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  Zach didn’t feel himself move, but he could hear Terry calling out from behind him as he pushed his way through the couples who stood frozen on the dance floor. “Don’t interfere, Zach! Someone will call the cops. Let them handle it!”

  Yeah, right. Even through the maze of bodies, Zach could see the blind guy regain his feet, right his dark glasses on his bloody nose, and try to step forward again, only to be tripped a second time by that stupid excuse for a cowboy.

  “Pardon me,” Zach said as he squeezed past a woman. “Sorry,” he said to her partner.

  When he reached the edge of the dance floor, he grabbed hold of the blind man’s arm to help him stand up. “Hey, man. Are you okay?”

  The frames of the guy’s dark glasses were now broken, and his bottom lip was streaming blood. Zach’s own blood went from hot to boiling. His father had taught him never to start a fistfight. The only exception was when a bully was harming another person or an animal. Zach figured deliberately tripping a blind man was an offense that fell into that gray area his father so often talked about. Sometimes, son, you got no choice but to man up and kick ass.

  Even so, Zach had no desire to get cuffed and stuffed by Crystal Falls’ finest, or to spend a sleepless night in the local hoosegow. He turned to the grinning idiot who’d just tripped a blind man for the hell of it. Nudging back the brim of his hat, Zach squarely met the dumb fuck’s gaze and said, “Partner, you’re either a little too drunk to be in a public place, or your daddy failed to teach you any manners. Which is it?”

  Zach never saw the blow coming. The other man’s fist landed like a wrecking ball right between his eyes. Everything went star bright and then pitch-black. Zach felt his body going airborne and his muscles turning limp. Someone screamed. And then he landed on his back, his spine striking something flat and hard. The next instant the surface broke under his weight, and he tumbled to the floor in a splintering pile of wood. A table, he determined as his vision spun blurrily back into focus.

  Dumb Fuck stood over Zach, smirking as he sucked his bruised knuckles. Somehow Zach doubted the man’s hand was hurting as badly as Zach’s face was, but the mean-hearted asshole was about to find out he’d made a hell of a mistake by laying into a Harrigan. When Frank Harrigan read about this fracas in the Crystal Falls Courier , Zach wanted him to laugh and say, “That’s my boy. He kicks ass first and takes names later.”

  Zach tried to break free of the debris to sit up. As he did, he saw Dumb Fuck lean forward with one fist knotted to deliver another blow. Zach fell back onto the pile of wood, knifed up with one knee, and planted his foot dead center on the other man’s chest. With one hard shove, he sent the bastard into fast reverse, the other man staggering to keep his balance, flailing with his arms, and then sprawling across a table. Zach scrambled to his feet, swiped at his eyes to clear his vision, and then leaped on the guy. The combined weight of two grown men sent the second table into a joint-shattering meltdown.

  Zach didn’t have a clear thought in his head after that. Vaguely he realized there was a lot of commotion and screaming, and he felt someone grab his arm from behind. He jerked free and let the creep have it again. His mind came clear only when two other men dragged him off his opponent, saying, “That’s enough. He’s had enough.”

  Zach shook his arms free and wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. Blood came away on the cuff. No matter. Dumb Fuck lay on the floor in a fetal position, holding his middle and whining that his jaw was broken.

  “Police! Break it up! Step aside. Police!”

  Shit. Hoosegow, here I come. Zach was a little unsteady on his feet and sidestepped to remain standing. A second later, his balance, or lack thereof, didn’t matter. His wrists were cuffed behind him, and a cop held him erect by one arm as he was led from the bar to a waiting police car.

  “He hit me first!” Zach protested.

  “Tell it to your lawyer, buster. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—”

  “I know my rights,” Zach interrupted. “I’ve heard them a few times.”

  “We know, Harrigan,” the cop said as he cupped a palm over the top of Zach’s head and shoved him down into the backseat of the vehicle. Zach squinted hard to focus. This same guy had taken him in a few months back for jumping in to defend a mistreated bull at the rodeo. He seemed like a decent sort for a cop.

