“This is craziness, Ben. I don’t know what’s happening. Look at me. At us.”

Kate massaged her arms.

Straightening, he made no attempt to camouflage his desire. “I have looked at you, Kate,” he said, running a finger over her puffy lips. “Am looking. Get used to the fact. I like what I see.”

With that he sauntered off, and she was left to deal with cleaning the kitchen when she was all thumbs, trying to reconcile herself to the fact that she’d fallen under the spell of a cowboy.

It wouldn’t work.

Why not? the nagging voice in her head wanted to know.

Because she’d promised never to love a cowboy again.

Dear Reader,

This story came about after I chanced to meet a man in Tucson. He wore knee-high boots, a flat-crowned hat and an interesting bolo tie. I asked if he was a vaquero, because there’s a ranch down south that hires Argentinian cowboys. He said no, that he was a buckaroo from southern Idaho, in town for a mustang auction.

I’m sure he saw how interested I was, so he went on to explain more about ION country—where Idaho, Oregon and Nevada meet. He said it was one of the few places left where ranchers still run cattle on leased land and buckaroos live three-fourths of the year with those cattle. He said I should visit when they had their Rope and Ride, because it wasn’t a run-of-the-mill rodeo. Prizes were handmade items the buckaroos use in daily life. He did lament that theirs was a dying way of ranching, because they had to fend off people who’d petitioned the state government to take the land for recreational use. And that group had banded with strict preservationists. He said the mining companies had gone, and it was only a matter of time until ranchers would be forced out, too.

That’s really all it takes for the writer in me to be intrigued enough to visit the place and weave a story. Ben Trueblood and Kate Steele are the fictional couple I elected to put in this very real corner of the world. I hope the ranchers win their battle. In my book, that would be Ben. I hope you want him to win, too.

Roz Denny Fox

P.S. I like hearing from readers—P.O. Box 17480-101, Tucson, AZ 85731 or e-mail rdfox@worldnet.att.net.

Real Cowboys
Roz Denny Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Roz made her first sale to Harlequin Romance in 1989 and sold six Harlequin Romance titles, writing as Roz Denny. After transferring to the Harlequin Superromance line, she began writing as Roz Denny Fox. In addition to the many stories she’s written for Harlequin Superromance, she’s also written two Harlequin American Romance books and two Signature books. Her novel for Harlequin’s new series, Everlasting Love, will be coming out in August 2007.

Roz has been a RITA® Award finalist and has placed in a number of other contests; her books have also appeared on the Waldenbooks bestseller list. She’s happy to have received her twenty-five-book pin with Harlequin, and would one day love to get the pin for fifty books.

Roz currently resides in Tucson, Arizona, with her husband, Denny. They have two daughters.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

Needed ASAP Certified K-8 Teacher

Near Owyhee, Idaho, One-room school

Grades 1-8 Approximately 20 pupils

Benefits include a two-bedroom cabin

Fax résumé to Marge Goetz,

School Board President 208 555-8809

Will do a telephone interview

KATE STEELE SMOOTHED the creased job circular and reread the ad for the umpteenth time. The promise of housing was a bonus. She checked her cover letter one last time before stealthily rolling her wheelchair into her father-in-law’s ranch office and firing it off on the fax. Impatiently, she waited for confirmation of receipt. When it slid into the tray, she folded it with the other papers and tucked them behind her in case she ran into her mother-in-law in the hall.

Kate’s watch said 9:00 a.m., which meant the Steeles’ Fort Worth ranch had been in full swing for three hours. It would be eight in Idaho. Kate hoped Marge Goetz worked eight to five.

A preliminary search on her laptop hadn’t found any mention of the town of Owyhee, but a county by the same name bordered Idaho, Oregon and Nevada. Agriculture was listed as the county’s main industry since the mines had played out. Farm country sounded wonderful. Kate had been born and raised in Kansas. At least it would get Danny away from his grandparents’ ranch, which perpetuated his obsession with calf roping and rodeos.

Rolling along the hall, Kate told herself not to pin her hopes on this job. Why would Marge Goetz have to look as far as Texas to find a teacher? The hiring committee probably wouldn’t be keen on the fact she was a widowed mom with an almost eleven-year-old son. Plus she hadn’t taught in a while. She wondered if that was why she’d lost out on five positions in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. It was late in the year to find a teaching job, but that didn’t stop Kate from crossing her fingers.

By four o’clock that afternoon, Marge Goetz had called and offered Kate the job. Once Kate hung up, she pinched herself to be sure she wasn’t dreaming.

But the thrill didn’t last long. At supper, Kate had to break the news to Royce and Melanie Steele…and Danny.

Melanie, Kate’s mother-in-law, almost dropped the bowl of green beans she was passing to her husband. “Idaho? Kate…dear…you can’t be serious. I said I would ask Rich North, principal at Tumbleweed, if he’d let you sub. It’s just I’ve been busy lately.”

“I appreciate that, but I really wanted a permanent job.”

“Nonsense, you’re not ready to be in a classroom full days.”

“Dr. Pearsall thinks I am.” Kate glanced at her son to reassure him. Danny had tended to worry about her since the car accident. “I’m fine,” she insisted.

Melanie set the beans down and rushed from the room. Royce, a taciturn rancher, followed his wife. Kate wondered sometimes if he’d be happier if she just stayed in her wheelchair in the background. He’d disapproved when she’d ordered a pickup with hand controls and an automatic lift to load and unload her wheelchair. Royce said Colton’s life-insurance settlement should go toward Danny’s future. Kate didn’t point out to her father-in-law that if she hadn’t culled money from her meager food budget to pay the premiums, her rodeo-chasing husband wouldn’t have had life insurance.

And the Steeles’ plan for Danny’s future was that he’d one day be a champion calf roper, like his father.

Danny was silent after his grandparents left the table, even though Kate tried to get him to talk to her. She regretted not telling Danny her plans first—the fact that she hadn’t was just one more indication that she needed to be on her own with her son. Much later, when she went in to say good-night, Kate found him sitting at the window. He had one arm draped around Goldie, his golden retriever. The other held a worn lasso that had been his dad’s.

“Hey, guy, you should be in bed.”

“I don’t want to move.” He pinned her with serious hazel eyes. “I heard Mimi tell Pawpaw that this move will use all our money. She said we’ll go off and forget them…and Daddy.”

“Danny, honey, they want us—well, you—to fill an empty hole your daddy left in their lives. That’s too big a burden for you. It’s just…time…we all move on.”

“But, Mimi says if we stay in Fort Worth, by this winter I can enter the Little Britches Rodeo and win it like Dad did at my age.”

Tensing, Kate didn’t respond. During her recovery she’d watched from her bedroom window as Danny had devoted long hours to roping fence posts. That rodeo dream was the main reason she needed to get him away from the ranch. She patted Goldie, gently removed the rope from Danny’s hand and motioned for him to go to bed. “I’m looking forward to getting back into the classroom, you know. This will be a grand adventure, you’ll see.”

KATE BRAKED THE TRUCK and a thin layer of dust settled on her windshield. For three days she’d endured Danny’s sulks and Goldie’s hot breath on her neck while she’d pulled a wobbly horse trailer through a dusty landscape dotted with juniper and brittle natural grass. Now she’d run out of dirt road.

In a clearing, a weathered gray cabin sat tucked beneath scraggly pines. Beside it stood an ancient corral and adjoining stall that leaned in the same direction as the wind-bent pines. Off to the right of the house, down a steep slope, sat a small, unpainted shed. Kate yanked on the hand brake, hoping against hope that she wasn’t looking at a primitive outhouse.

Stirring for the first time in hours, Danny unbuckled his seat belt and scooted forward. He clutched his dog and his beloved lasso. “Why are we stopping?”

“Uh, I think this is it.”

“What?”

“Our new home, silly boy.”

“Pawpaw’s bulls live in a nicer place,” he announced.

Kate ruffled his hair. “Yes, but everyone knows he babies his bulls.” It was a weak attempt at levity. And a knot tightened in her chest. Marge Goetz had said she and her husband owned a sugar-beet farm. But the high plateau Kate had seen thus far couldn’t have been classed as farmland.

“Maybe you took a wrong turn, Mom.”

Kate rechecked her map and shook her head. She felt Goldie snuffle her ponytail and reached back to rub the dog’s soft nose. “This is it. See the red flag on the porch rail? Mrs. Goetz said our landlord would tie one on a pine where we should turn and another on our cabin.”

Finally Kate cracked open her door. “It’s getting late. We’d better see what’s what, Danny. Today’s Labor Day and school starts tomorrow. We need to unpack. I’ve got no idea when it gets dark here.” She waved a hand toward the horse trailer. “Unload Flame, feed him, then use the hand cart to haul boxed bedding inside. I’ll start with making beds.” Kate hadn’t wanted to bring the horse. But two of Colton’s animals had had to be put down at the scene of their car wreck. Flame was left and Royce had given him to Danny. Against her better judgment, Kate had phoned Marge Goetz and found out the cabin did have accommodations for a horse.

“I’ve gotta unload all our stuff by myself?”

“Yes. Well, you and me, sport.”

“Can’t the guy who owns this place come help us tote boxes?”

“Danny, I’m sure he’s a busy farmer.”

“Well, I’m just a kid.”

