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didn’t want to worry about remembering her name in the morning. Besides, remembering names was a minor concern these days when it came to one’s bed partners. If he chose to self-destruct, Sam preferred to do it on the back of a bad-tempered bull, not in some bed with a lumpy mattress and a faceless woman moaning in his ear.
    After that first invitation to share dinner, Walt and Sam began eating all their meals together. The old man routinely plied him with questions. Some he answered. Some he ignored. Walt depended on him, trusted him, and Sam tried to live up to the rancher’s faith in him.
    The Broken Arrow was a good spread, with plenty of grass and a fine herd. If Sam ever considered settling down, it’d be on a place like this. Not that he could afford it. Some days he struggled against bitterness. If not for the accident, he might have had it all: fame, money, a good life. A demon bull had put an end to those hopes and expectations. But he’d endured.
    In the process Sam had learned something about himself. He was a survivor. Fate might sucker-punch him again, only next time he’d be prepared. All he had to do was make sure he didn’t give a damn about anything–or anyone. Because if he did, he was vulnerable. It occurred to him that he was already becoming too attached to the old man, and that worried him.
    By the time he’d sorted out his thoughts and calmed his raging heart, the alarm was ready to sound.
    He climbed out of bed, put on a pot of coffee and dressed as the sun peeked over the Rockies, streaking the sky with translucent shafts of pink and gold. It’d become habit to check on Walt before he headed out for the day. He half expected to arrive some morning and find the old man had died in his sleep. He didn’t look forward to that, but as the rancher said, he’d lived a good life and suffered few regrets. That was the way Sam wanted it to be when his own time came.
    The kitchen light was on when he stepped onto Walt’s back porch. Walt was rarely up this early anymore. With his heart as weak as it was, he spent half the day napping.
    â€œCoffee’s ready,” Walt said when Sam let himself into the kitchen.
    The old man seemed downright chipper, Sam noted, a pleasant contrast to his lethargic manner lately.
    Walt gestured toward the coffeepot with his own mug.
    â€œNo thanks, I’ve already had a cup.” Sam had never been much for talk in the morning. A grunt now and then usually sufficed.
    â€œI got a call from Molly last night.” Walt’s crooked grin took up half his face. “Looks like you’re going to meet her and the boys, after all.”
    â€œShe’s coming out?” Sam hoped to hell she was smart enough not to mention his phone call. As he’d told her, Walt wouldn’t appreciate his interference.
    â€œBetter than that.” Walt cupped the steaming mug between his callused hands. His eyes fairly glowed with happiness.
    â€œHow long is she staying?”
    â€œFor good,” Walt snapped as if it should have been obvious. “She’s finally come to her senses and sold what she could, packed everything else in a U-Haul and she’s driving on out. Should be here week after next.”
    Sam lowered himself slowly into a chair. This was something he hadn’t expected. He folded his hands, resting them on the scarred pine table, as the old man’s words sank in.
    â€œThe ranch is hers,” Walt announced cheerfully. “There’s no one else. I just pray she’ll be strong enough to hold on to the place when I’m gone.”
    Sam had done some thinking about the ranch and what would become of it after Walt died. He’d always known Molly would inherit the Broken Arrow. He’d even toyed with the idea of forming a partnership with her, running the ranch himself and sharing the profits. He’d make sure the arrangement was lucrative for them both, even if it meant