  “Wait a minute! Where the hell’s my Stetson?” Zach yelled.

  The slamming of the door was the only answer he got.

  Three hours later, Zach, still minus his hat, sat on the edge of a jail cot, knees spread, his aching head compressed between his swollen hands. Dumb Fuck hadn’t been brought in yet. He’d been taken to the ER for some stitches before lockup time. Zach had learned minutes ago that the idiot was filing charges against him for assault with intent to kill, or some damned fool thing like that.

  Yeah, right. Zach couldn’t believe this. He was in the clink, faced with serious charges, and all he’d done was step in to defend some blind guy he didn’t even know.

  No real worries, though. Zach had used his one phone call to contact his dad. Frank Harrigan had money and connections. He’d have Zach out on bail in a matter of hours. It was the wait between now and then that had Zach’s nerves jangling. He was a little claustrophobic, and being locked up gave him the cold sweats. Of course, he wasn’t looking forward to another chewing out from his dad on the subject of his nightlife, either.

  Man. He couldn’t believe this, just couldn’t believe it. Only, when Zach rewound the scene at Bart’s and replayed it in his mind, he knew he had no regrets and never would, even if he cooled his jets in this hellhole for a week. Sometimes a man couldn’t turn a blind eye. For Zach, the abuse of a disabled person was one of those times. Kick a dog, and Zach was there. Beat a horse, and he came running. No man who called himself a man stood aside with his thumb up his ass while some jerk made sport of an animal or person who couldn’t fight back.

  Maybe, he decided, he’d reacted so angrily because of the article about guide horses that he’d read at the dentist’s office last week. The mini horses being trained to guide the sight impaired were amazing, and as a horse trainer, Zach had found the entire feature fascinating. So fascinating that he’d torn the pages from the magazine for future reference, thinking he might try his hand at training a mini himself. The thought had remained with him for a couple of hours, and then he’d forgotten all about it until now. Typical. He was so busy with his horse ranch and barhopping that he had little time for anything else.

  Staring blearily at the floor, he decided a hangover would have been preferable to the headache he had right now. At least then he would have had some fun earning his misery. The thought made him wince. Yeah, right, like my life is fun? I’m so sick of this. What would next Saturday night bring, another woman like Terry? Another boring round of sweaty sex with him hurrying away before the semen dried on his dick?

  There has to be something more than this to look forward to.

  His father and a couple of his brothers had found love and happiness, but it hadn’t happened for Zach yet. Maybe it never would. So where did that leave him? Was he destined to spend the rest of his time on earth working his ass off by day and taking up space on a bar stool at night? The thought made him feel almost as claustrophobic as the cell bars did. Okay, fine. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be a family man. Maybe that simply wasn’t in God’s plan for him. But surely the old man in the sky had something in mind for him to do that would be meaningful, something that would make a difference.

  Zach’s thoughts circled back to the article he’d read about guide horses, and the blind man he’d fought to defend in the bar tonight. Was God tapping him on the shoulder? Maybe. The blind guy’s dilemma in the bar could have been God’s way of yanking Zach’s chain to remind him of that magazine feature.

  Zach straightened from a slump. Tiny horses? Oh, man, if he decided to train them, he’d have to keep it under wraps. Zach was renowned for his work with wor
ld-class cutting horses, not toy equines that slept in the bedroom and accompanied you to the grocery store. His brothers would laugh themselves sick and never let him hear the end of it.

  Besides, Zach knew squat about training a service animal. Hell, he didn’t know anything about disabled people, period. Even so, Zach had this weird feeling, way deep inside, that he’d been meant to read that article and that the incident tonight had been a reminder to him that there were better ways to spend his time than having less-than-satisfying sexual encounters with women whose names he couldn’t remember.

  When his dad got here, and after they went through the familiar bailout crap, and after he’d listened to his dad fulminate about his son wasting his life, Zach was going to go home and find that article. He’d careened through young adulthood thinking mostly about himself. Maybe it was time he gave a little something back. He knew horses. And if they could be trained to guide a blind person, he could learn how to do it.

