this been a real steer, he would have hurt himself coming off like that, especially since he’d be landing on hard ground.” He glanced down at Kyle, who already stood up. “You can’t put your arms out like that. Don’t try and land on your feet. Don’t stick a limb out in front of you. And most importantly, never land on your head.” He nodded toward the barrel. “Do it again.”

Lauren didn’t exactly gulp, but she did something close. Worried eyes caught his own and even though he told himself to keep things cool between them, he smiled. He just wanted to reassure her. To let her know nothing would happen, not on his watch, but seeing the way she relaxed, watching her take a deep breath and then ever so slightly smile back... It was his turn to gulp.

“Don’t forget to wrap it tighter.”

Kyle nodded absently as he climbed back on board.

“Look where you want to fall,” one of the other kids told him. Michael was his name. Good kid without a lick of talent, but he sure tried hard, and Bren appreciated the way he wanted to help.

“Curl into a ball if you come off headfirst,” said another one. Perry, his neighbor’s kid, who rode steers more because of the girls it attracted than any real love of the sport.

“But don’t stop trying,” Rhett advised.

It filled him with pride. This was why he did what he did. He might not ride bulls anymore. He might be all washed up. But he still knew things that he could pass on to kids who wanted to learn.

“Ready?” he asked Kyle when he was all settled. The boy nodded again, throwing his hand up in the air this time as if he rode a real bull, and Bren tried not to smile. He glanced at Rhett and nodded, and the chaos began all over again. Kyle tipped left, but darned if he didn’t correct himself this time. Same thing happened the other way, but he hung on, for a little while at least, because one of the kids jerked the rope so hard it looked like Kyle rode a trampoline. He heard Lauren gasp as her son flew right, hand hanging up on the rope for a moment, arms flailing as he landed on the right side of the mat with a whoosh. He’d listened, too, because he’d curled his arms up tight. Bren smiled because a lot of kids couldn’t think that fast. The adrenaline, the fear, it all got to them. Clearly Kyle could slow down his mind. He could think. And he loved it, because he smiled the whole time.

Lauren, not so much.

She sat there staring at her son, leaning forward, perched on the tips of her toes, as if she were about to launch herself at him.

“You need to work on your balance more.”

“Ride horses,” Rhett said, helping Kyle up. “If you have any.”

Kyle turned toward his mom. “My uncle Jax has a ton of horses.”

“I bet your uncle would have some great horses for you to ride,” Bren said.

“Riding will help a lot,” said another of his students.

“He doesn’t know how to ride,” said Lauren, and he could tell she didn’t like the idea of Kyle riding a horse any more than she liked the thought of him on a steer.

“Bren can teach him,” said Rhett. “Bren used to ride broncs and bulls.”

“He’s been to the NFR,” Perry added.

“A long time ago,” Bren told her. “Right after I got out of the army.”

“I know,” Kyle said, hopping off the mat and standing next to his mother. “My uncle said you got some kind of special accommodation in the army. Is that true?”

“A Distinguished Service Cross,” he admitted.

“That’s cool,” Kyle said.

Something in Lauren’s eyes flickered, and it wasn’t approval. It was more like...disappointment, and that was so completely opposite to the usual reaction that the realization kind of threw him to the point he found himself saying, “I’d be happy to teach Kyle to ride,” before he could think better of it.

“That’s okay.” She shook her head, pigtails waving behind her. “My brother has a qualified instructor coming to teach at his ranch.”

“Mom, that’s not for weeks. Uncle Jax told you that just yesterday.”

“Then you’ll have to wait.”

Kyle caught his eyes. “I can teach myself, can’t I?”

“No, you can’t,” his mom immediately replied hotly.

“It’s really no problem.” Although why Bren argued, he had no idea. He should let her have her way. Take her side. He found her pigtails entirely too adorable, not to mention his curiosity was now peaked. What was her deal with former military personnel? Because it was clear she had an issue with them.

Or maybe it was just him?

“Kyle would learn how to ride a lot faster if I helped out,” he added. “I can teach principles that will cross over into bull riding.”

“He can,” echoed Perry.

“Come on, Mom. I’m entered in that rodeo next month. I don’t have time to wait for Uncle Jax’s riding person to arrive.”