Kate turned to her son. “We can do this, Danny.” She hit the button for the lift that would lower her electric wheelchair to a level where she could slide from the truck seat and drop into the chair as she’d practiced repeatedly. She’d been without the use of her legs since the terrible accident on the Oklahoma turnpike that had killed her husband. Kate had been poked and prodded by a dozen doctors, none able to pinpoint a physical reason for her paralysis. No one had used the word psychosomatic, but Kate knew that’s what some of them thought. Kindly Dr. Pearsall said he was confident that one day something would click and Kate would get up and walk. He’d given her exercises so her muscles would be ready if and when the time came. Like right.

After two years, even Kate had begun to doubt Dr. Pearsall’s optimism. And her in-laws had long ago relegated her to invalid status.

Her chair bumped hard against the packed dirt. She unlocked the overhead clamp. Flashing Danny a confident smile, she slid from the pickup.

Seeing his mother meant business, he crawled a bit more reluctantly from the backseat. “What if your chair won’t go up that hill?”

“It’s a gradual incline. Marge Goetz said the cabin owner would leave a door key under a clay flower pot on the porch. You can unlock the door.” Kate didn’t want him hanging back, maybe seeing her struggle. She had to do this. Returning to Fort Worth simply wasn’t an option.

“Hey,” he called moments later. “It’s not so bad inside. It’s got new wood floors and cabinets and it smells like Mr. Duffy’s workshop.”

Her chair crested the slope, and Kate breathed easier. Otis Duffy, Royce’s handyman, made furniture in his spare time, and Danny loved helping him.

“Oops, I see my first obstacle. Steps. But speaking of Mr. Duffy, he nailed together a couple of ramps in case I might need them. Will you bring one from the pickup? Leave the other. It’s possible I’ll need it at school.”

Danny left and returned lugging the ramp. “My old school had concrete ramps for kids who couldn’t climb stairs.”

“Your school had twelve hundred students for six grades. This school has only fourteen students in eight grades and they all arrive at school in a single van.”

“Are they dorky? That’s who rode vans to Tumbleweed.”

“Daniel Royce Steele, I’m ashamed of you. I don’t want to ever hear you call special-needs kids dorky again.”

Danny’s lower lip jutted. He buried a hand in Goldie’s yellow fur. “I had more than fourteen kids in my calf-roping class. Do any kids here rodeo? I didn’t see any cows.”

Kate hadn’t asked Marge that question, although in talking about the area, Marge had called it the land of the last buckaroo. Buckaroo was another word for cowboy, and Kate hoped that meant the cowboys were all gone. “Danny, it costs a lot for rodeo gear and things like entry fees.”

“Pawpaw and Mimi will give us money.”

She straightened from securing the makeshift ramp to the porch. “No. From now on we make do with what I earn. You’ll get a weekly allowance for helping me with household chores. I expect you to save part, and the rest will buy feed and pay vet bills if you want to keep Flame.”

“Not keep him? Flame’s the best roping horse in all of Texas.”

“We aren’t in Texas anymore, Daniel,” Kate said, aware she sounded a bit like Dorothy in The Wizard Of Oz. “From here on we live in a place called Owyhee, Idaho.”

“Idaho stinks.” Danny kicked the porch step.

Recognizing a look she’d often seen Colton wear if things didn’t go his way only convinced Kate all the more that leaving Texas had been a good idea.

MARGE GOETZ PASSED A MUG of steaming black coffee to the neighbor who stood on her front porch talking to her husband, Ray. “Before you two get so deep into hashing over today’s Bureau of Land Management meeting, tell me, Ben, did our new teacher get moved into your cabin?”

“Danged if I know.” Ben Trueblood blew on his hot coffee and shifted his gaze to the hills where the cabin sat. His land butted up next to the farm where Ray and Marge raised sugar beets and onions. “Last week I tied red flags like you asked and left the box of folders. Chad Keevler finished the kitchen and new bathroom that the board approved. Out of curiosity, why wouldn’t she get here? You said she sounded reliable.” He declined to sit in the empty chair Ray offered and braced a knee-high boot on one rung instead.

Hearty, sandy-haired Ray dusted off his work jeans before dropping into another chair. “Marge is fussing because I had to take her SUV to town for engine work, leaving her without wheels. The board hired the Steele woman on Marge’s recommendation. Since Sikes’s reserve unit was called to active duty and left our kids teacherless midterm last year, I think she feels…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Marge cut in. “Responsible. I feel responsible. Can you blame me? We found Ms. Steele so late, the Martins already sent their twins to board with Sue’s sister in Elko. The district superintendent says if we dip under twelve kids, the county will suspend our funding. By my calculations, we’re at an even dozen.”

“Counting the teacher’s kid? Did I dream you said she’s a widow with a school-aged son?” Trueblood gestured with his mug.

“That’s right. Her boy’s ten, the same age as Jeff, our youngest.” Marge still sounded worried.

Ray patted her on the butt. “Hon, you’re determined to fret.”

“If homeschooling our boys had fallen to you after the army took Sikes, you’d fret, too. Not a family in the valley is anxious to go on tryin’ to teach their kids at home. How much of the curriculum did you teach Clover?” she asked Ben, looking over at the elfin eight-year-old girl with long, black hair who was chasing butterflies through a cow pasture. Every now and then the child stopped to pet one of the massive, white-faced Herefords.

“Now, Marge. Sikes got called up when I was bogged down with the first lawsuit brought by that conservation group who wants the BLM to revoke all grazing leases on public lands. I had to turn Clover’s homeschooling packet over to Bobbalou.”

Marge scoffed. “What can Lou Bobolink teach a girl?” She used the given name of Ben’s old friend and longtime camp cook.

Ben grinned. “How to make beef stew and sourdough biscuits? Hell, Marge, after the recreational ATVers jumped into the land squabble, I had no choice. Vida got sick and couldn’t keep house for a while, or she might’ve helped with lessons. Although, Clover likes trailing the herd.”

“Because you let her do as she pleases. You have, Ben Trueblood, from the day she turned up a crying bundle in your barn.”

The sharp, sometimes brittle obsidian eyes jerked up at Marge’s harsh accusation, but almost as quickly the lean lines of Ben’s bronze face softened. “Look at her. She’s happy. And a damned sight brighter than some folks give her credit for. Clover’s got a way with animals like nobody I’ve ever run across. One day she’ll make a great veterinarian.”

“Not without education and discipline,” Marge said.

Ray cleared his throat. “Don’t rag on Ben, hon. Everybody knows Clover’s way better off with him than those teens from the Shoshone or Paiute reservation who dumped her at his place.”

“Leave it,” Ben said, cutting Ray off. Ben had been born on one of those reservations. No one had to tell him about the harsh existence faced by those two kids he’d caught sight of running from his property that icy night.

“Marge, I’d like to devote more time to Clover. But I figure the best thing I can do for her is fight like hell to hang on to a ranch Bobbalou and I started carving out of this unforgiving land when I was fourteen. I’ve never blamed Clover’s mother, whoever she is. I broke free of the bad crap that perpetuates itself on reservations. Percy and me, we had Lou, and he knew to leave the res and buy his own land. It’s not as easy for kids today, what with our land being gobbled up or fought over.”

“This land is sucking us all dry,” Marge said.

Draining his mug, Ben set it on the porch rail. “Bud Martin, Percy Lightfoot, me and a scant few others are damned lucky to keep ranching the way it’s meant to be done. Letting cows roam free in the tradition brought here a hundred years ago.”

Ray tipped back in his chair. “It’s a hard life for men. Nigh on impossible for women and kids to survive that way, Ben.”

“Which is why you don’t see me trying to find a wife.”

“You need one,” Marge said. “For your own sake and to provide a bit of softness for Clover.”

“Now, Marge,” her husband said. “It takes a hard man to raise four thousand cows, bulls and steers, alongside a thousand mixed mustangs and quarter horses without irrigation, especially now that grazing lands are getting scarcer and scarcer thanks to the likes of damned tree huggers and ATVers.”

“That brings us back to the point I’m trying to make, Ben,” Marge persisted. “Clover needs more. More than blue jeans, boys’ shirts and chaps and being turned loose to learn from your crew, who don’t know anything but living on the range eleven months a year. She’s never gonna be a hard man, Ben Trueblood. That’s the God’s honest truth you need to deal with.” Marge snatched up his empty cup and the one her husband had set down and stomped into the house, slamming the screen door.

“Phew,” Ray muttered. Climbing to his feet, he said, “Let’s go have a look at the beet harvester I picked up at auction last week.” As the men left the porch to mosey toward the barn, Ray said, “I hope you don’t hold hard feelings against her for butting into your business. The dwindling number of wives left in Owyhee are counting on this new teacher. Winnie Lightfoot said if we lose the school it’ll be like losing a chunk of civilization. She’s right. Successful, thirty-seven-year-old bachelor ranchers like you, Ben, are anomalies. It’s families that bring in businesses to sustain a ranch community. We can’t afford to lose another church, grocery, hardware or feed store.”

Ben glanced at Ray in bemusement. “Marge isn’t the only one on a soap box, I see.” He sighed. “Hell, Ray, it takes time to socialize—time I spend trying to prevent our public lands from breaking up. The committee needs to say what’s more important, keeping a million acres from being overrun by environmentalists and all-terrain fanatics, or me hunting up a woman who may or may not civilize me.”

Ray flushed crimson to the roots of his sandy hair. “Enough on that subject. I can’t imagine you with a missus anyway.”

“Why not?” The comment rocked Ben back. He didn’t want a wife, but he didn’t think he was so objectionable. “I own a home. Granted, I’m rarely there. But it stays decent thanks to Vida. I don’t drink or gamble. I cuss a little,” he confessed, tugging an earlobe.

