Sweet on You (Sweet on a Cowboy)

by Drake, Laura

  It twisted midair, coming down on its side. Her lungs squeezed to dried raisins. One ton of momentum couldn’t stop that fast—it rolled up onto its back—onto Cam. It balanced for a millisecond that took a lifetime, then it rolled on its side and onto its feet.

  Cam was out. She saw it in the arc of his arm, when his hand mercifully came out of the rope to fall lifeless onto the dirt. Every muscle snapped taut, Katya slammed the bolt aside and shot into the arena, kit in hand. She didn’t know if sound had ceased, her eardrums burst from the pressure in her head, or if her brain no longer registered the deafening noise.

  The safety roper galloped up on his horse, throwing his rope on the dazed bull. She dodged the horse, her eyes never leaving the crumpled figure in the middle of the arena.

  CamCamCamCam…

  When she reached Cam’s side, her knees let go. She fell in the dirt beside him. Cam’s face shone gray and pasty, but the skin was unbroken. There was something wrong with his jaw; one side canted, off-balance.

  Her world tilted, then righted. She ripped open the trauma kit, pulled out a cervical collar, and laid it in the dirt.

  Doc Cody jogged up and knelt opposite her. She ran her hands lightly down Cam’s body, feeling for breaks. Thank God, no rib fractures. Riders had died when razor-tipped broken ribs pierced soft organs.

  “Cam? Can you hear me, son?” Doc’s quiet voice sounded loud in the hush.

  She reached for Cam’s legs. Her hollow gut squirted bile into her throat. His lower leg lay at a ninety-degree angle to the thigh. His knee was gone, totally blown out.

  Oh, Cam.

  “Let’s get him on a backboard,” Doc said.

  She shifted to Cam’s head, becoming aware that the bullfighters and several cowboys stood in a circle around them. Two of the men set the stretcher in the dirt. She supported Cam’s head and neck as Doc slipped the collar under.

  She choked out, “Watch his jaw. It’s broken.”

  Doc carefully secured the Velcro straps under his chin. “Bring the board in.” Shifting to Cam’s leg, he carefully straightened and immobilized it.

  Tuck knelt in the dirt next to them with the backboard. She and Doc carefully rolled Cam onto his side and Tuck shoved the board in place, then the stretcher.

  Under her hands, Cam’s body lay slack and lifeless.

  She tore the Velcro straps from the backboard and secured them over Cam’s forehead, then his chest. Doc did the same with his hips and legs. She reached for the stretcher handles, but Tuck brushed her aside. Someone else took the foot.

  She took Cam’s hand, watching his face for any sign of waking.

  JB’s voice was soft, from the speakers overhead. “Let’s not draw conclusions, folks. We’ll give you an update on Cam as soon as we have one.”

  Doc addressed one of the other bystanders. “Go tell the EMTs to fire up the ambulance. We’re not going to be able to fix this here.”

  She squeezed Cam’s large, cold hand.

  Come back to me.

  The entire audience stood clapping. The men hoisted the stretcher and marched to the exit.

  Katya sat beside the hospital bed, holding Cam’s hand. The only time she’d let go was when they took him to surgery. Was that just yesterday? She laid her other arm on the bed and dropped her head on it.

  Cheery morning sun from the world outside poured in the window. Funny, how that world had seemed important yesterday. Today her world began and ended here, in this room. Cam’s family was on their way. Doc Cody said he would stop by this morning. The world would intrude again in a few hours, but right now, she was grateful to be alone with Cam.

  They’d reattached four tendons in his knee and while they were there, went ahead and replaced the joint. The surgeon told her it looked as though Cam had been walking bone-on-bone for some time. They’d also wired the break in his jaw. But he hadn’t yet regained consciousness.

  The doctors had said the MRI showed no skull fractures or brain bleeds. He should wake sometime this morning. Even so, from watching all night, her nerves were scraped raw and her eyeballs felt like hard-boiled eggs. She rubbed her forehead on her arm. Tired, yes, but renewed.

