by Leigh Riker
Hadley looked pointedly at the cane. “You’re hurt, Dallas.”
“I can still ride a cow pony,” he insisted.
“Ours aren’t the most reliable sort. I won’t see you getting thrown.”
Was that a crack about his big accident in Lubbock? The memory made Dallas sweat. “I’ll sign a waiver if you want. I need to get outdoors, earn a few bucks. I can muck stalls, fill buckets, measure grain. Lift hay bales. Maybe I’m not ready to wrestle a bull, but...” He ran out of words.
Hadley knew what he really meant. “Your folks doing okay?”
Dallas shrugged. “Dad’s all right. I can tell Mom’s not feeling great.”
The very week Dallas had been tossed from that bull, his adoptive mother had landed in the hospital, and, especially after their talk earlier, Dallas wondered when she’d be back there again. “Sorry to hear that,” Hadley said. “I know you worry about them.”
Calvin Stern had tacked up his horse then walked off into the sun with the dun gelding. Dallas saw his gaze flick toward Hadley as if to say, Aren’t you coming?
With his sorrel between them, Hadley walked Dallas to the doors. “I’d ask you to ride with us, kind of a test drive, but we only have the two horses.”
Dallas waited. Was his brother weakening? Hadley had his own way of getting to his point.
In the barnyard, he swung into his saddle and, with Calvin mounted beside him, their horses shifted as if in some equine ballet. Hides quivering, they shook off flies, and Dallas felt like an outsider. He missed the camaraderie of his rodeo buddies. High in the sky, the summer sun blazed toward noon, and he could smell the grass from a nearby field. It wasn’t Vegas behind the chutes or Cody in the open-air ring, or even his imaginary rodeo, but it was still something Dallas yearned for as he turned toward his truck.
“Wait up. Don’t run off.” Hadley looked at Calvin. “Guess there’s enough work here—a change from last year. How does half-time sound for now? Assuming I can rustle up another horse.”
“It’ll be enough,” Dallas said, though Hadley’s tone had seemed grudging. “Thanks.”
As he drove off, he stopped the truck halfway down the drive to watch his brother and Calvin disappear over the pancake-flat land toward the horizon. He admired the easy way they rode at a slow lope, hands loose on the reins, and imagined himself on a horse again—or even better, the back of another ornery bull with murder on its brain, because Dallas had a score to settle there.
His nemesis, Greased Lightning, was still on the circuit, flinging other cowboys into the dirt with leaping twists and turns of the bull’s powerful body. Just like Dallas in Lubbock, where he’d pitted himself against the animal so perfectly named.
But the sport was his passion, the love of his life. So far. His stage fright aside, he relished the feel of muscle and bone under him, the smells of hide and hair and horn, hearing the roar of the crowd when he stayed glued to the beast’s back till the eight-second buzzer sounded.
Anxiety or not, Dallas couldn’t wait to show Greased Lightning who was boss.
For now, those hours as a temporary cowhand on the McMann ranch—money to send his folks—would do, and he looked forward to spending more time with his brother. They had a lot of catching up to do. Win-win.
But he wasn’t here only to recuperate or be with Hadley. Dallas couldn’t stop thinking about Lizzie. He hadn’t seen her since he’d asked her to dinner. Who did she think he was? An insensitive jerk trying again to take advantage? He could see how vulnerable she must be, how badly her husband’s betrayal had hurt her, how fiercely she loved her kids. And he couldn’t get the image of her out of his mind, the set of her shoulders yesterday as if she were waiting for another blow.
He knew what she wanted—to mend her reputation in her hometown, where everybody gossiped. She didn’t need a transient man in her life who couldn’t wait to ride bulls again. But maybe she did need something to occupy her time while her kids were away.
And that brought to mind the lie he’d told Ace.
What if...it wasn’t a lie? What if that imaginary rodeo could really happen?
With his mind made up, at the end of the driveway he turned his truck onto the road, then headed straight to the Bon Appetit in town, where he ordered take-out food for pickup later. He’d talk to Lizzie again, and dinner tonight would be a start, a chance to make his pitch about the rodeo he’d decided to make a reality.
