THE CLINK, CLINK of a hammer against an iron anvil resounded through the crisp morning air. Seven horses stood tied to the hitching rail beside the barn entrance, their tails swishing and ears flicking. Six awaited their turn with the farrier. The seventh one belonged to Aaron.

      Teresa and another ranch hand Aaron just met that morning helped the farrier. With forty head of riding stock to shoe, they had their work cut out for them.

      Aaron’s lone female bunkmate had yet to warm to him, though he was pretty sure he sensed a slight crumbling of her hard exterior. The couch was about as comfortable as a sack of potatoes, and too short for his six-one frame. But, sad to say, he’d slept on worse. Not, however, for eight straight weeks. He rolled his shoulders to loosen some of the knots, thinking he might take Natalie up on her offer of a cot.

      She’d avoided him at breakfast, and he was surprised at the depth of his disappointment. Until she abruptly escaped into the kitchen, he hadn’t known how much he was hoping she’d sit with him and her father. Did Jake talk to her? Warn her away as he had Aaron? He wouldn’t put it past the man.

      All the more reason for Aaron to seek her out at dinner and ask her about the cot.

      Talking softly to Dollar, Aaron hefted his saddle onto the horse’s back. When he pulled the girth tight, Dollar snaked his big head around and gave him the look.

      “Sorry, boy.” He let the girth out. “Didn’t realize you’d put on a few pounds around the middle.”

      The horse turned back to the fence, clearly insulted.

      “Hey, you’re not the only one.” Aaron patted the front of his denim jacket. “Truth is, we’re both out of shape.”

      He rode as often as he could. These days, “often” amounted to once, sometimes twice, a week. There’d been a time when he rode daily. When they weren’t rodeoing, Aaron and Dollar competed in team penning events—mostly for fun and only on a local level. That was how he’d met Hailey, when he congratulated her on beating the pants off him. He’d never been so happy to lose.

      She was an experienced rider and careful. Not one to take unnecessary risks. Which was why her accident was so difficult to accept.

      The mere click of a photographer’s camera was to blame. Her horse bolted at the insignificant sound just as they were exiting the arena after a successful run and an unprepared Hailey went flying. She bounced off the fence like a discarded rag doll and landed directly under the mare’s thrashing hooves. Two dozen people instantly poured from the sidelines but were too late to drag her to safety.

      Aaron would never forget the horror on the photographer’s face.

      Ironically, the mare had been Hailey’s favorite. They’d had hundreds of photos taken of them, appeared in dozens of publications. Why that particular day the mare spooked at something so familiar was a question Aaron had spent almost two years asking himself. He stopped only when he decided to come to Bear Creek Ranch and make Hailey’s death count for something.

      “Be right back, boy.” Aaron patted Dollar’s neck and, leaving the girth undone, strolled to the side of the barn. He kept a toolbox in the storage compartment of his trailer.

      “Need something?” Gary hollered to him from the barn aisle. He carried a fifty-pound saddle over one arm with the same ease most people carried a sack of groceries.

      “Leather punch. Seems my horse has been cheating on his diet again.”

      “There’s one in there if you want.” Gary hitched his chin in the direction of the tack room.

      “Appreciate it.” When Aaron passed Gary, he noted the worn but superior-crafted saddle. Natalie’s father evidently didn’t spend all his days taking novice riders on trail rides through easy terrain.

      “You do much endurance riding?” Aaron asked.

      “Not like I used to.” Gary stopped, assessed Aaron with a critical eye. “Yourself?”

      “Thought about it. Never tried, though.”

      “I can take you out one day if you have a hankering.”

      “I’d like that. See what my horse can do. He hasn’t been on a lot of trails.”

      “This won’t be any run-of-the-mill trail ride.” There was a slight challenge in Gary’s voice.

      Aaron smiled. He liked challenges. “Looking forward to it.”

      “Leather punch is hanging on the far wall,” Gary said and strode off to saddle his horse. With four perfectly matched stockings and a gleaming Sorel coat, the gelding wasn’t run-of-the-mill either.

      Their plan was to ride every one of the ranch’s eight horse trails winding through the surrounding mountains. They would make sure the trails were, first, accessible and, second, safe. Winter storms were notoriously destructive. Depending on what they found, maintenance crews would be dispatched to clear the trails of debris or repair places where the earth had eroded. Later in the week, Gary and Aaron would lead the riding stock over the same trails, reintroducing the horses before they carried people.

      During breakfast that morning, Aaron learned more about Bear Creek Ranch and the many intricacies of its operation than he ever had from his late wife. In many ways, the ranch was like a small, highly organized village. Each resident had a job, from Jake Tucker to Randy and Skunk, and the ranch thrived only when everyone did their job. Aaron had observed a strong camaraderie among the staff, no doubt fueled by the closeness in which they lived, worked and recreated.

      Becoming a member of their tight-knit clan, if that was even what he wanted, would require some doing. He might be one of the village leaders, but he hadn’t been born into the position, and acceptance didn’t come automatically for him.

      One aspect of the ranch that had taken him by complete surprise was Jake’s living arrangements. Gary apparently assumed Aaron had prior knowledge of Jake’s divorce and his move to a house several miles away. Aaron hadn’t asked any questions at Gary’s casual reference despite a burning curiosity. Faults aside, Aaron’s former brother-in-law was a family man through and through. Leaving his daughters must have been a terrible blow and maybe accounted for the anger constantly simmering beneath the surface.

      Stepping into the tack room, Aaron looked around. Like everything else in the barn and stables, on the entire ranch for that matter, the place was neat and tidy.

      Saddles on racks occupied one entire wall, bridles and halters, another. In the center of the room were back-to-back shelving units. One side held an array of boots in varying sizes and styles, Aaron presumed for guests who didn’t bring their own. Cowboy hats and baseball caps were on the other. At the end of one shelf were three child-size riding helmets.

      He went over and picked up one of the helmets. Turning it over, he inspected the condition of the straps, buckles and padding. While not new, the helmet was in decent shape and should adequately protect the small head inside it. There were no adult-size helmets in and amongst all the cowboy hats and baseball caps. Did guests not want them or did the ranch not provide them? Aaron intended to find out.

      Many