Ranch At River's End. Brenda Mott

air compressor. She reached for it, but he held it aloft.

      “I’ll get it.” Jordan carried the compressor to the back of the car. Darci popped the truck so he could set it inside. “Thanks again,” he said. “I really appreciate your stopping. Guess I’ll see you at the hospital.”

      “Yeah, sure.” She watched as he trotted through the rain and climbed into the Explorer.

      Belatedly, Darci realized she’d forgotten to tell him they were neighbors.

      SATURDAY MORNING DARCI dressed in blue jeans, cowboy boots and a dark brown Resistol, and she and Christopher headed for the Shadow S. Stella had more requests for riding lessons than she could handle, considering she also ran a barrel-racing clinic, and had been happy to hire Darci on as her part-time help.

      Anxious for her first day on the job, Darci parked near the barn and got out. Even Christopher was in high spirits. He hadn’t been horseback riding on the Shadow S since he was in grade school and had only ridden a few times at the boarding stables outside Northglenn where Darci had worked. He’d gotten to the point where he’d shown little interest in riding at all, and Darci was glad to see him wanting to get back in the saddle.

      Over Chris’s protests, she had used some of her savings and taken her son shopping that morning. Leon and Stella had rules, and one of them was: no boots, no riding. A tennis shoe could slip through a stirrup and hang a rider up if he fell. People had been killed that way.

      And Darci had insisted her son get a pair of jeans that didn’t bag halfway down his butt. He’d grumbled as if she were sentencing him to jail, but now he didn’t appear to mind wearing the Levi’s and cowboy boots she’d purchased at the local feed store.

      Leon was cleaning stalls when they arrived. He wore his usual gray cowboy hat, battered boots, faded jeans and flannel shirt. His silver handlebar mustache made him look like he belonged back in the 1800s.

      “Hey, kids!” he called, still thinking of Darci that way. “You ready to start your first day, kiddo?” With one meaty hand, he grasped the shovel he’d been using and leaned it against the side of the stall before shifting his six-foot, three-inch frame into the aisle.

      “You’d better know it,” Darci said. “Chris, you make sure you listen to your uncle today or no riding.”

      “Aw, he’ll be fine,” Leon said before Christopher could protest. “Help me finish these stalls, Chris, and we’ll be off.”

      Chris grimaced. “Me, clean up horse crap? I don’t think so.”

      “You want to ride, you help Uncle Leon,” Darci said. “Having horses isn’t all fun and games.”

      “I don’t have a horse,” he said, making Darci want to shake him.

      “No, but you’re going to ride one—if you help.”

      “Fine.” He shuffled over and took hold of a rake.

      Darci blew out a puff of air that lifted her bangs, mentally counting to ten. “Listen to Uncle Leon,” she repeated. “Kick him in the butt if he doesn’t,” she added to her uncle.

      Leon only chuckled. “He’ll be fine.”

      Was she overreacting to Chris’s attitude? Darci wondered. She didn’t think so.

      She found Stella saddling a chestnut mare, her short, red hair tucked under her own cowboy hat, the sleeves of her Western shirt rolled up. A short time later, Darci was mounted on the chestnut and in the arena with her first student—a ten-year-old girl named Jodi. The hour-long lesson flew by, and Darci was heading to the office in the barn to get herself some bottled water when another car pulled up outside the stables.

      A pretty woman in her mid to late thirties got out and smiled at Darci. She wore boots, jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of a quarter horse on it, her strawberry-blond hair caught up in a ponytail beneath a ball cap.

      “Hi. I’m Nina Drake. Is Stella here?”

      Darci was taken by pleasant surprise. “Nina—I’m Darci Taylor. My son, Christopher, has an appointment scheduled with you for Thursday.”

      “Oh, hello.” Nina held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Darci.” She pushed back the stray hairs that had escaped her ponytail. “I’ve been puttering around at the rental stables in town, doing a little riding for relaxation, but I think I need help to hone my skills. I’m here for my first riding lesson with your aunt.”

      “Sounds like a plan. Follow me. Stella’s in the arena out back.”

      The Shadow S boasted two arenas, the one where Darci had been giving a lesson and one behind the barn. She steered Nina in the right direction, then got her water and prepared for her next student.

      By the end of the day Darci was tired in a good way and ready to go home and soak in a hot bubble bath.

      She drove on autopilot, chatting with Chris, fully unprepared for what greeted her as she pulled into the driveway of the house they’d moved into just five days ago. Darci stared at the single word of graffiti spray-painted in red across the garage door.

      Leave!

      Angry tears stung her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. No one besides her aunt and uncle knew what Christopher had done—or at least she’d thought so. The local news had covered the story on all channels, but as a minor, Chris’s name had been left out, both on television and in the newspapers.

      But why else would someone paint the word on their garage door?

      Who would be so quick to judge her and her son with such hatred? Her landlord would be livid. And here she’d always thought of the little Colorado mountain town of River’s End as peaceful, welcoming.

      “Holy crap!” Christopher exclaimed. His face clouded over. “I told you we shouldn’t have moved here.”

      Darci only shook her head. She went inside the house and put her cowboy hat on the closet shelf, then changed into a faded old shirt before going back outside. She entered the garage via the side door and rummaged through some boxes she hadn’t yet unpacked, Chris tagging at her heels. Tears stung her eyes. She would not let some stranger’s horrible actions get to her.

      “Paint thinner, paint thinner…” she mumbled. Had to be here with the other odds and ends she’d brought with her for household repairs. There.

      Darci lifted the container from the box, along with some clean rags and a pair of rubber gloves. She’d have to make a trip to the hardware store and get a can of matching yellow paint to completely obliterate the word. Suddenly she felt angry, and that anger was directed at Christopher.

      Her own child had made her life a living hell, and she’d had enough. Every penny of her small nest egg was meant to carry her and Chris along until she had a steady paycheck coming in. And now because of her son’s stupid actions and some hateful vandal, she had to waste money on paint for what had been a perfectly fine garage door just this morning. Who had had the nerve to do this in broad daylight anyway?

      Biting her lip to keep her tears and frustration at bay, Darci tossed the rag at her son. “Here. Clean that off.”

      “Why do I have to clean it?”

      “Maybe because you’re the reason for it,” Darci snapped, then took a deep breath at the stricken look on her son’s face. “Chris, I’m sorry. Christopher!” But he was already pushing his way through the screen door to the house, letting it slam behind him. “Chris!”

      He ignored her. Since his father had left a year ago, Christopher had changed from a quiet boy who loved to read, hike and skateboard to a troublesome young man Darci barely recognized as the child she’d given birth to. These past couple of days, he’d seemed more like his old self again, settling in to their new home better than she’d hoped—or so she’d thought.

      Silently, Darci berated herself for directing her anger at him. He was still her son. She got