The summer was short. They could spend a little time together, becoming business partners in addition to neighbors.
As long as no one got hurt, what could be the harm?
CHAPTER THREE
“I HOPE YOU didn’t send Harry off with a sour look on your face,” Elizabeth’s mother had said. At lunch earlier at the local café, Claudia Monroe’s words had killed Elizabeth’s appetite. At home now, in the near darkness after sunset, she didn’t bother to turn on any lamps. Since Bernice, her neighbor across Tumbleweed Street, couldn’t see in her windows, Elizabeth was enjoying a glass of blush wine to take the edge off.
The rest of her mother’s comments, which often seemed to focus on Elizabeth’s blame for the divorce, had shifted to include the kids. “I think it’s admirable that he’s taken the children for the summer.”
Elizabeth had massaged her aching temple as she tried to come up with a response. “He feels he lost too much time with them while we were dealing with lawyers.” Again, to Elizabeth’s discredit and Claudia’s disapproval, it was all Elizabeth’s fault because she’d thrown him out of the house.
“No wonder,” her mother had continued, brown eyes snapping. “Not many men would do what he has.”
Elizabeth couldn’t agree more, though her mother couldn’t mean the same thing she did. For a while, after she’d learned about his affair, Elizabeth and Harry had tried couples’ counseling, but she’d done most of the trying. And then last November she’d suffered another heartbreak. Losing the baby she’d wanted so badly to complete their family, and had viewed as a sign their marriage might survive, had brought Elizabeth to her knees. Soon after that, Harry’s extramarital relationship had become public knowledge at last, and they’d finally separated. To be honest, she was still grieving.
And her mother was half-right. Harry had seemed eager to spend the summer months with the children. But the still-painful reality of his betrayal swamped her every morning as soon as she woke up. Her mother thought Elizabeth should have come to terms with all her losses by now. And she definitely thought that if Elizabeth had been a better wife, Harry wouldn’t have strayed.
“I’m still appalled by your behavior, Elizabeth,” her mother had said. “When you married, you promised for better or worse to stand by him.” She didn’t seem to realize she’d all but quoted the lyrics of a classic country song.
“I guess the worst became too much for me. Do we really have to talk about this?”
Claudia patted her carefully highlighted brown hair into place. She’d leaned across their lunch table. “Why not admit you’ve made a mistake? More than one, actually.”
But “I have to go” was all Elizabeth had answered. Thank goodness her mother didn’t know about her transgression in May with Dallas. Elizabeth had stood, tucked some bills into the folder that held their check, then left the café before her mother could voice another attack. Elizabeth would hear about her rudeness the next time she saw Claudia.
“The story of my life,” she muttered now.
The front bell chimed and, expecting it was Bernice hoping to hear some dirt about Elizabeth’s lunch with her mother, this time she hurried to answer. Elizabeth, who avoided confrontation, was in the mood to put Bernice in her place.
Instead, she saw Dallas waiting on the porch again, wearing obviously new, pressed jeans and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled back over his strong forearms. The cowboy’s version of dress clothes. He held a large b
ag from the Bon Appetit. “Dinner, as promised,” he said. “Please don’t say no again. This food’s getting cold, and I have something to run by you. Please,” he repeated.
With a wave of her hand, Elizabeth stepped back out of the doorway. Persistence must be his middle name. But she did feel guilty about how she’d treated him when he asked her to dinner yesterday. She’d definitely overreacted. This would be her chance to apologize—once she worked up to it. “All right, but don’t expect brilliant conversation.” Or anything else. “Frankly, I’m in recovery mode.”
With a slight limp, he carried the bag into the living room with Elizabeth trailing after him. “Ah, yesterday you were in hiding. I’d see this as progress, but obviously you spoke to your mother and there’s been a setback. You always look this way afterward.” Elizabeth was surprised that he’d noticed, but in the six months he’d lived next door, she’d told him several times in passing about some meeting with Claudia, and Dallas was perceptive. He turned to assess her unhappy expression.
