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  The gelding whirled, bugled a challenge and bucked. Rick held on, his face grim. Sandover arched his back, cleared the ground, and Rick flew through the air, landing on the ground with a sickening thud.

  Amy felt her blood turn to ice in her veins as the horse reared above Rick, mane flying. Rick rolled out of the way of his flashing hooves. Sandover came crashing down, just missing Rick. The horse shook his head and reared again.

  Amy willed her leaden feet to move, her arms to function. She dropped the bag she held, jumped off the verandah and ran.

  Hands caught her from behind, voices called out warnings. Without looking to see who it was, she shook free, stumbling to where Rick lay. He peeked over his arm, flashed another grin at Amy and got up.

  Amy felt relief sluice through her. A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Sandover reared again, his eyes wild, foam flecking his bridle.

  “Move, Rick,” she yelled, throwing her hat at the horse. Sandover shied away, spinning, then stopped to face her.

  Amy kept herself between Rick and the horse, praying, watching. “Get going, Rick,” she snapped, her eyes on Sandover.

  Rick scrambled out of the way.

  “Amy, you get away from that horse,” she heard a familiar deep voice yell.

  She couldn’t. The horse was unpredictable, and she had to get him back into the corral.

  Sandover threw his head, and Amy caught the reins as they whipped past her.

  He reared and she let him go up, letting the reins slip through her hand. Then, using the brief moment of instability, when he was at his highest point, she moved over, pulling on his reins to turn his head. Again he went up. Again she pulled him in a circle, working him closer and closer as Sandover churned up the ground. Slowly the circle tightened. Then as quickly as it began, Sandover stopped, flanks heaving, head lowered.

  Amy waited, ensuring his submission, slowly pulling his head around. Only then did she relax her hold on the reins.

  Sweat ran in rivulets down her temples, between her shoulder blades. Anger and edgy fear coursed through her. The horse could easily have killed or badly injured either her or Rick. Pulling in a deep breath, she felt a tremor in her gut. Each time she had worked with this horse he brought her right to the limit before he gave in. But she couldn’t indulge in histrionics right now. She had to get the horse into the corral and the tack off.

  A dull throb made itself known in her left shoulder. She couldn’t remember being struck by the horse. She clenched her teeth against the pain, pulling Sandover’s head around to lead him to the corral. She ignored her trembling knees and the ache that grew worse with each movement as she tied Sandover to the top rail.

  “Good job, Amy.” A deep voice spoke from the other side of the fence, and Amy looked over her shoulder into eyes as blue as midsummer lake water.

  Paul Henderson.

  He stared back at her, his incredibly blue eyes crinkled up at the corners. A thin-lipped mouth turned up in a tight smile. He wore his hair longer than the last visit, dark streaks threading through the blond. His face had lengthened; his jawline seemed stronger.

  “Hey, Paul,” she replied, turning her eyes back to her hands as they unbuckled, loosened and tugged. Her fingers didn’t want to cooperate.

  Reaction, she reminded herself.

  “You scared me, Amy.” The words were spoken quietly, but Amy sensed a note of concern behind them that couldn’t help but warm her. “Do you need any help?” he asked.

  Amy glanced at him, looking past his familiar face to the unfamiliar clothes. A teal green silk shirt that looked as if it cost more than the saddle was tucked into gray pants that fell in well-tailored lines to leather loafers. She smiled ruefully. “Thanks, but I can manage.”

  She reached up to pull the saddle off. Pain wrenched through her arm, and she almost dropped it.

  “Amy, are you okay?” Ignoring his expensive clothes, Paul sprang over the fence.

  Amy stared fiercely at the saddle, concentrating on breathing through waves of pain that slowly eased.

  “You’re hurt,” Paul said, his hands pulling hers away from the saddle.

  Amy shook her head. But another hot stab shot through her arm. “I’m okay,” she managed to say through clenched teeth.

  “No, you’re not.” Paul reached out to touch her, and she pulled away.

  “Yes, I am.” She didn’t want him touching her. She just wanted to go home.

