LITMIR.BIZ

      “Love is eternal—the aspect may change, but not the essence. There is the same difference in a person before and after he is in love as there is in an unlighted lamp and one that is burning. The lamp was there and was a good lamp, but now it is shedding light too, and that is its real function.”

      —Vincent Van Gogh

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 35

      Chapter 36

      Chapter 37

      Chapter 38

      Chapter 39

      Chapter 40

      Chapter 41

      Chapter 42

      Chapter 43

      Chapter 44

      Chapter 45

      Coming Next Month

      1

      Colorado Mountains

       Summer, Morning

      Since her fall in the National Finals Rodeo, pain had been a daily enemy. Calli Torcher hesitated at the top of the steep stairs from her attic bedroom to the first floor, took a breath, braced a hand against the wall and gritted her teeth at the prospect of pain. No matter how carefully she set her feet, she’d jar herself, then stop and pant through the agony. Or she might fall and end up in the hospital. Again.

      Recovering from a broken pelvis took time. The bad dreams that peppered her sleep didn’t help matters. She’d dreamt of people lost in a winter blizzard. Cries for help. Short notes of doom from a clock gong or the ranch’s iron triangle or a siren…

      She shook her head to clear her mind and concentrate on navigating the stairs. It happened the third stair from the top, just a tiny misstep and she was leaning against the wall, trying to shut out waves of agony. When she recovered, she went on and made it to the ground floor with no other problems.

      As she rested against the wall at the bottom landing, she wondered if she should ask her dad if she could use the downstairs storeroom as a bedroom until she fully healed. But things hadn’t been right between her and her father for months, ever since she’d fallen and lost the barrel-racing championship, ending her career at twenty-five.

      That was the past. She could—and would—still train horses, take a more active role in the ranch now that she wasn’t on the road all the time, traveling the rodeo circuit.

      Her nose twitched at the smell of strong coffee and frying bacon. Dad was up and fixing his own breakfast. Since he’d started without her, she decided she’d get some air, clear the images and sounds of the dream—the string of bad dreams—from her head and replace them with the beauty of the Rocking Bar T Ranch in their mountain valley.

      Calli limped to the corral, breathing deeply, feeling the tingle of the breeze on her face, the softness of worn flannel and denim from her shirt and jeans on her skin. The ball of the sun shot yellow streaks of light into the sky.

      She reached the corral fence and leaned against it, breathing fast, still weak from her last surgery. Still, if she continued to work hard, in another few months she’d be able to start training horses.

      No whicker of greeting came from her gelding. Calli whistled. Nothing. He always greeted her. A twinge of alarm ruptured her calm. “Spark! Spark, here!” She called as if her horse was a young, heedless colt.

      Her dad strode up, a lean tough man with a weathered face and hard lines carved from the rigors of cattle ranching. He leaned on the fence to her right. “The gelding ain’t here.”

      She looked at him from the corner of her eye. Bristly gray whiskers sprouted from his jaw. He could speak well if he wanted, if he respected the person he was talking to.

      She wet her lips. “What do you mean, Spark isn’t here?”

      His hat shadowed the eyes as blue as her own, but he squinted down at her all the same. Hard as the distant mountains. “He’s a highly trained rodeo horse, worth a lotta money. Couldn’t expect me to keep him ’round when you can’t ride him anymore and a profit can be made. Your last doctor’s appointment made me realize that.”

      Calli pivoted so quickly it wrenched her hip. She ignored the pain in her body, so much less than the anguish in her heart. She spoke through the shock. “Spark is my horse. I gave you the money for him.”

      Her dad shrugged. “I bought the gelding from the racetrack. The horse was registered in my name. I’m the owner of Rocking Bar T and everything on it.”

      “Except for Spark. I paid for him,” Calli said through clenched teeth.

      His stance was still casual. “Huh. My name is on the papers. And who paid for that horse’s keep when it was young? I did.”

      Money wasn’t the issue. Love was. Giving and receiving love was everything. She’d needed something to love and return that love in her life. “How could you do this? I love him.”

      He faced her now, as impassive as always, as if nothing touched him, not even a hint of irritation in his eyes. He looked her up and down as if judging a heifer, not as if he saw his daughter. “You should know better than that. Stupid to love an animal. Stupid to love at all. Love ain’t nothin’ that gets a return. A profit could be made, and Spark wasn’t no use to me. I sold him to Bill Morsey.”

      Usefulness had always been Dad’s bottom line.

      Her insides clenched, the pressure of hard tears backed behind her eyes. She couldn’t stop the question. “What about me? What about my usefulness?”

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