He’s willing to risk it all...is she?

Stella Jane Scout has never met a cowboy as handsome as Joiner Temple. Or as aggravating. His Thoroughbred Argentinian stallion and professional polo player pedigree don’t impress her one bit. At heart, he’s still a footloose cowboy from Kilgore, and a reckless one at that. But her father hired him as a ranch hand for her riding school, so she’ll have to rein in Joiner’s wild streak and teach him to put safety first. At the same time, Joiner seems determined to bring out Stella’s long-buried free spirit. If she can give him a place to call home, maybe he can teach her how to live.

“Thank you for sharing your stars with me, Stella.”

“My stars?”

“Yours.” His voice was low and tender. “Your stars, your special place, your memories.”

Stella felt as if her heart had morphed into a supernova.

Their lips met and Stella felt a shock wave flow through her body with the energy of two suns. When they pulled away, she could barely make out his profile in the dim light, but it was there—the strong jaw, Roman nose and high forehead framed by curls as black as the sky. She traced it with her fingers like a blind woman, memorizing every feature.

She didn’t understand it herself, but there was an urgency in what she felt when she was with Joiner. Like she had to act on every impulse, grab each moment before it got away.

The feeling both scared and thrilled her.

Dear Reader,

The Deep in the Heart series was the brainchild of my friend and writer extraordinaire Mae Nunn. I was blessed to have the opportunity to collaborate with her on the third and fourth books in the series and to give life to the two oldest Temple brothers, Joiner and Mac.

Lone Star Refuge is Joiner’s story. Sprinkled throughout it you will find many references to stars, beginning with the heroine, who is named after my youngest daughter, Stella. I had fun with this imagery, building on Texas as the Lone Star State, but as I dug deeper into the story a couple of themes very close to my heart emerged—faith and family—and I realized that just as these are the two things that guide my life, they would also become the stars by which my characters would learn to navigate theirs.

Stella and Joiner both suffered losses in their formative years that make it challenging to trust, to commit to love with all of its joys and complications. Theirs, I hope, is a story of real people growing together to find a place of safety with each other, even as they work to create a refuge for others.

Thanks for joining me on this journey! I’d love to hear from you by email at gfaulkenberry@hotmail.com, or on Facebook, Gwendolann Adell Ford Faulkenberry.

Blessings,

Gwen

Lone Star Refuge

Mae & Gwen Nunn & Ford Faulkenberry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAE NUNN grew up in Houston and graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in communications. When she fell for a transplanted Englishman living in Atlanta, she moved to Georgia and made an effort to behave like a Southern belle. But when she found that her husband was quite agreeable to life as a born-again Texan, Mae happily returned to her cowgirl roots and cowboy boots! In 2008 Mae retired from thirty years of corporate life to focus on her career as a full-time author.

GWEN FORD FAULKENBERRY lives and writes in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas. She and her husband, Stone, have four children: Grace, Harper, Adelaide and Stella. Gwen is the author of three Christian romances, a book of prayers for couples and three devotional books. A professor of English at her local college, she holds a master’s degree in liberal arts.

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For Cheryl Ann Jech Smith

the real Cha Cha

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

STELLA JANE SCOUT slowly descended the stairs. She was going over the numbers again in her head, figuring on potential donors, and almost ran into her father who appeared at the bottom just as she reached it.

“Whoa there, Pretty! Raring to go to work?” He steadied himself against the door frame that led from the foot of the stairs into the dining room, which was rarely used. “I was just about to call you.”

“Mornin’, Pops.” She kissed his cheek. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Bacon and eggs. You need your protein this morning. You know, bacon and eggs stick with you.”

Stella suppressed a chuckle as she followed him into the kitchen. He was always cooking up things he thought would “stick with” her, with no regard whatsoever to their fat and cholesterol content.

She sat down at the breakfast table where they ate most meals, and laid her napkin across her lap. Buster poured coffee into the cup he’d already doctored with sugar and milk. As she sipped its rich smoothness, he set a plate in front of her with two fried eggs, three strips of bacon and a piece of whole wheat toast. Then, turning to the sound of a scratching noise on the porch, he went to the back door and let in two whirling dervishes of black-and-white.

“Mugsy! Mitzi!” Stella reached down to pet the Boston terriers that stood with their paws on her thigh. Their wiggling and wagging resulted in her napkin falling to the floor. Buster picked it up for her.

“Here you go, guys.” They followed Buster to a mat that held a stainless steel bowl full of water beside the refrigerator. Buster set down two bowls with equal portions of bacon and eggs in each one and the dogs started chowing down. Next, he made his own plate and sat down at the table across from Stella, slathering his toast in butter.

“What’s on your agenda today?”

“I’m going to meet with that feller who keeps pestering me about buying the north forty.” Buster focused his eyes intently on his toast.

“What? I thought you discontinued that ad.”

“I did, too, but apparently it still comes up on that stinkin’ internet. “Least that’s where he said he got our information.”

“Well, why didn’t you just tell him it’s not for sale?” The heat rose in her neck.

“I want to hear what he has to say. He’s a polo player, so he’s bound to have money, and if he wants that forty acres bad enough, well, it might help out with your new venture.”

Stella snorted. “A polo player? From Texas?” She rolled her eyes. “Pops, I don’t need help. Not that way, anyway. I know we’re strapped and I know it’s my fault—”

“Now, you just wait right there a minute. Our financial troubles are not your fault.” He reached across the table for her hand. “Don’t you ever say it’s your fault, Pretty.”

“Well, I am the one who persuaded you to quit the rodeo after Mom died, but I won’t apologize for it. You’re the only parent I’ve got left. We can blame it on the economy or whatever, but what it comes down to is that my riding school has drained you financially.”

Buster couldn’t argue with that.

“But I’m about to make that up to you. Just a little more time, a few more donors, and we’ll be up and running.” Stella placed her hand over his. The gnarled knuckles were rough beneath her palm. “You know I’m not in this to get rich, by any means. But I do hope we’ll be solvent again. The last thing I want is for you to have to sell part of this place. It’s our last connection to Moma.”

Stella saw a muscle twitch in her father’s jaw, even though it was covered with a shaggy salt-and-pepper beard. His bushy eyebrows furrowed into a near-scowl.

“Well, I’ll keep that under consideration, but I’m not canceling the meeting. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Buster rose, taking his plate to the sink. He tucked his shirt into his jeans as he wobbled bowlegged across the kitchen and back through the dining room. He paused in the foyer to grab his workaday Panama hat off the rack. Then he turned around and winked at her.

“Stubborn ox!” Stella called, clearing the rest of the table.

* * *

JOINER TEMPLE ROLLED OVER in the four-poster king-size bed and grabbed his phone off the rusted oil barrel Gillian, his brother Hunt’s wife, had rescued from a junkyard and reimagined as a nightstand for one of the rooms in her five-star resort, Temple Territory. Hunt and Gillian had offered him the “Mason-Dixon” suite, named after his notorious grandfather. They insisted on treating him to the lap of luxury in the thirty-eight-room mansion that was the heart of the resort until he found a place of his own to rent in Kilgore.

That task had been harder than he hoped it would be, but he had a meeting today with an old rodeo guy named Buster Scout. If Joiner could get Buster to agree to sell part of his 450-acre ranch for an affordable price, it might be the best option yet for Joiner to start over.

The clock on his phone read 7:00 a.m. He’d better get a move on or he was going to be late.

Joiner jumped out of bed and showered quickly in the shale-tiled shower Gillian had designed. He pulled on jeans, a clean white T-shirt and ran a brush through his dark, wavy hair. Forgoing a shave, which would take too long, he hoped a little stubble wouldn’t make a bad impression with Buster. Then he stepped into his favorite Justin boots, picked up his Stetson and, locking the door behind him, hurried down the hall and out the door.

His brother Hunt was coming up the steps of the mansion as Joiner was going down.

“Morning, bro!” Hunt flashed him the smile that had made him famous as the Cowboy Chef. “Did you have breakfast?”

“No time. I’ve got to go see about that forty acres. Supposed to be there at eight o’clock.”

“I can have someone feed Pistol for you.”

“I’ve got it.” Joiner reached out his fist and Hunt bumped it with his. “See you later.”

Joiner crossed the lawn, passing the guesthouse where Hunt and Gillian were staying while their new lodge, which would be their personal home, was under construction by the lake at the rear of the property. He headed to the lavishly remodeled barn where Pistol was boarded. Pistol looked up immediately when Joiner entered, as if he’d been waiting for him.