  She’d done her job. That amazing fact hadn’t even hit her until Cam was in surgery and she sat alone in the waiting room. Her healing was back. She felt Grand’s gift, a river of calm running through her. It had been missing so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

  Doc Heinz had been right; when she’d needed it, it was there.

  But that was only part of the seismic shift that began with the wreck yesterday.

  She’d spent all night wrestling with her conscience. Murphy had been here with her, and Carol. And a young Afghan boy with fearful eyes. That part was bad.

  Grand had said back in Chicago, “You cannot lose something that is a part of you. It’s only gotten covered by things that are not you. You will find it again. And you’ll find more, besides. Remember, gifts sometimes come in strange wrappings.”

  As if she’d been summoned, Grand’s papery voice whispered, Remember your kintala—balance. You were something before you were a soldier. Do you not remember?

  A healer.

  That’s who she was. Thanks to Grand, it’s who she’d always be.

  A click sounded in her mind as the last puzzle piece dropped into place.

  Cam had said, You have to ask that guy in the mirror—even knowing you can die, do you love it enough to do it anyway?

  Walking away from Cam would hurt more than getting stomped. It would hurt worse than being haunted by ghosts. Or dying in sand-filled desert wind.

  She wasn’t God. Things would continue to happen that she had no choice in, or any responsibility for.

  It came down to one decision: Hang on to the past, or let it go? Live the remainder of her life in her old world, or embrace the new one?

  Which one was she willing to die for?

  She lifted her head and looked at Cam. It wasn’t even close.

  His hand twitched in hers. She’d known he’d wake. Grand had promised.

  Welcome back, my cowboy.

  Two hours later, Katya opened the door to her hotel room and stepped in, feeling she’d lived a lifetime since she’d last been here. Eyeing the shower with longing, she walked to her medicinal bag. Too bad she didn’t have time.

  Cam had asked for her tea and his own T-shirt and shorts to wear. She wanted to get back to the hospital before his family got there. She rummaged through her bag until she found the right pouches and tossed them into her backpack.

  She walked into the bathroom. “Yikes!” She faced the Medusa in the mirror. “This will not do.” Grabbing a brush and a scrunchie, she got to work.

  Five minutes later, she used the card to open the door to Cam’s hotel room. As the minutes had passed, an invisible cord had tightened. She needed to get back to the hospital. To him. Hurrying to his suitcase, she lifted it and laid it on the bed. Trying to remember which shirt he’d asked for, she unzipped it.

  Lying atop of the clothes sat Cam’s surprise. Her cowgirl hat.

  Watching herself in the full-length mirror, she tried it on. Even with her thick hair, it was a perfect fit. It looked right. She took it off and set it on the bed.

  She reached under the collar of her Western shirt. Her dog tags clinked when she lifted the chain over her head. These didn’t fit anymore.

  “I’m not leaving you behind, Murphy. I’m taking you with me. Always.” Lifting them to her lips, she kissed them, then tucked them away in a corner of Cam’s suitcase. She trusted him to keep them safe.

  Then she stood, put on her hat, and followed the tightened cord within her, back to where it ended, at her cowboy.

  The Lampasas Star, November 2:

  Local Bull Rider Wins PBR Rookie of the Year

  Tom and Maydelle Deacon, owners of the Deacon Ranch, traveled to Las Vegas in October to see their son Buster (Tom Junior) compete in the PBR World Finals.

  Deacon did his hom
etown proud, capping off his Rookie of the Year title by riding 3 of the 5 bulls he selected in spite of riding with his off hand due to a shoulder injury.

  The future looks bright for our newest local celebrity! If you run into him in town, shake that boy’s hand!

  The Bandera County Chamber of Commerce Newsletter, February 15:

  New Business Report: Cahill Coaching

  This week, “Cool Hand” Cam Cahill announced the opening of his new venture, Cahill Coaching. He will offer instruction and lifestyle coaching to aspiring and professional bull riders.

  Interviewed at home where he is convalescing after an injury in Las Vegas, Cahill said, “I’ve signed several bull riders already, including Buster Deacon, last year’s Rookie of the Year. I hope to continue to make a difference and contribute to a sport that has given me so much.”