  Elizabeth wandered over, accompanied by a tall, slim girl. She wore a loose silk jacket in earth tones that hung artfully over a narrow skirt.

  Amy caught a swift impression of soft brown eyes, delicate features and a flawless complexion. Gorgeous, of course. Paul never came home with the plain ones. Amy was suddenly extremely self-conscious of her dusty face and old clothes.

  “Amy, I’d like to introduce you to Stacy.” Elizabeth leaned over the fence, the beautiful woman standing beside her. “Stacy, this is Amy.”

  “Hello, Stacy.” It would hurt to shake her hand so Amy only nodded. Flustered at what must seem a show of ill manners she turned to Rick. “You’ll have to walk back with Sandover.” She looked back at Elizabeth, Stacy and Paul. “I should get going. I’ll see you all tonight.” She kept her smile on her face as she mounted Misty and rode her out of the yard. Once out of sight, she allowed herself a grimace of pain. Stubborn woman, she reprimanded herself. Too proud to ask for help. She only hoped that no serious damage was done. She could ill afford to be laid up with a sore shoulder. She had too much work to do on the ranch.

  Glancing backward she saw the Hendersons going back into the house and her brother starting on his long walk home.

  She didn’t feel sorry for him, but it was hard not to feel a little sorry for herself. Somehow she had to get ready for a party tonight, convince her father and Rick to come, and find something else to wear. The sleeveless dress was out of the question now.

  Chapter Two

  “And how are you really feeling?”

  Amy almost jumped at the sound of Paul’s voice behind her on the stairs. She had taken some time away from the party and the congratulations of Henderson aunts and uncles and found sanctuary in the stairwell. Paul lowered himself to the stair beside her and she scooted over to give him room.

  “Where were you?” she asked, avoiding his question and his probing gaze.

  “Checking out my old bedroom.” He smiled at her and, reaching over, touched her shoulder again. “This afternoon that horse kicked you, didn’t he?”

  Amy shrugged, then winced. She knew from past experience she could never fool Paul.

  “Yes, I don’t know how it happened, but Sandover’s hoof grazed my shoulder. It feels a little better now.” Amy pulled a face. “But not much,” she conceded. She turned to Paul who leaned his head against the wall beside him. His even features looked relaxed, his shapely mouth curved into a gentle smile. She remembered countless times she had lost herself in daydreams over his face, creating the eternal cliché. Young girl in love with older neighbor boy. But Paul always humored her, and in return to her love letters, would write his own back—joking letters full of his terrible puns, reassuring her that someday her prince would come. In his way he gently broke it to her that the prince wouldn’t be him. He didn’t intend on staying around Williams Lake long enough to fill that role for her.

  “What are you smiling about?” he prodded.

  “Remembering old daydreams,” she said turning her engagement ring on her finger. Her love for Tim gave her the confidence and ability to look at Paul with new eyes. Her reaction to him this afternoon was more about the surprise of seeing him than anything else, she had concluded.

  “And what conclusion have you come to?”

  “That you were right,” she said. “You weren’t the right person for me. And I wasn’t the right person for you. I see that in each and every girlfriend you bring home.”

  “And what do you think of this one?”

  “Hard t
o say. I haven’t had a chance to really talk to her yet.”

  “And I haven’t met your Tim.” He smiled back at her. “So what’s he like? Does he floss? Work out? Watch his cholesterol level? Tell me how you met.”

  And Amy did. She had been arguing with her accounts manager when Tim Enders walked in. In a matter of minutes he had soothed the ruffled feathers and managed to put together a deal that worked for everyone. And then he had asked her out for dinner.

  “One date led to another and pretty soon we were horseback riding, going for drives, fishing and, most important of all,” she added with a conspiratorial grin, “sitting together in church. And that pretty much sealed the engagement. It wasn’t official until the day we were up in the mountains for a hike.” Amy fell silent remembering the burst of sheer joy when he asked her, the feeling of belonging to somebody who wanted to share his life with her overwhelming her.