“You have to want a wife. Finding someone to fit your lifestyle won’t be easy. Might be, if you didn’t run a straight-up buckaroo outfit, or if Owyhee had an excess of single women…which it don’t. Or if we didn’t depend on you to represent us in this land fight and organize our Rope and Rides so we’ll have funds in our town coffers to pay a sheriff and hang on to a clinic, such as it is. It’s a cinch taxes don’t cover our needs.”

His friend stopped Ray from droning on. “I get the message. It’s best all around if we keep this new teacher happy. We’ll build the town up by showing we’re prosperous enough to warrant a school, and other revenue will follow.”

“So, does this mean you’ll swing past your old line shack and see if Ms. Steele arrived?”

“Aw, dang it! You led me right into that.”

“Yep.”

“Why can’t Marge take your pickup now that you’re home?”

“She would, except her quilting club meets here in a half hour. I’m not asking you to sweet talk the woman, Ben. Marge hasn’t heard a word since the teacher left Texas. We’ve gotta be sure she arrived so kids can start school tomorrow.”

“It’ll be dark soon. Who’s to say if I blunder in there after dark that a Texas woman won’t shoot first and ask questions later?”

“I’d give a dollar to see that.” Ray grinned, pumping Ben’s hand as they prepared to part. “Letting a little lady blow your ass off would seriously tarnish your image, Ben.”

“You saying it couldn’t happen?”

“I s’pose it could. The old Western books I’ve read set in Texas generally have feisty females who don’t take guff off cowboys. Max Brand’s books.”

Ben hesitated fractionally before waving to summon Clover. “Is that how Marge describes the teacher? A feisty, no-guff type?”

“Marge only chatted with her by phone. Saw a fax of her credentials. They’re so good, some on the board wondered what’s wrong with her. I mean, why was she hunting a teaching job so late in the year? Daryl White was sure she ran afoul of the law. He ran a background check. Nothing came up. Guess if you don’t want to stop there we can wait to see what Bill Hyder says after he drives the van tomorrow. He’s this month’s driver volunteer.”

“You took me off bus detail, I hope.” Ben boosted Clover into the backseat of his Ford pickup’s king cab.

“Yeah. You’ve got your hands full wading through lawyers. Of course, since this woman is the new widow in town, I could assign you Bill’s rotation for the hell of it.”

“Don’t you dare. Tell Marge I’ll check on her teacher. I’ll call after I see what’s what.” Ben crawled in his truck and gave one of his half-cynical smiles before shutting the door and starting the motor. He muttered to the child in the backseat, “Clover, girl, I hope you like the new teacher. ’Cause God’s truth—I’d be the happiest man in Owyhee if I never had to cross the school threshold until you graduate.”

“No school, Ben,” the little girl said firmly. “I’m gonna go with Bobbalou.”

“We’d both like that, but…there are laws, princess.”

“You don’t like laws.” She bounced against the seat. Strands of long black hair flew like errant smoke. “I’ll run off from school.”

“No you won’t.” Ben sighed. “It’s lawmakers I don’t like, Clover.” And he didn’t like being squeezed off his land. He’d much prefer to keep running his cattle without any fences. But, Ray and Marge were right in one sense. It was a hard life. From the minute Clover had landed in his barn, she’d been the bright spot in his harsh existence. From the get-go he’d approached raising her the way he did foals and calves. While it had seemed to work for a while, this past year he’d seen signs that she needed more. Their short-lived teacher, Sikes, had said Clover should be tested, maybe sent to a special school—one for mentally impaired kids. What kind of teacher said stuff like that about a sweet little girl?

Clover was a—free spirit, maybe. His fault, not hers.

Reaching back, Ben smoothed her long bangs with his fingers. “You’ll like the new teacher, princess. I bet she’s gonna love you.” He sounded fierce, and recognized desperation in his statement, as if repeating the words enough would make them come true.

Darkness had covered the purple hills by the time he bounced his heavy-duty Ford up the rocky slope to his remodeled line shack. A big Chevy sat outside the cabin, which was awash in light. Well, he had Marge’s answer. The teacher had arrived.

He saw they’d turned out a horse. Dang, the corral needed shoring up. Ben mentally added a note to ask Chad up to repair it. He would’ve driven on out again if the front door to the cabin hadn’t opened. A boy and a dog ran out and down the porch steps.

Letting the Ford idle, Ben stepped out on his running board. “Hi, there,” he called over the strident barking of a lunging dog. “I’m Ben Trueblood. Marge Goetz asked me to verify that the new teacher got moved in. You’d be her son, I imagine.”

The gangly kid gripped the dog’s collar, but Ben wondered for how long. “Glad to see you’ve got protection. Tell your mom the van arrives at school around 9:00 a.m.”

Before he could halt her, Clover crawled over the seat and shot out his door to plop on her knees in front of the dog, who quit barking and licked her face even as Ben’s heart jacked up into his throat.

He glimpsed a second silhouette at the door. The teacher? If so, she wasn’t much taller than her boy. What had made him think she’d be burly? Probably Ray’s talk about feisty Texas women who handled guns.

“Marge would’ve welcomed you,” he called, “but her car’s on the blink. I own this place.” He circled a hand. “Any problems, tell Clover at school. That’s her.” He stabbed a finger. “Princess, let’s go. We have to eat yet and get you a bath. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

Clover kissed the dog’s nose, got up, waved to the boy she’d been chattering to and skipped back to the pickup. Ben had no more than lifted her in when the boy lost his hold on the retriever. In the semidarkness Ben saw a yellow streak zoom toward him. To make matters worse, the boy flailed his arms and chased his pet. The animal may have cottoned to Clover, but no one would mistake his bared teeth as a sign of affection for Ben, who felt those teeth sink into the soft leather of his left boot. Shaking his foot, Ben ultimately managed to close his door.

Triumphant, the dog gave a last growl and trotted back to his master.

KATE HAD CAUGHT ONLY SNATCHES of what their visitor said before Goldie went berserk. She’d levered herself out of her wheelchair and braced on the door casing as Dr. Pearsall said she could do now and then. She’d witnessed the unfolding scene and was glad the tall, lanky stranger managed to escape without being bitten. All she needed was to be told by her landlord to get rid of Danny’s dog. She’d caught that the man’s name was Trueblood and that the girl talking to Danny was his daughter. Oh, and Marge Goetz had car trouble.

After Goldie trotted meekly back to Danny, Kate watched the truck’s taillights fade. She found it odd the man hadn’t come to the door. Although, on second thought, she was glad. In the soft light shining from inside his pickup, she saw he wore the garb of a conventional cowboy, not a farmer. This cabin could be part of a ranch, she mused, sinking back into her wheelchair.

The last thing she wanted was for Danny to get friendly with a cowboy.

“Good watchdog,” she murmured to Goldie as the retriever bounded into the house.

CHAPTER TWO

KATE DID NEED HER SECOND RAMP at school to get her to the front door, which she unlocked with an old-style brass key Marge had included in the box of student folders that had been left on her kitchen counter.

The folders were a disappointment. No grades had been posted from the previous year and family information was sketchy. And there were eleven folders instead of fourteen. The number of students had dwindled even before Kate started. Schools closed when enrollment dipped too low.

That concern and the general anxiety that went with a new job had seen her sewing curtains for the cabin long after Danny and Goldie had gone to sleep. She would’ve hung the curtains, but she needed Danny’s help. The realization that she’d be more dependent on him than she would have liked troubled her, too. Danny was only ten. Was she expecting too much? Melanie Steele would say yes. Last night Danny had worked without complaint. Today, though, he was grouchy. Kate was glad to leave him standing by the pickup. His absence let her savor the pleasure of entering her first classroom in too many years.

It was a typical country school. A square box with weathered siding. The central cupola at the top of the peaked roof no longer held a school bell. The single main room fanned into wings on either side, housing the boys’ and girls’ restrooms. Wood floors were oiled a dark umber. Five short rows of desks with space to walk between occupied the center of the room. Kate counted desks for twenty students, but with Danny she would only have twelve.

A huge oak desk stood at the front of the room and behind it a massive chair. What did it say to students, Kate thought: I’m the boss?

She loved that the chalkboard was black, not green or white as in newer schools. It ran the length of the wall behind her desk. The U.S. flag stood in one corner and alongside it was a black potbellied stove. Dry wood had been stacked under one window.

As she passed the wood, Kate sniffed the pungent pine scent. The air smelled mustily of smoke, wood oil, chalk dust and industrial-grade soap. Closing her eyes, she soaked in what, to her, was the aroma of knowledge and opportunity. She had attended a similar school in rural Kansas, the one where her mom had taught until she’d died of a ruptured aneurism. Kate had always wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps. She belonged in front of a classroom.

Laughing, she threw up her arms, hugged herself and twirled her motorized chair. The sound echoed in the empty room, prompting Danny, who’d finally wandered in, to exclaim, “Mom, what’s wrong?”

She sobered. “Everything is right for the first time in ages, honey.” Seeing his skepticism, she held out her arms. He cast a furtive glance toward the door to make sure he wouldn’t be observed before he accepted the hug. Then he pulled away fast.

“I hope you aren’t gonna do that in front of the other kids.”

“I won’t embarrass you, Danny. Are you worried kids here might bully you because you’re the teacher’s son?”

“I dunno. Maybe. In Fort Worth all the kids knew Pawpaw. They thought it was cool I got to live at the Bar R-S where all my friends trained for junior rodeo. Here…I’m nobody.”

