Temporary Rancher. Ann Evans

want you and the girls to move away.”

      “Beaumont’s only a five-hour drive from Cooper. Charlie thinks there’s a decent-size apartment on the property. You could come and visit us.”

      “But—”

      Riley held up one hand. “You can’t talk me out of this. Besides, the email’s sent. Please don’t make me feel bad about it. When Charlie suggested I send my résumé, it just felt…right. And if Quintin Avenaco isn’t interested, if he’s too dumb to recognize what a catch I am, then someone else will. I’m not giving up on this idea.”

      Jillian reached out again, hugging her even tighter. “I hope you’re right. You know I want you and the girls to be happy, after everything Brad put you through.”

      Riley couldn’t have agreed more, but a lump had formed in her throat and she couldn’t respond at the moment. She had wasted nine years trying to make her marriage work. Nine years. She shouldn’t have to be reinventing herself at age thirty-one. It wasn’t fair or right. But that was life. And if she didn’t take a few chances, how would she ever get back on track?

      Unexpectedly, the computer chime went off, notifying her that she had mail. She and Jillian both glanced down at the laptop in surprise.

      “Who’s after me now?” Riley complained with a laugh. Secretly, she was afraid it might be the automatic notification for her car payment popping into her inbox. She didn’t want Jillian to see that she was late with it. Her soft-hearted sister would just try to give back the money Riley had shelled out for this month’s share of the groceries.

      She opened her email. After reading the subject line, she jerked back as if something had tried to reach out and grab her. “Oh, my God,” she said softly. “What’s he doing up at this time of night?”

      “Who?” Jillian asked.

      Riley gave her a stunned look. “Quintin Avenaco. He’s already answering my email.”

      STANDING ON THE BACK PORCH of the Echo Springs ranch house, Quintin Avenaco stared out at the property he now owned lock, stock and barrel.

      The dilapidated cattle chutes and a rusty-looking windmill that creaked in the early-summer breeze.

      A sagging barn the color of tomato soup.

      A line of perimeter fencing as jagged and crooked as a jack-o’-lantern’s teeth.

      This house, a three-bedroom Victorian with a century-old foundation and a family of raccoons playing in the attic.

      He’d closed on the place last month and moved in two weeks ago. It was his now. All of it.

      God help him.

      He tried to remember that, on the surface, there might not seem much to recommend about Echo Springs. But a year ago, he hadn’t been searching for a spread to call his own. He’d wanted only to lease good pastureland, and he’d found that here. But now his plans had changed. In spite of the deplorable condition of the horse and hay barn, the poorly-maintained equipment and loafing shed, the investment he’d made was sound.

      The life he planned to carve out for himself could work.

      At least, he’d been sure of that until about a week ago.

      From the corner of his eye Quintin caught movement. He turned his head to see his best friend, Ethan Rafferty, coming around the corner of the wraparound porch. In one hand, he carried a bottle of Jack Daniels. In the other, two glasses.

      “I rang the bell, but it doesn’t seem to work,” Ethan said with a grin.

      “One more thing I need to fix.”

      “Long list, I’ll bet.”

      “Getting longer every day.” Quintin indicated the booze. “What are you up to?”

      Ethan shrugged. “Just paying a visit to my best friend and ex-partner.”

      For years Quintin had been Ethan Rafferty’s equal partner in Horse Sense. Three years ago they’d brought the business down here to Beaumont from Colorado Springs. Since then, Horse Sense had flourished, garnering a reputation in the horse world as the place to go if you had a problem horse or wanted mounts trained to interact with the public.

      But last month, Quintin had sold his half of the company to Ethan. The amount they’d settled on had made it possible for Quintin to buy Echo Springs, and since then, they’d both been so busy there was little time for social calls.

      “You look like hell, man,” Ethan said with a sad shake of his head. “Like you haven’t slept in a week.”

      “I’m not sure I have.”

      “Well, I can fix that.” He wiggled the whiskey bottle. “Time we had a celebratory drink and a little guy talk.”

      They settled into a couple wooden patio chairs Quintin had picked up yesterday. Their newness looked out of place on a porch with missing balusters and rotted railings.

      Ethan uncorked the bottle, poured a generous amount in each tumbler and passed one over. Then he raised his glass. “Congratulations, pal. You’re now officially a Texas rancher.” He glanced out at the land, chewed the inside of his cheek a moment, then turned back to Quintin. “Poor dumb bastard.”

      Quintin couldn’t help laughing. Ethan could always lighten his mood, and they’d been friends too many years for him to mind being gigged.

      “You still mad about me quitting Horse Sense?” he asked.

      “Hell, yeah. I miss you, man.”

      That was nice to hear, even if it couldn’t possibly be true. Ethan had a business going, a big ranch to oversee and a pregnant wife at home.

      “I had a great run with Horse Sense,” Quintin admitted. “But I was ready for a change.”

      When it came right down to it, Horse Sense had probably saved his life, giving it meaning and purpose for a long time. What had started out small and shaky had grown into a thriving business over the years. Quintin and Ethan, and Ethan’s father, Hugh, knew how to coax ground manners and fearlessness into the most stubborn, skittish animal. Now they had contracts with mounted police associations around the country to train cops and their mounts. Those contracts kept Horse Sense’s books in the black these days, and the six-week course for horse and rider was booked solid until winter.

      Ethan turned his head, giving Quintin a serious look. “I mean it, Quint. You may have lousy people skills, but even Dad can’t hypnotize a horse the way you can.”

      “I need more in my life than a good set of parlor tricks,” he countered. “And all that wheeling and dealing you seem to enjoy these days… It isn’t for me. I’m just a nag wrangler at heart, and you know it.” He glanced toward the far pasture. “It’s one of the reasons I bought this place.”

      Ethan blew out a resigned breath. “Okay. I get that. But now what? You still planning to run Dutch Warmbloods?”

      “As much as I can. They’ve got the best temperament for police work.”

      For a couple years now, Quintin had grown more and more disgusted by the quality of the stock they saw coming through Horse Sense. At the start of every new session, cops showed up with sleek, expensive trailers marked with law enforcement decals and filled with equally sleek, expensive horseflesh. Some of the animals were top-notch and would serve their masters well. But others were completely unsuitable as mounted police horses and had to be washed out of the program by the end of the second week. It frustrated Quintin to see how many of those hay burners couldn’t cut it. A year ago, he’d decided to do something about it.

      “I don’t know where most of these cities are buying their stock,” he went on, “but they’re getting ripped off.”

      Ethan nodded. They’d talked about this before, but there seemed to be little they could do except deal with the bad apples on a case-by-case basis. “You