Man, he loved this horse. A carbon-black Argentine Thoroughbred, Pistol was the one dream Joiner had not left behind with the rest of his polo career. He filled a bucket with oats and brushed the horse till his coat shone in the soft morning light that filtered through the barn windows.

“I’ve got to go, but when I get back we’ll go for a ride.”

Pistol nuzzled him and Joiner rubbed the white star that blazed across the horse’s forehead. “Hopefully I’ll have us both a place where we can finally settle down.” Although, admittedly, Joiner didn’t know if he’d ever be happy settling down...

* * *

THE SILVER TRUCK kicked up so much dust that Buster could see it coming more than a mile down the driveway. He finished milking Violet and Minnie, the two goats, and took the pails inside for Stella to strain. He was already gathering the eggs when the truck came to a stop under Stella’s old basketball hoop. The truck wasn’t that new and wasn’t that shiny. A man got out and Buster sized him up as he strode toward the front door of the house. He was a good size, broad-shouldered, and what Buster’s mother would have described as too pretty to be a boy.

“Hey there!”

Joiner started at the sound of Buster’s voice from the chicken coop across the yard. He turned around.

“Mr. Scout?”

Buster ceremoniously wiped chicken poop off his hand and extended it toward Joiner. The young man hesitated only an instant before reaching out to take it. There was something like a dare in his violet eyes.

“Ha-ha! Gotcha!” Buster laughed, withdrawing his hand, and the young man laughed, too.

“You got me.”

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Temple.”

It was immediately obvious to Buster that this Temple boy was very different from Stella. And it might be nice for both of them to have him around...

* * *

“CALL ME JOINER. PLEASE.” He followed Buster around behind the house, where the older man set the pail of eggs down on the porch, and then pumped water from an old-fashioned spicket in order to wash his hands.

“Let’s sit up here on the porch. Do you like coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.” Joiner took a seat in one of the wooden rockers while Buster walked past him and into the house. He noticed that in the distance there was a ratty-looking RV parked under some trees.

Buster came back with two coffee mugs and two Boston terriers, who ran to surround his rocker. Joiner reached down to return their affection.

“I hope you like it black.”

Joiner nodded, although he preferred a little cream.

“Good. I never can stand a man who doctors his coffee. My daughter takes sugar and cream—all of that girly stuff. But a man should drink black coffee.” Buster plopped down in the other rocker. “It puts hair on your chest.”

Joiner had all of the hair he needed but he took a sip anyhow. The coffee tasted like tar. “Thanks,” he sputtered.

“This is Mugsy.” Buster pointed to the bigger of the two dogs. Mugsy was twenty-five pounds of solid muscle and all black except for his three-quarter-moon white face. Brown eyes sparkled over a smashed-in nose. The mutt grinned and displayed an under bite and crooked teeth. Joiner could almost imagine him smoking a cigar.

“And this little girl right here is Mitzi.” Buster’s voice crooned as if he was talking to a baby. She turned over by his feet and he reached down to rub her tummy, which was none too small, even though she was more petite than Mugsy. Mitzi had more of a terrier’s nose, and lots more white fur to go with the black. It was speckled with what looked like black freckles. Joiner immediately took to them both.

“So you’re interested in my north forty acres. What do you want it for?”

“Well, sir, I’m searching for a place to build a little horse-breeding operation. Nothing large-scale, but enough to get me by.”

“Aren’t you some kind of polo player?”

“I was. Started in college, and then I was drafted by a European team. I had some fun over there, but the truth is, I just can’t afford to make polo a career.” Joiner ran a hand through his hair. “I poured most of my inheritance into it before I figured that out. When people call polo ‘the sport of kings’ that’s because only kings have enough money to play it seriously.”

Buster squinted at Joiner, who hoped he was making some sense to the older man.

“How’d a Texas cowboy end up playing that sissy kind of sport, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Joiner did mind. But he was used to it. Being a polo player was about as unconventional as a Texas cowboy could get. Still, the older man’s prejudices were starting to get on his nerves.

“It’s very competitive, and it requires a lot of skill of both the rider and the horse.” He was blunt.

“Well, don’t get your panties in a wad. I didn’t mean nothing. I’m just trying to understand it, that’s all.” Buster stroked his beard. “I used to rodeo. Sunk every dime I had into it, and spent all my time on the road. I loved it, but I have to admit I missed a lot of my daughter’s growing-up years and I regret that. It may be a good thing you’ve got the road out of your system before you settle down and have a family.”

Joiner blushed. “I have no plans for that, Mr. Scout.”

“Never knew many cowboys who did.”

The back door creaked open and a stunning young woman in jeans, a gingham shirt and red cowboy boots stomped through it. Some kind of silver necklace glinted on her neck when she bent to pick up the pail of eggs Buster had set on the steps. She started toward the door again, but Buster stopped her.

“Hey, Pretty, come here. I want you to meet Mr. Joiner Temple.”

The girl’s brown eyes looked Joiner up and down. The back of his neck prickled. Still, to be polite, he stood and offered her his hand. When she took it, her handshake was surprisingly firm.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, sounding as if it really wasn’t.

“You, too, Miss Scout.”

“It’s Stella.”

“Her name means star,” Buster explained. His chest puffed out and he gave her a little pat on the back.

Stella the Pretty Star tossed her short gold hair, turned on the heel of her boot and headed into the house, letting the screen door slam behind her.

CHAPTER TWO

“IGNORE HER,” BUSTER SAID, rubbing his hands together. “You want to go for a little ride out on the range?”

“Sure, sounds great.”

“You take these coffee cups in, if you don’t mind, and I’ll go get the pumpkin.”

Joiner wondered why in the world Buster would be getting a pumpkin and how it related to their ride on the property, but he did as he was told. He was disappointed that there was no sign of Stella in the house when he set the coffee cups in the kitchen sink.

Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t run into her again. She seemed to harbor some underlying hostility toward him, although he couldn’t imagine why. It was as if he reminded her of the high school boyfriend who left her to dance with another girl at the prom.

He was sitting on the porch steps when Buster roared up on an orange Kubota ATV with Mugsy and Mitzi sitting beside him.

“Pumpkin orange,” Joiner mused aloud as he took his seat beside Mugsy on the passenger’s side. It was the same color as his Texas Longhorns.

“Stella named it.”

Buster lurched forward and soon they were bumping at full throttle across a cattle guard and out into open pasture. There were groves of loblolly pines, pencil cedars and live oaks interspersed with vast acres of grass for grazing cattle. Joiner counted five ponds as they passed, one as big as a small lake—about twenty acres—and it was on the north-forty. It would work perfectly for Joiner’s plans, and he told Buster so. The older man just nodded.

After several minutes, Buster pulled up to the edge of the spring-fed creek and cut the motor of the Kubota. The dogs jumped out to get a drink. Buster leaned back, crossing his boots on the dashboard in front of him, just to the right of the steering wheel. He gazed out across the creek. He closed his eyes and slowly breathed in and out a few times. Joiner wondered if he was praying. Then Buster turned to look at Joiner.

“Son, I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time. I can’t sell this place. Not any part of it.”

After Buster’s tour and description of this part of the property, Joiner had begun to doubt he’d be able to afford it, but he’d wanted to make an offer anyway. It was perfect for him and Pistol, whatever they decided to do. He could train and board horses, breed Pistol, teach riding; the possibilities were endless. And that was something Joiner liked—keeping his options open.

“Why not? Why did you place the ad, then?”

Buster adjusted his cowboy hat. “I can answer both of your questions with one word—Love.”

“Something tells me there’s more to it than that.” Joiner leaned closer, prompting the older man to continue.

“Son, if you think love ain’t enough, you got a lot to learn.”

Joiner could only imagine his brothers’ responses when he recounted this story. It seemed straight out of a dime-store novel about some dying breed of cowboy-philosophers. The hooting and hollering among the Temple brothers would be abundant.

Still, in the short time he’d spent with Buster, Joiner had become somewhat impressed with the older man. No one could be more outwardly different from Joiner’s own father, who’d been a doctor, even though his dad and Buster would be about the same age if Dr. Temple had still been alive. But there was a quality there that felt familiar, a certain wisdom. Joiner wondered if there were ghosts that haunted Buster, as his grandfather’s tarnished reputation had haunted his father for years.

“Love?”

“I lost my wife—Stella’s mama—when she was thirty-six years old. She was a rodeo queen who became a hands-on mother after we had Stella. Then one day she got on a horse like she did every other day, only this time she fell off and died. It was a freak accident. She was gone from us, just like that.”