“Just be yourself, Danny. I know you’ll make friends.”

He turned away.

“Wait, will you open the window? Oh, and put that monster teacher’s chair in the closet, please. You know, I wouldn’t turn down help in tacking up a bulletin board.”

He brightened, did as she requested, then worked feverishly to help Kate cover a small canvas board with red construction paper. Danny stapled on letters that spelled Welcome To School. Yellow happy faces peeked out from between letters. “It’s simple,” Kate said, “but it’s bright and cheery.”

“Yep, it’s nice, Mom.”

Finding a piece of chalk, Kate rose out of her chair and wrote Ms. Steele in printing and cursive on the blackboard.

A loud crunch of tires outside alerted them to someone’s arrival. Kate set the chalk in the tray and parked her wheelchair behind the desk. To anyone walking in the door, it would appear she was sitting in a regular chair.

At the door, Danny shouted, “It’s the van with the other kids.”

Kate’s confidence slipped. She caught herself rubbing damp palms down her slacks. “Let them follow their normal routine, Danny.” Calmly, Kate opened her book bag and pulled out papers.

“What should I do?” Danny asked.

“Pick a seat?” Kate waved at the desk he stood beside.

“What if some other kid sits there?”

“Oh. Good point. What do you think you should do?”

“Go back to Fort Worth. I hate it here.” He spoke with such fervor Kate winced.

“Honey, I agreed to work a full school year. In May I’ll reassess. Until then, we’re staying. Why don’t you ask the van driver what time he or she plans to return to pick up the students.”

“It’s a he,” Danny muttered, brushing past two boys who were timidly approaching.

Kate pasted on a smile. “Welcome boys. Take seats near the front of the room for now. Once I take attendance I’ll assign seating based on your grade.”

The duo, freckle-faced carrot tops, plopped down in the second row. Two giggly blond girls followed. All four appeared nervous.

The next five to straggle in tried to act cool and aloof. Three older boys waited to see where the girls who trailed in their wake decided to sit. The boys then put as much distance between themselves and the girls as humanly possible.

Kate noted that the last two students slipped in silently. The girl was possibly the youngest of the group. In a few years she would be stunning. Lustrous, straight black hair fell to below her shoulders. Eyes so dark they were almost purple studied Kate from beneath thick lashes. By comparison, the boy seemed bland. His black hair was cropped short, his liquid eyes somber. If Kate had to describe the color of his skin, she would call it flat tobacco, whereas the girl’s glowed like burnished copper. Kate had one Hispanic name on the list from Marge and two Native Americans. Checking grade levels, she concluded these two were her Native students.

Which meant the girl was her landlord’s daughter. Last night she’d barely glimpsed the child down beside Danny and Goldie.

Danny returned, trailed by a stocky man.

“You sent the boy to get me, ma’am? I’m Bill Hyder. Dave, there, is my youngest boy.” The van driver crushed a battered straw hat between work-scarred hands. His gaze lit proudly on a husky, toffee-haired teen who slumped in his seat.

Kate smiled, hoping to put the man and his son at ease. “I’m Ms. Steele. I forgot to ask Marge Goetz if I should stagger dismissals by grade levels.”

Bill shook his head, relaxing some. “All grades get out at two-thirty. I hope that’s okay. It saves on fuel and vehicle wear and tear. Plus, our driver volunteers pull double duty between farming, ranching or jobs in town.”

“Your board employs me, Mr. Hyder. I’ll abide by their rules. Two-thirty it is. Have a nice day.” She’d perfected a smile of dismissal.

He jammed on his hat and ducked out.

Kate beckoned to Danny. “Class, I’d like you to meet my son. Danny is in fifth grade. After he sits down, I’ll take attendance. Please raise your hand as I call your name. Then we’re going to have a two-page quiz. Simple questions designed to show me your skill levels in reading, math and science.” She expected groans or outright objection, but the room remained eerily silent.

The first sound was an audible gasp from the students after she completed attendance and motored out from behind her desk to hand out tests.

Kate hadn’t planned to explain her condition. The collective gasp changed her mind. “I was injured a couple of years ago in an auto accident.”

A boy Kate had already handed a test to raised his hand.

“Yes? You’re Terry Goetz, have I got that right?”

“Uh-huh. Did my mom know you were crippled?” he blurted, then yelped when the boy seated beside him, his younger brother, Jeff, socked him in the arm.

“Ow!” Terry scowled at Jeff. The other kids sat in shocked silence.

Kate felt shaky and needed a minute to collect her thoughts. She eased around the last seat in Terry’s row and headed up the next aisle, continuing to pass out tests. She had been right—Clover Trueblood was her youngest pupil. The girl had just turned eight. Kate recalled that Clover’s record hadn’t made it clear if she was in second or third grade. Kate set a test designed for second graders in front of Clover. Kate’s hands were empty now and it was time to deal with Terry Goetz.

“Terry,” she said quietly, crossing to her desk. “Do you think it’s necessary I be able to walk in order to teach?”

“I dunno,” the boy mumbled. “Depends on what you teach. Uh, I didn’t mean no offense, but me ’n’ Ron Quimby and Mike Delgado are probably gonna go to the consolidated high school next year. Sports are big there. Our last teacher, Mr. Sikes, he hung a basketball hoop on the back school wall and was teaching us how to make hook shots and blocks.” Terry slid lower on his spine.

“Basketball?” Kate repeated, stopping behind her desk. “It so happens I rarely miss watching an NBA game on TV. Naturally I can’t run with you on the court, but I bet I can help you. These tests are timed by the way,” she said in the same even tone. “Does everyone have a pencil?”

The kids scrambled to open their backpacks, and Kate saw she’d done the right thing in not coming down hard on Terry. She’d find a private moment to make him understand that the term cripple was hurtful.

“These scores won’t be recorded,” she assured them. “And accuracy is more important than speed. Is everyone ready?”

A blond girl named Shelly Bent raised her hand. “If we miss a lot of questions, Ms. Steele, are you going to move us back a grade?”

“Good question. The answer is no. Your most recent school year was interrupted. I’ll use these scores to see where you need help.”

That seemed to put them more at ease. At least they all sat forward and prepared to turn over their papers. “If that’s it for questions, you may begin,” Kate said.

She checked her watch for the start time. She’d learned from her mother the art of watching students without seeming to. Midway through the test, she noticed that a bird had flown in one of the open windows and was hopping along the sill. Kate didn’t know what kind of bird it was. It had gray feathers and a yellow underbelly and throat. The bird cocked its head and warbled, sounding almost flutelike.

Kate saw she wasn’t the only one captivated by the bird. Clover Trueblood set down her pencil and slipped from her seat. She answered the birdcall with an uncanny repetition of the flute sounds.

Or maybe the bird had warbled again. Not wanting to disrupt the whole class, Kate rolled toward the girl. She thought Clover would scare the bird, but that didn’t happen. Clover walked right up and planted an elbow on either side of the creature. They both trilled again. Thinking it must be a tame bird, Kate went closer. Her arrival startled the bird and it flew away.

The girl whirled, fright widening her eyes. Kate offered a gentle smile. “Clover, did you complete your test? If not, you need to go back to your seat.”

Without speaking, the child sidled around Kate.

“I’ll allow you a few extra minutes. Later maybe we can discuss the bird.”

Clover bounded back to her seat, but not before she lifted her chin and gazed straight into Kate’s eyes. Kate wasn’t sure whether she felt confounded or challenged. It was an unsettling experience.

Back at her desk, she noticed that several students were done. “Shelly, please collect the tests beginning with eighth graders. I’m allowing Clover an extra five minutes. She had a slight distraction.”

It pleased Kate to see that her landlord’s daughter was hunched over her desk, her pencil flying across her paper.

As students handed their tests to Shelly, they began to whisper among themselves, especially the Keevler sisters and Meg Wheeler.

“Jeff—Jeff Goetz,” Kate called. “Will you and Adam Lightfoot pass out these books? I’ve attached names on sticky notes. They’re reading texts. I’d like you each to begin reading the first story in your book while I glance over the tests. It’s possible I’ll trade books for a few of you after I check your reading comprehension. I expect I’ll move some of you to more difficult books.”

There was the usual disorder that went along with a break in routine. Kate found these children better disciplined than she’d expected, given none of them had been in a formal classroom since before Christmas of the previous year.

She worked quickly with the aid of an answer sheet. Ron Quimby, Shelly Bent and her clone, Meg Wheeler, made perfect scores. Ron and Shelly were in eighth grade. They were probably working well above that. Terry Goetz missed two questions. He had terrible handwriting, but she saw no need to change his eighth-grade reader. Others in fifth through seventh grades held their own. Kate was feeling quite pleased until she reached the last test, which she knew belonged to Clover.

The girl’s name was not written on the test and not one question had been answered. Quite by accident Kate turned one sheet over. Her breath caught. A perfect rendering of the bird on the windowsill stared up at her. Its feathers, the markings and intelligent eyes had been captured in exquisite detail. On the back of the second sheet was an equally complex drawing of a steer.

Stunned, she thumbed through the permanent record folders to locate Clover’s. Had she missed a reference to this talent? Or a note saying the girl showed a total lack of regard for a teacher-mandated assignment? The most telling thing in the file was its brevity. All eleven students lived on rural routes. Clover Trueblood was no exception. A space for her mother’s given and maiden names was blank. Nothing indicated whether Mrs. Trueblood lived elsewhere or was deceased. A notation was made that Clover had passed grade one, but Mr. Sikes’s progress note simply stated she hadn’t been tested in grade two.

