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anything to show for my aches and bruises.”
    “Bad draws?” She had years of practice at saying the right, sympathetic thing. The score in the rodeo ring was only fifty percent under the cowboy’s control. The bulls were assigned by random draws—and not all of them were star performers. But bad draws couldn’t explain his sad bulldogging times.
    “I guess.”
    She rinsed out the cup she’d taken with her to the barn, then refilled it. Still lots left in the pot. Both girls had become coffee drinkers after they turned sixteen and were allowed to drink the beverage at home. Mattie no longer needed to make a full pot every morning. But it was one of those habits that was tough to break.
    Like cooking too much food and checking the girls’ rooms for dirty clothes when it was time to do laundry. And waiting for them to come through the back door after the school bus drove by...
    She leaned her back against the counter, sipping the hot coffee and eyeing her husband. He was looking at the iPad again, as if her presence was nothing but an interruption. That was when she noticed the key was no longer on the counter.
    “I found a key on the floor by your jacket this morning.”
    Wes nodded, head still lowered. “Yeah. Thanks.”
    “So... what’s it for?”
    Wes hesitated a moment before answering. He seemed annoyed that she felt it necessary to ask the question and he answered with exaggerated patience. “I crashed with the Wilkinson’s this weekend. Peter gave me a key to their guest cabin and I forgot to return it. I’ll put it in the mail later today.”
    A wild impulse rose in her—a desire to take his silly iPad and toss it into the garbage. What was he reading on there that was so damn fascinating? After four days apart, was it so unreasonable of her to expect to have a proper conversation with her husband?
    Mattie willed herself to be calm. She’d try again, bring up another subject.
    “Jake wondered if you’d bought any yearlings?”
    “Why would I do that?”
    She raised her eyebrows. There was no point in telling him they only had twenty-two horses in their stables right now. Wes was gone a lot, but he still made all the business decisions around here—and paid the bills. He was aware that last year they’d barely broken even. And without new clients or horses, they’d be lucky to do as well this year.
    “What’s going on, Wes?” she asked softly.
    He grabbed onto his mug with both of his tough, sun-darkened hands and gazed down into it, his posture sagging with a sort of sadness Mattie had never seen in him before.
    “Why won’t you look at me?”
    He did raise his head then, but only briefly. Getting up from the stool, he went to the far window. The house had been designed open concept with a seamless transition between kitchen and family area. A river-rock fireplace with a heavy walnut mantel grounded the south end of the room. Large paneled windows to the west and north looked out to the pastures and Flathead Lake in the distance.
    Mattie set down her mug next to her husband’s and went to stand beside him. She’d lived with this view for nineteen years, but never took it for granted. From here you could see almost all of their land. And it was beautiful.
    Wes shifted, putting an extra foot between them. “Mattie—I’ve been thinking it’s time to sell.”
    “What?” This was something they’d never discussed. She wouldn’t even have considered it an option. “But—this land is...” She couldn’t find the words to go on. She’d been raised to consider land the most important and valuable thing in the world. Her father’s ties to the Circle C were blood and marrow deep. And, being married to Wes, she’d come to feel the same way about Bishop Stables too.
    “I’m getting too old to rodeo, but I’m not interested in breeding and training Tennessee Walkers. That was Mom and Dad’s thing. Not mine.”
    She wasn’t surprised that he was making this admission. She’d suspected