Rodeo Sweetheart

by Betsy St. Amant

  Sam gathered the reins and clicked her tongue at Piper. He followed her to the edge of the paddock, where she looped the reins around the hitching post. After last night’s drama with Ethan on the porch and her round of bad dreams, she’d hoped he’d sleep in and mercifully spare her his presence at the morning ride. He’d skipped breakfast, so Sam figured there was a good chance. But no, there he stood beside Vickie, dressed in designer jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt that revealed the tanned lines of muscle in his arms.

  Sam adjusted the blanket under Piper’s saddle with a sharp tug. Where did a city boy like Ethan get a tan? Must be all that driving with the convertible top down. She would imagine he hadn’t earned it with sweat and honest work.

  Same with the muscles.

  “Is that my horse for today?” Vickie Ames gestured to Piper.

  Sam nodded and introduced the painted gelding to Vickie. “He’s a sweetie, sort of like a big puppy. Just don’t spook him with any sudden noises.” All the working ranch horses were docile and well-trained, but they still had spunk. Piper hated loud noises, a fact he reminded them of every time it thundered. Sam had fixed more than her share of stall doors and fences after one of Piper’s episodes.

  “Of course I won’t.” Vickie patted Piper’s nose, then winced at her hair-covered hand. “I forgot my handkerchief.”

  “Use your jeans, Mom.” Ethan sidled up to the paddock fence beside Sam. He winked. “Good morning, Sam.”

  Sam gritted her teeth, remembering how her mother had specifically asked her to be nice. Her mother was right across the corral, so Sam better fake it for a while. She drew a deep breath. “Mornin’.”

  “Where’s my horse?”

  Sam pointed to a chestnut mare that Cole Jackson, one of the longtime stable hands, was saddling a few feet away. “You’ll be riding Miss Priss.”

  “Miss Priss?” Ethan smiled. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

  Sam shrugged, not wanting to admit he was right. The mare’s name was girlie, but the older horse was stubborn. Sam had a feeling if anyone could put Ethan in his place, it would be Miss Priss.

  “Well, I’m sure me and the little lady will get along great.” Ethan brushed his hands on his jeans with a pointed look at his mom, who was still picking horse hair off her palm.

  “Mrs. Ames, would you like help mounting?” Sam turned her back to Ethan.

  Vickie looked up with a relieved smile. “That would be great. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not used to being around horses much.”

  No kidding. Sam worked to keep her smile natural as she boosted the woman into the saddle, glad Vickie was at least wearing jeans and riding boots, even if they did look so new she’d surely have a blister by the end of the ride. Angie made a point of stating on the ranch’s Web site to bring comfortable, worn-in clothing for riding, but ninety percent of their guests ignored the suggestion and were usually miserable by the end of the week. Sam had never understood the fashion-over-function mindset.

  Beside her, Cole shook back his dark hair in frustration as if he’d noticed the same thing. “Greenhorns,” he mumbled as he handed the reins to another tourist.

  “Can I get a leg up, too?”

  Sam ignored Ethan’s taunting call from two horses away, focusing on adjusting the stirrup length for Vickie instead. He was apparently determined to get to her again today, and Sam was just as determined not to let him.

  “You know, since I’m not a real cowboy.” His teasing continued.

  Sam moved to work on the second stirrup, keeping her eyes averted from Ethan’s position beside Miss Priss. Ignore him, ignore him. Cole could help him mount. Not that Ethan actually needed help mounting, he just wanted to rub in Sam’s face her verbal mistake from last night.

  “Please, Samantha?”

  Sam dropped the stirrup abruptly, jostling Vickie’s leg, and glared across the fence at Ethan. “You know, I thought they said mules were stubborn. Not—”

  Angie bumped into Sam as she appeared next to her, effectively cutting off Sam’s sentence. “Lovely day, isn’t it, Mrs. Ames? Hot, but beautiful. That’s Texas for you.” Angie finished adjusting the stirrup and shot Sam a warning look. “Go help him,” she whispered. She smiled back up at Mrs. Ames. “I love that blouse.”