“I met her at the café for lunch, and we talked—or she did.” Elizabeth half smiled. “All I had to do was murmur a few words. I’m never the one she’s listening to.”
“Herself, then. Not a conversation, brilliant or otherwise.”
She hadn’t intended to share but found herself telling Dallas what had been said during the meal she’d barely touched.
He held her gaze. “Bad day,” he said, and as if to change her mood, he swiftly laid out their meal on her glass-topped coffee table, lining up plastic knives and forks beside paper plates, which would have horrified her mother.
“You don’t eat on real china in your dining room?”
“It’ll be like a picnic. Since you’re not into talking, we can watch rodeo while we eat. A PBR event’s about to start.”
Oh, goodie. That didn’t appeal to Elizabeth either—she wasn’t a fan of the dangerous sport—but at least he didn’t see this as a date. She gestured at the next box he opened, which was releasing a delicious aroma. “What is that?”
“Celebration.” Dallas told her about working for his brother at the McMann ranch. “That’s part of it,” he finished, and Elizabeth wondered what else he meant to run by her. “So, Jack made us this chicken dish with some fancy French name.” Jack Hancock was the owner and head chef at the Bon Appetit restaurant.
“Coq au vin?”
“Yeah. His specialty, he said.” Dallas pulled a loaf of bread from the bag. “This too.”
Her mouth watered. “A freshly baked baguette. That is worth a celebration.” She added, “Congratulations on your new job.”
“Thanks. We’ll need butter.” He took out another container of salad. “And I’d like some extra dressing.”
“Me too.” Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled—her plate had still been full when she’d left the café. “I’m often starving after I see my mother,” she admitted.
While she fetched the bottle of vinaigrette, a crock of butter, and the salt and pepper grinders, Elizabeth put the scene with her mother on the back burner. When she reentered the living room, Dallas had switched on the TV, and the room was suddenly full of light and sound. Soon, they were downing the most incredible meal she’d eaten in a long time, and Elizabeth was sharing the rest of the blush wine with Dallas because, without Harry in the house, she kept no beer in the fridge.
“Ugh,” Dallas said more than once, his gaze glued to the television screen.
“If you don’t like wine, I have—”
“Nah, don’t get up.” Shoulders hunched, he said little else, intent upon the rodeo action and giving Elizabeth space, she supposed, at the opposite end of the sofa. The event didn’t thrill her. Even though she saw it on TV, she couldn’t understand the appeal of the dust in the actual arena that would clog her nostrils, the smell of dirty animals, and then there was the danger, one cowboy after another risking his life. As Dallas had done and would do again.
Finally, during a series of commercials, she said, “I thought rodeo was exciting, but you don’t shout and jump out of your seat like Harry does during a football game. You’ve barely moved.”
He slid her a glance. “I’m assessing my competition.” He pointed his fork at the TV. “That last guy from Guatemala? He was good. Between people like him and those who’ve graduated from some college rodeo program—”
“There’s a degree?” It couldn’t be like majoring in English literature as she had.
“Yep. And a ton of other rodeo schools. Competition is brutal. Gets harder and harder to rise in the standings.”
“What’s your standing?”
He frowned. “I haven’t ridden bulls this season except in Houston, where I didn’t make even six seconds much less the end buzzer before I reinjured my hip.”
She glanced around for his cane, but he hadn’t brought it tonight. “Which is why you’re still here in Barren.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, to recover and to see my brother again. Without going into that right now, we have a lot to catch up on before I rejoin the circuit—and get off the injured list.” He shook his head. “My parents need that prize money more than I do, so for them too, I need to ride.”
A reminder for Elizabeth that he was only here for a short time, not that she wanted a cowboy in her life.
He refocused his gaze on the television. The ads were over and a rider in a gray hat was clinging to the back of a bucking bull with blunted horns. “See that? His balance is off. He’ll be on the ground—” the rider flew through the air “—now,” Dallas finished as the man hit the dirt. “No score.”
Elizabeth shuddered. She refused to look at her neighbor’s strong hands or broad shoulders, his taut overall fitness as a trained athlete. Even so, he couldn’t be a match for such a huge animal. “I’d never let my kids try that.” Not that her oldest didn’t badger her relentlessly about joining the other boys in the local version of junior rodeo.