Had she been absent the day of state-mandated tests? If so, why had no one administered a makeup? Kate frowned and tucked the artwork in the folder, then pulled a pad from her book bag to jot down contact phone numbers from Clover’s record. Vida Smith, a housekeeper, was listed for Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. Her father’s radio-phone number said, message only, will return calls. Three other numbers without names were noted for emergency purposes.

Sighing, Kate wrote Clover’s father a note requesting a meeting at his earliest convenience. She put it in an envelope, sealed it and scrawled his name on the outside, then set it aside to send home with Clover.

Like most first days at school, this one passed quickly. As Kate was the only teacher, all grades broke for lunch and recess together. She was able to observe which kids paired up and who was on the outs. The older boys teamed up for three-on-a-side basketball.

From the sidelines, Kate suggested plays. She kept an eye on Jeff Goetz and Adam Lightfoot, who tossed a baseball in another part of the playground. She’d thought Danny would join them, but he moved off. Clover climbed on the monkey bars and chatted to Danny, who didn’t seem to mind.

At the end of the day, Kate stuck her note to Clover’s father into the girl’s pack. “This is important. Please give it to your dad as soon as you get home. Tell him I’ll be here tomorrow a half hour before school starts, or I’ll stay an hour after class.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clover skirted Kate’s wheelchair and bolted for the door.

Kate levered out of her chair to erase the math problems she’d had Meg Wheeler and Mike Delgado write on the board.

She and Danny were alone again.

“Did Clover do something wrong, Mom?”

“Wrong? Oh, you mean the note I sent her father? It’s nothing. Her record is incomplete so I need information from her dad. By the way, Danny, I saw you two talking at recess and lunch, after you left Jeff and Adam.”

“I asked them about a rodeo. Jeff doesn’t have horses, but Clover does. Her dad owns a bunch, a cavvy, she called them. She can ride any horse she wants. And her dad braids ropes. Clover said her dad used to teach a roping clinic. She knows all about slack handling, dallying, del viento, hoolihan, turnover and a bunch of other roping tricks.”

Kate set the eraser in its tray. “He used to teach roping?”

“Yeah. Well, maybe he still does.” Taking the eraser, Danny dusted it off in the waste basket. “Clover said he had to stop ’cause he spends so much time running back and forth to court. To Boise. When he’s gone she gets to ride in a real chuck wagon. Isn’t that the coolest thing, Mom?”

“Hmm.” Kate digested the news about Clover’s father spending a lot of time in court. A custody hassle might explain the girl’s distraction and account for the blanks on her permanent record.

A teacher ought to know if there was a court restraining order out against one parent or the other. Mentally, Kate added that to her list of things to discuss with Clover’s father.

That evening, Marge Goetz phoned. “Kate, may I call you that? During supper Jeff told his dad and me how rude Terry was today. He knows better. He will apologize tomorrow. And he’ll do without TV for a few days.”

“I’d planned to speak privately with Terry. He and the others wouldn’t have been so surprised if I’d mentioned my use of a wheelchair in my cover letter.”

“There’s no reason you should have. Except we would’ve provided better access to your cabin and the school. My husband, Ray, worries that you’ll have trouble when it snows.”

“Getting around is my problem to solve, Marge, and I’ll manage. When should I expect the first snow?”

“Could be another month. Two if we’re lucky. It won’t hurt the older boys to shovel a path from where you park into the school. I’ll have Ray or one of the other board members buy snow shovels for the school and your cabin.” After asking Kate if she needed anything else, the board president said goodbye.

Kate wished she’d asked if Marge knew a way to reach Clover Trueblood’s father. But maybe he’d show up in the morning.

The next day, Kate rousted Danny from bed early so she’d be at school in the event Trueblood chose to come for a morning meeting, but he didn’t show. Clover got off the bus. Entering the room alone, she shyly crossed to Kate’s desk, where she set a peanut-butter jar filled with fragrant wildflowers.

The gesture and the child’s almost palpable anxiety touched Kate. “Why, thank you, Clover. These are beautiful. Do they grow wild near your house?”

The girl bobbed her head. Kate’s obvious pleasure triggered a sweet responsive smile before Clover spun and skipped to her desk.

Kate hated to bring up the letter she’d sent home, but she needed to know. “Clover, did you give your dad my note?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She sat, but didn’t look at Kate.

“What did he say after he read it?”

Fine black hair hid Clover’s face. “Nothing.”

“Is he picking you up from school today?”

“Uh-uh. I’m riding the bus and Miss Vida’s staying late to fix my supper ’cause Ben’s got a meeting in town.”

Kate closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do you always call your father Ben?”

Clover shrugged, clearly puzzled. “That’s his name.”

“All right. Not to worry. I’ll write him another note. Or, better, I’ll phone and leave a message.”

The morning reading assignment netted Kate two more drawings from Clover—a dark horse with an oddly trimmed mane and a dog that looked like Goldie. Kate had Clover read out loud. She read about every fifth word, seeming easily distracted.

While the students were eating lunch at tables out back, Kate took a minute to call Ben Trueblood and was connected to an answering machine. “I understand if you’re busy,” she said, rushing to beat the time-out tone. “Perhaps I didn’t convey the urgency of my request to speak with you in my first note. We need to conference ASAP about your daughter.” The tone bleeped, so Kate clicked off, annoyed that she hadn’t repeated her offer to come in early or stay late.

THURSDAY AT SCHOOL was a repeat of Wednesday.

Frustrated, Kate again attempted to impress on Clover that she really needed to meet with her dad. “This is my cell-phone number,” she said, making sure Clover saw her stuff the note in a zip pocket of the girl’s red backpack. “Please tell him he can call me any evening. I’m up late.”

Blinking a couple of times, Clover dashed off to meet the van, leaving Kate with her day’s work—more art. Today there was a likeness of Kate seated at her desk and below it a sketch of the boys playing basketball. The last drawing was of a wizened man bent over a campfire, his features and arthritic hands compellingly lifelike.

If she didn’t see or hear from Ben Trueblood soon, Kate intended to load Danny in her pickup and follow Bill Hyder to Clover’s home. She’d wait for him there.

Kate spent a large part of the day observing Clover. She seemed a happy child, always humming to herself as she flitted about. And flit she did. Simple things caught her attention. Clouds. A fly. Colorful rocks.

The other kids didn’t exactly avoid her, but neither did they include her in play. And for some reason she chose to shadow Danny. Curiously, he let her, probably because she knew a lot about horses—Danny’s greatest love next to calf roping.

As she watched the kids at lunch, it struck Kate that if not for her pretty hair and girlish features, Clover could pass for one of the boys in her slant-heel boots, faded blue jeans and Western shirt.

Clover wasn’t disruptive in class. She listened attentively when anyone, especially Kate, talked. However, small things had her leaving her seat. A ladybug marching across a neighbor’s desk. Oak leaves that blew in and skittered across the floor when Meg Wheeler came in late. And of all things, a honeybee that Clover guided out the classroom window because she said its family was waiting outside.

Clover’s verbal skills were fine for her age and she gave detailed answers to the questions Kate asked. But she stubbornly chose not to do written assignments and she only read a handful of words on a page. Kate didn’t get it. The kid was an enigma. And so was the elusive dad, whom Danny pronounced “real cool.” According to Danny, buckaroos, as Clover called her dad and his crew, were the greatest because they lived in tepees on the range. They did nothing but ride horses, herd and brand cattle.

Kate didn’t share her son’s admiration for the man. Clover was a beautiful child who had somehow fallen through a huge crack in the education system and it was Kate’s job to see that her student got the help she needed.

Frustrated, Kate left a terse message saying that if she didn’t see him Friday, she was going to call the district superintendent’s office about his child. “I understand what it is to be a working, single parent. I’ll be at school until six o’clock.”

Danny overheard the last part of her call. “Are we staying late again tonight? If we stay till six that means I’ve gotta feed and exercise Flame in the dark.”

“Not tonight, Danny. I’m ready to go home now. Tomorrow, bring a book along to read. If Clover’s dad spends long hours out on the range, it’s up to me to remain flexible so that he and I can meet.”

“You said Clover wasn’t in trouble. So why do you need a meeting?”

“Danny, I can’t discuss another student with you, and I’m sorry you have to stay with me. You know, if Clover’s dad makes this meeting, you’ll have to sit in the truck until he and I finish talking. Our meeting is confidential.”

“Br-oth-er! You think I can’t keep a secret? I was with Mimi when she bought Pawpaw that fringed leather jacket for Christmas, and I didn’t tell.”

“This is different, honey. All students and their families have a legal right to privacy.”

“Not me. You’re my teacher and my mom. You know everything there is to know about me.”

Kate couldn’t resist teasing as she hugged him. “But you’re perfect, Danny.”

He wiggled out of her arms and delivered an eye roll like only ten-year-old boys could. However, he helped her collect her papers without being asked before they locked up.

FRIDAY THE KIDS WERE ANXIOUS to be off for the weekend. “Are you going to assign homework?” asked tall, lanky Ron Quimby.

“I prefer not to assign weekend homework. Tests I give will be on work you should be covering during class.” Kate couldn’t help glancing at Clover. She hadn’t completed any class assignments this entire week. Well, that wasn’t true. She’d done her math.

