LITMIR.BIZ

      STARING OUT THE WINDOW during math class, Micah saw Claire Ford leave the school building. Nosy bitch. No doubt she’d been talking to Miss Haynes. And no doubt when class was over he’d get a summons to the guidance counselor’s office because Claire’d been meddling in his business again.

      Like his life was any of Miss Haynes’s concern. Or Claire Ford’s concern, or anybody else’s, for that matter. They all wanted to horn in where they had no business.

      Wanted to fix him.

      Well, he couldn’t be fixed. His dad was in jail, his mother was a junkie who didn’t particularly care what he did, and they lived in a crappy trailer on the wrong side of Little Lobo—hard to do, given the size of this Podunk Montana town. His parents were trash, his life was trash. He was trash.

      Micah watched Claire detour to the playground where the elementary students were at recess. Miss Morgan, the third-grade teacher, met her at the fence that enclosed the play area, and they began to talk. Claire was hot, with a great butt—must be from riding horses all the time. If he thought there was any chance of tapping that, he’d be happy to play camp. But that jerk Nestor was going to be a counselor. Micah figured he might as well be in prison like his dad as go to that camp.

      Micah’s attention wandered to the front row of the classroom where Annie Whitman took notes on the lecture, her blond hair falling in silky waves over her shoulders. He’d heard she’d made it with every player on the football team.

      She denied it, of course. But everybody knew it was true.

      As if she could feel him staring, she turned her head and met his gaze. He winked. She straightened and jerked her head back around. She hadn’t lost her high-and-mighty attitude, that was for sure. Micah pressed his lips together. Just wait, babe. You’ll change your mind yet.

      An announcement crackled over the classroom intercom. “Micah Abbott, please come to Miss Haynes’s office after class.”

      Micah rolled his eyes and stuffed his math book into his bag as the bell rang.

      Right on time.

      CHAPTER TWO

      SETH YAWNED and opened his eyes to narrow slits. Midmorning light filtered into the room around fluttering curtains. He breathed in the smell of sweet grass and fresh air wafting through the partially open window.

      Still sleepy, he closed his eyes again, drifting aimlessly in murky half dreams to a bright, sunny day more than three months ago. Victory within reach. A rank bull named Rotten. Riding on top of the world—then plummeting into oblivion.

      Fighting the sensation of falling, Seth jerked violently awake. He wrenched upward, triggering a shaft of pain in his left hip and leg, which were held together with a rod and screws. He let out a yelp and collapsed onto the bed, snatching fast, shallow breaths, squeezing his eyes shut until the pain began to ebb. Meanwhile, he pulled a pillow over his head and tried to shut out the awful memory.

      When he could breathe normally again, he shoved the pillow aside and looked toward the nightstand, which was lined with medicine bottles. The clock there showed it was almost 11:00 a.m. Another day in hell. He hated how the pain meds fogged his brain, but some days they were the only way to get a few hours of relief from the constant ache. Then there were the torturous workouts at the gym. They seemed to be doing next to nothing to restore strength to his thigh.

      Almost three months after surgery he was still a cripple. He’d been able to put his full weight on his leg for a week now, but without crutches, he still struggled to keep his balance.

      Seth sat up again, more gingerly this time. Slowly he shifted his legs over the side of the bed. He pushed himself to his feet, then stood still for a minute to let the pain ease before hobbling to the bathroom. After a hot shower that loosened him up a little, he poked around the kitchen, then nuked a large chunk of leftover casserole and sat down at the table with the steaming food and a glass of milk.

      He hated to impose on his sister for so long, but the choice had been Libby’s house or his parents’ ranch. In truth, he’d rather be alone all day than have to deal with his father after the way they’d parted when Seth left home after high school. Seth’s jaw tightened at the thought that once again he’d disappointed the man, even though he’d made a name for himself on the bull riding circuit. Rookie of the Year right out of high school, he’d earned a good living, been to the Professional Bull Riders World Finals in Vegas the last three years in a row, came in third last season. Damn it. He would have qualified this year, too. The way he’d ridden in the first few events, he could have ended up number one.

      Then he could have returned home on his own terms to mend the rift between him and his father. Not now…not after that night in the hospital room when his father had assumed he was asleep.

      “I knew he would end up this way. I tried to tell him,” he’d heard his father say to his mother. “What’s he going to do now that he’s all busted up?”

      Judd Morgan had no idea that Seth had heard, but the old resentment had flared up again and Seth would rather have gone to hell than drag himself home in disgrace.

      Instead, he’d ended up here. Laid up at his sister’s house, too dispirited to even follow the rest of the season on TV. He needed to get back on the circuit to bring in some money. He was losing his savings at an alarming pace, on expenses his meager medical insurance wouldn’t pay. No company wanted to insure a bull rider, at least not at a reasonable rate, so he’d taken the minimum coverage. Even though he knew the bull riding mantra—it’s not if you get hurt, it’s when and how bad—he’d never intended to use that insurance. The best intentions…

      Plus, he had a hefty truck payment, and insisted on paying room and board to his sister. Libby didn’t want him to, but she didn’t make much teaching, and he refused to mooch off her. His sponsors had been patient so far, but the nasty rumors that he’d never ride again were getting around, and those sponsors wouldn’t wait for him forever.

      Bile rose in Seth’s throat as he recalled the orthopedic surgeon’s dire prognosis after hours of intensive surgery.

      “I’m optimistic you’ll be able to walk without a limp again, in time.”

      Walk again? Of course, he’d walk again!

      “Cut

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