  What did he have to lose by giving it a try? Nothing. A mini horse would cost him some money, but Zach had plenty in the bank. His biggest investment in an experiment like that would be time, and at the moment, with the inside of his mouth still bleeding from a barroom brawl, keeping busy with something worthwhile seemed like a plus.

  An odd feeling welled within Zach’s chest. He realized that he felt excited, really excited, and he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. There had to be more to life than sex and beer, and maybe, just maybe, he’d found it—something he could do that would make a real difference in the world.

  Chapter One

  Two Years Later, February 2009

  Mandy Pajeck sat by her brother, Luke, on their battered tweed sofa and balled her hands into fists. She had to talk to him again. She’d been stalling for days because she knew, and dreaded, how he’d react. But she had no choice. His future was at stake.

  Pulling in a breath, she surveyed his face, biting her lip as she searched his sightless gaze. Right now, he was focused on music blasting through headphones that pushed his chestnut hair into a rooster tail. His backbone slumped against the worn cushions. His long, slender fingers tapped his knees in time with the rhythm.

  Sunlight slanted into the living room through the wood-framed windows, illuminating the scars on his handsome face and emphasizing the opacity of his hazel eyes, once so very like her own. At his feet, candy wrappers peppered the burnt-orange carpet. Mandy kept a wastebasket at his end of the couch, but he still tossed the papers on the floor. She didn’t know if he found it difficult to locate the basket or if he was just thoughtless. For her, it was a minor irritation, so she’d never taken him to task for it. She’d learned over the years to choose her battles.

  “Luke?” When he didn’t acknowledge her, she touched his arm. “Can we talk?”

  He jumped with a start. Then, brows snapping together, he jerked off the headphones. “Dang it, Mands, give me some warning. You scared the crap out of me.”

  “I’m sorry. With the music so loud, you couldn’t hear me.”

  “Next time, jiggle the cushion or something to let me know you’re there.”

  “I’ll do that,” Mandy assured him. “I just didn’t think.”

  Luke nodded, and his scowl melted into a reluctant grin. “No big. My heart has started beating again. So, what’s up?”

  Mandy moistened her lips. “It’s just—we need to talk.”

  The stony look that settled over his face told her he knew what the topic would be. “We’ve had a great day so far, and you’re not going to change my mind, so just drop it.”

  Mandy wished she could. It would be lovely to float along, pretending all was well, but experience had taught her that giving in to Luke was a mistake and not what was best for him. “Can’t we talk like two adults? You’re nineteen, not a little boy anymore.”

  “That’s right—nineteen, old enough to make my own decisions. Just let it go.”

  “Sweeping problems under the rug doesn’t make them go away.” She kept her tone nonaccusatory. “It’s February. You passed the tests and got your high school diploma last June.”

  “And all I’ve done since then is take up space. I’ve got that part of the speech memorized, okay? You can skip the demoralizing details and get right to the point.”

  Mandy lifted her hands. “You’ve got no life! That’s the point. All you do is sit in this house! I love you. How am I supposed to deal with that?”

  “The same way I do, by accepting it.” His voice rose in anger. “What do you want from me? It’s not as if I can go out and get a job!”

  Why can’t you? she yearned to ask. Luke’s counselors said there was no reason her brother couldn’t do everything other blind people did. Unfortunately, as a child, Luke had refused to use a cane and resisted rehabilitation, and when Mandy was awarded custody of him seven years ago, he’d insisted on being home-schooled, an option in Oregon that allowed kids to get a high school diploma through the local education service district. Mandy had gotten Luke textbooks on tape that had been supplied by the state, appropriated everything she could find for him in Braille, and had hired tutors she couldn’t afford when her workload interfered with Luke’s lessons. Luke had excelled academically, but the seclusion had left him socially inept.