Bren crossed his arms and gave her the same stare he’d given some of his subordinates when they were thinking of doing something they shouldn’t. “Of course, if you want to risk his safety...”

She knew he manipulated her. The disapproval in her gaze deepened and he told himself that was good. He didn’t want her approval. He wanted her to keep her distance.

At least, that’s what he told himself, because when she straightened and her chin flicked up and her pretty hazel eyes sparked and she said, “All right, fine,” there was a part of him that did the same thing Kyle did.

“Yessss!” the kid yelled.

Chapter Four

She should have said no.

You’re just nervous about Kyle learning how to ride.

But she knew it wasn’t just that. It was him. Bren Connelly. The former Green Beret. Gosh darn it all, another testosterone-filled male in her life. Just what she needed. He reminded her of Paul. And why not? They had both been manufactured at the same war-machine factory.

Too bad.

She would never go down that road again. Never, never, never. Which was really a shame because she’d found him kind of attractive.

Kind of?

Okay, very.

She heard his truck before she spotted it. For a moment she wished Kyle were with her, but he’d gone down to the stables ahead of her with Jax. The two were saddling up the horse they would use today, and so it was just her.

Don’t be afraid.

Bren was not Paul.

Besides, Bren was so aloof. He had no romantic interest in her. He wouldn’t wine and dine and woo her and then...change. Bren hardly glanced her way. That was good. She needed to keep it that way. She forced a wide smile on her face and pulled open her front door. At least he’d followed her instructions. She told him to drive around to the side of the house, to where the guest’s quarters of her brother’s multimillion-dollar home were located.

“Wow.”

That was all he said when he stepped out of the same black Dodge truck she’d seen at his house. The vehicle matched his all-black outfit right down to the cowboy hat. Not that she expected a warm greeting from him or anything. Ever since that first day he’d been so...standoffish. Still, a “Hi” or a “Hello” or “Good to see you” would have been nice. Not that she really blamed him. Her brother’s home could make a politician speechless.

“It’s kind of over the top, isn’t it?”

Bren had completely ignored her words, just stood in place, tipped his hat back, topaz-colored eyes taking it all in. She’d done the same thing when she’d first arrived.

The house had been built into the side of a hill, one covered by oak trees and a small outcropping of rocks. It’d been designed by some bigwig mucky-muck in New York, one who specialized in feng shui. Her brother believed in luck and Karma and all that other crazy stuff, so she hadn’t been surprised that he’d built his monstrous-sized home out of “natural elements,” in this case redwood and granite, and then ordered it to blend in with its surroundings. Three stories tall, it boasted a steep roof in the middle and two smaller peaks on the left and right. Giant beams stuck out at the ends, a design mimicked around the ranch. The second and third floors both opened up to decks, but she lived on the bottom floor, around the side, which sounded not as nice but, in fact, was super spacious and comfortable, and she thanked God for the roof over her head every day.

“And you live there?” He pointed behind her.

She followed his gaze, remembering what she’d thought when she’d seen the private entrance. She had a deck, too, although hers was more like a porch, the narrow steps leading to a door with windows on either side of it. Her apartment might look like a tiny portion of her brother’s giant mansion, but that wasn’t the case at all. She had the entire corner of the house—and given the size of that home, that said a lot—plus three bedrooms and a kitchen that overlooked the backyard. Even though the home had been nestled against the side of a hill, it was really more of an illusion. They had carved away the hillside to make room for more decking and a pool, all of which she could spy from her kitchen and family room windows along the back of her apartment.

“It’s supposed to be the maid’s quarters.” She’d laughed when she heard that. Her brother—with a maid. “But he’s letting me and Kyle live here until I’m back on my feet.”

Because her life had completely fallen apart when Paul had died. The lies. The half-truths. It had all come to a head and she’d been forced to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart and start all over again. And she’d been doing fine, too. She’d raised Kyle while holding down a job and going to school at night. But then Jax had visited her. His visits had been so few and far between when he’d been working full time. But now he wasn’t, and he’d seen the hovel where she lived and had insisted she move into his new place. It had meant moving to a different city and rebuilding their lives from scratch, but she’d done it for Kyle. He’d been happier than she’d ever seen him and it made her hope he’d escaped her marriage to Paul unscathed.

“Where’s the riding stables?” His gaze scanned the perimeter.

“Out back.”