  Sam rubbed her face with both hands before slowly walking to Ethan’s side, leaving her mother and Vickie chatting about clothing labels in her wake. She hated that her mother had arrived to hear her comment. God, I’m losing it. Please cool my temper. I don’t know why this guy gets to me so badly. Sam sucked in a fresh breath of air and forced a smile at Ethan. “Need a leg up, you said?”

  “Nah, I got it now.” He swung into the saddle and reached down to adjust his heel in the stirrup.

  Sam fought to keep the shock off her face and nodded stiffly. “Fine.” She knew he’d been faking asking for assistance. Sam felt Ethan’s eyes on her back as she quickly moved to finish saddling Diego, and stifled a groan. This was going to be the world’s longest trail ride.

  Would this trail ride never end? Ethan shifted in the saddle and his thigh muscles screamed in discomfort. How did Sam do it? She rode like she’d been born in a saddle, leading their small group through the shaded woods, pausing occasionally to gesture to a particular grouping of trees or a historical marker. Her back stayed straight, her hips relaxed, moving like she and that red horse were one being.

  He and Miss Priss, however, were getting along more like a bull and a rodeo clown. He nudged her forward, she stopped. He pulled on the reins, she picked up her pace. He said “whoa,” she tossed her head and insisted on moving forward.

  Apparently real horses were nothing like that carousel his mother made him ride as a boy in Central Park—a fact Vickie must be realizing herself right about now. Ethan twisted around to catch a glimpse of his mom aboard Piper, one hand clutching the reins, the other in a white-knuckled grip on the saddle horn as the paint horse ambled along. At least Jeffrey had stayed at the cabin, determining that “appearances” could only be taken so far. No telling what Daniel had found to occupy his time. For all Ethan knew, the two could be plotting together a new scheme for making money. Jeffrey had always preferred Daniel’s input on such concepts to Ethan’s.

  “We’ll stop at the clearing ahead for a snack and to stretch our legs.” Sam’s voice rang from the front of the line, and Ethan could barely contain his relief.

  As soon as the horses came to a stop in a flowered field, he slipped from the saddle, hoping Sam didn’t notice the way his knees almost buckled when his shoes hit the grass. After the way he’d teased her earlier, he more than deserved any return insults.

  There was also something intriguing about the fact that she hadn’t shown any interest in Daniel. Usually women sensed him and his cousin’s money a mile away. A cash radar, Daniel joked. He never seemed to mind, but Ethan wanted more. Was it possible he’d finally found someone oblivious to their financial charms?

  Ethan pressed his hands into his lower back and stretched as the other riders were doing, then bent down and tried to touch his toes. Pain shot through his hamstrings, and he quickly straightened.

  “Having trouble?” Sam appeared beside him, cheeks flushed with the summer heat, a water bottle dripping with condensation in one hand. She offered it to him.

  He took the water with a tight smile and twisted off the cap. “Not at all.” His right thigh suddenly cramped as if insisting otherwise. But he couldn’t let Sam see his weakness, not after all the grief he’d given her. Apparently running on the treadmill required different muscles than horseback riding. He shifted uncomfortably.

  “Good for you. So you’ll have no trouble making it back? A lot of first time riders get pretty sore their first day on the trail.” She took off her cowboy hat and shook her hair off her forehead. The feminine motion almost made Ethan forget her question.

  He downed a quick sip of water to clear his head. “It’ll be a piece of cake.” More like a piece of p
rickly cactus.

  Sam opened her mouth, probably to question his statement, but was interrupted by Vickie’s yelp. Ethan turned to see his mother hanging half off Piper’s saddle, one foot stretched toward the ground, the other stuck in the stirrup. Her dangling leg was at least a foot from the ground. “Help! He won’t let me off!”

  Her panicked cry flattened Piper’s ears and the horse snorted in distress. Sam rushed to Vickie’s side seconds ahead of Ethan, and grabbed Piper’s reins. “Easy, boy.” Her low tone perked Piper’s ears, and he stopped the anxious shuffling of his legs.

  Ethan helped support his mom’s weight while Sam worked Vickie’s boot free of the stirrup. Once her feet were on solid ground, she released a relieved sigh. “He started moving while I was getting down. I tried to get back on, but couldn’t get enough momentum. He’s so big!”