  The Bandera Blade, June 23:

  Wedding Announcements:

  Smith ~ Cahill

  Local celebrity Cameron Cahill last Saturday wed Miss Katya Smith in a ceremony that took place on a bluff overlooking the Penny-Cahill Ranch. The bride wore an antique lace gown and an ivory Western hat with trailing veil. The groom wore a black Western tuxedo, hat, and cowboy boots.

  Following a honeymoon on their ranch outside Fort Collins, Colorado, the couple will settle here in Bandera, and focus on building their new home, on the same bluff where they exchanged vows.

  Don’t miss the other titles in this series!

  Nothing Sweeter

  The Sweet Spot

  Acclaim for the Sweet on a Cowboy Series

  Nothing Sweeter

  “Drake writes excellent contemporary westerns that show the real American West—not a dude-ranch fantasy… This one’s not to be missed.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Complex characters and some fun bull-riding scenes.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Fast-paced and love-filled… Nothing Sweeter will tug at your heart.”

  —MyBookAddictionReviews.com

  The Sweet Spot

  “4½ stars! A sensitive, honest look at a family destroyed by loss… Drake’s characters are so real, so like us, that you will look at your own life and count your treasures.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “The busy plot and large cast keep things moving along and lovers of Western settings will enjoy debut author Drake’s detailed descriptions of bull riding and cattle ranching.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Poignant, heart-wrenching, hopeful, and definitely not your typical ‘saving the family ranch’ romance. This realistic contemporary zeroes in on issues of trust, communication, healing, and forgiveness; a cut above the rest.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “A moving tale about love, forgiveness, and finding your way out of the darkness of your grief. I look forward to reading more of Ms. Drake’s books.”

  —SeducedByaBook.com

  Charla Rae Denny was the perfect wife with a perfect life, married to a champion bull rider.

  But when tragedy strikes, it’s up to Charla to cowboy up to put her life back together…

  Please see the next page for an excerpt from

  The Sweet Spot.

  CHAPTER

  1

  The grief counselor told the group to be grateful for what they had left. After lots of considering, Charla Rae decided she was grateful for the bull semen.

  Charla Rae Denny wiped her hands with her apron and stepped back, surveying the shelves of her pantry. This month’s Good Housekeeping suggested using scraps of linoleum as shelf paper. It had been a bitch-kitty to cut but cost nothing, would be easy to clean, and continued the white-pebbled theme of her kitchen floor. And for a few hours, the project had rescued her weary mind from a hamster-wheel of regret.

  The homing beacon in the Valium bottle next to the sink tugged at her insides.

  She sipped a glass of water to avoid reaching for it and glanced out the window to the spring-skeletal trees of the backyard.

  Her gaze returned to the two-foot-wide stump the way a tongue wanders to a missing tooth. Tentative grass shoots had sprung up to obscure the obscene scar in the soil.

  She hadn’t thought that an innocent tree could kill a child.

  She hadn’t thought that an innocent coed could kill a marriage.

  And if those pills could kill the thinking, she’d take ten.

  At the familiar throaty growl of a Peterbilt turning off the road out front, Char jerked, realizing minutes had passed. She’d been listening for that deep throb for hours. She always did. As the cab and empty cattle hauler swept by the window, she wound her shaking hands in her apron, as if the sturdy cotton would hold her together.

  A ranch wife could stretch a pound of hamburger further than anyone, but Daddy’s new medication cost the moon, and the bills in the basket beside the computer were piling up like snowdrifts in a blizzard. Hands still shaking, she untied the bibbed apron and pulled it over her head. She’d rather clean bathrooms at the airport than ask her ex for money, but, then, most of her choices these days were like that. Sighing, she walked to the mudroom, shrugged into her spring jacket, yanked open the back door, and stepped into the nippy air.

  Jimmy had backed the rig to the corral and left the engine running. He stepped down from the cab to stand, one foot on the running board, looking up into the dim interior, unaware of her approach. After all, the past four months she’d made sure that when he was here, she’d been purposely somewhere else.

