What does the Lord require of you? To act justly

       and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.

      —Micah 6:8

      To Heidi Clopton my very first and dearly loved

       daughter-in-law. You are a jewel!

      Special thanks and acknowledgments go to editorial assistant Elizabeth Mazer for all you do in the process of getting my books ready for the readers; to my agent Joyce Hart, who is always there for me; to all those who work behind the scenes at Steeple Hill—from artwork to shipping and everything in between, your efforts are greatly appreciated. Most important, special thanks to my gifted editor Krista Stroever for your honesty, tireless hard work and inspiration.

      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 Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter One

      “Come on, Ash, just climb up here and we’ll be on our way.” Dan Dawson patted the handlebars and grinned at her with that mesmerizing smile of his, and expected that to be enough.

      Ashby Templeton stared across the now dusty bicycle at the too-handsome-for-his-own-good cowboy, and wondered what terrible, horrible deed she’d done to deserve this kind of punishment.

      The cowboy fully expected that just because he asked with a smile, she would comply!

      Arms crossed, she held her ground. Despite the power of that smile, she was not going to climb up there to teeter precariously as he pedaled the bike. It had nothing to do with being difficult. It had to do with ability. She just couldn’t do it.

      Far too used to getting his own way with those midnight-blue eyes, Dan batted them once more while patting the bars again. “We’re losing, Ash. Why did you sign up for this race if you weren’t going to cooperate?”

      She wasn’t ready to answer that, either. This left her with a blank stare as her only defense against the cocky slant of his smile. Dangerous stuff for anyone to witness. Still, she held her ground.

      “It’s supposed to be a fun race, done as a team,” he continued. “That means one of us has to ride and one of us has to pedal. C’mon, hop on now and we can still make a decent showing. Haven’t you ever seen Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?”

      Feeling the sting of humiliation, Ashby stalked away from him down the country road, wishing with all her might that she’d had a normal upbringing. This! This fiasco was her blue-blooded mother’s fault.

      Ashby could not tell Dan Dawson that in her world, knowing how to host a dinner party was considered “essential” information. Riding a bike was something the gardening crew did to get to work. She had to say something, though. She spun toward him, met his gaze and knew she would rather limp barefoot and bleeding across that finish line than admit the truth.

      A slight exaggeration, but still, she could not tell him. He arched a brow, waiting for her reply. More humiliation tangled inside her.

      “If we’re going to finish at all, then we’d better stop talking and get moving,” she huffed. “I told you in town that I was going to walk. Walking together is a team effort, too.” She started walking again.

      Fifteen feet farther on, hearing no sound behind her, Ashby could only assume he was standing in the middle of the road watching her, waiting for her to give in.

      “This is just ridiculous,” he muttered at last, and rode up beside her within seconds. “What is the big deal? The other gals hopped up on those handlebars like good sports. That’s why when Applegate shot the starting gun, they tore out of there like good competitors do, and left us in their dust. That’s why everyone was laughing when you headed out at a fast trot behind them.”

      “I did not trot.” She felt guilty about all that, but really, there was no need to get ugly. It wasn’t her fault that this truly was all she could do. How could she tell him that she couldn’t ride a bike? How could she admit that the very thought of climbing onto a bike flustered her so that she got this confounded vertigo? She glanced at him in her peripheral vision and picked up the pace. Trot, my foot!

      He looped around ahead of her on the blacktop and came back toward her like a circling vulture.

      “So why did you sign up?” He intercepted her gaze as he went by. “This was supposed to be a boy meets girl, girl meets the man of her dreams shindig. At least, that’s what I thought.”

      “Man of her dreams—boy, they got that one wrong,” Ashby grumbled under her breath.

      “What’s