Chapter One

      “Hey there, cowgirl.”

      Holding a fifty-pound bag of sweet feed balanced on her shoulder, Morgan Whittaker froze in midstep. It couldn’t be, she thought, before it occurred to her that was just wishful thinking. The once-familiar voice behind her could only belong to one person, and although she hadn’t heard that smooth tenor in ages, she’d recognize it anywhere.

      Very slowly, she turned halfway around and let her eyes confirm her suspicion. Thankfully, she was wearing her mirrored aviator sunglasses, so he couldn’t see the contempt she knew must be plain in her eyes. “Tyler Wilkins. What’re you doing here in Mustang Ridge?”

      Under the brim of his cream-colored Stetson, the gold tinting his hazel eyes sparked with a bit of his infamous temper. But it quickly mellowed, replaced by one of those easygoing grins that had charmed her—and countless other women—for so long. “Well, now, last time I checked, this was my hometown, too. I haven’t been to Montana in a while, so I figured it was time for me to make a visit.”

      “I’d say seven years is more than a while.” For her, it was a lifetime ago. She was almost thirty now, and for her those days were a distant memory. From the look of things, nothing had changed for him, except that his rangy, athletic build had filled out a bit. He was more solid now, but she knew from hard-won experience that was just an illusion. There had never been anything solid about Ty. Unfortunately for her, she’d discovered the truth about him too late. “And since it’s June, shouldn’t you be headed to Reno for that big roundup I read about? The article said the humongous rodeo purse is drawing every able-bodied cowboy west of the Mississippi.”

      Something flashed across his weathered features, and for a brief moment she thought it almost looked like regret. Then again, the cocky bull rider had never been prone to remorse, even when he was clearly in the wrong. The look vanished quickly, and she decided it had just been a trick of the sunlight and shadows underneath the overhang that shaded the sidewalk in front of Big Sky Feed and Seed.

      “Not goin’ this year,” he said simply, hooking his thumbs into his wide leather belt.

      She noticed that he wasn’t wearing his prized silver champions buckle because, really, you couldn’t miss one of those if you tried. Something about him wasn’t adding up for her, and while she shouldn’t care, she had to admit that she was suddenly curious about what had brought him home. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to ask, she dove in boots first. “Why not?”

      He didn’t answer, and when he took a step toward her, she instinctively pulled away. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

      “Taking that bag of feed before it caves your shoulder in.”

      Suddenly aware that she’d slumped a bit under the weight, she straightened up and glared back at him. “I’m perfectly capable of handling it myself.”

      “Suit yourself.”

      He didn’t retreat, but he did drop his hands. Realizing that people were beginning to stare at them, she ignored his helpful gesture and heaved the bag into the back of her 4x4. She turned to catch him wearing an expression that struck her as being almost mournful before a half grin rushed in to replace it. “To answer your question about the rodeo, I’m just taking some time off. No big deal.”

      Any idiot could tell there was more to the story than that, but she didn’t have the time or the patience to drag anything more out of him. Besides, he was obviously not keen to talk about it, or he would have spilled his guts to her already. She still couldn’t believe he’d approached her in the middle of the street this way. Then again, he’d probably been hoping that a meeting in public would keep things between them more or less civil. Apparently, he’d gotten smarter since the last time she saw him.

      She’d mostly recovered from the shock of seeing him, so she called up her backbone and opened the driver’s door. “Well, enjoy your vacation. Bye.”

      She climbed into the cab and reached out to pull the door closed, but he stopped it with a strong hand scarred from years of rope burns and broken bones. Glancing down at the door and then up at her, he asked, “What’s this decal for the Mustang Ridge Conservancy about? I’ve never heard of