The Texan's Happily-Ever-After. Karen Smith Rose

in protecting Cruz, he’d broken the law.

      No matter their foster parents had left them alone for the weekend. No matter Cruz had taken ill and had a raging fever. No matter Shep hadn’t known what to do except hotwire that old truck and take Cruz to the closest E.R.

      The chief of police had thrown him into that dirty jail cell and not cared a whit. If it hadn’t been for Matt Forester rescuing them, Shep wasn’t sure where he or Cruz would be today. Maybe in prison. Maybe on the streets.

      Nope. He’d never tell Raina about that chunk of his life. She’d never understand the desperation that had driven him to rebel against authority figures for his sake as well as Cruz’s.

      He’d sensed that same defiant spirit in Joey and suspected it had developed while he was in foster care.

      The brothers had had loving, caring parents until they’d been killed. With no relatives to take care of them, they’d been thrust into the system. Then five, Joey had acted out, and his aggressive behavior had made placement even harder. They’d been through two foster couples before Shep had decided to take them.

      He believed there were three secrets to turning kids around. Matt Forester had taught them to Shep and Cruz. You gave children safety. You gave them love. And you gave them a reason to trust you. If Shep could accomplish that, Joey, Roy and Manuel would be on their way to being confident and finding a future that fit them.

      Breaking Shep’s consideration of his past and present, Joey turned around and called, “Can we show Dr. Gibson Red Creek?”

      “Do you remember how to get there?”

      “Yep. We go right at the bottom of this hill.”

      “Lead the way.”

      Joey grinned and pushed his fist up into the air, as if he’d just been given a gift. The gift of confidence, Shep hoped, as he urged his horse to catch up to Raina’s.

      “They’re good riders for their age,” she remarked as the two boys trotted ahead.

      “You’re pretty good yourself.”

      “I must have inherited good riding genes from my ancestors who roamed the plains.”

      He couldn’t tell if she was being serious or tongue-in-cheek. “You said your heritage meant a lot to your dad. Did it mean a lot to you?”

      “That’s not an easy question.”

      “Tell me,” he said, surprising himself. Usually when conversations with women got into sticky waters, he swam in the opposite direction. But he wanted to know more about Raina, wanted to uncover everything she kept hidden deep in her soul.

      “Is it a long way to the creek?” she asked with a wry smile.

      “Long enough that if you haven’t ridden for a while you’re going to be sore tomorrow.”

      “I guess I’d better soak in a hot tub tonight.”

      “It wouldn’t hurt.” He suddenly had visions of her sinking into a tub full of bubbles. But before she slid into those bubbles—

      He had to quit imagining her in something less than a blouse and jeans.

      When she canvassed his face, he wondered what she saw. He could hide quite a bit with his Stetson. Every cowboy knew how. But they were riding in the sun, and the shadows from his brim didn’t hide everything. Could she see his interest in her was physically motivated? Since Belinda’s rejection of a future he held dear, all he’d looked for from a woman was physical satisfaction.

      He and Raina were so blasted different. The ways were too numerous to count. So why was he here? And why was she here?

      Curiosity, pure and simple.

      She was still studying him when he said, “You changed the subject.”

      “You helped it along.”

      “I did. And if you really don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

      She was silent as they rode through pockets of wild sage, scrub brush and tall grass. As her horse rocked her, she turned the kerchief around her neck, the frayed edges brushing her skin. “This was my dad’s. He wore it whenever he went riding. He liked to tease that it would come in handy if a dust storm came up. His stories about his father serving in World War II, as well as his own experiences in Vietnam, were written down in a diary he kept. My mother gave it to me on my twelfth birthday.”

      “Why your twelfth?”

      “I was having trouble fitting in at school. I didn’t know how to handle being Cheyenne, and at times growing up, it made me feel like an outsider. Ryder faced the same problem, but a guy can be a loner and that can be attractive by itself. He knew who he was when he hit his teens. He also knew he wanted to be a cop. I just felt…different from everyone else.”

      “When did you stop feeling different?”

      “I never did. But I learned to like being different. Remembering the myths and fables my father told me helped me see how life fit together, how the past becomes the present, how being Cheyenne is something to be proud of. But it wasn’t always so, and I feel guilty about that.”

      “You were a kid.”