Joiner shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Lily was also a naturalist, loved everything homegrown. She adored this place. It belonged to her family. She rode horses all over it, had her a garden. It was her sanctuary. I was gone all the time, but I like to think because of this land she wasn’t lonely.” Buster sighed. The water rolling over the rocks in front of them seemed to sigh with him.

“She taught Stella at home. Not for religious reasons, like a lot of people around here. With her it was more for personal freedom and what she called ‘independence of thought’.” Buster smiled as he made quotation marks in the air, and then continued, “They were always into these experiments and things Stella never would have done in public school. Lily, that’s my wife, she would take her to the creek here and they’d collect jars of water and come home and identify all of the little creatures under a microscope. They’d go on walks and look up wildflowers in a book to learn their names. They hung artwork all over the house, even painted constellations on the ceiling of Stella’s room. They milked goats and made their own cheese.”

“Wow. That’s neat. And I can vouch for the fact we did not do that kind of stuff at Kilgore High School.”

“Well, I’m not knocking the school. Stella ended up graduating from there and the teachers were good to her. She was only sixteen when her mother passed.”

Joiner felt a pang, remembering how painful it had been to lose his own parents at a young age. “Is that when you retired from the rodeo?”

“Yes. I was fifty, and twenty years past a bronc rider’s prime. It was time for me to hang it up, and Stella needed the stability of a home. I couldn’t take her riding around Texas with me in that RV.”

Joiner swallowed hard. The story was a lot to take in. Finally, he said, “But what about my second question? What did love have to do with putting the land up for sale?”

“Stella. She has this dream and I wanted to make it come true. But I’m not exactly high on funds.”

“What does she want to do?”

“She wants to open a place here where kids with problems can come be with horses. ‘Equestrian therapy’ she calls it.” Buster made quote marks in the air again. “I don’t know about the fancy name, but I am a firm believer that spending time with horses is good for you. I’ve had a couple horses I like better than most people.”

“I can relate to that.” Joiner laughed. “Right now Pistol is pretty much my guiding star. Well, he and my brothers. Since my polo funds dried up, I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to do with the rest of my life. I can’t say I’ll settle down in Kilgore for good, but I’d prefer to be near my brothers while I’m figuring out my next step. And one thing’s for sure—whatever I do next will involve Pistol. We’re a package deal.”

“I like that loyalty. You know, there’s an old Spanish proverb that says a man who does not love a horse cannot love a woman.” Buster sat up, planting his boots back on the floorboard of the pumpkin. “I guess we better head for the house.”

* * *

THEY WERE QUIET for the ride across Buster’s 450-acre kingdom. Mugsy and Mitzi ran along beside them till Buster deemed they were tired out, then he slowed down for them to jump into the pumpkin. When the house came into view, Buster pointed out a barn to the far right of it. Joiner had noticed it when he was driving up—a big horse barn painted red, with a white star above the doors. He saw now that there was a riding arena behind it.

“That’s Stella’s setup.”

Buster didn’t go any closer. Instead, he veered left toward the house, and Joiner noticed the old RV again under the trees.

“Was that your rodeo mansion?” He pointed to it. Surprisingly, Buster drove up close.

“That’s it. We use it as a guesthouse now. Wanna see inside?”

He turned off the motor of the pumpkin without waiting for Joiner to answer. Using a key to unlock the RV, Buster held the door open for Joiner to enter. Despite the dust, it was surprisingly well-kept inside. Kind of like a museum dedicated to the rodeo life of yesteryear.

“You know, since I can’t sell the land, I’d consider renting the guesthouse if you can think of anyone who might be interested. Especially someone with a strong back for work and horses they’d like to board.” Buster tugged at his whiskers. “I don’t want any riffraff, though.”

Joiner didn’t tell the older man what he was thinking, that “riffraff” were the only ones who would be interested in the setup. Except, maybe, for him.

“What about me?” Joiner couldn’t believe the words had come out of his mouth, but he didn’t try to retrieve them. He liked Buster. And something, though admittedly he couldn’t see what, was drawing him to the place.

“You? A pretty boy like you?”

“Mr. Scout, I need a place to live and board my horse, and you won’t sell me any land.” Joiner kicked a clod of dirt.

“Call me Buster.”

“Okay, Buster.”

“You serious?”

“I’m not afraid of hard work. If you’ll let me board Pistol and breed him out of here maybe I can save up the money to get my own place when the right one becomes available.” Joiner raised his eyebrows and grinned at the older man. “One that is actually for sale.”

“You’re a smart aleck, you know it?” Buster held out his hand for a shake. “But I don’t mind a little of that—and I might be able to make a real cowboy out of you. It’s a deal.”

Joiner shook his hand and they hopped back into the pumpkin. Buster sped the rest of the way to the house as if he was late for a party. Joiner liked the older man’s style.

“Stella!” Buster called, opening the back door. “Pretty? Stellllaaaa!”

An image of Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire flashed through Joiner’s mind. He followed Buster into the foyer, where Buster called her again, looking up the stairs.

“I guess she ain’t in here.”

“Well, sir, if you don’t mind, I’ll just get going. I’ll start moving in tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

“I wanted to let you and Stella do some talking. You’ll mostly be working for her, you know. Getting her business up and running.”

“Oh. Well.” Joiner reached out for the banister. This was a little more than he bargained for. A mixture of curiosity and acid from his lack of breakfast churned in his stomach, but he needed the arrangement to work. He was running out of money, and no other interesting options had popped up.

Joiner straightened himself up and grinned, offering his hand to Buster again. “You just tell her I am at her service.”

The front door opened, and Stella walked in on them.

“Well, now you can tell her yourself!” Buster clapped his hands together.

“Tell me what?” Stella demanded.

“Joiner is going to live in the RV and be our new ranch hand.”

Stella took this news as if she’d been punched in the face.

“What?”

“I decided not to sell the land, but he’s going to live here and help us out on the ranch for a while.”

Stella’s eyes widened as the news sank in.

“You’re not selling?” She smiled, but her smile was for Buster only.

“No.” Buster shook his head. “But we’ve made an arrangement where he can board his horse here and help with chores, and he’ll be help to you with the school. You won’t have to pay as much for a ranch hand, and he won’t have to fork over lots of money for lodging. It’s a win-win.”

She seemed to bristle at this idea.

Buster grabbed the front doorknob and turned it. “You two probably ought to talk a little bit among yourselves. I’ve got to go check my chickens.” He let the screen door slam behind him.

What a crafty old goat, Joiner thought, hoping he hadn’t made a big mistake in agreeing to live and work here.

Stella motioned to Joiner. “I guess we could sit on the porch?”

He followed her through the screen door and sat down in one of two rockers that flanked a small table. She took the porch swing, the farthest seat away.

“So, your dad told me about your school. I think it’s a great idea.”

Her head snapped to attention. “What did he tell you?”

“Just that you want to help people through therapy with horses.”

“Did he mention safety?”

“Um, no. We didn’t really go very far into it.”

“Safety is my first concern with the school—and I saw the way you drove in here like you were in a high-speed chase.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

She continued, “I don’t know what you’re used to with polo, but I’d imagine it will be a lot different than what I’m doing here.”

Joiner was sure it would aggravate her, but he couldn’t resist. “I’m used to having fun on horses.”

She snorted. “Well, I hope my clients have fun on our horses, but my first priority is that they are safe at all times.” Her brown eyes bored into him. “It will have to be your priority too while you work here.”

“Okay,” Joiner said, and then added in his thoughts, which probably won’t be very long.

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU’RE DOING WHAT?” Mac demanded as his eyeglasses clattered to the tabletop.

The four Temple brothers sat around a table on the back patio of The Wild Horse Saloon, a honky-tonk joint that also served the best steaks in Kilgore—apart from Hunt’s restaurant at Temple Territory, of course. Most of the action was clustered around the stage inside where the band played. Locals, including students at Kilgore College, crowded the dance floor to do the Texas two-step and unwind after a busy work week.

Hunt’s wife, Gillian, and Sarah, a young widow who’d recently wed Hunt’s twin, Cullen, had taken Sarah’s three daughters to Longview for a movie. The brothers saw this as an opportunity for a Meeting of the Brotherhood, as they affectionately called their impromptu men-only gatherings. They’d been calling them that as long as Joiner could remember, when he and Mac initiated the younger twins into the clubhouse that used to be in their parents’ yard.

“I’m moving into an RV on that place I wanted to buy. Buster Scout’s place.”

