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      Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

      —Isaiah 41:10

      To Cindy—for your strength and your fight.

       We love you. Never give up!

      Acknowledgments

      As always, I couldn’t have done this novel alone, especially with the timing I found myself in. I’d like to thank Lori and Georgiana, for your quick crits, your friendship and your prayers. Also my mom, for giving me that one day of baby-free writing a week that really does make a difference. Thanks to my amazing editor Emily for your fresh insight, and to my sweet agent Tamela, for backing me 100 percent. And an extra-special thanks to my husband, Brandon—every day I realize how much of a hero you truly are. I love you.

      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 Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      If wishes were horses, the Jenson family breeding farm would be full of stud mares and furry new foals—not teeming with greenhorn tourists in stiff new jeans and shiny cowboy boots.

      Samantha Jenson loosened the lead rope in her hand, allowing Diego another couple inches of leverage. The hot Texas sun glinted off the gelding’s chestnut hindquarters, and she swiped at the sweat on her forehead with her free hand. It looked as if this weekend would be another scorcher.

      She clucked to the gelding as she studied his limber gait. “Just another lap or two.” Diego’s ankle injury was slowly healing. A few more days of exercise in the training pen and he’d be ready to hit the trail—though probably just to be man-handled by another wannabe cowboy.

      Sam’s lips pressed into a hard line and she drew in the rope, slowing Diego’s willing pace to a walk. “Good boy.” It wasn’t the gelding’s fault he’d fallen a few weeks ago. Thanks to a careless rider who’d ignored the rules of the trail, Diego had been pushed too hard over uneven ground and tripped in a hole. It was by the grace of God he had only sprained his ankle, rather than broken it. Of course, the tourist hadn’t even been bruised—didn’t seem very fair.

      Sam pulled the rope in closer until Diego’s gait slowed to a stop. That probably wasn’t the most Christian attitude to have, but it was hard to feel differently in the circumstances. At least God was looking out for her and her mother with the little things if not for the bigger things Sam would prefer. Avoiding a vet bill was nice, but it wasn’t going to help bring back her father’s dream.

      Sam met the horse in the middle of the paddock and patted his sweaty muzzle, drawing a deep breath to combat her stress. No, nothing other than a big wad of cash would bring back the Jensons’ successful breeding farm. She and her mother had turned the farm into a dude ranch to earn income, but to Sam, the problems that came with it weren’t any better than avoiding the debt collectors. Sure, the new dude ranch business paid the mortgage and had kept the farm from going completely under last winter—and Sam would grudgingly admit running a dude ranch was better than being homeless—but Angie Jenson wasn’t the one dealing firsthand with all the tourists. That job fell to Sam, as did filling all the proverbial holes that tourists left in their unruly wake—like horses with sprained ankles.

      Sam gathered the lead rope around her wrist and trudged toward the barn, Diego ambling behind. To her left, green hills stretched in gentle waves, trimmed by rows of wooden fences. The staff’s guesthouses to her right had been converted into cabins for the vacationers, tucked in neat rows like houses on a Monopoly board. One didn’t have to look close to notice the chipped trim, peeling shutters and threadbare welcome mats. Angie was counting on her customers being so mesmerized with the horses that they wouldn’t care about the less than pristine living quarters. Talk about pipe dreams. Her mom had suggested selling the ranch several months back, but after seeing Sam’s reaction, she hadn’t brought it up again. How could they sell? It was all they had left of Sam’s dad.

      Things sure had changed. Once upon a time, when Wade Jenson was still alive, one would be hard-pressed to find a single repair waiting on the farm. The grounds stayed kept, the paint stayed fresh and the ranch resembled exactly what it was—a respectable, sought-after breeding farm that had been in the Jenson family for three generations.

      In a paddock nearby, Piper whinnied hello at Sam and Diego—or maybe it was a cry for help. Sam tipped her cowboy hat at the paint horse as she passed. “I’m working on it, Piper. I’ll get things back to normal for us one day.” She fought the words I promise that hovered on her tongue, afraid to speak them lest she end up like her father—a liar. Promises from Wade Jenson hadn’t stopped the bull’s thrashing hooves or the heart monitor from beeping a final, high-pitched tone, and they wouldn’t make Sam’s dreams come true, either.

      She dodged a young boy kicking a soccer ball across the yard and narrowed her eyes at the kid’s father, who stood nearby talking to Sam’s mother. The man was so enamored by Angie he apparently didn’t notice the