Myra Johnson - The Rancher's Redemption

“Rattlesnakes?” Skin crawling, Erin drew her knees higher on the horse’s sides.

The man chuckled. “Rattlesnakes can’t fly. Anyway, Jasmine’s got a keen sense for snakes. She won’t take us anywhere near one.”

“That’s... That’s good to know.” After a couple of calming breaths, Erin relaxed her legs.

Picking up the reins, the cowboy suggested Erin might want to hold on.

“To what?”

“To me. ” He reached behind and found her right wrist, drawing her arm around his waist. “I don’t bite, I promise.”

Erin didn’t have a reply to that. But when the horse—Jasmine?—began to move, holding on felt like a really good idea. The horse’s rhythmic, rocking gait reassured her, though, and before long, Erin was almost enjoying the ride—or would be, if not for the nearness of the man in front of her.

“So,” he said, “do you make a habit of wandering across private property to do your—whatever that art stuff is called?”

“It’s basketry. And no. I just thought—” She forced out a sharp sigh. What was the point of explaining? He’d just pile on more ridicule for her foolishness. And he’d be right. She had no business wasting her time on such a useless hobby when she should be getting serious about the interior design career she’d postponed so many years ago. Scary stuff, starting over after a divorce. Especially when starting over felt a lot more like starting from scratch.

“Basketry, huh?” the cowboy harrumphed. “Next time you’re looking for twigs and stuff, maybe check with the property owner first.”

“Duly noted.”

When he deftly opened a pasture gate without dismounting, then guided the horse through and closed the gate behind them, Erin couldn’t help being impressed.

Off to their right, a herd of black cattle grazed, their musky smells mingling with the earthy scents of grass and cedar. “Are those your cows?” Erin asked.

“Mmm-hmm. Minus the two still off somewhere by themselves because I got sidetracked rescuing you.”

“Look, I’m sorry, Mr...” She’d already forgotten his name.

“Ritter,” he supplied, sounding irritable. “And don’t worry about it. Road’s just up ahead. Tell me where you left your car.”

They’d come a different way from the route Erin had taken cross-country, so nothing looked familiar. Noticing a dilapidated two-story farmhouse off to the right, which she didn’t remember passing on her drive out, she decided her car must be up the road to the left.

“I’m pretty sure it’s that way,” she said, pointing. Another glance at her watch made her stomach clench. School would be letting out about now, and it was only Avery’s second day at Juniper Bluff Elementary. The almost seven-year-old had suffered enough trauma in her short life. She didn’t need to wonder if Mommy had forgotten her. “Can you hurry, please? My daughter’s going to be so worried.”

“All right, hold on.” After guiding the horse through another gate, the cowboy made sure Erin’s hold was secure before clucking to the horse.

Unprepared for the burst of speed, Erin gasped and tightened her grip around Mr. Ritter’s waist, the quilt bundle trapped against his back. They galloped past a weathered barn and onto a gravel lane that ran alongside the old farmhouse. Even as they sped by, Erin couldn’t miss the peeling paint, sagging porches and flower beds overgrown with weeds. An unexpected pang of sadness struck—this must be where the grumpy cowboy lived.

He slowed the horse to make the left turn onto the road, then picked up speed again. Seconds later, peering around the cowboy, Erin glimpsed her dark blue Camry where she’d left it parked on the shoulder. By the time Mr. Ritter halted his horse next to her car, her heart was pounding as hard as if she’d run the two miles on foot.

He swung his right leg forward over the horse’s neck and dropped to the ground, then reached up to help Erin dismount. The quilt still smashed against her chest, she backed toward her car door. “Well, um...thank you for the ride.” Deep breath. She tugged her keys from her jeans pocket and nearly dropped them before she could press the unlock button on the key fob. “I’m sorry again about trespassing, and you don’t have to worry about me ever bothering you again.”

Without waiting for his response, she climbed into the car and shoved the quilt onto the passenger seat. She could only hope she hadn’t crushed the special basket she’d been creating for Avery. After making sure the cowboy and his horse had moved out of the way, she executed an awkward U-turn. As she drove away, a glance in her rearview mirror showed the cowboy back in the saddle but watching from the same spot.

She shivered. Okay, God, what was that all about? Her first week in town and she had to run afoul of one of the residents. Not to mention having her life flash before her eyes on that wild ride. Horses were her older brother Greg’s department, at least vicariously. His daughter rode for her college team, and as CFO for the family’s San Antonio philanthropic organization, Greg had negotiated a partnership with a Juniper Bluff guest ranch to sponsor riding camps for disadvantaged kids.

But Erin, Greg and their middle sibling, Shaun, had grown up 100 percent city kids. Greg was now a successful businessman, and Shaun served as an ordained minister on the mission field. Their late father had been a highly respected San Antonio pediatrician, and their mother, also in heaven now, had founded her own interior design company. Erin had hoped to follow in her mother’s footsteps, but those career plans had short-circuited not long after she’d met Payne Dearborn.

Fresh out of med school and interning at a Dallas hospital, Payne had been on duty when Erin’s roommate at the University of North Texas tripped on the stairs at a shopping mall and broke her ankle. Erin had to drive her to the ER, where the handsome intern had asked for Erin’s number. One date led to another and another, and within a year, they were engaged. Erin spent her last semester of college planning their June wedding, and afterward her whole world had revolved around Payne.

If only someone else had been in the ER that day. If only she hadn’t given Payne her number, gone out with him the first time, fallen desperately in love with him—or, more accurately, with the idea of marrying a doctor just like her kind, caring, devoted dad. Because Payne Dearborn had turned out to be nothing like Erin’s dad. Why hadn’t she recognized the signs—if not before the wedding, then certainly before bringing a child into the marriage? As the years passed, Payne came to depend more and more on alcohol to relieve the stress of his profession. And the more he drank, the more his cruel side came out.

Nine years, a broken collarbone and entirely too many bruises later, Erin had had enough. Though Payne had never laid a hand on Avery, Erin could no longer take the chance. For both their sakes, she got out.

Brushing away an unexpected tear, she shoved the memories aside and concentrated on her driving. A few minutes later, she pulled into the nearly deserted school parking lot. As she glanced around for Avery, her heart plummeted. Surely, the little girl wouldn’t have accepted a ride from someone else.

Then the fair-haired first-grade teacher Erin had met when she’d enrolled Avery on Monday strode from the building, her hand wrapped around Avery’s. Spying her mom, Avery lit up with a huge grin. She broke free from the teacher and galloped toward the car faster than the grumpy cowboy’s big black horse.

Erin reached across to shove the passenger door open, then stuffed the quilt bundle into the back seat. “Hi, honey! Sorry I’m late.”