Mac picked up his rectangular wire-rimmed glasses from the table and set them back on his nose, as if to see Joiner better. “The place you’re not buying? You’re going to squat there in an RV?”

Joiner shook his head. “The RV is a guesthouse of sorts on the property. Mr. Scout is renting it to me in exchange for some help on the ranch. Plus, he has a place I can board Pistol and hopefully start breeding him so I can save some money.”

“Is that what this is about? Joiner, I told you if you needed money—”

“And I appreciate that you agreed to cosign the loan with me for the land if I could buy it, but Mr. Scout decided not to sell it. And that’s probably for the best right now. I can keep what little I have left in the bank and add to it, get back on my feet. Then maybe when the right place comes along down the road, I won’t need a cosigner.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” Hunt’s gray eyes danced as he helped the server distribute the plates. Each brother had ordered a T-bone, but they all preferred their own degrees of doneness.

The waitress—a girl with big blond hair—studied Hunt’s face for a moment as she handed him a plate. “You look just like my favorite professor!”

Hunt grinned and flung out his arm to announce that Cullen was across the table. She promptly turned all of her attention to him.

“Dr. Temple! How are you doing? I was in your American History class last semester.” The girl made no effort to conceal her admiration.

“I remember you, Katie. It’s nice to see you again.”

When she finally exited the patio after several minutes of chatting with Cullen, Hunt cackled. Then in a falsetto voice, he said, “Oh, Dr. Cullen! Your lectures are so enthralling! I only fell asleep three times! But it’s such a shame you’re not as good-looking as the Cowboy Chef!”

Cullen rolled his eyes in Hunt’s direction.

“I thought it was pretty funny that she compared the Cowboy Chef to Dr. Cullen, and not the other way around.” Joiner cut into his steak. “That must burn.”

Hunt frogged Joiner in the arm. “You just wish you were our triplet, pretty boy.”

“Well, I can tell you I don’t get admirers very often, even though I’m obviously the more attractive twin.” Cullen forked a bite of steaming baked potato that was dripping with melted butter. “Did you find out anything on the history of Buster Scout’s place while you were there?”

“Only that it belonged to his wife’s family. She died a long while ago in a freak accident with a horse, and I guess it went to him and his daughter. It’s a heck of a place.”

“I think I remember something about that accident.” Mac rubbed his chin. “It happened right after I moved back here and set up shop. I consulted with Mr. Scout over some tax issues, helped him get things with his wife’s will straightened out. Nice guy. Kind of an original, as I remember.”

“That’s him. He could have his own reality show, he and his daughter. They’re like the Texas version of characters from Duck Dynasty.”

“And now you’re joining the show.”

“Well, I would hate for Hunt to be the lone star in our family.” Joiner couldn’t resist the pun.

His three brothers groaned in unison, then Cullen asked, “What time do you want us there to help you move in the morning?”

They all looked at Joiner. He’d always been able to count on the Brotherhood, no matter what.

“Thanks, guys, but I don’t have anything to move besides a few boxes and Pistol. It won’t be any big deal.”

* * *

“NO BIG DEAL?” Stella, remembering her earlier conversation with her father, set down her book a little too loudly and whipped off her red reading glasses. Mugsy jumped down from the couch and regarded her with suspicion.

Buster, who had kicked back in his leather recliner, didn’t stir from his comfortable position. Mitzi was sprawled out across his chest lengthwise, snoring.

“I can’t believe you think this is no big deal,” she repeated.

Buster opened one eye and Stella glared into it.

He closed it quickly, like pulling down a shade.

“Pops! You should have consulted with me first before offering to let him live here. Instead you let him sweet-talk you. And I’d like to have seen his horse before you said he could board him in our stable. What if the horse is dangerous?”

“Good grief, woman. We’ve been through this.” Buster raised his head slightly so as not to disturb Mitzi. “He didn’t sweet-talk me. It was practically my idea. And I thought you’d be happy to have some free labor. At least I didn’t sell him any land.”

“I am happy about that.” Stella shrugged and put her glasses back on. She smoothed her cotton pajamas and tucked her feet up under her. Then she remembered something. “But isn’t there some scandal with the Temple family? I wouldn’t want that to affect my school.”

Buster sighed heavily. “Anybody who still cares about that scandal is nobody I’d want on my ranch, school or no school.”

Stella raised her eyebrows.

Buster continued, “Pap Temple did steal oil, but the big oil companies were so greedy there was no real harm, in my opinion, in Pap taking a few million barrels. Those were different times.” He snorted. “In fact, I admire his gumption for doing it, and his guts in taking his punishment after he was caught instead of filling his wells with cement like some others did to avoid prosecution.”

“I didn’t know all of that,” Stella said quietly.

As though sensing the storm had passed, at least for the time being, Mugsy jumped back onto the couch and resumed his post at her side.

* * *

WHEN STELLA AWOKE the next morning, she was glad she had a busy day ahead. Maybe the work she had to do to get Star Stables Equestrian Therapy up and running would distract her from Joiner Temple’s invasion of her property. Until he brought his horse into her barn, that is—a high-dollar thoroughbred stallion. Having that kind of horse join her operation was not at all what she had in mind. His presence would probably be as obnoxious as his owner’s. No, what Stella wanted was a few other horses like Daisy, her mother’s old mare, who were gentle enough to be trusted with the special-needs children Stella planned to serve.

But the agreement had been made, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it now but continue with her own plans. She picked out one of her nicest shirts, a lacy cowgirl-chic top with bell sleeves that was the color of gunmetal. Pairing it with her distressed skinny jeans, she tucked the jeans into a pair of tall, vintage, gray halter boots. The brushed silver amulet she wore, a custom piece by Andrea Edmondson, perfectly complemented the color of her shirt. Her hair was easy—shoulder-length and chic—and she didn’t need any makeup other than a little lip gloss. Her mahogany eyes were framed by dark lashes and brows even though her hair remained the color of a palomino.

Stella waved at her father, who was out milking the goats, as she climbed into the farm truck. She planned to grab something for breakfast at Common Grounds. A potential donor from a local family well-known for its oil money was meeting her there for coffee. She really had high hopes that she could convince him to donate to her school. Star Stables was the one thing she wanted with all of her heart—everything important to her was tied to it. It was something she could do on her own land, at home with Buster. It was a way to give back to her beloved community. And it was a way to help people—to give them better lives, and especially, to teach them how to be safe.

* * *

STELLA ROSE FROM the bistro table where she was sitting with her mocha cappuccino when the man who had to be Clint Cavender walked into Common Grounds.

“Mr. Cavender?”

He turned his gaze to her.

He was wearing Armani and some kind of lizard-skin boots. Nice.

He held out his hand. “Stella Scout? Call me Clint.” Perfect teeth, dark hair, milk-chocolate-colored eyes. Stella felt as if she was talking to a movie star. She needed to get herself together.

“Please, have a seat.”

“Sure, but I think I’ll order first. Can I get you anything to go with your coffee?”

Stella didn’t want him to buy her food. “I’ll just join you.”

He set down his Louis Vuitton laptop bag on one of the oak-and-iron chairs at her table and they walked together to the counter, which was just a few feet away.

“I’d like some steel-cut oats with fruit.”

The guy at the counter rang her order into the cash register. “And for you, sir?”

“These are separate orders.” Stella held out her debit card, but Clint Cavender shook his head.

“I’ll have a ham, egg and cheese panini and a latte with two shots, please.”

He paid for their order with a twenty-dollar bill, dumping all of the change into the tip jar. They waited while it was prepared.

“You didn’t have to pay for my breakfast,” Stella said.

“Oh, no problem.”

Clint’s phone vibrated and he took it out of his pocket. “Sorry. I always have to check in case it is the school.”

He carried their tray back to the table, and set her oats in front of her before removing his own order. “That looks good,” he commented, then set the tray on a nearby table.

Stella straightened her shoulders. “Clint, thank you for meeting with me. I know you have a very busy schedule and I appreciate you taking the time to listen to my proposal.”

“It’s a pleasure.” His eyes were warm. “Let’s hear about these plans of yours.”

“Well, I am opening a facility for equestrian therapy on my family farm just outside Kilgore. We will offer hippotherapy as well as therapeutic riding for people with disabilities. My focus is geared more toward children, but I’d like to be able to offer services to all ages eventually.”

Clint leaned forward, eyebrows knitted. “Wait a minute. You lost me. I thought we were talking exclusively about horses. What exactly is hippotherapy?”