He appeared skeptical. She didn’t blame him. The first day they’d driven up to her brother’s new home, right after she’d picked her jaw up off the floor—pictures did not do the mansion justice—Kyle had asked the same question. Surrounded by trees and the hillside, it didn’t appear to be anything other than just a home out in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s hidden,” she said.

Right then, as if on cue, a horse nickered in the distance. Bren turned toward the sound coming from the tree-studded hillside and cocked his head.

“It’s around on the other side.” She pointed to a gravel road that swept past her apartment and wound through the hills. “Kyle’s already down there.”

He nodded, but whereas last week he’d pretty much ignored her, today he turned and studied her. She felt the urge to brush a hand through her hair. She’d left it down today. No more pigtails, but for some reason she wished she’d taken time to style it a little more.

Stupid. Former Green Beret, remember?

“I heard your brother is a military contractor.” He cocked his head a bit as he awaited her answer.

“He was,” she said, glancing down at her new boots. They weren’t broken in yet and they already hurt. “He’s mostly retired now. Focusing on Hooves for Heroes.”

Because far be it from Jax to retire, although she supposed that at thirty-eight, he was far too young for that. Still, most men in his position would want to travel the world, to forget the past and the stress of their previous line of work. Not her brother. No. He wanted to help the men and women who’d served their country—and had the scars to prove it.

“If you don’t mind driving, we can go down there now, unless you’re not supposed to drive civilians around in your vehicle or something.”

“I won’t exactly be driving on city streets.” He shot her a smile. “Not that it matters. The truck’s a perk of the job. I can do whatever I want with it.”

Must be nice, she thought. But she supposed a lawman was never really off duty, and so who was she to pass judgment?

“It’s just a little too far to walk,” she said, “and my brother already took off with the Rhino.”

There he went studying her again. Why, oh why, did she feel her skin begin to prickle, her fair flesh no doubt changing colors like a neon sign behind a window. It was as if he knew she had a secret.

“The Rhino is an all-terrain vehicle Jax bought to drive back and forth to the stable area,” she explained because she felt the need to say something.

“I know what a Rhino is.”

Then why did he stare at her so intently? She almost asked the question. Instead she swallowed, looking toward his truck. “Is it unlocked?”

In response he moved to the passenger side of his truck and opened it. She hadn’t had a man open the door for her in, well, a long, long time.

“Thanks.”

He smiled. She had to look away.

Great. Less than two minutes in his company and it was all she could do to look him in the eye. He made her edgy. Made her mouth go dry at the mere thought of sitting next to him for a quick jaunt to the stables. He caused her heart to beat what felt like a million beats per minute.

“Need help up?” he asked, holding out a supporting hand.

“No, I’m fine.”

She’d never been inside a law enforcement vehicle before, and so she told herself that was why she hesitated to get inside. There was a gun on a rack in between the seat and a computer on a stand attached to the dash. But she knew that wasn’t why she paused. It was because she was suddenly...afraid.

Why?

He must have thought she couldn’t make it up on her own, because he helped her anyway, his hand capturing the crook of her elbow and gently guiding her. She might have moved, but inside, everything froze, her breathing, her heart, even her vision as she stared straight ahead. And then he let her go and she wilted into the cab of his truck, the door sealing with a pop.

Oh, dear Lord.

How would she ever make it through the next few hours?

* * *

SHE’D GONE QUIET on him. That was okay. They didn’t need to get chatty, or even friendly, not if he wanted to keep his distance—which he did, he reminded himself. George’s reaction the other day had been all the proof he needed that she was too young for him. The man had razzed him right up until the moment he’d walked away. And if he needed further proof, he’d done some checking around. Knew for a fact that she was twelve years his junior. Too young. When he’d been eighteen, she’d been six. Hell, when he’d been in combat, she’d been in high school. It had just felt wrong to notice how attractive she’d looked standing there in her tight jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to her body. Wrong and yet oh so right.

“There it is.”

It took her words to shake him out of his reverie, to look ahead and damn near slam on the brakes. A barn had come into view, although calling it a barn was like calling the White House a home. It wasn’t just a stable; it appeared to be an arena and stable combined, one with a steep angled roof and large wooden beams poking out from the side just like the main house.

“Exactly how rich is your brother?”

“I know.” She shot him a tight smile. “It’s massive, isn’t it?”

