Sunrise Canyon (New Americana 1)

“Well, don’t rush it,” Jake said. “They can be pretty dangerous to ride. I know some messed-up guys who got that way crashing their bikes.”

Mack was silent, but only for a moment. “Maybe it’s just out of gas,” he said.

“Maybe.” But Jake doubted it. McQueen wouldn’t have left the bike here if it had just needed gas. But he’d bet money the tank had never been drained. It was likely to have some residue inside that would need cleaning out before the tank could be refilled. The fuel line was probably clogged, too. If he’d had any notion the old Indian would need only a simple fix, that notion was fading fast. This job could take weeks of part-time work.

“What can I do to help?” Mack asked.

“I’ll let you know.” Jake sighed. He understood that the kid needed validation. But he’d hoped for some time to himself to tinker with the bike and to try to figure out the problem.

He needed to figure out something else as well. He and Kira had been playing games long enough. Their damn-fool kiss, run and act-like-nothing-happened routine was getting old. This morning he had watched her

, studying her lovely, serious face when she focused on her students, the warmth in her dove-gray eyes, and the way her smile deepened a dimple in her cheek. He’d found himself admiring the way her jeans fit her willowy body, and remembering the feel of that body in his arms. And he’d found himself wanting her, so much it hurt.

Kira had asked him to stay—to help with the program, to be here for his daughter and to work on controlling his PTSD.

He’d told her he would think about it. But what he hadn’t told her—because he’d just begun to realize it himself—was that his answer depended on her.

Since the war, he’d settled for fleeting encounters with women he would never see again. Being with Kira made him yearn for something more. Not marriage—that would be asking too much. But something deeper and more lasting than empty nights in strange beds. Maybe even love.

Kira, his daughter and a peaceful place where he could be of value. Was it an illusion, like so many other things in his life—even, as it had turned out, his marriage?

Or was everything he needed just waiting for him, if only he could summon the courage to reach for it?

* * *

By the time Kira’s students had finished the trail walk, rubbed down their horses and put them away with hay and water, the youngsters were tired and hungry. Kira was grateful to see that in their absence Jake had laid the fire, set up everything for the cookout and brought out a comfortable chair for Dusty. Mack appeared to be helping. She’d had second thoughts about giving him the afternoon off, but it must have been a good idea. This evening he was all smiles.

The students were still washing up when Dusty came outside with Paige and the dog. Dusty had brought his guitar, a surprise treat. Not only did he play well, but he had a great repertoire of old-time cowboy songs, which he sang in a gravelly baritone that added to the fun of listening. Kira had avoided asking her grandfather to entertain tonight, fearing it might be too taxing for him. But she was delighted that he felt up to it.

With the sun going down and the fire blazing in the pit, the students roasted their hot dogs and garnished them with mustard, cheese and chili. Then they wolfed them down with chips and potato salad.

Kira found a place next to Paige and helped the little girl cook and prepare her hot dog. Glancing up, she caught Jake watching them from the far side of the fire pit. He lifted an eyebrow and gave her a twitch of a smile. Was he smiling at her, she wondered, or at his daughter? Maybe at both of them.

With the fire burned down to coals and the students feasting on s’mores, Dusty picked up his guitar and strummed the opening chords of “I’m Ridin’ Old Paint.” By the time he began to sing, the low buzz of conversation and laughter had faded. The students probably had very different tastes in music, Kira reflected. But their respect for the old cowboy was such that they kept quiet and listened. Soon their faces began to smile, their bodies to sway a little with the music. It was as if the twilight air, the emerging stars, the glowing fire and the Western ballads had woven a spell over them.

Dusty sang “Strawberry Roan” and “Cool Water,” followed by a funny song about a cowboy who couldn’t get off his horse because some blankety-blank had put glue on the saddle. As his audience applauded, he put up his hand for silence.

“Now we’ve got a special treat for you,” he said. “This talented young lady will be performing for the very first time. In a few years, when she’s become a big star, you can all say you heard her here tonight. Let’s give her a hand.”

As Jake and the students clapped, Paige walked forward to stand next to her great-grandfather. Kira swallowed her surprise. She’d never heard Paige sing. But something told her the little girl had had some coaching.

Playing softly, so as not to drown out her voice, Dusty strummed the intro to “You Are My Sunshine.” Right on cue, Paige began to sing. Her childish voice was sweet and true, her confidence total as she nailed not only the first verse but also the second and the chorus. Kira’s eyes met Jake’s across the circle of glowing coals. She saw pride there—pride verging on tears.

Perhaps that was the moment when she knew she loved him.

* * *

After the entertainment, Kira excused herself to get Paige ready for bed and tuck her in. “I was so proud of you tonight,” she whispered as she pulled up the quilt and kissed the little girl’s cheek. “You were amazing. I didn’t know you could sing.”

“Grandpa helped me.” Paige turned her face toward the photo on the nightstand. “Aunt Kira, do you think my mom could hear me from up in heaven?”

Kira blinked back a tear. “I’m sure she could, honey. And I can just imagine how proud she must’ve been.”

“Maybe someday my dad will get to hear me sing, too.”

Kira looked away to hide a rush of emotion. When she turned back toward the bed, Paige had rolled onto her side and closed her eyes.

* * *