Last night, Marge Goetz had dropped by with a welcome casserole and Kate had been dying to ask the older woman about Clover’s father but didn’t feel she’d been at her job long enough to probe for such information. After Marge had left, Kate had looked up dyslexia in a teaching textbook. Kate wondered if that was Clover’s problem. But the text said a dyslexic child would have difficulty with reading, spelling and numbers, so that didn’t describe Clover.

Class ended in a stampede out to catch the bus.

“Danny, I’m going to grade papers,” Kate told her son. “Will you go see if anyone left sports equipment out on the playground?”

“Okay. Why do we hafta stay late every night? I want to ride Flame. Why doesn’t Clover’s dad show up?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Kate spent a half hour going over the day’s work. From the sporadic thump on the back wall, she knew Danny had gotten sidetracked shooting baskets.

At the sound of footsteps, Kate’s head shot up. In walked the most arresting man she’d seen in Lord only knew when. He was lean, not too muscular and oozed masculinity. He wore narrow-legged jeans tucked in tall snakeskin boots that jingled faintly and musically as he entered the classroom. Despite herself, Kate felt a tug in her belly as she watched the fascinating, hip-rolling gait of a born cowboy.

The faded red neckerchief he wore had seen better days and obviously wasn’t for show. Nor was the sweat-stained cotton shirt with stray strands of dry grass sticking out of one pocket and the shirtsleeves rolled up over deeply tanned forearms.

She hadn’t heard a truck. Had he dropped from the sky?

As he turned to glance out the window, Kate saw that his raven-black hair was tied at the nape with a leather thong. His clean-shaven jaw gave an appearance of strength.

No matter how irritated Kate was with herself over looking her fill, she was more chagrined to see that he studied her with equal interest—and equal reluctance.

“Mr. Trueblood, I presume? I’m Kate Steele, your daughter’s new teacher.” Kate tried to imagine what he was thinking. How did he feel about knocking off work early to come in for a meeting he probably considered frivolous? Clover’s dad struck her as a hard-nosed, no-frills kinda guy.

“I appreciate you making time to come talk about Clover,” Kate said. “I’ll try to be as brief as possible, but meanwhile, please be seated.” She indicated a folding chair she’d brought from home for this very occasion.

He hadn’t spoken since walking in and didn’t now. He merely dragged the chair out a foot or so farther from her desk and sat heavily, before hanging the flat-crowned hat he’d removed at the door over one knee.

At last he cleared his throat. “Clover’s a little bit of a thing, Ms. Steele. If she’s caused trouble for you in class, I’d have thought as a qualified teacher you’d know ways to deal with about any problem an eight-year-old girl could dish up.”

CHAPTER THREE

“I’M SORRY IF I DIDN’T MAKE myself clear in my note,” Kate said, trying not to stammer. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t see her only objective in asking to meet him was to help his daughter? “Clover is a very sweet child, Mr. Trueblood.” Kate leaned forward earnestly. “This conference isn’t because she’s caused trouble. I need enlightening about her past academic achievement.”

Ben adjusted the hat roosting on his knee and stiffened. “Marge said she gave you records on all the kids.”

“She did.” Kate unlocked a bottom desk drawer and walked her fingers along the hanging files she’d set up. “I’ll be happy to show you Clover’s record.” Extracting a thin folder, she removed a sheet and slid it across the desk.

He didn’t take it, or even examine it. Instead, he acted wary, or perhaps impatient, and sort of growled, “Why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me what you want Clover to do? Or what I should do?”

Again reaching into the hanging file, Kate brought out Clover’s work. She waved the sheaf of papers at Trueblood until he gingerly accepted it. A tiny smile flickered as he leafed through the pages. “These, uh, look pretty good to me,” he finally said. He took a longer look at a drawing of Kate. “She missed those little half-glasses you’ve got perched on your nose. Outside of that it’s the spitting image, I’d say.”

“Mr. Trueblood.” Exasperated, Kate snatched back the artwork. “Clover draws in great detail. The problem is that she did these and not her daily assignments.” Pointing toward the window, Kate described the bird incident.

“My buckaroos will tell you that Clover’s good with animals. For instance, if she says call the vet, my trail boss calls him. Sure enough, something’s always wrong.”

“I’d hoped you could shed light on the issue of her schoolwork. As you see, her previous teacher wrote next to nothing on her file. Mr. Sikes made progress notes on all of the other students. Did he ever talk to you about Clover’s performance in class?”

Ben got up and paced to the door and back, all the while rubbing at the back of his neck. “We had a talk after Sikes got called up by his army unit. He…said… Clover needs… She’s…not like other kids.”

Kate removed her reading glasses and watched the struggle going on within the man. “I can tell this isn’t easy for you to discuss. Does Clover’s problem stem from your separation, or is it a divorce? Problems in a marriage do affect the children.”

Ben’s head jerked up.

“I’m not prying,” Kate said softly. “I noticed Clover’s mother isn’t listed on her permanent record. Clover also told my son you’re at court in Boise a lot. And well, I’ve seen other students unable to handle a family split without counseling.”

His sudden scowl had Kate stuttering. “I…ah…realize you’d probably rather not discuss the failure of your marriage with a virtual stranger, but, teachers are like doctors, or lawyers. We need to be privy to family secrets in order to help your child.”

Feeling at a distinct disadvantage with Ben looming over her, larger than life, Kate snugged her wheelchair closer to the desk and sat up straight to give the appearance of being in control.

“I didn’t fail,” he said curtly. “At least not at marriage. I’m not married and never have been. I’ve been Clover’s only parent since she was maybe six hours old. She was left on my doorstep, or rather, on a pile of hay in my barn, by her parents—a couple of kids I saw running out of my barn. But if you’re looking to blame somebody for whatever the hell she’s doing or not doing, lay it on me.” Making a fist, Ben thumped his chest.

“There’s no need to swear.” Kate sounded heated, too. “This meeting isn’t about affixing blame, Mr. Trueblood.”

“Funny, it sounds like that to me, Ms. Steele. Why don’t you just spit out what it is you want Clover to do?”

“All right.” She tightened her laced fingers. “She’s having great difficulty with reading. At first I thought she might have dyslexia.” When he seemed shocked to silence, Kate added, “Dyslexia is where a person has problems with left versus right, or sees certain words backward. But information I located on dyslexia indicates a child would also have trouble doing math. Clover is a whiz at addition and subtraction. And her drawings aren’t indicative of a directionally challenged child. It’s hard to imagine that no one worried about this earlier.”

“A teacher, you mean?”

Kate shrugged. “Last year she should have started reading chapter books. In fact, she recognizes only a few simple words and doesn’t try to sound out others.”

“After Del Sikes left, the district sent materials for homeschooling. I was pretty tied up, so mostly my trail cook looked after Clover. He knows cattle and cooking. Well, he knows a lot more than that when it comes to nature and land and what makes people tick. You could say Lou saved me and my friend Percy Lightfoot from running wild or worse.” He’d begun to pace again.

“I see, I think. Well, I’ll need to evaluate her to find out where she went off track. It’s odd she missed learning to read, since she is proficient in math. If her problem turns out to be a more serious one, I assume the district has a psychologist who can administer those tests. It’ll help, Mr. Trueblood, if you begin preparing her for my evaluation.”

“Preparing her how?”

“Sit down with her every evening. Make Clover read to you. Make her sound out difficult words. As a parent you’ll be tempted to blurt out the words, but don’t do that. She has to figure them out herself.”

“I’m no teacher,” he said as he walked his hands around and around the brim of his hat. “Shouldn’t you be the one working with her?”

“If reading’s too difficult for Clover, she’s probably too embarrassed to raise her hand in class and ask me for help. I’ll give you three basic storybooks to take home. When she’s mastered these, here are the names of three more books I consider easy second-grade level. A library ought to have them.” Kate tore out a sheet of notebook paper and jotted three titles, then stuck the page in one of the storybooks and offered them to her visitor.

Ben reluctantly took the books. “I’m already spread too thin,” he said.

“Reading is vital. Surely we can agree on that.”

If he responded before he spun away and strode to the door, Kate missed his words.

A strange man, she thought. But, damn fine to look at.

Upset at the flutter of interest that tripped through her, she stuffed the papers in a drawer. That same lazy way of moving Ben had was what had first attracted her to Colton. Never again. No cowboy or buckaroo—or whatever the term in the area—was going to turn her head.

Kate noted that the basketball had quit thumping the wall behind her. Through the side window she heard Trueblood’s deep baritone mingled with the children’s higher pitched voices.

It wasn’t until she started her wheelchair motor, backed up and angled toward the window that it dawned on her—a streak of vanity had kept her from escorting Clover’s father to the door.

You didn’t want him to see you stuck in a wheelchair.

Kate grimaced. She would have hated seeing pity in his eyes.

As Danny’s voice reached her through the open window, Kate realized he hadn’t sounded this excited since they left Texas.

Handwheeling her chair to where she could see and not be seen, she discovered two things—the source of Danny’s pleasure and the reason she hadn’t heard the crunch of Trueblood’s tires on the pumice drive. A black gelding and a small palomino mare grazed under a stand of trees. Clover and her dad had ridden horses to this meeting.

Kate wished she could hear what Trueblood was telling Danny to keep him so totally enthralled. The trio had moved again, out of Kate’s range.

She didn’t have long to wait for an answer, however. The father and daughter swung into their saddles and cantered off. Danny tossed his basketball in the air, caught it, then loped toward the school, a jaunty swing to his step.

“Mom, Mom!” Danny burst through the door and whirled one direction then the other, searching for Kate, who hadn’t wanted him to catch her at the window.