  Sam’s mouth twitched. Even Ethan could see Piper was several inches shorter than most of the other horses in the group. He patted his mother’s arm. “You’re safe now, don’t worry.”

  “Do you want me to call the ranch to have someone pick you up?” Sam held Piper’s reins, and the horse blew on her shoulder. She didn’t even flinch as his flabby lips worked against her hair. How did she know those giant horse teeth wouldn’t sink into her neck?

  Vickie brushed the front of her stiff jeans. “I’ll be fine. Walking around a little will help.”

  “It’s good to keep moving,” Sam agreed. “There are water bottles and packages of crackers in my saddle bag. Please help yourself.”

  Vickie thanked her and headed in that direction, while Sam briefly closed her eyes and exhaled.

  Ethan quirked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

  “I warned her not to make any sudden or loud noises.” Sam patted Piper’s hairy cheek. “He’s skittish about that. She really could have gotten hurt.”

  Ethan remembered all the times growing up where his mother’s voice had startled him, as well, and he reached out to rub Piper’s ear. “Hey, I can relate.” He smiled at Sam.

  The edges of her mouth started to curl in response, but just as suddenly, she gathered Piper’s reins. “Let’s get you grazing with the other horses.” She clucked twice to the paint before leading him away—without a second glance at Ethan.

  Sam’s heart raced, and it wasn’t from the near incident with Mrs. Ames and Piper. No, it had everything to do with that brown-eyed stranger and his deadly smile. She pressed a hand against her stomach and drew a tight breath. So what if Ethan was handsome? She’d been around attractive men before, and most of them turned out to be completely full of themselves. If she had time for romance—which she didn’t—she needed a man who spent more time outdoors than looking in a mirror. Attractive or not, Ethan Ames was still a rich guy bent on teasing her. He might have had a humane moment there, relating to Piper, but she couldn’t forget the incessant teasing he’d doled out to her earlier that morning while saddling up.

  Sam tugged on Piper’s reins, urging the paint to follow. There was the point, however, that Ethan could have gotten angry with Sam for venting about his mother, and didn’t. That showed something decent lurked in the heart underneath that polo shirt of his. Regardless, she’d have to watch her mouth around the tourists from now on. Her unedited remarks could easily come back to bite her—and the ranch’s business.

  Piper snorted as Sam released him next to the other horses in the field. His black patches gleamed in the noon sun, reminding Sam of Noble Star’s midnight-blue coat. She’d better quit wasting time thinking about Ethan and focus on finding a way to earn money to purchase the stallion. She needed a plan, and fast—before someone else realized the stallion’s worth and beat Sam to it. He could very well be the ticket for getting them out of their financial crisis.

  The wind lifted Sam’s hair and cooled her neck. She soaked in the breeze, tilting her face to the sun, and then turned back to the group of riders just in time to see Ethan look quickly away from her.

  Sam started back toward the tourists, purposefully heading away from Ethan. If she wasn’t careful, he could very well be the ticket for messing up her plans—and her heart.

  Chapter Four

  The alarm clock on the nightstand glowed three o’clock in bright green digital numbers. Sam sat up in bed, wide-awake. She should have been out the moment her weary shoulders hit the mattress, but her mind kept racing with the events of the day. The trail ride. Ethan. Mrs. Ames scaring the horses. Chores, both inside the house and out. Ethan. Answering the tourists’ endless questions about ranch life. Helping Cole finish mucking out stalls. Ethan.

  His creeping into her thoughts was even more annoying than the fact that she couldn’t sleep.

  Sam clicked on the lamp, and then slowly slid to the floor. Sitting cross legged, she reached under the bed. The navy dust ruffle was, ironically, covered in dust, and she sneezed. Who had time to vacuum under the beds when there was so much else to do? Wishing for a housekeeper was ridiculous when they were having trouble even paying their mortgage, but Sam couldn’t help but wish anyway. Her searching fingers found the edge of the cardboard box and she tugged it free.

  Shiny gold medals stared back at her as she peered over the rim. This was foolish, going through her father’s box of rodeo awards in the middle of the night. She hadn’t pulled the box out in months, not since Angie finally took them down from their display in the den. Her mother had put the box in the storage shed, but Sam had snuck back outside and grabbed it hours later. She could understand her mother needing to pack it away, needing closure, but the contents of the box represented her dad. Painful as it was to sift through the mementos, Sam at least wanted the option of doing so.