“Hippo is the Greek word for horse.” Stella laughed. “So hippotherapy is just a term that encompasses all kinds of therapy that uses the horse’s movement. I want to offer physical, occupational and speech therapy using horses.”

“So I’m assuming you’ll employ professionals in these fields?”

“Yes. I have a master’s degree in physical therapy myself, and I’ve already contracted an excellent occupational therapist assistant named Daune Holzman and a speech therapist named Jacob Hunnicutt. Of course, the amount of hours they are able to spend at the school will depend on how things work out with funding.”

“It sounds very interesting.” Clint took a sip of his latte. “Are there any other programs similar to this in the state of Texas?”

“Ours will be the second, and the first in East Texas. The other one is in Austin and partners with the University of Texas. I trained there and it is very cutting edge.” Stella stirred her oatmeal. “These techniques have been used in Europe for about fifty years, but they are just now starting to catch on in the United States.”

“It sounds like you have the vision and the expertise to really help some people.”

“I believe I do.”

Clint leaned back and draped an arm over the ironwork back of the chair beside his. “Stella, one reason I agreed to meet with you is that I’ve heard your story. You may not realize it, but you’re something of a celebrity in this little town.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I know you’ve battled hardship and overcome a lot yourself. I was away at the height of your rodeo fame but I heard about how you brought the people of Kilgore together.”

“Oh, that.”

“To hear my parents talk, we might as well have changed our name to ‘The City of Star’ instead of ‘The City of Stars’.”

Stella blushed. “I wouldn’t go that far. I didn’t really do anything. It was the people of the community who blessed my family and me over and over with their support.” Her heart warmed at the memories of barbecue suppers, parades and the cards and letters that wallpapered her room at home. She also remembered the flowers that had poured in after her mother’s death. Lilies. “I guess that’s why I never want to move anywhere else. And in a way, this venture is a chance for me to give back to the people who have done so much for me.”

Clint smiled, seeming to understand. Then he said, “The other reason I’m interested is my son, Cade. He has Asperger’s syndrome. The symptoms have gotten worse since his mother left. I’ve done everything—spared no expense—but we’ve not found any therapies that have helped with his particular case.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Stella looked into his eyes and saw deep pools of pain she had not noticed before. “I’d love it if we could help him,” she said softly.

“Me, too. Tell me more...”

CHAPTER FOUR

“DIOS MIA!” ALMA MADE the sign of the cross as she stepped across the threshold of the RV. “Joiner, mi cariño, are you really so poor that you must live here?”

Joiner pulled the door shut behind them and plopped down on the red velvet couch, spreading out his arms and crossing a boot over his knee. “Home sweet home!”

Alma rolled her eyes. As the Temple family’s housekeeper, she was the closest thing to a mother Joiner and his brothers had had since the plane accident that killed their parents when Joiner was in high school. She and her husband Felix had been their legal guardians until they came of age—and were still the glue that kept the family together.

“I thought you said it was in good shape.” Alma ran a finger over the counter top and held it up for Joiner to see. The dust was thick on her soft, tawny fingertip.

“It’s not that bad, is it? I mean, after you work your magic?”

“Magic? It’s going to take more than magic to make this place livable. It’s going to take elbow grease!”

“Well, I don’t want you working too hard, Alma. Let’s just get it livable. I probably won’t be here very long.” Joiner brought in her cleaning supplies from the truck while Alma opened all of the windows. Under her instruction, he vacuumed the red shag carpet that filled the living area and bedroom, and then scrubbed the toilet, shower and sink, as well as the linoleum in the tiny bath and kitchen.

Alma dusted the RV from top to bottom, removing all of the curtains to take home and wash, and beating the couch cushions outside with a broom. She stripped the bed of its velvet horse-print spread, remaking it with a new mattress cover, Egyptian cotton sheets, and Woolrich plaid comforter set she’d gotten from Gillian. It was a tasteful blue, red and green pattern with leather-trimmed matching pillows. She also scrubbed the small stovetop and oven and cleaned out the cabinets. Buster’s shot glass collection went into a Rubbermaid tub along with various other things she collected from around the RV: an old wall calendar of famous bronc riders, several trophies, cassette tapes of country music, an enormous belt buckle.

“Whew! Let’s take a break.” Joiner leaned on the mop and stretched his back.

“Just a few more things first.” Alma wiped her hands on her apron. “Take this tub of junk out.” She handed it to him with a look of disgust. “Then, bring in those kitchen things we got at Target, and also get your bathroom stuff set up. You can put your clothes in the bedroom, too. I still have to wash all of the windows.”

Joiner shook his head and grinned at her before obeying.

By noon the RV was passable by Alma’s standards, which were far higher than Joiner’s. It still needed power-washing on the outside, she said. But the interior gleamed. She spread out a quilt over the picnic table that sat adjacent to the RV under a tree and opened her basket.

“This table is convenient.” She handed him a tortilla filled with chorizo. “If you are camping.” Her brown eyes flickered with humor and something else.

Joiner grabbed an orange Fanta out of the basket and sat down to eat across from her. These were the tastes of his childhood. This woman and the sun had warmed every season of his life for as long as he could remember. “Do you still have that bracelet?”

Alma pulled up her sleeve. She wore the bracelet Joiner had made her for Mother’s Day long ago—a strap of brown leather with a hammered metal piece that read, Sky above me, Earth below me, Fire within me. It had weathered to the caramel color of her skin. “I never take it off.”

Joiner squeezed her hand from across the table. “Thank you, Alma. For everything.”

“You are welcome, mijo. De nada.”

* * *

AFTER HE DROVE Alma home, Joiner loaded up Pistol at Hunt’s barn. He was glad to be finished moving himself into the RV. This way he could make sure Pistol got all the time he needed this afternoon to become acclimated to his new surroundings—and hopefully Joiner could become a little more acclimated himself.

He still wasn’t fully comfortable with the idea of working under Stella. From what he could tell, she seemed pretty rigid. He wasn’t used to walking around on eggshells and he didn’t intend to start now. But it was what it was. At least Buster seemed to like him.

“Hey, buddy!” Buster swaggered out of the stable as Joiner was pulling up. Joiner jumped out of the truck and strode toward him. Buster shook his hand. “I thought we’d put your horse in here.”

He led Joiner through the stable, pointing out an old mare with gentle eyes named Daisy who had belonged to his wife. Beside Daisy was Stella’s horse, a white quarter horse named Vega. Across from Vega was the roomiest, best stall at the end of the row. There was new hay spread across the floor, oats in the feed bin and fresh water for drinking. The older man cocked his head to one side to gauge his reaction.

“Thanks, man,” Joiner said. “This is a great setup.”

Buster walked with him back to the horse trailer to unload Pistol. When Joiner led the shining black stallion out into the lot, he heard Buster catch his breath.

“That’s a good-looking horse.” Buster squinted into the sun. He pulled down his hat and then touched Pistol gently on his star. “Gosh darn, that’s a fine animal.”

Pistol held his head high and flared his nostrils. Then he shook his mane, pawing the ground with his front hooves.

“Do you mind if I take him for a ride around the place?” Joiner could feel the energy pulsing in Pistol’s neck, and it mirrored the nervousness in his own veins. They were both in need of an outlet, an adrenaline rush. It had been a few days, and Joiner was desperate for it.

“Go for it.” Buster grinned. “Just don’t get lost.”

While Joiner saddled Pistol, Buster walked over and held the gate that opened into the pasture. Joiner and Pistol cantered through, and then, finding their bearings, took off running hell-for-leather until they were out of sight.

CHAPTER FIVE

AFTER HER SUCCESSFUL meeting with Clint Cavender, Stella went shopping for horses. She wanted to purchase at least three to add to the two she owned, and she had some pretty good leads through her rodeo contacts. Calling on five different owners, she made offers on two mares that fit the bill perfectly. They were still young enough to work, strong-backed, but both were gentle. Not much fire in their bellies. Stella liked that, considering fire would be a hazard in her riding school. It was three o’clock in the afternoon when she returned home. She sent a text to Buster telling him her plans to pick up the mares that evening and asked if he’d get the stable ready. But, as she hadn’t heard from him, she decided to check the stalls before she changed clothes.

“What the heck?”

The last stall across from Vega was open, and Joiner Temple stood inside it. He was brushing a horse that looked as though he belonged on the cover of Stud magazine, and the horse looked as if he knew it. He snorted at her as she approached.

“Hi there.” The polo player grinned sheepishly. “How are you?”

“Uh, fine, thanks. But, what are you doing, exactly?”