“I’m at the cupboard taking inventory of construction paper. It won’t be long before the holidays and I need to be thinking of an art project that will interest all of you kiddos. Toss that basketball in the bin with the others and we can leave. Oh, will you grab my tote? I didn’t finish grading papers before Mr. Trueblood arrived.”

“Mom! I’m trying to tell you something. Ben…uh, Clover’s dad said I can call him that…he braided the coolest rope out of horsehair. He curries the manes and tails of his horses and sorts out strands by color. His rope looks like an old diamondback rattler. Clover’s learning to braid, but she can’t do patterns yet.” Danny hardly took a breath between sentences.

Kate watched him dash about the room, doing what she asked. Usually she had to remind him several times. Not tonight.

“Guess what else? They do have a kind of rodeo here. They call it a Rope and Ride. Ben said all of their events are judged by Old West rules. I’m not sure what that means exactly. It’s next spring. Will you take me?”

“Oh, Danny, I have no idea where they’d hold such an event.”

He followed her out, his feet barely touching the ground as he waited impatiently for her to lock the door and motor down the ramp. “I can get directions. ’Cause that’s the other thing. Will you take me to their ranch tomorrow? Or, I could ride Flame over. They’re gonna brand calves. They’re late because of a drought. Clover said we can ride washes looking for calves that got separated when they moved the herd to a winter land lease. What’s a land lease, Mom?”

Kate stopped levering herself into the driver’s seat. “A land lease is pasture a person can rent from the government. Although, I don’t know what that has to do with this conversation. Danny Royce Steele, why on earth wouldn’t you have come in and asked my permission before you made such elaborate plans?”

His chin jutted stubbornly as he connected the lift clamps to her wheelchair. “I knew if I came in and asked before they took off, you wouldn’t think about it. You’d just say no. Please, Mom? All I’ve done since we got here is help set up the house. I did everything you asked. This will be so cool. Besides, yesterday when I talked to Mimi, she said Flame will get fat and lazy if I don’t work him.”

Kate couldn’t ignore the change in Danny’s spirits. It was like daylight from dark. Until now it hadn’t really sunk in how downcast he’d truly become since the move. After talking to Ben, he looked like his old, happy self.

But letting him spend the day with cowboys made Kate’s head ache. She tried again to discourage him. “Danny, I have Clover’s address, but finding their ranch without a map could prove impossible on these back roads. I think you should wait.”

“I know where they live. You remember the road we turned off of to find the cabin—the fork with the first red bandanna? If we’d kept on that road we’d have gone straight to the Rising Sun. That’s Ben’s ranch. His brand is neat-o. Clover showed me how to draw it the other day. She said Bobbalou named the ranch and drew the brand. I think it used to be his land, or something.”

“Who on earth is Bobba…whatzit?” his mother asked.

“Their trail cook. His real name is Lou Bobolink, but everybody calls him Bobbalou. He’s Paiute Indian. Uh, maybe Ben is, too.” Danny hesitated, pondering that. “Did you see how he ties back his hair? Gosh, do you think Clover’s an Indian? She said Bobbalou is sorta her pawpaw.”

“The politically correct term is Native American, Danny. I’d say it’s very likely Clover and Adam Lightfoot are native. The Paiute are probably one of the local tribes.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it, Mom?” Danny turned toward her with a slight frown as Kate parked at their cabin. “If they’re Ind…uh, what you said.”

“No, honey, that doesn’t matter.” What did matter was how Ben Trueblood had invited her son to take part in branding without consulting her. That was so typical of something Colton would have done—never mind the impact it might have on others.

“So then it’s okay if I go spend the day with Clover? You’ll trailer Flame, huh? We hafta get up early. Clover said they start branding at five-thirty.”

“A.m.?” Kate gasped, but it was drowned outby the grinding of the lift as it lowered her wheelchair.

“Yes, in the morning.” Danny laughed. “That’s daybreak here, Mom. Pawpaw and me were out feeding his stock at daylight in Texas.”

Kate squelched a sigh and handed her book bag to Danny to carry inside. She wasn’t a layabout type, but this weekend she’d planned to grab an extra hour’s sleep, followed by a leisurely breakfast to celebrate the successful completion of her first week on the job. “I have to give this more thought, Danny. Don’t bring up the subject again until after I fix supper and we eat. I’ll make a final decision after you shower, before you go to bed. Have you thought about Goldie? She’ll miss you.”

“She’s a cow dog. I’ll take her along.”

“Not if you didn’t clear it with Clover’s father. All ranches operate differently, honey. If the Truebloods’ cattle aren’t used to being worked by dogs, it could even be dangerous. What if Goldie startled a rogue steer, or a not-so-nice mama cow?”

Danny dashed ahead to let out the dog from the screened back porch. The two then raced back around to the front of the house, where Kate was unlocking the door. Danny had two possibilities worked out. “If you’ve got Clover’s phone number, I’ll call and ask about bringing Goldie. Or, we can take her, and if Ben says she can’t stay, you’ll have company while I’m gone.”

“If I decide in favor of your scheme, you’ll be stuck with the second of your suggestions. The number I have for Clover’s dad is for messages only. Also, you’re forgetting I said no badgering, Danny, or it’s an automatic no.”

“Bro-ther!” He snapped his fingers at Goldie and the two headed for the corral. “I’m gonna exercise Flame, then feed him before supper.”

Tension edged up the back of Kate’s neck. If he’d asked to go anywhere else, she was sure she’d have said yes without qualm. But cows and roping? This was why she’d left Texas.

She went straight to the kitchen, turned on the oven, then pulled a premade dinner out of the fridge. Kate wished she did have a home phone number for Trueblood. She wouldn’t be shy about giving him a piece of her mind. He had no right to meddle in her life—to expect a kid Danny’s age to accept or decline an invitation. But maybe that’s how people operated here. Clover seemed awfully independent for her age. Come to think of it, was Ben even her legal guardian? It sounded as if he’d claimed her like a pound puppy. He’d sure flared up at the mention of a failed marriage. As if someone like him never failed at anything. Still, he had to be commended—single parenting wasn’t a picnic.

Kate found herself wondering why Trueblood wasn’t married. But, that was counterproductive. Besides, it had nothing to do with her.

Throughout dinner of meat loaf, mashed potatoes and sliced tomatoes, Danny spoke little, but watched his mother warily.

“I’m not going to bite you if you talk,” Kate finally said before serving the custard dessert. “I’m so relieved to have made it through the first week of school. But, Danny, you hear the kids’ perspective. How would they rate my first week? Be honest. I know kids talk about teachers on the playground.”

“Aw, Mom. It’s not fair to ask me to be your snitch just ’cause we’re related.”

The spoon Kate was using to dip custard wavered and a blob fell on the table. She made two nervous attempts to clear the mess, but it slid off and hit the floor. Goldie trotted over, licked the spot clean and wagged her tail as if asking for more. Kate sent the dog back to her corner.

“I thought things went well,” she said, pressing Danny. “Can you give me complaints without naming names? Otherwise, how will I fix the problem?”

Danny took the bowl and scooped out his own custard. “In a word, Mom, basketball.”

“What about basketball? I’ve devoted every break and most lunch hours to helping Terry, Ron, Mike and Adam sharpen their game.”

“That’s the trouble. Ain’t none of those guys lookin’ to be the next Kobe Bryant.”

“Ain’t is not a word recognized in this house, young man.” Kate sat back in her chair. “I’m being pushy, you mean?”

“Don’t get mad, but…yeah.”

“I thought they wanted to make the high-school varsity team.”

Danny turned red to the tips of his ears. “If you let on I said this, I’m gonna be so busted. They just wanna look cool. For the girls, see?”

“Girls?” Kate felt like a parrot, but she must’ve missed something.

“Shelly, Meg, Mary and a couple of their friends hang around acting dorky when the guys make baskets. It’s…like, so gross.” He made a face as he finished his custard and shoved back from the table. “I’m going to go shower. I know I’m not s’posed to ask, but…you are still thinking about taking me to the Rising Sun Ranch?”

The pleading in his eyes, mixed with an emotion that said he wasn’t holding out much hope, made the decision for Kate. She gently pushed back the lock of blond hair that drooped over his right eye. “It’ll be lonely here all day without you, sport. But, I need to prove I can get along on my own. I guess tomorrow will be a good test.”

“Really? Yippee!” He hugged the stuffing outof her, then danced around until his shouting and Goldie’s barking had Kate calling a halt.

KATE SET HER ALARM for four o’clock. Even so, Danny was up before her. She heard him outside hooking Flame’s trailer to the pickup. As she stifled a yawn, an image of Ben Trueblood’s handsome face came to mind. She didn’t want to feel this squiggly anticipation in her stomach at the prospect of seeing him today, but it was there.

Because she cared about the impression she made in the community, she took pains to use a curling iron on her broomstick-straight hair. She added a touch of color to her lips so she wouldn’t looked washed out in the red blouse she teamed with jeans. Not that she planned to get out of the pickup.

“Mom!” Danny slammed the front door and thundered down the hall. “Aren’t you up yet? I need something for breakfast.”

“And a lunch,” Kate said, meeting him and Goldie in the hall. She hoped Danny wouldn’t notice or comment on her makeup. As a rule she didn’t wear any.

“Clover said Bobbalou cooks biscuits, corn and meat or beans at lunch. All the buckaroos eat in shifts around a fire pit. It sounds like they do that all the time, not just at roundup like at Pawpaw’s.”