Dallas studied her. “My mother wasn’t crazy about the idea either, but she and Dad are proud of me.” He paused. “Which brings me to the other reason I’m here tonight.” Not quite looking at her, Dallas told her about his vague plan to put on a rodeo somewhere in town, then asked for her help and whether she knew of a good venue.
“The old fairgrounds might work, but they’ve been closed for years. And, of course, you’d need some kind of permit. From someone.”
“You know everyone in town,” he pointed out.
“Where I am, at the moment, largely persona non grata.”
“This could be your chance to fix that, Lizzie.”
She rolled her eyes. “No one’s called me Lizzie since I was...six years old. Please don’t.”
His gaze warmed. “Elizabeth, then. I’ll try to remember. You know...we’d be good together—working on the rodeo, I mean. You have the contacts. I have the knowledge of the sport. There are a ton of guys in Barren, ranchers and cowboys. Some of them might enter.” Again, he took his time before he went on. “Picture it,” he said. “A summertime festival of sorts. Kids and parents outdoors on a sunny afternoon watching what really is a pretty exciting thing.”
“In your opinion,” she murmured.
“Okay, you’re not wild about the idea yet. How about this?” He arched his dark eyebrows. “What if we make it an event for charity? You pick which one, I don’t care, but all proceeds would go to that except for recouping the cost of putting on the rodeo, and we’d have to carve out some prize money. I’d be getting a chance to ride, you’d be gaining the respect of the people who got all bent out of shape and linked you to the scandal with your husband.” He added, “Even your mother might enjoy the day.”
“I doubt she’d attend. No, Dallas, I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
She could see the disappointment in his blue eyes. Before Elizabeth spoke again, he changed the topic slightly. “I don’t mean to pry, b
ut why isn’t your mother supportive of you?”
“Ask her. She’ll be glad to tell you.” Elizabeth didn’t want to expand on that. “Are you ready for dessert?” From the bag, she drew a smaller box of profiteroles, the delicate pastry filled with whipped cream and dusted with powdered sugar. Jack had gone all out at the Bon Appetit. But she had to smile... “These don’t look like a cowboy’s choice to end a meal.”
He looked skeptical. “You try one first.”
She did and nearly swooned. “Yum. Outstanding.”
Dallas reached for one, took a first bite. “Right you are,” he agreed. For a long moment he stared at her. “Thanks for having dinner with me.”
“Thank you for bringing such excellent food.” She fumbled for the next words. “Dallas, I’d like to apologize—not only for yesterday but for, um, the day we—you know, when I...”
“I was there too,” he reminded her. “No need to apologize.”
And wasn’t she being presumptuous? Why would Dallas want to repeat that onetime slip? Any more than she did? Still, she couldn’t afford to lose control like that again.
She sure wasn’t going to spend time with him planning some rodeo.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I’LL FINISH HERE if you want,” Calvin said.
At the McMann ranch, Dallas hauled another bale of hay off the delivery truck. He and Calvin Stern had spent all morning unloading, and both had worked up a sweat in the summer heat, but that was physical, hard labor. Dallas’s mind was miles away on Lizzie—Elizabeth—and the dinner they’d shared a few nights ago. When the heavy bale slipped from his grasp, he jerked his thoughts back to the present. Losing focus was a good way to get hurt.
He muttered something about having wet hands. “I’m okay. Let’s get this done.”
Dallas was determined to pull his weight, but his thoughts soon returned to Lizzie anyway. He could hardly blame her for refusing about the rodeo, and he understood that, but was he disappointed? Sure, and not only about the event that was still a fantasy. Although he’d avoided hashing over the past the other night, he knew all about being publicly shamed, and the last thing he wanted was to do anything that would put her back in the limelight. As a kid in foster care before the Maguires adopted him, he’d endured plenty of teasing and taunting from other boys—just as Lizzie had more recently in Barren from adults who should know better—and to this day he too felt he had something to prove. He also liked her. He wanted to spend more time with her, if not in a romantic way.
