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‘He’s a bull rider?’

‘Yup.’ The pride in his voice was obvious. ‘Maybe you’ve heard of him. Jesse James Jones, or Triple J, as they call him at the rodeos.’

Skye shook her head. ‘I’ve mostly been following the barrel races and hopping to smaller rodeos where I can overnight my horse.’

‘That’s one way to travel.’

‘It’s the best way to travel,’ Skye corrected.

‘That how you met Sheridan?’

‘Yeah. I was camping outside my horse trailer in Oklahoma, and she was staying in her live-in. Next thing I know, she’s asking me if I want to bunk with her instead and we’re splitting a five-dollar bottle of gas station wine.’

‘Sounds like Sheri.’ Ryan turned and raised the ramp on her trailer, locked it. ‘Why don’t you grab your things? I’ll show you inside, introduce you to my wife, Janey. She’ll get you set up.’

Skye reached inside the cab of her truck and removed her duffle bag, her blanket and pillow, and her dirty laundry, in the hope that she could use the Joneses’ washing machine.

Before she could take a step, Ryan took her bag from her. He led the way, chatting as easily as TJ had done. ‘We have five hundred acres here. There’s a covered arena behind the horse barn, so if you want to ride while you’re staying, feel free. The entire spread is fenced, so you can’t get lost.’ He gave her a wheezing laugh. ‘Honestly, my land’s so flat you probably couldn’t get lost if you tried. You can see the house and the trees from quite a distance, but if you’re nervous, I’m sure TJ wouldn’t mind taking you around.’

‘I don’t want to waste his time,’ Skye said quickly, because the notion of being alone with TJ was anxiety-inducing. Not because she was afraid of him, per se, but because it had taken only one interaction for her to know that she didn’t have the experience to handle him. ‘I’m still learning, so I go slow.’ She slanted Ryan a look. ‘And something tells me slow is not exactly TJ’s speed.’

‘Maybe not. But the boy could still learn.’ He frowned. ‘Probably.’

‘It’s doubtful, Mr Jones,’ Skye said mock-gravely.

He grinned. ‘Something tells me you’d do just fine.’

Skye didn’t reply as they approached the farmhouse – a pretty white southwestern-style home with stone walls and native desert landscaping contained within a ring of trees. The roof extended over the tiled front porch that led to the front door, and a wicker furniture set sat beneath a lazily swirling ceiling fan.

Ryan opened the front door to a mass of wriggling fur and excited yips. Skye got a glimpse of three distinct dogs before one of them took her down. She landed on her butt, her hands covering her face to no avail. The slobbery kisses had laughter bubbling from deep in her soul.

‘Down!’ Ryan shouted.

The dogs didn’t even hear him, only continued to pounce on Skye.

‘Janey! Your beasts are mauling our guest!’

A female voice shouted through, ‘Bandit! Southpaw! Brisket!’

Skye’s laughter morphed into a cough as one of the dogs licked her full on the mouth. Eyes closed against the onslaught, she felt more than saw when someone grabbed her by the elbows and hauled her back to her feet. Her giggle died when she opened her eyes to see TJ scowling down at her.

He held her at arms’ length as he turned on the dogs and commanded, ‘Sit,’ in a voice that had all three bottoms plonking to the floor. His eyes scanned Skye for injuries. ‘You okay?’

‘Peachy.’ She raised her hands to her short hair, smoothing it down where it was spiked with dog slobber and subtly dislodging his casual hold on her. ‘Nothing a shower won’t fix.’

Skye looked down at the three dogs, all of whom looked sufficiently chastised. She might have been more confused by their names had she not been looking at a cattle dog with a black bandana-shaped patch around his neck, an ancient pittie who was missing his right front leg, and a fat corgi who definitely needed to cut back on the brisket.

She went down the line, giving them each a rough head rub. ‘I don’t even have to ask who’s who.’

‘My mom collects strays. But she’s too soft-hearted to train them once she has them, so instead of finding them homes, she foster fails on the regular.’

‘I heard that!’ a voice called from somewhere close.

‘You were meant to!’ TJ shouted back.

A delighted laugh preceded TJ’s mother. She was tiny and waiflike, with black hair that framed her face and dark-brown eyes. She wore jeans and ratty house shoes with a dishtowel strung over her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about my ill-behaved dogs. I promise they’re friendly – just a little too friendly.’

‘It’s no problem,’ Skye assured her. ‘I was never allowed pets growing up, so every time I see a dog, I have to stop and say hi.’ Her hand found the cattle dog’s head. ‘They don’t bother me.’