“I doubt they eat outside all the time, Danny. Mrs. Goetz said winters can be severe on this high plateau. Which reminds me, we need to find the box with our jackets and gloves.”

“Uh-huh, they live with the herd all the time,” Danny insisted.

Kate didn’t argue further. Frankly, it was too early. “How does toast, juice and instant oatmeal grab you?”

“Fine, can we just hurry? I already loaded Flame.”

They ate quickly and on the drive over Danny talked nonstop about all of the things Clover had told him about the Rising Sun Ranch.

As Danny had said, the road ended at an iron arch with a replica of their brand. A half-sun with twisted wrought-iron rays. The house was tucked deep in a grove of pines, a long, low structure made of logs. As houses went, it was fairly plain. Kate imagined how it would look with baskets of hanging geraniums above the split-rail porch, or beds of blooms along the winding walkway.

She followed the road to where it dipped over a knoll, and took in the seeming chaos beyond the house. Three stock trucks were being loaded with bawling steers. Men on horseback swung ropes to cut certain calves out for branding at a smoking, portable forge.

Danny bounced excitedly on the seat. “Drive down there, Mom. I wanna watch those guys rope calves. Wow, they never miss.” He hauled his rope from under the seat. Goldie positioned her front paws on Danny’s knees and yapped, clearly as eager as Danny to join in the fray.

“Honey, it looks like a madhouse. Leave Goldie with me while you go find Clover and her dad to ask if it’s okay for Goldie to stay.”

“There’s Clover.” Danny spotted the girl riding the same palomino as yesterday, only without a saddle. He climbed out of the pickup and ran to meet Clover. The little mare was fast and the girl was glued to her back. The scene put Kate in mind of the erratic years she’d spent following Colton from rodeo to rodeo. Her stomach knotted. The memories were not happy ones.

AT THE FLAMING FORGE, one of Ben’s crew called his attention to a pickup and horse trailer idling on the slope above them. “Who’s the pretty woman, boss?”

Ben turned in his saddle to see who Justin Padilla meant. “What the hell? That’s Clover’s teacher.”

Padilla whistled through his teeth and cocked his flat-crowned hat to block the sun coming up behind the woman’s rig. “I might’ve stayed in school past tenth grade if my teacher had looked like that,” said the lanky buckaroo. “Bobbalou mentioned you had a conference yesterday. You must’ve made quite an impression.”

Scowling, Ben nudged his gelding with the blunt flower rowel of his left spur. They were a signature buckaroo piece, but a spur that didn’t hurt a horse.

He could have done without Justin, Zach Robles, his stock manager, and Enrique Quijada falling in to accompany him. Women were so scarce out on the range that a buckaroo crew could all spot a pretty one a mile away. Ben’s entire crew was single and loved the freewheeling life, even though they knew it was disappearing. To a man, they spoke of finding wives one day and settling down. Even Ben, at times, grew weary of the constant battle to save the land.

Just now he considered ordering his men back to their jobs, but that would’ve caused more ribbing and speculation.

Kate had her window rolled down, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun on her face as she surveyed the rugged beauty of the landscape. The clatter of approaching hoof beats pulled her attention away from lavender hills. The sight of four big men on horses bearing down on her had Kate grabbing Goldie’s collar with one hand and drawing her arm inside the pickup.

The retriever lunged across her lap, but Kate maintained a firm grip.

Controlling his uphill gallop, Ben stopped short of the vehicle. He tipped his hat, but didn’t remove it as his men did. “Are you lost, Ms. Steele?” He leaned a brown forearm across a sheepskin-wrapped saddle horn. Belatedly, he introduced his crew.

Kate ducked around the still-growling dog. “I brought Danny over to help. Well, it’s debatable how much help he’ll be.” She couldn’t suppress a smile, then noticed there was no sign of recognition on Ben’s face. “Uh…wait…you did invite him to chase strays today, didn’t you?”

Another set of hooves clattered up the trail, now blocked by three foolishly grinning males. The way they didn’t take their eyes off her made Kate nervous. Clover nudged her mare through the crowd. Danny, riding behind her, slid off over the palomino’s rump when the girl stopped.

“Mom? What’s up?” he asked, his face a mask.

“Suppose you tell me, Danny. Did you not lead me to believe that Clover’s father expected you here at sunup?”

His face fell and he hung his head.

The men guessed at the situation and clustered around the boy. “Ma’am, that would probably be Miss Clover’s doing,” said the burliest of the riders. He was also the one closest to Clover, and playfully slapped her backside with his hat.

“Ben, you said Danny could come ride with me one of these days,” Clover protested. “What’s wrong with today? He doesn’t need a cavvy horse, ’cause he has his own. His daddy used to win rodeo buckles.”

“How many?” asked the youngest buckaroo. “Hard to win more events than the boss has.”

Kate’s heart dived. Colton’s mom shone his trophies and buckles weekly. Danny viewed them as the measure of a real man. And now, here was another… Mentally she withdrew and let the conversation flow around her. She heard Danny declare his dad was Colton Steele, and the men acted suitably impressed. Except for Ben.

“Clover, I don’t hold with stretching the truth to suit your fancy,” he said. “I ought to send you home and send your friend packing.”

Kate couldn’t have agreed more, except that Danny was fighting to hold back tears. And, darn it, her son shouldn’t have his day ruined through no fault of his own. Her mother’s instincts burned hotly. “Is that open for negotiation?” she said, shading her eyes.

The question gained her a closer inspection from Ben’s hooded dark eyes. The look sent hot prickles up Kate’s back.

“Justin, Zach, Enrique, quit ogling Clover’s teacher and go load that second stock truck,” Ben snapped.

“Look who’s ogling,” Zach Robles grumbled. But they tipped their hats to Kate and prepared to go. Only Justin rode right up to her window. “If you ever need anything done that takes more muscle than you or the boy have, sing out. Here’s our radio-phone number. Bobbalou keeps it in the chuck wagon, but we’re never far away. Won’t take but a few hours to mosey out your way, ma’am.”

Not to be outdone, Zach and Enrique underscored Justin’s offer.

As the last of his men finally rode off, Ben all but had steam coming out his ears. “What kind of negotiations? I wouldn’t have expected a teacher to condone Clover’s behavior.”

“It’s your call, of course, but Danny and I did get up with the chickens to come here, false pretext or not. Maybe I’d be less testy if I hadn’t missed my morning coffee.”

“What the hell,” Ben muttered. “Unload his horse. The kids can go search washes for strays. Leave your rig here. I’ll show you where to find Bobbalou’s chuck wagon. He keeps a coffeepot hot all day.”

Clover slid off the palomino and gazed up at her dad. “You’d better bring Ms. Kate’s coffee up here, Ben.”

“Do I look like a waiter?”

Clover stabbed a finger toward the Chevy’s roof where Kate’s wheelchair was usually connected to the hydraulic lift.

Ben nudged his hat back, but still had no idea what he was looking at.

Kate mentally cringed. She knew it was inevitable he learn of her disability, but she’d purposely left her wheelchair back in her driveway to await her return. Caught now by such vanity, she waited for the pity that was sure to follow.

“Is that some kind of newfangled winch?” Ben wrapped his gelding’s reins tighter around his wrist as he studied the apparatus.

Clover punched his chap-covered leg. “It lifts Teacher’s wheelchair on and off the pickup. Oh, but your chair is gone, Ms. Kate. Did it fall off on the way here?”

All the pity Kate had wanted to avoid rained down on her from Ben’s horrified expression. Instantly, she was back to feeling less than competent and her reaction was more curt than the situation warranted. “I don’t need backhanded hospitality, or your coffee or pity, Mr. Trueblood. I’ll be on my way as soon as Danny unloads Flame.”

Picking up on her tone, Goldie planted her feet in Kate’s lap and growled and barked at the man reining in his shifting horse. With some effort, Kate boosted Goldie into the backseat, before adding through gritted teeth, “All I need is a promise that a responsible adult will see to it my son and his horse get home safely.”

“We can work that out.” Ben sounded as brusque as Kate had. “I offered coffee with Bobbalou to be polite. I can’t waste time socializing if that’s what you thought. I have calves to brand and steers to get to market. I meant no pity, but I’m sorry I didn’t know what that contraption was.” Back stiff, Ben walked his horse a few yards down the trail then set off at a gallop and never looked back.

Danny backed Flame down the ramp. He handed the reins to Clover and they shared a mystified glance before he secured the tailgate.

Kate felt guilty for sounding shrewish, but she’d been stung. Call it pity or sympathy, what she’d seen in the man’s eyes magnified her physical limitations. And she’d be damned if she’d let him put himselfout for her. “Danny, I’ve changed my mind. Be at the arch at five o’clock sharp. I’ll return for you and Flame. Clover, tell your dad he won’t lose any work hours on our account.”

“Aren’t you gonna leave Goldie?” her son hollered to be heard over the grind of the truck’s shifting gears.

She was, oh, so tempted. Goldie did not like the owner of this ranch. And she should thank Trueblood for reminding her the feeling was mutual and extended to Kate. He wasn’t interested in being neighborly, and it was fine and dandy with her. Maybe after today Danny would recognize that Clover’s dad and other buckaroo types weren’t men worth emulating. “I’m taking Goldie.”

“She can stay next time,” Clover consoled Danny.

Kate nodded. But under her breath, covered by the noise of a revving engine, she said, “There won’t be a next time if I have anything to say about it.”

Still ticked, she drove the big pickup and trailer under the arch. With any luck, she would get through the school year without another face-to-face encounter with Ben Trueblood.

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