His Rodeo Sweetheart. Pamela Britton

the doors.

      “I’ll take good care of him.”

      “I know.” He still wouldn’t look her in the eye. “The base commander told me about you.”

      “It’s a labor of love.”

      He met her gaze and she could see it then—how hard he’d fought for control. But he had himself in hand. His eyes might be rimmed with red, but he was a soldier through and through. A combat veteran. A man who’d been trained to keep his cool even when the world fell apart. She knew the type well.

      “Thank God for people like you.”

      She felt close to tears again for some reason. “And thank God for servicemen like you.”

      They both dropped into silence, Claire wondering what he would do after today and where he would go, warning herself that it wasn’t her problem.

      “I should get going.”

      He nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

      She started to back away, but he held out a hand. She didn’t want to clasp it. She really didn’t. Stupid, ridiculous thing because there was no reason why she shouldn’t, but the moment she touched him she knew she’d been right. It was like a scene from an old-time movie. A slowing down of time. A freeze-frame moment when everything seemed to stand still and all sound faded: Zoom in camera one. Hero and heroine touch and seem unable to look anywhere but into each other’s eyes.

      “Drive carefully.”

      He let her hand go and smiled. He had dimples. She would have never expected dimples.

      “Thanks,” she heard herself say, and then she forced herself to take a deep breath as she turned away and headed toward the driver’s side door.

      Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

      She looked back.

      Major McCall still stood there, his hand lifting to his hat as he saluted. She smiled, saluted back, all but wilting into the driver’s seat a moment later. She started the engine and slowly backed out, Janus whining one last time. It wasn’t until she hit the main road that she pulled over on the shoulder.

      She leaned back and closed her eyes, shaken by the touch of his hand.

      “What in the world was that?”

Chapter Two

      What was he doing here?

      Ethan McCall looked down at his nearly finished coffee. He’d just driven five hours to pull into a strange town, order breakfast at a place called Ed’s Eatery, and then sit and watch traffic pass through the small town of Via Del Caballo, California.

      My family owns a big ranch. You’d be welcome there.

      He recalled her eyes. They shared the same eye color, only his were nothing like her green eyes. Hers were like the rind of a lime. Bright green. Bottle green. Sun shining through glass and right into her soul green. He’d never seen anything like them before. They’d been filled with kindness, too, and maybe that’s why he’d driven to her hometown. That, and the truth was, he had no place else to go.

      Out in front a new car pulled into an empty parking spot, one of the diagonal kind. A small family. Two little kids. Mom laughing at something Dad said. It was such a stark contrast to his view over the past four years—crumbling buildings, half-dressed children, dust-covered cars—that for a moment he simply stared. The mom took the hand of the youngest child, a little girl with cute blond curls that caught the morning sun. Behind them and across the street, someone loaded what looked like grain into the back of their truck. The sign on the store read Via Del Caballo Farm and Feed. Out in front sat a row of livestock feeders. Round. Square. Tall. Feeders of all sizes. When he’d first sat down he’d gazed at them for the longest time, just thinking about the times he’d been in the Middle East, longing for a view like the one he had now.

      Hometown, USA.

      “Need more coffee?”

      He glanced up at the waitress—a teenage girl with dirty blond hair and freckles—and said, “No, thanks.”

      She smiled and walked away, Ethan would bet she entered her pig in the county fair every year. FFA. Local rancher’s daughter. Good kid with no bad habits and a weekend job.

      Life in a small town. He’d fought to protect that lifestyle. Had kept going even when the chips were down. And then Trev and Janus had been shot and...

      He nearly cracked the handle of his coffee mug. It took him a moment to regulate his breathing again. When he did, he glanced across the street.

      And froze.

      It was her. Claire Reynolds. The woman he’d come to see. The one he’d convinced himself wouldn’t be home. The woman who’d called him on the phone one day—out of the blue—and asked for his opinion on a dog in her care. Behavioral issues, she’d said. But instead of calling her back he’d slipped behind the wheel of his old truck and found himself heading north and then west.

      And there she was.

      She’d slipped out of a pickup truck, that long, black hair he remembered so well pulled into a ponytail. She glanced toward the restaurant and he found himself turning away, even shielding his face with a hand, for some reason embarrassed even though he doubted she could see him sitting in the window of the local coffee shop. He’d felt stupid for arriving unannounced. He’d been debating with himself for over an hour whether he should call her now, drop into her place, or just go back home. Except he didn’t have a home. Just an empty apartment near the base that he hated with a passion.

      She’d moved to the back cab of her truck, helping a little boy down. That must be him. Her kid. The little boy who was sick. After he’d buried Trev, he’d done some calling around to find out more about the woman who now had care of Janus. He’d learned a lot about Claire Reynolds. He knew she’d started the rescue in honor of her deceased husband. They’d had trouble adopting his dog once he’d been discharged. The man had been sick and the dog had been healthy so the military had reassigned the dog—something that happened pretty frequently with wounded warriors—and so they’d lost out on the animal. The whole ordeal had prompted Claire to start Combat Pet Rescue and, when her husband had passed, to help write legislation that mandated combat veterans would have first pick at their dog. She’d thrown herself into the endeavor whole hog—or so he’d been told. And now her son was sick, too. Cancer. Pediatrician had caught it early, but still... Some people had no luck at all.

      He watched as she hugged her son, and then straightened. Her hand found the top of his ball cap, rested there for a moment, then gently stroked it, as if she’d forgotten he didn’t have any hair. She snatched her hand away.

      Some things just weren’t fair.

      Trev’s wife was on her own now, too. At least she didn’t have a sick kid.

      He found himself standing up before he could stop to think about what he planned to do. The waitress smiled at him as he left, and Ethan nodded before sliding past the family of four and out the glass doors. It was one of those perfect Saturday afternoons. The kind made for sitting on a porch and drinking tea. Blue sky. Probably 70 degrees. The smell of summer hung in the air thanks to a sidewalk planter that held rosemary and lilac.

      He headed toward the store. Up and down the street, people went about their Saturday business. It was a picturesque town. Storefront windows. Dark green canvas awnings swooping low over the sidewalks. Boutiques sat next to hair salons that sat next to antiques stores; and in front of it all, cars parked at an angle. He ducked between two of those cars now, pausing for a moment to check traffic. Just his luck to come home after three tours in the Army and get mowed down while jaywalking. The traffic on Main Street was pretty light and he made it across in time to watch Claire and her son enter the store.

      “You are not getting the John Deere tractor,” he heard