His violet eyes flashed. “Brushing my horse. That okay with you?”

The thoroughbred seemed to glare at her but Stella held her ground. “Sure. I mean, I guess. Who told you to move your horse into this stall?”

Joiner stepped back, still holding the brush in his hand. He looked at her, then gazed off into the distance toward the goat pen. Buster.

Stella turned on the heel of her boot and stomped out of the stable. She found her father in the garden, tilling the ground. He shut off the tiller when he saw her.

“Hey, Pretty!”

It was usually hard for her to be mad at him for anything, but not this time.

“What is that horse doing in the best stall? Right across from Vega?”

He looked at her as if she’d grown horns. “Cooling off from a ride, I imagine.”

“I’ll cool him off.” Stella put her hands on her hips. “What were you thinking? I wanted to use that stall for boarding.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, darlin’, we are boarding. An Argentine Thoroughbred worth lots of money.”

“Why did you not consult me?”

Buster spat tobacco on the ground. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just bein’ a good host, which is more than I can say for you. Vega ain’t gonna get cooties.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to, Prissy Britches. But if you don’t sit down and make some plans with your new ranch hand there may be lots more things you don’t like, because I intend to make him work to earn his keep.” Buster wiped the sweat from his forehead. “And if you don’t need anything done for the school, I could use some help in this garden.”

Stella shook her head. “Did you not get my text?”

“What text?” Buster fumbled in the pocket of his jeans, finally dragging out his phone. He squinted at the screen, then looked back up at her. “Oops.”

“Don’t worry about it. It will give me great pleasure to tell the polo player to get the stalls ready while I go pick up the horses.”

By the time Stella made her way back into the stable, Joiner was just closing the door to his horse’s stall. He turned and saw her standing at the other end, and for a moment they stared at one another, sizing each other up, as if they were about to duel.

Joiner made the first move. He walked toward her, and Stella tried not to notice the muscles that rippled under his sweaty white T-shirt. She straightened her spine.

“I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding. I can move my horse if you want.”

Was he trying to shame her? Because it was working. “No. Keep him there. I’m sorry. I’m afraid we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. I just want to live in the RV, work and maybe breed out my horse.”

Stella couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You want to live in the RV?”

“Okay, so maybe I’m a little desperate.” Joiner smiled back at her.

“Well, join the club. I’ve got to get this operation going, and it puts my dad and me in weird roles sometimes.”

“I hadn’t noticed any weirdness.” Joiner raised an eyebrow. He was baiting her, but she decided not to bite. “Listen, Joiner. We need to sit down and talk about what I want you to do for Star Stables but right now I’ve got to go pick up two horses. Could you get the stable ready for them?”

“At your service, Boss Lady.” He tipped his hat.

“Thanks. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Any specific stalls you want to assign?”

But her back was already to him and she refused to turn to honor his question with a response.

* * *

AFTER STELLA, BUSTER and Joiner had the two new horses settled into the stable, Buster asked Joiner what he was doing for dinner.

“Alma—she’s my adopted mom—left some homemade tamales with me this morning when she helped me move into the RV.”

“Well, why don’t you save them? I’ve got some T-bones we could grill. It’s a nice evenin’.”

Why didn’t her dad just invite him to live in their house? Stella groused to herself.

“That’s really kind of you, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intrudin’ at all. And I’ll let you do the dishes.” Buster winked at him. “Besides, that way you and Stella can have a chance to talk and hammer out some kind of job description.”

Even though her dad drove her a little crazy, and she wasn’t sure how to manage things with Joiner Temple, Stella had to admit that meeting was a good idea. That was all she would admit, though, even to herself.

She told herself, therefore, that it was simply good hospitality to make homemade lemonade, beer-battered bread, twice-baked potatoes and a fresh Caesar salad to go with the steaks; and also to whip up a homemade apple pie with vanilla bean ice cream and Mexican caramel sauce for dessert. If he was impressed with her cooking, well, so be it. That was no concern of hers....

CHAPTER SIX

JOINER CLEANED UP for dinner in the RV’s shower, which was about half the size of a British phone booth. Fitting his six-foot-two-inch frame in there each day to scrub off ranch grime was going to be one of the challenges of his new life. One of the many.

He bumped his head on the showerhead, which thankfully did have good water pressure, and rinsed the soap out of his hair. Then, squeezing himself out of the contraption and planting his feet on the hooked rug Alma had provided, he dried himself thoroughly and wrapped the white towel around his waist. His five o’clock shadow from yesterday was well on its way to becoming a full-fledged beard. If he didn’t want to join Buster on Cowboy Dynasty, it was time for a shave.

Joiner wasn’t sure what to make of Buster’s dinner invitation. A part of him was ready for some downtime, some rest and a little privacy. He liked people. But he wasn’t used to trusting them very quickly or easily. The benefit—or curse, depending on your point of view—of being Pap’s grandson. And while Buster seemed kind in his intentions, Stella was harder to read. One moment Joiner thought she hated him. The next she was almost friendly. Oh well, maybe tonight he’d at least get some clarity on the role he was meant to play on the ranch and in her riding school.

Besides, this job was just a transition for him anyway. He could do anything—work with anyone—for a short while as long as it got him on his feet. If anything, being a good worker would help him accomplish the one long-term goal all of his brothers had—to restore honor to the family name.

* * *

“TAKE THAT RODEO stuff and put it on the porch, if you don’t mind. Stella can show you what to do with it.” Buster flipped a steak that Joiner judged to be at least sixteen ounces. It sizzled and popped on the gas grill.

“That smells delicious!”

The old man smiled. “You need to eat meat, boy, if you’re ever going to grow up to be any size.”

Joiner made a mental note of the latest Busterism so he could use it on his brothers the next time they had a barbecue.

He carried the tub of rodeo paraphernalia he and Alma had culled from the RV up to the porch and rested it on his hip while he knocked on the screen door.

Stella turned from the sink where she was squeezing lemons. She wore a vintage-inspired cotton dress with tiny pink roses against a white background. A silver pendant hung from a chain around her neck, the same one she’d worn when they’d met. Pink ballet slippers the exact color of the roses on the dress adorned her small feet. It was the first time Joiner had seen her in anything other than boots. She looked soft, feminine.

“Come on in.” She wiped her hands on a towel and opened the door for him. “I hope you like lemonade.”

“Yeah, it’s great.”

Stella glanced down at the tub in Joiner’s arms. “Oh Lord.” She lifted the calendar, which was yellowed around the edges, and then set it back down in the tub, skimming through the other contents. “You mean you can’t use this belt buckle?”

“’Fraid not.” Joiner shifted his weight. “Your dad said you could show me where to put this?”

He followed her through the kitchen and dining room into the foyer and around the stairs. There was a little door there that revealed storage space under the stairs. “Let’s put it in here for right now.”

As she held the door open for him, Joiner caught the scent of her. Nothing flashy or overpowering, just fresh, like rain. Clean. And maybe a hint of lemon.

“That’s a pretty bracelet.”

It jangled as she turned the knob of the little door to close it. Then she held the bracelet out in front of her, fingering it with her other hand. It was made of a thin leather strap, wrapped twice around her wrist, with charms that dangled from it on silver rings. Joiner noted a pink rose charm, a silver cross, a white horse, a red heart and a gold star, among others. “It’s an Andrea Edmondson, ABE Designs?”

She looked a little impressed, but quickly recovered. “My favorite.”

“Yeah, she’s great. I like your necklace, too.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I see what it has on it? Is that a tree?”

She held it out to him, and he leaned in just a bit to see it.

“Oh. It says healing. What’s that about?” Joiner pressed out of curiosity.

“A friend gave it to me when my mother died.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence, and Joiner wished he’d not asked such a personal question. He followed her back to the kitchen. “Anything I can do to help with dinner?”

“You can set the table. We’re going to eat outside on the porch.”

Joiner rolled up the sleeves of his Wrangler shirt. He took the stack of colorful Fiesta plates she handed him, along with silverware and napkins, and went to the porch, where a red-checkered cloth covered the table. Buster met him with a platter of steaks, two enormous T-bones and one smaller one. Soon Stella came out with bread on a wooden cutting board, a bread knife and a big bowl of salad with silver tongs. Joiner followed her back into the kitchen where she directed him to take potatoes out of the oven while she poured lemonade into mason jars.

The evening sun was golden in the sky. Hues of purple and pink streaked the clouds as it began its descent, and the gentle breath of a breeze blew across the porch. The yard, trees and field beyond seemed bathed in the beauty of an emerging springtime. Buster, who sat at the head of the table, held out his hands to Joiner and Stella, who sat on either side of him. “Let’s pray.”