And it only grew bigger as they approached. It’d been built in the middle of a meadow, one framed by redwood fence posts, horses grazing in the distance. It was a covered arena, he noted, but clearly taller than any he’d seen before, and he realized why as they drew closer. He could see windows inset into the long side, not the type used to allow light into the interior but large panes of glass trimmed with dark-stained wood. The exterior of the place was all wood, too. No metal beams in sight like most big-time arenas. Amazing didn’t begin to describe the place. Even the short side of the arena, something that was usually kept open, had been closed off, cathedral-sized windows stretching toward the top, smaller on the short side and then getting bigger toward the middle.

“Are those apartments along the top?” he asked, having spotted walls through the side windows.

She nodded. “Both sides, actually. Four in all. They’re for guests.”

He’d never seen anything like it. But what a great idea. Judging by the size of the arena, the apartments must be huge and, he would bet, every bit as luxurious as the main residence.

“Do you have anybody living in them?” He didn’t see any cars parked out front. The place seemed completely deserted, so if her son was inside, he couldn’t tell. The only sign of life was the Rhino parked out front, the vehicle stopped at an odd angle. He pulled up next to it.

“Not yet.” She glanced over at him, but it was quick, her hazel eyes catching his gaze for a moment before she looked away. She was like a shy kitten, one that wanted to be friendly but didn’t quite trust the human next to her. “Kyle should be inside. They’re getting a horse ready to ride.”

There was an entrance on one side of the barn with double doors and the initials HFH carved above it, and she slipped out of the truck and headed toward it. Hooves for Heroes. A sign stood next to the door. He silently whistled as they stepped inside, and if he were honest with himself, he half expected a red carpet on the other side. Instead there were more big beams stretching up toward the crown of the roof, the same beams that poked through the sides. It really was like a cathedral, he thought, pausing to get his bearings. Sunlight filtered in through windows in the roof. Tiny motes of dust danced in the beams of light, the particles seeming to swirl through the air. No need for artificial lighting in here, at least not during the day. The smell of freshly stained wood mixed with the pine and Bren knew they must have just completed construction a short time ago.

“Mom!”

Her son had slipped out of a stall, or maybe a grooming area—they were too far away to tell—his short legs pumping as he ran down the aisle.

“Hey,” he warned. “No running in the barn. You might spook the horses.”

He still couldn’t believe this was anything resembling a barn. The boy skidded to a stop, a wide smile on his face.

“Uncle Jax is in with Rowdy, but we’re having a little trouble with the saddle.” Brown eyes just like his mom’s peered up at him. “Thank goodness you’re here. YouTube has been no help.”

For some reason, the words almost made him laugh. Was everything YouTube-able these days? The kid turned and started to run back the way he’d come, caught himself and walked, but his steps were just shy of a jog, he was so full of enthusiasm and eager anticipation, and it made him want to smile and point out to Lauren how lucky she was that she’d found her son’s passion so early in life. He didn’t. She would barely look at him today and it had him wondering yet again what had happened to her. No amount of poking around had helped. She was too new to the area. He’d resisted the urge to snoop around online, too. Or use his resources at work. Whatever it was that had turned her kind eyes into pools of uncertainty, he would find out...in time.

They reached what was clearly a grooming stall. Bren would have gone inside except he drew up short at the sight that greeted him. Bren had seen some pretty remarkable things during his tenure as sheriff, hilarious things, and so he somehow held it together. What he wanted to do was double over in laughter. The horse’s halter was on upside down. They’d gotten the nose part right, but the leather strip that was supposed to run beneath the chin and throatlatch stretched instead up the middle of the horse’s face like some kind of medieval headstall. The halter should have buckled up by the horse’s ear, too, but the brass fitting must have been on the other side, down by the throat. The cross ties were attached to the rings by the neck, not the ones by the horse’s nose. And the saddle was on, but they’d used a back cinch for the front and the front girth for the back, although how they’d managed to do that when they had different fittings was anybody’s guess. But perhaps the most comical thing of all was the look on the sorrel horse’s face. It had such a pained expression of “help me” in its eyes that it was all Bren could do to hold it together.

“What’s wrong?” Lauren asked.

“Well,” he said, tipping his cowboy hat back. “It’s hard to know where to start.”

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