ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Cathy makes her home in Scottsdale, Arizona, near the breathtaking McDowell Mountains where hawks fly overhead, javelina traipse across her front yard and mountain lions occasionally come calling. She embraced the country life at an early age, acquiring her first horse in eighth grade. Dozens of horses followed through the years, along with mules, an obscenely fat donkey, chickens, ducks, goats and a pot-bellied pig who had her own swimming pool. Nowadays, two spoiled dogs and two spoiled-er cats round out the McDavid pets. Cathy loves contemporary and historical ranch stories and often incorporates her own experiences into her books.

      When not writing, she, her family and friends spend as much time as they can at her cabin in the small town of Young. Of course, she takes her laptop with her on the chance inspiration strikes.

      To Libby and Connie. I always knew you would make great critique partners. What I didn’t know was how much your friendship would enrich my life.

       Thank you for making the last ten years not just a journey but an adventure. I love you both.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter One

      Welcome to Seven Cedars Ranch, Home of Cowboy College.

      He sat immobile, staring at the large sign with its horse-head logo, his jaw tightly clenched.

      Up until the moment he drove through the main gate, he’d been able to deny how really low he’d sunk in the last six months and how really far he’d have to climb to get back on top.

      No more. The time to man up had officially arrived.

      He reached for the door handle on his pickup—only to have it abruptly wrenched open. Startled, he turned to look into the face of a kid no older than eighteen or nineteen.

      “Welcome, Mr. Boudeau. We’ve been expecting you.” The kid waited, a gosh-I-can’t-believe-it’s-you grin plastered across his freckled face.

      “The name’s Ty.” He removed the keys from the ignition and climbed out.

      “A real pleasure to meet you, Ty.” They shook hands. “Folks ’round here call me Stick.” The kid stepped back, and Ty could immediately see how he’d earned the nickname. Stick could get lost standing behind a flagpole. “Right this way. Adele’s waiting for you.”

      Ty hesitated, the doubts he’d successfully kept at bay during the four-hour drive across Wyoming gaining ground. He needed help, that was a fact. But from a woman? One who made a living instructing amateurs at a glorified dude ranch. For a professional tie-down and team roper like himself, the idea was ludicrous. Certainly not “genius,” as his younger sister had professed.

      And yet he’d come.

      “Okay to leave the truck parked here?” His Ford F350 dually and horse trailer blocked all six of the available spaces in front of the rustic two-story lodge.

      “No problem.”

      Being a minor celebrity, even an undeserving one, had its privileges, he supposed.

      Grabbing his wallet, Ty followed Stick up a stone-lined walkway, across a sprawling porch and through the front entrance of the lodge. With each thunk of his boots on the hardwood floor, his gut clenched tighter. This place was his last-ditch effort. If it, and Adele Donnelly, couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong, then he might as well kiss his roping career goodbye.

      “Here’s the main lobby and that way is the business center,” Stick informed him as they crossed the spacious room with its vaulted ceilings and pine beams. Ten-foot-high windows looked out onto rolling green grounds dotted with thick stands of trees. “The front desk is where you check in and out, get the weekly schedules, sign up for classes.” He shot Ty a guilty look over his shoulder. “Not that you need any.”

      “You never know.” He definitely needed something.

      “There’s a lounge with a TV over there for guests.” Stick pointed. “It’s got satellite.”

      “Oh, good. Can’t miss my daily dose of CNN.”

      His attempt at sarcasm went right over Stick’s head, who didn’t stop talking long enough to take a breath.

      “The dining hall’s that way. Breakfast is served from five-thirty to seven, lunch from eleven-thirty to one and dinner from six to seven-thirty. Social hour starts at five. ’Course, if you’re hungry, Cook’s always got a pot of stew or chili on the stove.”

      “I’ll remember that.”

      Ty didn’t anticipate doing much socializing during his four-week stay. He was here to rope. Though competent in other rodeo events, steer wrestling and team roping mostly, tie-down roping was what he excelled at. Make that had excelled at. Everything had changed last December.

      Stick escorted him to a long counter resembling a hotel registration desk, only on a much simpler scale. “You in there, Adele?” he called.

      Ty caught a glimpse of a desk with a phone and computer