“Lord, thank You for this day. I thank You for my family and for watching over us and taking such good care of us. Thank You for Joiner. I pray You will bless him through his time here on the ranch. We lift up those who are in need tonight, especially Cheryl, and ask that You would heal her and comfort her. We trust You will continue to guide and provide for us everything we need. In Jesus’s name.”

When the food had been passed around, and everyone’s plate was full, Joiner asked, “Who is Cheryl, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“She’s my mother’s best friend. She lives in Arkansas. She was just diagnosed with breast cancer.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Joiner looked down.

“She’s the one who gave me my necklace and bracelet—the necklace when my mother died, and the bracelet for high school graduation. Whenever something significant happens, she gives me a charm.”

Joiner nodded, pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “How cool. She has great taste.”

“She has been a second mother to Stella in many ways,” Buster said. “Even though she lives about six hours from here in northwest Arkansas.”

“Arkansas, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s a Razorback, but we don’t hold it against her.” Buster wrinkled his nose when he said the word Razorback.

“How is she doing?” Joiner asked.

Stella sighed. “It is already stage four, and the statistics are not in her favor. But we are hopeful she will be the one in five who beats it.”

“I hope so, too.”

“If anyone can kick cancer’s butt, it will be her!” Buster declared.

They all ate in silence for a few moments. Then Stella asked, “Joiner, you mentioned an Alma who is your adopted mother making you tamales. Is your mother not around?”

Buster motioned to her by waving his steak knife in front of his neck, but Joiner smiled at him and said, “It’s okay.” He continued, addressing Stella. “I was seventeen, so I think you would have been eleven, too young to remember. It was in all of the papers, but there’s no reason you would have known. My parents were killed in a plane crash in the Apache Mountains.”

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Stella set down her silverware and fiddled with her napkin.

“Thanks. It was a long time ago. But something you never get over, you know.”

“Yes. I understand.” Her eyes held his for a long moment.

Buster cleared his throat. “Well, shall we talk about something besides disease and death? How about something interesting, like the Ice Age?”

That remark was so random it made them all laugh. They spent the rest of the evening in a lighter mood, as Buster regaled them with his heroic feats as a famous bronco rider in the rodeo.

After Stella served her apple pie to rave reviews, Buster announced he was going to bed. “I’m an old man and I’m tired. But you kids stay up awhile. Get some of these kinks worked out about our new slave laborer and his duties, okay, Pretty?”

“Okay, Pops,” Stella answered, even though she had mixed feelings about being left alone with Joiner. Again. She was beginning to notice that Buster had a pattern, and wondered exactly what his motives were. Was it really about business? Or was her dad so smitten with Joiner that he hoped she would be, too?

* * *

THEY CLEARED THE TABLE together and, back inside the kitchen, Joiner filled the sink with water for the dishes.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes I do. It was part of the arrangement I made with Buster.” He submerged the mason jars and started washing.

“You’re going to have to learn that my dad just blows and goes. He didn’t really mean you had to do the dishes.”

Joiner looked at her with wide eyes. “I’d never have guessed that. Now you’re going to tell me I don’t have to eat steak in order to grow to a good size!”

Stella swatted him in the side with a hand towel.

“I’m just saying you don’t have to do the dishes. I can do them later.”

“I’m not leaving the dishes, Boss Lady. Alma, and my own mother for that matter, raised me better than that.”

Stella joined him and, working together, it didn’t take long to put the kitchen back in order.

“Would you like to talk about work in here, or on the porch?” she offered.

“I’ll take the porch.”

Stella gathered the leftover bones from the steaks and called to Mugsy and Mitzi. She dropped the bones off the porch and into the yard, where the dogs went to town, and then sat down in one of the rockers. Joiner sat in the other one. It creaked. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his boots. It was not yet dark, but the air was purple. The color of the gloaming, or twilight.

“We’re going to need a candle,” Stella said, pushing herself back up out of the rocker. She returned shortly with a fat pillar candle and a box of matches. She set it on the table between them and lit it, releasing a soft, vanilla-scented glow.

“This is a beautiful place.”

“Thank you. It’s home. I really can’t imagine being anywhere else.” Stella sighed. “That’s one reason why the school is so important to me. I want a job that incorporates my love of this place with a love of horses and people.”

Joiner wished he felt that way about Kilgore—or anywhere, for that matter. He’d never committed a crime. So why did he always feel as if he was on the run?

“Tell me your vision for the riding school. How can I help you with it?”

Stella ran her hands through her gold hair and then folded them behind her head, leaning back in the rocker. “To be honest, my vision is still evolving. I thought I was clear on what I wanted, but it changed a little bit today.”

“What happened today?”

“Well, I knew I wanted to help people, to offer physical and occupational therapy through interaction with horses in a safe environment. That’s really the core of the vision I have. And of course I can teach safe riding techniques to anyone who wants to learn.” Stella sighed.

“Sounds like safety’s a big deal to you.”

“It is. I’ve been all about safety ever since my mom’s accident.”

“Oh. I see.” Joiner nodded. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“But today I met with a potential donor who told me about his son, a child with Asperger’s, whose symptoms have gotten worse since his parents split up. His mother abandoned him...my heart broke hearing his story. So now my vision is expanding to include spiritual therapy, too—a more holistic approach than I first imagined.”

“Hmm.” Joiner felt he was treading some deep water without a life jacket. It was not that he couldn’t be spiritual or a deep thinker. It was just that those things usually led him to places of pain, places he’d rather avoid. That’s why polo suited him so much. It was a game.

“Probably sounds crazy to you.” She folded her hands in her lap.

“Not crazy. It sounds good. But I have no idea how you’ll accomplish it.”

“At least you’re honest. I like that in a slave laborer.”

Was she flirting with him? Two could play at that game. “Ha! Well, at least you make great apple pie. I like that in a Boss Lady.”

Stella turned in her rocker so that she was facing him. Leaning toward the table, she ran her index finger through the candle’s flame. “Did you ever do this when you were a kid?” Her eyes danced. The candle flame flickered, illuminating her face so it seemed as if the glow came from inside her.

Joiner tried it but he burned himself. “Ow!” He shook his hand in the air.

Stella giggled. “You have to do it this way, you goof.” She slowly dragged her index finger through the middle of the flame again, coming out unscathed. “Give me your hand.”

“I am injured!”

Stella reached out her hand. “Don’t you trust me, Joiner?”

Her eyes challenged him. He placed his other hand in her palm. Extending his index finger, she enclosed his fist in both of hers, holding it firm, and then trailed his finger through the center of the flame. He felt nothing. No burning. Well, nothing in his finger.

“How was that?” She held on to his hand while she waited for an answer.

“It was excruciating!”

“What? No!” She turned his finger around, looking for a sign that it was burned.

“You just set me on fire. Now I think you’re going to have to kiss it and make it better.”

Stella squinted at him, but she didn’t drop his hand.

“Really, Boss Lady, you better kiss my finger or I might not be able to work tomorrow.”

She pecked his index finger with her lips and then tossed his hand away as though it was a hot coal.

“Ooh, that helped.” Joiner held his finger in front of his eyes. “I think I’m healed. It’s a miracle!”

A smile stole across Stella’s face.

“No kidding. Maybe you should kiss the other one, too.” He held it out like a dare.

Surprisingly, Stella took it and kissed it softly and slowly, closing her eyes. Joiner leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. Her skin tasted like sunshine.

“Oh my.” Stella’s brown eyes were as wild as an untamed mustang’s. She jumped back, and Joiner busted out laughing. He knew it was reckless, what just happened, but it was also wonderful. He couldn’t contain his joy.

Joiner bit his lip, but another giggle escaped.

“What’s so funny?” Stella demanded.

He reached up and touched her face. “I’m not laughing at you.”

“Then why, may I ask, are you laughing?” She put her hands on her hips.

“I don’t know.” He wanted to say he felt happy, but he couldn’t. “Maybe I should go.”

“Go?”

She sounded disappointed. Maybe even a little panicked.

“Just to the RV. We have work to do tomorrow, unless you’re going to fire me.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “No.” She kicked into business mode. “Okay, um, let’s meet in the morning at eight. You can shadow me throughout the day and see what it’s like working the horses and stuff. But of course you have to keep in mind that when the clients start coming, everything will change.”

