The Bull Rider's Homecoming. Jeannie Watt

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      “Have I mentioned that I’m excited?” Danielle said. “I’ve been looking at Western baby stuff. A lot of it. You may have to rein me in so the store doesn’t become Annie Get Your Baby Gear.”

      Annie laughed. “I’ll do my best, but baby gear mania is like a sickness. Everything is so cute.”

      “I know.” Danielle opened the cooler and took out the bouquet of flowers stored inside and replaced the roses in the vase. She jerked her head toward the boutique. “I have more news.”

      Annie followed, waiting until Danielle had placed the flowers on the end of the tall counter where they transacted business. She nodded at the locked door on the west side of the room. “I negotiated with Great Granny and because they’re having trouble renting that little space after the Book Nook closed, she’s letting me have it for a song. I’m making a quilt room.” She walked over to the door and turned the old-fashioned key resting in the lock then pulled it open. The Book Nook had been vacant for almost as long as Annie had worked for the store, and the room was both musty and dusty.

      Danielle stood for a moment, studying the space. “Definitely some work ahead of us.” She glanced over at Annie. “If there is an us. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind putting in some overtime and helping me clean and paint this space. The cleaning we can do when we have downtime during the day, but the painting—I don’t want fumes, so I figured that could be done during the evening. Thus, the overtime.”

      “I’d just do it,” Annie said.

      “I don’t want you—”

      “You can buy me a drink sometime. After...” She patted her abdomen.

      “If you’re sure,” Danielle said, stepping farther into the room.

      “Totally sure.” Annie crossed over to the windows, which had brown paper covering them. “It’ll be nice to get this paper down.”

      “It was never meant to be up for so long,” Danielle agreed. “And it’ll be nice not being next to a vacant space.” She turned in a circle. “I’m going to hang the best quilts, put racks over there and see if I can score some dressers to display smaller items.”

      “I’ve been trying to make smaller items,” Annie said. “I don’t seem to have the knack.” But she wished she did. Lex made metal jewelry for the store, and Kelly, who’d worked there before Annie, still brought in her pottery pieces. Annie had nothing to contribute.

      “You know, I’m fine with you simply being a great associate.”

      Annie gave a soft snort. “I want a talent like everyone else.”

      “Maybe you’re really good with interior paint,” Danielle said with a wry smile.

      “I do sling a mean brush.” She did. The house she’d grown up in had been grim when she’d moved back home after Wes had left her. She and Grady had rented it out while she’d been in college and the renters hadn’t been all that careful with the place. It’d taken Annie a long time to brighten the house with paint and small touches, making headway whenever her budget allowed.

      “I was thinking Friday evening to paint? You can bring the girls.”

      Paint and her twins were usually an explosive combination. Annie lifted an eyebrow, thinking that Danielle had a learning curve ahead of her. “That sounds great and since its Friday, I think that would be a good night for the twins to spend the night with friends.”

      * * *

      THE DAYS PASSED SLOWLY. Trace saddled up every day, exercising each mare in turn and even giving the cranky old gelding, Snuff, a go. After the daily ride, he worked out as best he could, read, watched videos and wished that Lex had a less meticulously cared for ranch. A guy named Hennessey had a practice pen nearby and Trace thought he might check it out, but knowing himself as he did, he didn’t want to be tempted to hurry things along. The longer he healed, the better his chances of having a winning season the next year—and the better his chances of getting the best of Brick and funding that season. Or at least part of it.

      The problem, as he saw it, was that the only way to be a successful bull rider was to live and breathe the sport. Unfortunately, that made downtime difficult. Trace had nothing to fill the hours once he’d gone through all his exercises and rehab, mental and physical, and fed the animals. The one positive to the ranch was that for the first time in forever, he had a real kitchen to work in—one where his stepmother wouldn’t instantly kick him out, anyway—and within a matter of days his simple meals became more elaborate.

      Being at the stove reminded him of being with his mom. As she’d grown more ill, he’d taken over the cooking, following her instructions as she sat at the table and watched, sometimes with her head resting on her arms. She hadn’t had much of an appetite by that point, but she’d taught him to make hearty food that would feed a growing kid. She’d also taught him how to stretch ingredients, shop sales, use coupons and maintain a household budget.

      Trace’s mouth tightened as he put a cast-iron pan on to heat. He missed his mom. Sixteen years and the ache was still there. He’d lost his father not that long ago, but mostly he felt resentment when he thought of his dad. It wouldn’t have killed the guy to open up a little—at least tell him he had a serious heart problem. But no. He didn’t find that out until the heart problem had put his dad in the ground.

      Lex had a nicely stocked kitchen and Trace started a list of the things he needed to replace as he used them. She also had a decent collection of cookbooks, and it was while he was thumbing through one, looking for inspiration, that he stumbled upon the Gavin chamber of commerce pamphlet and discovered that he knew a local bar owner. Gus Hawkins was also from northern Nevada, and he and Trace had competed in a lot of the same rodeos in high school and college.

      It would be great to see someone he knew. Someone he didn’t have to fake small talk with. For all of the time he’d spent alone in his life, alone on this ranch felt different. It had to be because he wasn’t traveling and he wasn’t riding bulls. His life had changed radically after the surgery and his brain was still trying to figure out how to cope with these new limitations.

      * * *

      TRACE DID HIS grocery shopping Friday evening, just before the store closed for the night, then parked outside the Shamrock. The place was beginning to get crowded, but there were still a few empty tables around the periphery of the room. Trace bypassed the tables and headed to the bar, which was manned by an older guy who looked at him over his glasses as he approached.

      “Hey.” Trace put his hands on the edge of the bar and looked at what was on tap. He ordered then asked if Gus was around.

      The old guy’s glasses slipped a little lower as his chin dropped. “It’s his day off.”

      “I rodeoed with Gus during high school.”

      “You did, now?” Trace started to pull out his wallet but the bartender waved his hand. “First one’s on me.”

      Trace smiled. “Thanks. I guess I’ll stop by on a day that’s not Friday.”

      “Or Thursday. His other day off. By the way, I’m Thad. Gus’s uncle.”

      “Trace Delaney.”

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