The Rancher's Second Chance (Martin's Crossing Book 3) by Brenda Minton

They were speculating on what their relationship might be.
    She could tell them they were friends, barely. She’d broken his heart, but he was good and kind and still willing to help her.
    The sermon that day was on peace. The music seemed to coincide. But for Grace the day was about being in God’s presence. About making things right and about finding a way back, because she’d spent more than a year running from her life.
    The closing prayer ended the service, but Grace took a moment longer, her head bowed. A hand touched hers. She looked up at Brody, who was standing next to her.
    “You okay?”
    “I’m good,” she assured him. “Thank you for bringing me.”
    He shrugged. “Anytime. Jake said to invite you over for lunch. Breezy has something for the grill and Duke is bringing the sides.”
    Lunch with the Martins. She settled her gaze on Brody for a heart-stopping moment because he was looking down at her with the softest look in his eyes. He had only fastened a few buttons of his shirt, and he was standing there as if this didn’t matter.
    But it did. To her it mattered. It mattered because she needed his forgiveness. In her quest to live she’d overlooked the feelings of this man. She’d overlooked her faith. She hadn’t really thought about the consequences.
    While she was in Martin’s Crossing she would make things right with him. She would help him face his past. And his future. She owed him that much.
    “I’d love to have lunch with your family.”
    * * *
    Brody told Grace to wait at the church. He’d get his truck and pick her up so she didn’t have to walk. She’d argued that walking was good for her. He’d argued back that he wouldn’t have her passing out on him.
    It was also a chance for him to get a few minutes to himself to think, because she was getting under his skin. Or maybe she’d been under his skin from the moment they’d met.
    Some people, he’d heard, learned from their mistakes. He didn’t seem to be one of them. But he was fighting the part of himself that gave in too easily. It was that same part that had wanted to find Sylvia Martin, not to tell her how angry and hurt he was, but to know her. She had a story. She had a reason for leaving. He wanted her story.
    He knew Grace’s story. She’d been loved, sheltered, and great things were expected from her. But she’d needed out of that ivory tower to find herself. She hadn’t been looking for love, just for adventure.
    She definitely hadn’t wanted a broken-down cowboy for that future. She’d also made it pretty clear that she planned on going home to Fort Worth. It would serve him well to keep that in mind. Somehow he had to shed this need he had to take care of her, to keep her close.
    Big words for the guy pulling up to the church and getting out to open the door for that same woman. She smiled up at him, all sunshine and sweetness, her blond hair framing her face, her dark brown eyes intent on his.
    He closed the door as she buckled herself in, thanking the good Lord that every now and then he was in full control of his common sense.
    As they drove out to the ranch he kept conversation to a minimum. It was easier that way, to play country music on the radio, pretending that every Keith Urban song wasn’t about falling in love. Why was it that when a man fell in love, he suddenly had to sing dozens of songs about the subject?
    He reached to turn down the radio. She stopped him.
    “I like that song.” She pushed his hand away from the button.
    “Great.” He brushed a hand through his hair and focused on the road.
    “Someone told me about your plan to buy horses and start a riding program for foster children,” she said.
    “Someone did, did they?”
    “Yes, is it true?”
    He looked heavenward before answering, “Yep.”
    “It’s a great idea.”
    “I thought so.”
    He had other good ideas. One dangerous one included pulling to the side of the road and kissing her. Another better idea had him heading the