  She ran her fingers over an engraved belt buckle. BULL RIDING CHAMPION, 1990. Another medal. SECOND PLACE TEAM ROPING, 1985. Several ribbons nestled inside the box, along with her dad’s bull-riding gloves and his favorite black cowboy hat. A local newspaper article about his tragic death lay on the very bottom, and Sam quickly covered it up with the hat. It was too late at night for that level of emotion.

  She picked up the flyer advertising the annual Appleback Rodeo, dated over two years ago, and smiled. Bittersweet memories. Every year, the town of Appleback hosted a two-week series of events, starting with the Appleback Street fair, ending with the infamous rodeo, and offering a string of cooking and eating contests, concerts and everything else one could imagine in between.

  Sam absently traced the lariat border design on the flyer. Once upon a time, she had dreamed dreams similar to her father’s. As a child she loved riding, roping and all things adventurous. One of her favorite childhood pictures was her and her dad on horseback, Sam wearing nothing but a diaper and a big baby grin. Wade Jenson taught Sam to ride not many years later, and she barrel-raced in local junior rodeos until she turned sixteen. Even after her dad quit the rodeo circuit, his tips and tricks still seemed to subconsciously leak out of his sentences. Heels down, Sam. Don’t look at your rope, look at your target. You’ll never earn the title of Rodeo Sweetheart with that form. Let go of that saddle horn, girl, what are you afraid of? Sam eventually felt more comfortable around horses than people—a fact she proved by skipping her prom to tend to a new baby foal, and standing up more than one date in favor of helping her dad trailer horses to a new client.

  When Wade passed away, the thrill seeker in Sam died along with him. She watched herself—and her life—slow down until it nearly stopped. Afternoons galloping bareback across meadows were suddenly spent soaping up saddles and hosing down horses. The chores had to get done, but she could have snuck away for some fun once in a while. Could have—but didn’t. Fun meant danger, and that first year after Wade’s death, Sam couldn’t even mount a horse without thinking of her dad. It seemed wrong to be the same person she always was when he wasn’t there to see it, wasn’t there to offer his advice and big congratulatory hugs.

  Sudden tears stung her eyes and Sam’s grip tightened on the advertisement in her hands. The annual rodeo w
as coming up in August—only a few weeks away. A couple of years ago, she would have entered the barrel racing or roping competition as usual, and would have already been practicing for months.

  The writing on the flyer blurred before her eyes, and Sam blinked rapidly to clear the moisture clouding her vision. Her life wasn’t about the rodeo anymore, couldn’t ever be again. Even if she wanted to compete, Angie would never allow it. At twenty-four, Sam was obviously long past grounded as a means of discipline, but putting disappointment or fear in her mother’s eyes was far worse than any childhood punishment. Things changed, and Sam had to change right along with them.

  She started to put the flyer back in the box, but the bold numbers on the bottom stopped her hand midreach and Sam’s eyes widened. Things changed, all right. The grand prize a few years ago for the bull-riding competition was the exact amount she needed to buy Noble Star. Add two years’ increase, and it was more than enough to get the breeding farm in the black.

  The paper rustled as she stuffed the flyer in the box and shoved the entire thing under the bed. Maybe obtaining Noble Star wouldn’t be a matter of luck after all, but rather, divine providence. Surely it wasn’t coincidence about the money being the amount she needed. Was God finally going to offer assistance to get the Jenson family out of their financial crisis?

  It’d be about time He stepped in.

  Sam slipped beneath the cotton sheets and lay staring at the ceiling, arms crossed behind her pillow. Her heart hammered, and this time it wasn’t from bad dreams, a busy day or thoughts of Ethan.

  She had a plan.

  The sun streamed through the miniblinds, scrawling patterns of light across the worn bedspread. Ethan grunted into his pillow but made no motion to move. He couldn’t if he tried. He needed an ice pack. Or maybe a hot compress. Anything to ease the soreness that glazed his muscles with a constant, annoying ache.