  Mandy knew her brother’s negative attitude and helplessness were mostly her fault. She’d been barely thirteen when their mother had left their dad and abandoned them. Their father should have hired household help to look after his four-year-old son. But although Tobin Pajeck had been wealthy, he’d also been a tight-wad. He’d found a cheap day-care facility near where they lived, and every day after school, it had fallen to Mandy to walk Luke home, care for him, clean the house, prepare a gourmet supper, tidy the kitchen, do laundry and ironing, find time for her homework, and put Luke to bed.

  Traumatized by the loss of his mother, Luke had clung to his sister for reassurance, and Mandy, who’d felt lost herself, hadn’t discouraged him. Luke’s neediness had worsened; it had grown more pronounced at age six, when he lost his sight.

  A burning sensation washed over Mandy’s eyes as she recalled that time in their lives. She’d tried so hard, ached to make everything right for him, and still she had made every mistake in the book, doing things for him, giving in when he threw tantrums, and never correcting his behavior. For the next two years, what Luke wanted, he got. Even after Mandy had their father thrown in jail for beating her up, and she and Luke became wards of the court, Mandy had run interference for her brother, trying to placate their foster parents when Luke misbehaved, making excuses for him so he wouldn’t be punished, and enduring frequent moves into different homes without complaint because she’d been afraid their caseworker might separate them. When Mandy had been emancipated at age eighteen, she’d been frantic about leaving Luke behind in foster care and had petitioned for custody. The judge had turned her down until she turned twenty-one, saying he couldn’t give a girl her age that much responsibility.

  For the next three years after Mandy left foster care, she and Luke had been apart except for weekly visitations. In a perfect world, the lengthy separation would have forced Luke to become more independent. Instead he’d thrown tantrums at home and at his special school, broken things, and had even struck one of his foster mothers. Only his blindness had saved him from being transferred into a juvenile correctional facility. By the time Mandy could finally assume responsibility for her brother, he’d become nearly impossible to handle.

  Mandy would never truly know why she hadn’t insisted that Luke straighten up, but she felt pretty certain guilt played a major part. Luke was blind and she was responsible, a circumstance he reminded her of whenever she confronted him. She’d slipped right back into the same old patterns, protecting and spoiling him. If only she could turn back the clock, but life didn’t come with a rewind button. Why had she given in so easily? Had she been that weak-willed and spineless? Or had it been more a case of bad judgment? She knew only that she’
d been sorely ill equipped to deal with a needy, disabled teenager, and now both she and her brother were paying the price.

  She pressed a fingertip to her throbbing temple. “I don’t expect you to get a job right now, Luke. You need some kind of training first.”

  “Here it comes,” he muttered. “The college pitch again.”

  “You need an education.”

  “Why? I’m happy the way things are.” He switched off the CD player. “Besides, what would I study to become? It takes no training to sell pencils on a street corner.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Blind people aren’t reduced to that unless they choose to be.”

  “Are you saying I choose to be helpless and live in limbo?”

  She wasn’t touching that observation with a ten-foot pole. “I’m saying you can have a wonderful, productive life if only you put forth some effort. There are people at the college to help you pick a major. They’d give you aptitude tests to see what you’re good at. You could find something that you really love to do.”

  “And how would I make my way around the campus?”

  “You were taught how to navigate with the cane. Your failure to use it doesn’t mean you’re incapable of it. It’s in the closet. You could start practicing with it here.”

  “No way! I might fall. I could get hurt again.”

  Mandy gritted her teeth in frustration. He’d tripped and sprained an ankle years ago, and ever since, he’d wielded the incident like a club whenever the cane was mentioned. Now Luke wouldn’t even move from one room to the next without her help, and he refused to go outdoors alone. One sunny day when Mandy had insisted that he walk around the backyard, using the fence to guide himself, he’d tripped over a shrub and banged his head on a rock. For an instant, Mandy had wondered if he’d fallen on purpose, but she’d quickly pushed the suspicion from her mind. Who would injure himself that badly to make a point? The cut on his scalp had required nine stitches.