Man From Montana. Brenda Mott

      “Busy. Fridays are always crazy. Thank God I didn’t have to stay to work the drive-up window.” She saddled her Appaloosa, waving to Hannah Williamson, the fourth—and final—Ride Awayer, as she pulled up, horse trailer in tow. The local large animal vet, Hannah took care of the horses at the boarding stable, and owned a twenty-five-acre ranch not far from there.

      While Beth went into the barn to get her horse and Hannah unloaded Ricochet, Kara seized the opportunity to question Danita. “Are you doing okay, hon?” She’d been worried about her friend, keeping tabs on her all week by phone.

      “I’m hanging in.” Danita shrugged. “Trying to focus on repainting the house. I might as well make a few changes, now that Phillip has officially moved out. He picked up the last of his stuff yesterday.” She set her jaw. “The rat. He’s already got a new place with a swimming pool. I hope he gets skin cancer.”

      Kara couldn’t help but chuckle. “I didn’t know rats liked water.”

      “Sure they do. That’s why the ones in New York hang out in the sewers.” Danita laughed, too. “Speaking of men, I passed by your house on my way home from the store before I came out here, and I saw Derrick Mertz in your yard.”

      “You know him?”

      “Sort of. Phillip and I used to go to the Silver Spur once in a while.”

      “I didn’t know that.” Personally, she’d never paid much attention to the band when she’d gone with Evan. She’d only had eyes for her husband.

      “So what was he doing at your place?” Danita arched an eyebrow.

      Kara squirmed. “He’s my new neighbor. He helped me load my tack into the truck.”

      “Uh-huh.” Danita licked her lips and smiled. “I waved at you as I passed, but you drove right by me. I think you were too busy looking in your rearview mirror to notice.”

      “I shouldn’t have done that.”

      “Done what?”

      “Lusted after another man.”

      “Mi hija.” Danita laid a soothing hand on her arm. “Evan’s gone. You can only be alone for so long.”

      Kara knew her friend meant well, but didn’t want to ever replace Evan in her heart. “I miss him so much.” She bit her lip.

      “Of course you do. But you’re young, and so pretty.” Danita gave her a hug. “You’ll find happiness again. Unlike me, a middle-aged janitor with wrinkles and gray hair.”

      “I heard that,” Beth said, as she led her chestnut mare, Sundance, toward the hitching rail. She elbowed Danita in the ribs. “I’m older than you, and you do not have gray hair.”

      “Thanks to my hairdresser.” Danita grimaced. “Too bad he’s gay. He’s really good-looking.”

      Hannah walked over, leading her saddled gelding. “That’s always the way it goes,” she said. “But you stop putting yourself down.” She frowned at Danita, tossing her brown ponytail over one shoulder. “You run your own cleaning business, woman. And you’re smart, beautiful and in the prime of your life. To hell with Phillip.”

      “That’s right,” Beth said. “As soon as the men in this town find out you’re single, they’ll be flocking around like ants at a picnic.” She tightened her cinch. “And you might as well start tonight. Hannah and I are going to the Silver Spur. Come with us. You, too, Kara.”

      Kara shook her head, gathering Indio’s reins. “I’m not much for the bar scene.”

      “All right, I’ll go,” Danita said. “But I’m not cruising for guys. I need another man like I need another twenty pounds of fat on my ass.”

      Kara laughed.

      Horses tacked up, the four women set off along the bridle path. Hannah moved Ricochet up beside Indio, as Danita and Beth rode ahead. “I wish you’d change your mind about coming tonight.”

      Kara wished her friends would quit pressuring her. “I don’t think so.”

      Hannah’s hazel eyes held compassion. “I know you’re still grieving, and that you need time. But be careful not to let it consume you, either. Life’s too short, kiddo.”

      “Tell me about it,” Kara snapped. She couldn’t help but resent Hannah’s comment. What did she know about losing a husband? Twenty-nine—the only single woman in the group—Hannah had her whole life ahead of her. Evan hadn’t even been around to celebrate Kara’s thirtieth birthday. “My time with Evan flew by. Like that.” She snapped her fingers.

      “I’m sorry,” Hannah said. Her gaze held Kara’s, full of such sympathy, Kara felt like a bitch.

      “It’s okay.” She fought the familiar, choking ache in the back of her throat. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back.

      Hannah’s words had hit home.

      Kara’s biggest fear was being exactly like her mother-in-law…grieving forever.

      Never getting over the loss of the man she’d loved with all her heart and soul.

      SATURDAY BROUGHT some cloud cover, but the rain held off, the temperature hovering in the mid-fifties. Kara opted to do some yard work midmorning, determined to get the soil along the front wall of her house turned, so she could plant some bachelor buttons and Shasta daisies. As she went to work with a shovel, the sound of guitar music floated her way. Pausing, she listened, then smiled. Someone was singing a popular country tune. But it didn’t sound like Derrick. Maybe one of his band?

      Puzzled, Kara leaned the shovel against the wall. The voice sounded young, more like a kid’s. She started across the lawn, then hesitated. What was she doing? She should mind her own business and tend to her flower bed. Kara picked up the shovel again and turned over another section of dirt.

      But the guitar music lifted her spirits—a rare thing these days. She simply couldn’t resist seeing who the player was.

      A few minutes later, Kara paused on Derrick’s front walkway. Near the open door, a porch swing and two chairs stood empty, the orange tabby kitten dozing beneath one of them. The wraparound porch hid the guitar player from view, the music coming from the side of the house.

      What the heck. She was already here.

      Kara climbed the steps and called out as she rounded the corner of the porch. “Hello?”

      For a moment, the boy didn’t see or hear her. And Kara didn’t realize he was sitting in a wheelchair. Her eyes darted to the chair a split second later, then back up just as the kid’s gaze met hers. He blushed, breaking off midtune, his hand resting across the top of the guitar, a pick in his fingers. “Can I help you with something?”

      She felt awkward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Kara gestured over her shoulder. “I live across the street. I heard the guitar….”

      “Sorry about that.” The boy’s face reddened deeper beneath his light-brown hair. “Dad thought guitar music wouldn’t bother the neighbors anymore, since he moved out of his apartment.”

      Dad.

      Wow. She’d assumed Derrick was a single man, living alone. Somehow she hadn’t expected a guitar-picking, bartending cowboy to have a half-grown son.

      “You weren’t bothering me at all,” Kara hastened to explain, as the boy fumbled to put the instrument back in its case. “I came over because I liked what I heard. I wanted to see who was playing.”

      He paused, looking skeptically at her. “Really?”

      “You bet. I’m a big country music fan.” She held out her hand. “I’m Kara Tillman.”

      He shook hands briefly. “Connor.”

      “Well,