Joiner nodded. “Eight it is.” He tipped his hat to her as he headed for the steps. “Stella?” He paused on the second one. The corners of her mouth turned up when he said her name. “I think everything might have already changed.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

STELLA THREW SOME yogurt and granola down her throat and was out the door at sunrise the next morning. It was rare that she beat Buster to the kitchen, but she hadn’t slept too well the night before. Thoughts of Joiner buzzed around in her head like hummingbirds in a bed of zinnias. She had to get outside.

Vega seemed a little agitated, too. She was already up and eyeing her new stable partner from across the way. She tossed her snowy white mane when Stella greeted her.

Joiner’s horse, however, snorted when Stella came near. She didn’t open the door to his stall, but took the moment alone to size him up. Every inch of him evoked power. An Argentine Thoroughbred stallion. She had to admit he was pretty incredible. “You’re a beautiful boy.”

A door creaked. “Thanks. But who are you calling a boy?”

Stella turned to see Joiner standing at the opposite end of the stable where she’d stood just yesterday, ready to duel him.

“Do you have X-ray ears or something?”

He walked toward her. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

He’d tucked a white T-shirt into distressed Levi’s that she couldn’t call loose, and wore a flannel shirt the color of twilight open like a jacket. Brown belt, brown work boots. Wavy hair as dark as his horse peeked out from under his cowboy hat, and Stella willed herself not to remember how soft his hair had been against her cheek last night.

“What are you doing up so early? You don’t have to clock in till eight.”

“I figured I’d try to impress my boss.”

There were lots of ways Stella could have replied to that. Instead, she said, “Well, I’m not on the clock yet, either. Vega and I are going for a ride.”

“Care if Pistol and I join you?”

“Suit yourself.”

They saddled the horses and walked them slowly through the gate. Once out in the pasture, Stella and Vega took the lead, riding swiftly but surely. Joiner had to contain Pistol to keep from passing them. He followed for a while, and then pulled up beside her.

“Where are we going?”

“The north forty. There’s a lake...”

“We’ll see you there.”

Pistol shot forward, kicking up plugs of grass and dirt behind him, reminding Stella of just the type of dangerous horse—and rider—she was dealing with.

Vega kept the pace Stella had set earlier, as if in silent understanding with her rider. They arrived at the shore of the lake to find Joiner sitting on a rock, and Pistol getting a drink from the clear, cool water.

Stella dismounted. She led Vega to drink several steps away from Pistol. When Pistol had drunk his fill, Joiner tied him to a tree. Stella let Vega go but the horse stayed close by her master.

“Want to sit?” Joiner motioned to the rock and Stella sat down on it with him.

The sight was so peaceful and so filled with memories, Stella’s irritation melted away. They lounged side by side, looking out over the lake as the sun spilled its warmth across it. Ducks dived for their breakfast, creating golden ripples, and a heron peered at them from down the bank. Water bugs zigzagged in a pattern at the edge, right in front of the rock. A fish flopped, then another.

“My mom and I used to come here a lot when I was a little girl. It was our favorite place.” Stella fingered her silver necklace and then brought it to her lips, touching it to them as though it was some religious relic. “There are all kinds of lily pads down at the other end—I named it Lake Lily.”

“Your dad told me that she homeschooled you. She must have been really great.”

“She was a great mom. Taught me so many things. I just wish...”

Joiner stared at her intently. In his eyes Stella thought she saw tenderness, as well as compassion mixed with a certain curiosity. When he spoke his voice was kind. “What do you wish?”

“I wish she’d been more careful.”

They sat in heavy silence for a few moments, then Stella tried to explain what she still didn’t really understand herself, even after eight years. “I’m not angry with her, not anymore. And I don’t mean she was reckless. It’s just that, well, the free spirit that made her so amazing also made her sometimes—”

“Not safe?”

“Yeah. Or not careful enough to keep herself safe.”

“And that’s why you want to teach people riding lessons. To keep them safe.”

Stella nodded. “That’s also why I want to emphasize safety in my therapy sessions. So my disabled clients won’t come to any harm on my watch. I want Star Stables to be a place of healing.”

“Well...” Joiner sighed. “My expertise is more of the ride fast, play hard variety. But I do know how to muck out stables.”

“That’s a plus.” Stella laughed, grateful for his effort at a lighter mood, even though his comment about riding fast and playing hard bothered her.

“Do you have any kind of schedule in mind for me?”

She thought out loud. “We’re opening the doors in a week. I already have several clients signed up, but I need to finalize the schedule with my occupational therapist assistant and speech therapist. Funding is a huge issue there but after the donation I got yesterday I can budget enough to contract them each for a few months.”

“That sounds good.”

“Yes. It was really a relief getting that money.”

“So what do you want my role to be?”

“This week, let’s work together with the horses, especially the new ones. I’ll show you some basic hippotherapy techniques.”

“Okay.”

“And there will be a lot of grunt work. Your mucking skills will probably be in high demand.”

Joiner rose from the rock and offered her a hand up. “I guess we better get to it, huh, boss?”

“We’re burning daylight.” As they climbed onto their horses, Stella wondered if maybe her father hadn’t been completely crazy to hire Joiner after all.

* * *

BACK AT THE STABLES, they tended to their own horses and then worked with Daisy and the two others Stella had just purchased. One of them was a paint named Picasso, and the other a red quarter horse with a black mane and tail named Dakota. Stella was happy with how calmly they behaved, and was impressed by Joiner’s expertise in handling them. He was obviously a natural with horses. He picked up quickly on everything she showed him about hippotherapy, even if he seemed a little bit bored.

Around noon a car came up the driveway. Stella recognized it from the previous morning as Clint Cavender’s black Mercedes S600 Guard. He stepped out in shiny black leather boots with a matching belt, starched jeans and a black silk shirt that Stella guessed was probably Prada. A black cowboy hat completed the look that screamed rich. But his smile was as down-to-earth as he was.

“Clint Cavender?” Joiner shocked her by speaking his name. She was further surprised when he jumped over the fence of the pen and strode in Clint’s direction, who was just as eagerly jogging toward him.

“Joiner Temple! Is that really you? I can’t believe my eyes.”

Joiner wiped his hands on his jeans and offered his hand to Clint, who took it and pulled Joiner into a bear hug.

“Hey, man, don’t get your fancy clothes dirty!”

“Shoot. I don’t give a dang about that.”

Stella, who had walked across the pen toward them, leaned on the fence. “You two know each other?”

Clint took his hat off to address her. “Hi there.”

“Know each other?” Joiner said. “You mean you’ve never heard of the dynamic duo of Kilgore High School?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Oh, well, I forgot we were a little bit before your time.” Joiner clapped Clint on the shoulder. “This guy right here was the quarterback when Kilgore won the state championship, and I was his receiver. We were what you might call football gods.”

Clint blushed.

Stella made a bowing motion. “Oh, forgive me.”

“I believe we were outshone by a little rodeo star who showed up a few years later.” Clint elbowed Joiner. “Her name is the one on the Welcome to Kilgore sign.”

“We were robbed.”

It was Stella’s turn to blush.

“It’s great to see you, man,” Clint said to Joiner. “What brings you back to God’s country? I thought you were traveling the globe on a polo pony.”

Joiner kicked an invisible football. “I was, but polo’s too expensive for a regular cowboy. It would be okay for one like you, though.”

“Too bad I’m no good on a horse.”

“You never were.” Joiner grinned. “You were pretty good with numbers, though, as I remember. Did you finish up at Harvard?”

Stella was learning a lot by listening to them.

“Yes, thank God. I got enough of living in Yankeeland to last me a lifetime.”

“What are you up to now? You live here?”

“I do. I built a house, and I’m running the family business for my dad, and raising my son, Cade.” Clint pulled out his wallet to show Joiner Cade’s picture.

“He’s the one I told you about,” Stella interjected, giving Joiner a look she hoped he’d understand. “I’m excited about having him at the school.”

Joiner nodded in understanding. “Oh yeah.” Then he turned back to Clint. “Well, cool! Maybe I’ll get to hang out with him some. I’m this lady’s new ranch hand.”

They visited awhile longer by the fence and then Clint said, “Well, Stella, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by to see your operation. But I don’t want to keep you guys any longer from what you were doing.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too,” said Joiner. “It’s awesome to see you, Cavender.” He turned to Stella. “Hey, Boss Lady, I could finish up while you show him around if you want.”

“Thanks. We do need to keep our donors happy.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but for some reason Joiner’s smile faded. He glanced between the two of them, then jumped back over the fence and into the pen without another word.

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