This book is dedicated to Janet Stover, 2001 World Champion Barrel Racer and Olympic medalist, who told me all about barrel racing, and rodeos.

      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 ONE

      ‘SELENA, you need either a miracle or a millionaire.’

      Ben eased himself out from under the battered vehicle, monkey wrench in hand. He was lean, elderly, and had spent thirty years as a garage mechanic. Now those thirty years were telling him that Selena Gates wanted him to revive a corpse.

      ‘This thing’s had it,’ he said gloomily surveying the van, which was actually a Mini Motor Home, with the accent on Mini.

      ‘But you can make it go again?’ Selena begged. ‘I know you can, Ben. You’re such a genius.’

      ‘You stop that,’ he said with an unconvincing attempt at severity. ‘It doesn’t work on me.’

      ‘Always has so far,’ she said, with perfect truth. ‘You can make it go, can’t you, Ben?’

      ‘For a bit.’

      ‘As far as Stephenville?’

      ‘Three hundred miles? You don’t want much! All right, it’ll probably just about make it. But what then?’

      ‘Then I’ll win some money in the rodeo.’

      ‘Riding that washed up brute?’

      ‘Elliot is not washed up,’ she flared. ‘He’s in his prime.’

      Ben grunted. ‘Been in his prime a few years, if you ask me.’

      Any mention of her beloved Elliot touched a nerve, and Selena was about to defend him fiercely when she remembered that Ben, good friend that he was, was fixing her van on the cheap, and calmed down.

      ‘Elliot and I will win something,’ she said stubbornly.

      ‘Enough for a new van?’

      ‘Enough to get this one fixed as good as new.’

      ‘Selena, there ain’t enough money in the world to get this ramshackle old bus fixed as good as new. It was falling to bits when you bought it, and that was way back. You’d do better sweet-talking a millionaire into buying you a new van.’

      ‘No point in me chasing a millionaire,’ Selena sighed. ‘Haven’t got the figure for it.’

      ‘Sez who?’ Ben demanded loyally.

      ‘Sez me!’

      He regarded her tall, ultra-slim figure. ‘Maybe you’re a little flat-chested,’ he admitted.

      ‘Ben, under these old jeans I’m flat everything.’ She grinned with rueful self-mockery. ‘It’s no use. Millionaires like their women—’ with both hands she traced the outline of a voluptuous figure. ‘And that’s something I never was. Haven’t got the hair for it either. You need long, wavy tresses not—’ she pointed to her boyish crop.

      It was a startling red that blazed out like a beacon, telling the world, ‘I’m here!’ There was no way to overlook Selena. Smart, cheeky, independent, and optimistic to the point of craziness, she was her own woman. Anyone who challenged that soon learned the other lesson of that red hair. Beware!

      ‘Besides,’ Selena said, coming to her clincher argument, ‘I don’t like millionaires. They’re not real people.’

      Ben scratched his head. ‘They aren’t?’

      ‘No way,’ Selena said, like someone articulating an article of faith. ‘They have too much money.’

      ‘Too much money is what you could do with right now. Or a miracle.’

      ‘A miracle would be easier,’ she said. ‘And I’ll find one. No—it’ll find me.’

      ‘Darn it, Selena, will you try to be a bit realistic?’

      ‘What for? What good did being realistic ever do me? Life’s more fun if