I sighed. I didn’t know how long I would stay at the ranch. Mayflower had said I could live here for as long as I wished. But how could I? Aidan would not want me anywhere remotely close to Lily. I tried not to think too much about Aidan. I didn’t even know if I would ever see him again. My heart sank at the thought.

* * *

I began to spend as much time outdoors as I could, sometimes walking, other times leaning on the fence, watching the ranch hands do their work, or “chores,” as it was called here. I especially liked to watch them wash down the horses after a day’s work. I’d always loved horses. Back in Donegal some of them ran wild, while others were kept on farms. There was a special, ancient bond between the Irish and their horses. I’d always been sad that the only horse we had on our farm was our sweet pony, whose job was to pull our old wooden cart. I would have loved to ride a horse the way many of the heroines of my books had done.

Mayflower came up behind me one day. “You sure seem fond of the horses, darlin’.”

I smiled. “I am. And I’ve always wanted to learn to ride.”

She said nothing at the time, but two days later, she presented me with a pair of trousers, boots, a blue cotton shirt and a cowboy hat.

“Got these from the dry goods store in Dallas. I figured if you were fixin’ to learn to ride a horse, you’d better be dressed for it. The trousers are for boys, but I’m sure Maria will be able to fit them for you. She’s handy with a needle.”

I looked down at the clothes and began to laugh at the thought of Ma’s face if she ever spied me in a pair of trousers.

“Now all we have to do is find someone to teach you!” said Mayflower.

* * *

A week later I was riding a small, solid, brown quarter horse around the paddock alongside a young man on what he called a “paint horse,” so-called because of its coat of brown and white patches. I’d never seen a horse like it and was fascinated. The young man’s name was Jeb, and he was the son of the ranch manager. He was very shy and blushed every time I spoke to him. But he was a good teacher, and I was quickly getting the hang of western riding: leaning back in the saddle and holding the reins loosely in one hand. Every time I dismounted, I felt more and more like a real Texan.