  He looked different. Her Jimmy, but with an older man superimposed, blurring the strong, familiar lines of the body she knew like her own. The mean midday sun highlighted the deep furrows bracketing his mouth and the brown hair curling from under his cowboy hat glinted with silver. His legs were still long and lean, but a bit of spare tire sheltered his huge oval belt buckle. Jimmy wouldn’t go anywhere without his State Champion Bull Rider buckle.

  She halted ten feet from the truck, thrust her fists in the pockets of the jacket, and forced words past the ball wedged in her throat. “Jimmy, we need to talk.”

  His head jerked around, face frozen in guilty shock. He looked like Benje as a toddler, caught misbehaving. Yet another reason she’d avoided him was stamped in the features he’d passed to their son.

  He spun back to the cab and mumbled. She followed his line of vision to catch a quick flash of sun on bleached blond hair. Charla stopped, stunned to stillness. She’d doubt her vision if that flash of blond hadn’t burned in her mind like a smoking brand.

  “You brought her here, Jimmy?” she whispered. “To our—to my home?” Oh, sure, she’d known about the Cupcake. The whole town knew. The girl was the straw that had finished off their marriage.

  Jimmy slammed the truck door and stood before it like a challenging bull. “That’s not Jess, Charla. Jess and I broke up months ago. That’s Mitzi, Jess’s roommate. And before you get any wrong ideas, I’m taking her to the event to watch her boyfriend ride. That’s it.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid? Lies like that only work once, Jimmy.”

  He ducked his head, strode the length of the trailer, and busied himself letting down the tailgate. She stalked him, anger advancing with every step.

  “Do you have that little respect for me?” The pleading in her voice only made her madder. “James Benton Denny. You look at me.”

  Hands busy, he shot her his I-may-be-wrong-but-I’m-not-admitting-anything look.

  Words piled into her throat, and she swallowed. “Aren’t you even embarrassed? She could be your daughter, for cripes’ sake. People are laughing their heads off—at you—at me.” Her traitorous voice cracked.

  “Look, I’m telling you the truth, okay?” Jimmy’s voice echoed as he climbed into the cattle trailer. “The morning has been a disaster. First, that useless Emilio didn’t show, and I had to fire him.” The empty metal box amplified his sigh. “I needed to let him go anyway. We’re making good money, but now the business h
as to support two households—” He hesitated, apparently recalling his audience.

  “Then we had a flat on that danged retread. I knew better than to buy tires from Baynard’s.” Eyes down, he scanned the metal floor of the truck bed for anything that could hurt the stock. “I’m seriously late here, Little Bit, can we—”

  “Don’t you dare call me that!” She charged up the tailgate, her face blazing. “You lost that right two months, two weeks, four days ago.”

  He trotted by without a word, to the corral. The bulls, who had been watching the proceedings with interest, sauntered to the trailer. Realizing she stood between them and their destination, Char jumped from the tailgate.

  Jimmy circled the pen, keeping a wary eye on the bulls, urging them gently toward the gate. “What did you want to talk to me about, Char?”

  Slivers of pain shot up her palms. Realizing what she was doing, she relaxed her fingers until her nails popped out of the skin. God, I’m a fool. “Never mind.”

  “I’ll be at the event in Abilene for the week.”

  Char stepped to the side of the corral to hear over the clatter of hooves on the metal tailgate.

  “I’ve deposited the money from the last semen sale into your account, and I’m dropping the bulls off at the vet to have more collected on the return trip. I should be back with them sometime on the twenty-fifth.”

  After the last bull, Kid Charlemagne, trotted up the ramp, Jimmy hoisted the tailgate and shot the pins into place. His nonchalance stung more than his hubris. Just another day dealing with the unreasonable ex. Her odd, out-of-body objectivity kicked in again as Jimmy closed the corral gate. Why shouldn’t he brush her off? What was she but an old coffee stain on his Important Life?

  He still had a job, two of them, in fact. One, working as an arena announcer for the pro bull riding circuit and the other as a stock contractor, supplying bucking bulls for the events.