Her Cowboy Hero. Carolyne Aarsen

Mitch and, at times, Tanner’s brother, David.

      Keira was moving some pieces of cut leather off the heavy butcher-block worktable dominating the center of the building as Tanner set the saddle on it.

      Across from the table, rows of shelves stacked with boxes holding grommets, snaps, buckles and rigging D’s and other hardware necessary for saddle making filled most of the wall. Beside the shelves hung stirrups made of metal, or leather-covered wood, all lined up by size and shape. Next to them stood an old rolltop desk that held binders of photos of completed projects to show prospective customers.

      Sugar lay on an old worn rug lying by the chair as he always did when Keira worked here.

      The other corner of the shop was taken up by three industrial sewing machines. Beside them, perched on a saddle rack, was a half-finished saddle.

      What had changed most was the wall opposite him. Monty used to hang pictures of finished saddles on it. Now shelves holding wallets, belts, briefcases and purses took up that space. Obviously a new venture for Refuge Ranch Leatherworks.

      Keira brushed a few remnants of leather from the table, then adjusted a pile of cardboard patterns. Fussy work that kept her attention off him.

      “Since when did you start cutting, stitching and stamping again?” Tanner asked, slipping his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

      “When I came back. About two years ago.”

      And a month after David’s funeral, he had discovered. Once again he wondered why she hadn’t attended the funeral. Once again the pain of her absence cut. He brushed the old feelings aside. They belonged to a past he’d closed the door on a long time ago.

      “Looks like you’ve got a few other projects in the pipeline,” he said.

      Keira rested her hands on the table in front of her, looking resolutely ahead at the wall of manufactured items Tanner guessed were made right here by her. “I’ve been taking the business in another direction,” was all she said.

      “Pretty ambitious. Do you still do saddles?”

      “I do a few. Dad helps out, and also helps me with the small work from time to time. He can’t stay completely out of it.” Her gaze skittered off him and onto the saddle now lying on the table between them. “That looks ragged.”

      Tanner ran his hand over the misshapen cantle and adjusted the worn stirrups. “Last ride was a bit of a rodeo, if you’ll pardon the expression.” If it were his saddle, he would have junked it. But this saddle held memories, and he needed it fixed.

      Keira shot him a frown. “You still riding? I thought you were done when you bought that mechanic shop in Sheridan, Wyoming?”

      “I was, but I thought I’d take one more run at the NFR this year.”

      Before his brother died, David had qualified for the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas. After Tanner got over his grief, he promised himself he would do one last rodeo season in David’s honor, aiming to qualify for the NFR himself. This was that season and he had done well. He felt that God had honored his request to ride in the NFR for David. Had some good rides and made some good money. He’d gotten some injuries on his quest, but in a couple of weeks he would be riding in Vegas and he was determined to do it on David’s saddle.

      He was equally determined to win. Maybe then he could lay his guilt over David’s death to rest.

      “Wow, it certainly got a working over,” she said, examining the saddle carefully.

      Her throaty voice was even. Well modulated. If anyone were listening, they would think she was talking to a complete stranger.

      Not her former fiancé.

      “The horse I drew was a bad spinner,” Tanner said. “Should have known when he looked back at me with those beady brown eyes. I thought I had him from the mark out but then he set me up. When he rolled back, everything went south. Landed on the saddle and fought for a while. Worst of it all, I was riding slack. Wasn’t even a performance.” Tanner caught himself midexplanation, aware that he was talking too much. It was a problem he had when he was nervous. He shut his mouth, then caught Keira’s puzzled look.

      “You hurt your shoulder?” she asked.

      Tanner hadn’t even realized he’d rolled his injured shoulder till she pointed it out. “It’s nothing.” It was more than nothing, but he didn’t want her sympathy. If she cared enough to give it.

      Keira gave him a curt nod as she continued her inspection.

      Tanner cleared his throat, wishing he felt less self-conscious in Keira’s presence. He’d struggled for the past six years to forget her. To forget how she had chosen to walk away from him without a word, without a response to his request to reconcile their broken engagement. An engagement she had called off. It had been a long, hard-won victory over his emotions and his past, and even in spite of losing David, he felt as if he had come to a better place in his life. A place where he could look ahead instead of always thinking about the “could-have-beens.”

      Coming back here was a test for him. Keira’s continued hold on his heart had been preventing him from building new relationships.

      He had hoped that by seeing Keira again he might finally be able to put her place in his life in perspective. Maybe even rid himself of her ever-present shadow.

      Trouble was, now that he saw her again, he wasn’t sure if that was even possible.

      * * *

      Keira wished she could keep her hands from trembling as she handled the saddle under Tanner’s watchful gaze. What was wrong with her? She was prepared for Tanner’s arrival. Alice, Tanner’s stepmother, had mentioned it a couple of days ago. Had even given a date.

      Yet, seeing him now, his brown eyes edged with sooty lashes and framed by the slash of dark brows, the hard planes of his face emphasized by the stubble shadowing his jaw and cheeks, brought back painful memories Keira thought she had put aside.

      He looked the same and yet different. Harder. Leaner. He wore his sandy brown hair longer; brushing the collar of his shirt, giving him a reckless look at odds with the Tanner she had once known.

      And loved.

      She sucked in a rapid breath as she turned over the saddle, the wooden stirrups thumping dully on the table. Tanner seemed to fill the cramped shop, and Keira sensed his every movement.

      Keep your focus on your work, she reminded herself, pulling her attention back to the broken saddle she was examining.

      “So? What’s the verdict, Latigo Kid?” Tanner asked.

      His casual use of the old nickname he always used for her caught her off guard. And when her startled gaze caught his surprised one, she guessed the name had fallen out unintentionally.

      She dragged her attention back to the saddle. “I don’t know if it’s worth fixing this,” she said quietly, examining the bottom, then the stirrup leathers. “Back billet is broken. The swell cover is ripped and it looks pretty rough. You’ve worked it over pretty good with that wire brush.”

      “Resin stays on better that way.”

      Keira acknowledged his comment with a quick nod. Saddle bronc riders often sprinkled resin on their saddles to help them stay seated. The wire brush roughed up the leather so the resin stuck better.

      “The stirrup leathers should be replaced,” she said, continuing her litany of repairs. “You’ll need new latigos, and the D rings need to be reattached if not replaced. It’ll be a lot of work.”

      Tanner sighed as he tugged his gloves off and shoved them in the pocket of his worn plaid jacket. “But can you fix it?”

      “I’d need to take it apart to see. It might need a whole new tree. If that’s the case, two weeks?” She was pleased at how even her voice sounded. At how businesslike she could be. As if he was simply another customer.

      “That’s