  “He’s a lucky guy.”

  “And I’m very blessed.” Amy nodded, looking down at her engagement ring once again. “I want to be a good and faithful wife to him.”

  Silence hung between them punctuated by the sounds of laughter coming from the living room below as both realized the import of her words.

  “I know you will be, Amy. You are a person whose love is faithful and pure.”

  “Thanks.” The compliment warmed her, creating a mood that seemed to settle their relationship onto a new and more comfortable plane. “And you’re a good friend.”

  “One that hasn’t been around much lately,” he said with a rueful look.

  “Well you’re here now, and I’m glad you came. And now I’d like to find out how Stacy managed to snag a guy half the girls in the Cariboo were yearning after.”

  Paul laughed. “C’mon.”

  “If I take away the ones that were panting after Mark Andrews before he got married and ignore the ones who are engaged,” Amy pursed her lips thoughtfully, “maybe not quite half.”

  Paul just shook his head.

  “So,” Amy continued, “is she the one?”

  “I think so,” Paul traced the crease of his pants, his look thoughtful.

  Amy bit her lip, knowing her next question trod on shaky ground. “Which church does she go to?”

  “None. But neither do I, so that’s no problem.”

  Amy turned away, suddenly disappointed in her old hero. “That’s too bad, Paul.”

  “You sound like my parents,” he replied testily.

  “I was hoping I sounded more like your sister.”

  “I thought you didn’t like being called that.”

  Amy shook her head. “You’re five years older than me. I’ll always be younger. I’m hoping I will always be like a sister to you.”

  “You’ll always be a sassy little redhead, that’s what,” Paul said, his smirk skipping over the serious tone of their previous conversation, creating an easy return to the give and take of their youth.

  Amy glanced sidelong at him, her smile acknowledging the change in the tone of the conversation. Paul hadn’t changed, but as she analyzed her new feelings for him, she realized with thankfulness that she had grown up.

  “There you are.” Stacy stood below them, smiling uncertainly up at both of them.

  Paul got up and walked down to join her. “Just catching up with an old friend,” he said easily, brushing a kiss across her soft cheek. “You never did get a proper introduction to Amy did you?” He looked up at Amy, who still sat on the stairs, a soft smile curving up delicate lips tinted with gloss. Her gleaming copper hair flowed over her shoulders, curling up at the bottom. Warm gray eyes fringed with dark lashes looked down at him with humor in them.

  The tomboy he had always remembered looked feminine and incredibly appealing. To be sure, she still wore jeans and a shirt, but the jeans were black, the linen shirt was decorated with embroidery on the sleeves. It was a look that suited her as much as Stacy’s soft flowing dress became her. He glanced at his girlfriend. He couldn’t help but compare the two women. Stacy always looked elegant, composed, everything coordinated. But the Amy in front of him looked nothing like the dusty, bedraggled girl of this afternoon. He remembered again how easily she handled a horse that he would have walked a wide circle around.

  “So are you going to introduce us or do I have to do it myself?” Amy asked, tilting her head to one side as she came down the stairs.

  “Sorry.” Paul mentally shook himself and drew Stacy closer. “Stacy Trottier, this is Amy Danyluk, neighbor, friend and the little sister I never had.” He turned to Stacy who shifted her cup of coffee to one hand and reached out one well-manicured hand as he spoke.

  “So what kind of work do you do in Vancouver?” Amy asked, shaking Stacy’s hand.

  “I work with computers.” Stacy pulled her hand back.

  “That’s a pretty broad field.” Amy laughed. “What kind of work?”

  Stacy took a sip of her coffee looking at Amy over the rim of her cup. “I set up Web-sites and program computers.”

  “How do you do that?” Amy persisted, unintimidated by Stacy’s terse replies.

  “Do you know what an ISP is or an HTML editor?” she asked as if challenging Amy.

  Amy raised her eyebrows with a smile, as if unashamed of her ignorance. “I don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t even start, Amy,” Paul warned. “Stacy can talk about the ’Net until the cows come home, and you and I both know cows never do.”

