The Rancher's Redemption - Myra Johnson Mills & Boon Love Inspired

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running deep and fresh from spring rains. He had to do little more than wave his hat, whistle through his teeth and keep centered in the saddle as Jasmine expertly turned the heifers in the direction of home.

      Once they’d rejoined the herd, Kent rode the fence line to look for any other sections in need of repair. Finding two more trouble spots, he made quick temporary fixes to hold until he could do the job right tomorrow afternoon after his shift ended at the hardware store. Supplementing with part-time work in town gave him a little extra to live on anyway.

      Back at the barn, he unsaddled Jasmine and brushed her down before leading her into her stall. He tossed in a flake of hay, refilled her water pail and dumped a scoop of feed into her tray. The mare gave a nicker of gratitude and settled in for her supper.

      Kent chuckled to himself. He should have it so easy.

      When he walked through his back door and into his empty kitchen a few minutes later, the weight of living alone hit him like a punch to the gut. Which was crazy, because the solitary life was exactly what he wanted—no, needed. Peace and quiet and green growing things all around him. And his animals—a trusty cow horse, a couple of gentle mares he’d rescued, a few head of cattle and the sleepy old dog, who on day one of his adoption, had claimed Kent’s easy chair and relegated him permanently to the sofa.

      “I’m home, Skip.” Kent tossed his dusty felt hat onto the breakfast table and stooped to pick up Skip’s food dish. “Hungry, boy?”

      A thud followed by toenails clicking on hardwood announced the yellow half Lab’s lazy approach. Kent filled the dog’s dish with kibble, and while Skip munched, Kent’s gaze swept the drab walls, bare of any adornments except for the calendar his boss at the hardware store gave out to all his customers every December. The kitchen, like every room in the house—and the outside, too, for that matter—badly needed a fresh coat of paint.

      Except for the couple of times a year when his folks came down from Tulsa for a visit, Kent never much concerned himself with appearances, and why should he start now? Yeah, his mom was always on his case about how the place could sure use a woman’s touch. Every visit, she’d get busy cleaning light fixtures and rearranging his badly disorganized cupboards, while Dad puttered around outside, pulling weeds or shoring up sagging porch steps.

      But standing here now, and with visions of this afternoon’s pretty basket weaver playing through his mind like a video on an endless loop, Kent found himself wondering what Erin Dearborn would have to say about his bleak living conditions. She clearly had an eye for beauty, not to mention a talent for creating art from what anyone else would toss aside. He could still recall the delicate feel of the little twig basket in his hand, still picture the amazingly realistic straw bluebonnets and the dainty letter A, so perfectly formed. He wondered what the initial stood for—maybe her daughter’s name?

       You can ask next time you see her.

      Startled by the realization that he wanted there to be a next time, Kent pulled a quick breath of air into his lungs. Seriously? He was allowing one random encounter to make him question everything about the life he’d so carefully constructed for himself? Kent had long ago decided he wasn’t relationship material anyway, not with the baggage he carried from his wartime service as a corpsman.

      Nope, this bachelor cowboy had everything he needed right here. He’d stick a frozen dinner in the microwave, and after supper, he’d fall asleep in front of the TV while his dog snored in the easy chair. Tomorrow morning, he’d get up early for chores, work at the hardware store till noon, come home for lunch and then get busy fixing those fences. Routine was his comfort zone, and nobody better mess with it.

      Yep, the historical society could just find some other old house to show off.

       Chapter Two

      “Avery, get a move on. We’re running late.” Erin scooped up her purse and keys from the kitchen table, then snatched Avery’s lunchbox off the counter. “Grab your backpack, honey. And don’t forget a sweater.”

      “I’m hurrying as fast as I can, Mom.” Stomping feet echoed from the hallway. “And anyway, you should have woken me up sooner.”

      Erin pressed the button to open the garage door. “I know, and I’m sorry,” she said as Avery bounded past her. “I forgot to set my alarm.”

      She wasn’t sure when it began, this struggle to get anywhere on time. Growing up, she’d earned a reputation for being early to everything. Maybe it was the people pleaser in her, the same part that had kept her married to an abuser in hopes that if she was good enough, if she tried hard enough, she could eventually change him.

      Now, with Payne out of the picture, apparently she’d relaxed her standards. Or else it was rebellion, pure and simple. Her way of reclaiming a semblance of control over her life.

      Whatever the case, she needed to redevelop the habit of punctuality. Getting her daughter to and from school on time was important, yes, but when Erin reported to her new job at Wanda’s Wonders next week, she couldn’t expect the gift shop’s owner to overlook tardiness.

      As she sped through downtown Juniper Bluff toward the school, Avery kicked the seat back. “You’re driving too fast, Mom. You’re gonna get a ticket.”

      At that very moment, Erin spotted a patrol car parked where the school zone began. Guiltily, she eased her foot off the accelerator and allowed the car to coast until the speedometer dropped below twenty miles per hour. Pasting on an innocent smile, she steered past the officer and into the school’s drop-off lane.

      A teacher’s aide opened Avery’s door, and she scooted out. “Bye, Mom. See you after school!”

      Waving to her daughter, Erin swallowed down the lump in her throat. She still couldn’t believe her little girl would soon finish first grade. Where had the years gone? This Saturday would be Avery’s seventh birthday. Erin still needed to put the finishing touches on the basket she’d started yesterday. It wasn’t much of a birthday gift, but for now, it was something Erin could afford. Besides, Avery loved collecting pretty things—beads, rocks, feathers, leaves—and this basket would be a perfect place to keep her treasures.

      Before Erin could finish the basket, though, she had another chore on her to-do list. The small three-bedroom bungalow her brother Greg had helped her purchase suited their needs just right, and the neighborhood seemed safe enough. But living on her own for the first time in her life, she couldn’t shake her apprehension. Ideally, she’d prefer to install an alarm system—another expense she couldn’t afford. Instead, she’d decided to invest in security lights for the front and back of the house. Those shouldn’t cost too much, and how hard could they be to install?

      Picking up groceries last weekend, Erin had noticed a hardware store across from the supermarket. A few minutes after leaving the school, she pulled into the Zipp’s Hardware parking lot and found a space between a dirt-encrusted pickup and an older-model hatchback. The brick building with the green metal sign across the front appeared to have been around almost as long as the town itself. All kinds of intriguing gadgets lined the display windows on either side of the entrance, and Erin grew so entranced that she almost forgot why she’d come—until the door burst open and a crusty old guy in overalls and a baseball cap nearly plowed into her. He mumbled an apology, climbed into the dirty pickup and drove away.

      So much for small-town friendliness. With an annoyed shake of her head, Erin marched inside. She paused to get her bearings, her gaze skimming the signage over each aisle: Plumbing, Tools, Fasteners, Electric...

      “Can I help you?”

      Erin turned with a start. “You?”

      “You!” yesterday’s cowboy said at exactly the same time.

      She backed up a step, yesterday’s butterflies returning with ferocity. “You work here?”

      “I

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