To Trust A Rancher. Debbi Rawlins

was a mere shell of the person she used to be. Her skin was sallow, her green eyes dull and lifeless, and it seemed she could only muster a smile for Noah these days. Every time he asked Amy about the bruises and she made up a different excuse, it broke Becca’s heart.

      Ironic, really, that Amy had fled Blackfoot Falls to escape her abusers and then run straight into the arms of an even more sadistic man. Actually, it wasn’t ironic. Becca knew better because of all the reading she’d done and the pamphlets she’d collected. It was a vicious cycle—one only Amy could break, if and when she was ready.

      The knowledge didn’t make Becca feel any less responsible. After all, she’d helped Amy get to LA.

      She hurried to the bathroom for a tissue and to check her makeup. Getting emotional wouldn’t do her any good. This promotion was a big break for her. The money, the hours, everything was finally falling into place. In a year, two tops, she hoped to have saved enough to get them out of this crappy neighborhood.

      After grabbing her purse off the dresser, she stuck her head into the kitchen. Isabella was standing at the sink, humming, looking like a ray of sunshine in one of her flowery handmade dresses. Noah was still eating, his head bent over his bowl, as he intermittently hummed a few bars along with Isabella.

      He looked happy.

      Seeing him like that was all it took to brighten her day. She couldn’t possibly love him more if he were her own child. But he wasn’t, and she hoped with all her heart the day never came that she’d be forced to give him up.

      Which could happen if Amy ever got clean... Though of course that was what Becca wanted for her friend. She did. Anyway, Amy would never keep them apart.

      * * *

      RYDER MITCHELL SAT in the dirt in the middle of the corral, waving the dust away from his face, ignoring the hooting and hollering of the three troublemakers who’d convinced him to show Toby the finer points of breaking a horse—one that was supposed to be used to a saddle.

      “Hey, boss, let me give you a hand.”

      Ryder ignored that, too...until he heard the applause and realized Lance was being a smartass. The other two hired men, Toby and Bear, were leaning against the corral railing with him, still laughing.

      “Yeah, that’s right, keep it up. Better hope some other sucker springs for your beer.”

      That wiped the smirks off their faces.

      “Oh, come on now, we’re just having some fun,” Lance grumbled.

      “Not all of us,” Ryder muttered and pushed to his feet.

      Shaking his head, Wiley snatched Ryder’s dusty Stetson off the ground and handed it to him. “You ain’t hurt, are you?” the foreman asked in a quiet voice.

      Ryder shook his head. “Just my pride.”

      “Sure you didn’t break your check-writing hand with that stupid stunt?” Wiley asked, loud enough for the horses in the pasture to hear him.

      Wiley ignored the kid as he glanced toward the house. “Does Gail have their paychecks? I can go get them from her. Unless they’re still in your office.”

      The bunkhouse door slammed, giving Ryder a few moments to think it over. Otis, who did the cooking for the men, hobbled outside, using his arm to block the late-afternoon sun as he joined the other men at the railing.

      Ryder looked back at Wiley. The poor guy had developed a thing for Ryder’s mother. Gail didn’t have a clue, and he doubted Wiley would ever act on his feelings. The man had been a friend to Ryder’s father until he’d died three years ago, and Wiley had started working for the family long before that.

      In his mid-fifties now, he had some gray at his temples and in his sideburns. But he was as lean and muscled as any of the younger men who worked under him. He was also honest and hardworking. Gail could do a lot worse...once she finished grieving. It sure would help if his flaky sister called more often. Better yet, Amy needed to pay their mom a damn visit once in a while.

      It was coming up on Thanksgiving—maybe she’d surprise them. Yeah, he wouldn’t take a dollar bet on that happening.

      “I’m not sure where I left the payroll,” Ryder said finally. “If you don’t mind, check with her.”

      “No problem.” Wiley took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair as he headed toward the house.

      The truth was, Ryder didn’t know how he’d feel if the two of them ever got together. He wanted to see his mom happy again, though. And if Wiley could bring a sparkle back to her eyes, well, who was Ryder to judge?

      Hell, he had no business having an opinion, period. He hadn’t been able to make his own marriage work. Clearly, he was better at ranching.

      He looked around, filled with a bone-deep sense of satisfaction. The main barn had been completely overhauled, and next, he planned to reinforce and repaint the barn behind the stable, which now had a new roof. As did both the calving and equipment sheds.

      Over the winter, they’d have to move the north fence line since he’d just bought another seven hundred acres from Alvin Medina. By staying focused and investing well, Ryder had the cash to get a good deal. And he still had enough money to do more remodeling in the house.

      So far, he’d made the kitchen and family room easier to navigate now that his mom used a cane and sometimes a walker. She’d always enjoyed cooking, up until the day his dad had passed. Since then, she’d lost interest in most of her hobbies. But now, with all her new, high-end appliances, she’d been trying out different recipes like she used to.

      “You were joking about the beer, right, boss?” Toby said, pushing his long hair out of his eyes. “It’s a tradition. You buy us a case every Friday.”

      “So now you expect it?”

      “Well, yeah.”

      Ryder just shook his head. “I think Wiley put it in the barn fridge.”

      Toby grinned. “Sweet.”

      Watching him walk toward his pal, Bear, something occurred to Ryder. “Hey, Toby.”

      He stopped, turned. “Yeah, boss?”

      “How old are you?”

      Looking sheepish, Toby hesitated. “I’m not leaving the property. Just playing cards in the bunkhouse tonight.”

      Ryder sighed. “How old?”

      “Almost twenty-one.”

       Almost.

      Well, hell. Basically, he’d been buying beer for a minor. He wondered if Wiley knew. With Ryder away on business so much, Wiley had a better handle on what was going on. “What about Bear?”

      “Oh, he’s twenty-three.”

      Ryder slapped the Stetson against his thigh, sending up a cloud of dust. “Look, even if you have only one beer, you and your truck don’t leave the property. Got it?”

      “I swear I won’t, and my birthday’s in six weeks, so I’ll be all legal and everything.”

      Nodding, Ryder headed toward his office. Not that he’d admit it, but he’d been drinking beer since he was eighteen. Just on weekends, along with his college roommates. None of them had been the type to get too drunk or do anything crazy. It had been a rite of passage, a part of the college experience and nothing more.

      It puzzled him that he’d suddenly thought to ask. Toby had been working for them for about five months. And at over six feet, with a husky build, he could easily pass for mid-twenties.

      Ryder was the problem. Some of the newer hires were beginning to look young because he felt old. Arguably, at thirty-two, he should be in his prime. But in the ten years since graduating from college, he’d been married, divorced, lost contact with his only sister, buried his father, had