  “I don’t mind,” Amy replied. “Someday I’d like to get a computer. I’m sure there’s something on the Internet about cattle.”

  “There is,” Stacy said, leaning forward. “You’ll find information on things you can’t even imagine.”

  “And a lot of things you can’t imagine people would want to know,” Paul added.

  Stacy shrugged. “That comes with the freedom of expression inherent in the Web.”

  “I don’t think Amy’s particularly interested in the Internet anyhow. Why don’t you ask her about her cows?” Paul continued. Once Stacy started on her favorite topic, she didn’t easily stop. He knew Amy was only being courteous.

  But neither paid him any attention. Amy asked Stacy another question. Amy was always polite, Paul thought. Always polite and always careful to make people feel good. For a moment he thought she would be put off by Stacy’s abrupt attitude, but Amy acted as if she hadn’t noticed.

  Paul watched as she tilted her head to one side, trying to comprehend, interjecting with quiet questions. She nodded, as if she finally understood and then dropped her head back and laughed at something Stacy said.

  Her hair slipped across her shoulder, her gray eyes sparkled. Paul couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He watched her more than his own girlfriend. In fact, since the party started he had watched her, knowing where she stood and who she talked to and how much time she spent with Tim.

  Not exactly the behavior of a man in love, he thought, criticizing himself wryly as he moved away from the bottom of the stairs and the two women, into the living room and the rest of his family.

  His capriciousness seemed symptomatic of his life the past few years. What he had didn’t satisfy him, so he looked to what he didn’t have. As far as his relationship with Stacy was concerned, he had thought it would last longer than it had. It didn’t help that their work always seemed to come between them and their relationship.

  That’s why he planned this trip home. He liked Stacy and knew he wouldn’t find better. He wanted to make their relationship work. He didn’t feel so empty when he was around her.

  He worked his way through the family room, past the younger cousins who grumbled about homework and jobs. He dodged aunts who bustled about refilling coffee cups as they caught up on calamities and exulted over joys. He poured himself a coffee.

  The house was full to bursting with family, friends and members of the church, and his harried mother was in her element. It had been a few years since Paul had been to a family g
et-together, and he hadn’t realized until tonight what he’d missed.

  He and Stacy entertained frequently and attended functions put on by their friends. But that’s precisely what they were. Functions. Another tool used by those on the way up, to network, schmooze and gather information. He had enjoyed them, but each year created an increasing restlessness he couldn’t pin down.

  The past months had been especially hectic. He and his partner, Bruce DeVries, had successfully bid on an apartment block in Victoria and two more in Vancouver proper. That meant evenings and weekends taken up with verifying subcontractors’ prices, meetings with engineers, organizing schedules, and all the while keeping the current projects flowing smoothly. It had just about fried him out.

  This holiday had been in the works for a while. Plaintive calls from his mother and quiet requests from his father had been sandwiched between urgent faxes, whirlwind financing, cell phones ringing in his car and pagers going off on job sites.

  Then his partner dropped the bomb. Bruce wanted to quit the business. He gave Paul first option to buy out his share. Paul felt as if he had come to an important point in his career. Buying Bruce out would give him the opportunity to expand the business in a way Bruce never wanted. He knew Henderson Contractors had the experience and reputation that would give them the edge in larger projects. It would mean bigger challenges and bigger returns.

  Paul swirled the coffee in the bottom of his cup, frowning. It would also mean more work, hiring a couple of people to do the work Bruce did, more headaches and more stress.

  He finished his coffee in one gulp and set the empty cup on a side table. Somehow none of these challenges held the allure it once would have. Lately he felt as if he ran harder and got nowhere. Always just out of his grasp was the happiness he kept thinking he would find with the right combination of changes in his life.

  So when the invitation came for Amy’s engagement, he took a chance, scheduled three weeks of holidays so he could think. Maybe in the open fields of his family’s ranch he could find a way to fill the emptiness that grew with each increase in his net worth.