Rodeo Sweetheart

by Betsy St. Amant

  “I don’t know.” Barely contained panic masked Cole’s face as he gently touched Sam’s cheek. “You okay, kid?”

  The full moon made her stark features seem even paler against the deep brown of the dirt. Ethan fought the urge to grab Sam and shake her. She had to be okay. Why wasn’t she moving? His breath hitched.

  “Kid?” Cole’s voice wavered.

  Sam slowly opened her eyes, then blinked repeatedly. “What happened?”

  “You fell off Lucy again.” Cole rocked back on his booted heels, forearms pressed against his jean-clad knees. He lowered his head and inhaled deeply. “You scared us for a second there.”

  Relief flooded Ethan’s senses as Sam struggled to sit up. He gripped her arm to help. Sam winced and reclined back in the dirt. “Maybe I’ll just stay here a minute.”

  The worry returned to Cole’s face and he hovered over her once more. “You need a doctor.”

  “No!” The harsh word shot from Sam’s mouth like a bullet from a rifle. “I’m just sore. Nothing’s broken.”

  “Are you sure?” Cole studied the length of Sam’s body. “Move your legs.”

  She complied, somewhat reluctantly, Ethan could see by the frustrated expression on her face.

  “Now your arms.”

  Sam wiggled her arms at both sides.

  “Neck.”

  She rotated it easily around her shoulders.

  “Pinky toes.”

  “What?” Sam sat up, brow pinched. “How could that possibly matt—”

  Cole grinned and Ethan let loose the smile he’d been holding once he caught on to Cole’s game.

  Sam’s eyes narrowed at them both. “Very funny.” She rubbed her elbows with both hands, smearing dirt up her bare forearms.

  Cole shrugged. “Just lightening the mood. But you’re sitting now, aren’t you?” He stood and offered his hand to pull Sam to her feet.

  Ethan stood with them, the residue of fear still weakening his legs. That had been close—too close. Sam was crazy to want to do this. There had to be a different way for her to earn some substantial cash. Either she was clueless as to what that other option was—or another secret lurked that she hadn’t told him yet.

  “I’m going to put Lucy up for the night.” Cole gripped Sam’s shoulder. “Holler if you need anything, you hear?” He turned to Ethan without waiting for an answer. “Watch her for me.” He then jogged toward the other end of the paddock after Lucy.

  “I don’t need a nanny.” Sam rested her weight against the fence and slid down to a sitting position against the middle rail. She leaned over and braced her head in her hands.

  “Good thing, because I’m a horrible babysitter.” Ethan inched down beside her, reaching for her shoulder but withdrawing his hand before he could make contact. She deserved better than concocted sympathy. But somehow he knew his feelings were no longer fake. Not if the full-blown panic he’d felt moments ago was any indication. He hesitated, and then rested his hand lightly on the dirty, rolled-up sleeve of her shirt. “Why are you doing this, Sam?”

  At his touch, Sam looked up, but her eyes didn’t seem quite focused. She stared somewhere over his shoulder, as if privately viewing an invisible shadow far away. Ethan turned but the only thing behind them was open pasture, fields of sage green turned silver in the moonlight.

  “My dad died riding a bull.”

  The words fell from Sam’s lips like a buried confession and the weight of their meaning pressed into Ethan’s chest. He drew a constricted breath. “When?”

  “Two years ago.” Sam arched her spine, pressing both hands into the small of her back. She winced, undoubtedly sore from her fall. “At the Appleback rodeo.”

  “The same one you’re entering.” The brunt of her situation hit Ethan then, clenching his heart like a brutal fist. No wonder she’d bristled at his comment of being trampled the other night. How insensitive could he be?

  Ethan’s earlier decision to persevere with the pursuit of the sale, regardless of the consequences to Sam, disintegrated before his eyes. Sam couldn’t ride in the rodeo—not because of the potential of winning the prize money and preventing the Ameses from buying her farm—but because in that moment, Ethan knew he couldn’t handle losing her. It was too dangerous. Seeing Sam landing in the dirt like that, inches from Lucy’s horns and hooves, was more than he could handle.

  Sam continued on as if she hadn’t just verbally and emotionally drop-kicked Ethan in the stomach. “Dad was a big star when I was younger.” She smiled, still staring into the distance as if she could still clearly view her father across the pasture. “He used to toss his cowboy hat in the air after each winning ride. It was his trademark. Then he’d point to my mom and me in the stands and wink. He always called me his Rodeo Sweetheart, back when I barrel-raced. That’s Appleback’s unofficial title for a female competitor who wins their category.”

  Sam’s grin faded and the night breeze tossed a strand of her light hair across her cheeks. Ethan tucked it behind her ear.

  “Dad quit the circuit for us.” Her lips pressed together and tears filled her eyes. “Because it was dangerous.”

  “Then what happened?” Ethan’s fingers trailed down her arm to gently squeeze her hand. Sam clung to his grip, clearly lost in memory. Somehow, painful as it was, Ethan had the feeling Sam needed to share this as much for her own benefit as for his.

  “He was invited back for a hometown tribute, here in Appleback where his fame began. The crowd wanted him to ride one more time, show off for them. He did it, even though my mom told him he shouldn’t.” Sam shuddered. “He was trampled. Spent the last few weeks of his life in a hospital bed surrounded by a bunch of machines, all of them beeping, teasing us with the hope that he’d pull through.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Ethan’s words sounded hollow to his own ears, completely useless, but what else could he say? He sat in silence, mourning with her for a man he didn’t even know but could safely assume must have been special to have turned out a daughter like Sam. What would it have been like to have such a close relationship with his dad? He couldn’t even picture it. In regards to emotion or affection, his father was as good as dead, too. Only pride and power flowed through Jeffrey Ames’s veins. Not love.

  An empty spot inside Ethan opened then, a fresh wound he’d worked for years to scab over. It ripped apart, bleeding regret into the dry places of his heart. If his own father passed away, would Ethan even miss him? He swallowed hard. He couldn’t pursue that thought now, not when Sam was about to make the same mistake her father did. “Don’t do it, Sam. Don’t ride.”

  Sam’s blue gaze searched his, studying, seeking, full of restrained emotion. Her lips parted to answer, but Ethan pressed on, seizing the last opportunity he might ever get to change her mind. He could hear the desperation in his voice but couldn’t restrain it. “Let me help you instead. We can work something out. It wouldn’t be charity, I promise. Whatever it takes.”

  She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in thought. Ethan held his breath. She was considering it. Was there a chance she’d finally listen to reason?

  Across the paddock, the chute gate banged open. Ethan jumped. Several yards away, Cole led Lucy from the makeshift stall into the shadows of the field near the barn. Ethan turned back to Sam but the moment was lost, that thoughtful gaze now replaced by a determined sheen.

  Sam stood and squared her shoulders. “I have to do this.” She crossed the paddock, the rigid line of her back further punctuating her statement, her dirt-covered clothes testimony of her resolve. Then she half turned with a scowl. “With or without your support.”

  Sam strode away from Ethan, fists clenched, wishing her boots were long enough to kick herself. She couldn’t believe she’d almost let him get to her that way. She’d been that close to agreeing not to ride in the rodeo—and for what? Because he’d looked at her so pleadingly? Because his eyes held a hint of romanticism she’d only read about in books? She’d never been the type of girl to fall for suc
h a ploy, and the fact that she nearly had scared her more than bull riding.

  She yanked open the door to the house and remembered just in time not to clomp up the stairs. She pulled off her boots and tip-toed up the steps to her room, holding her breath as she passed Angie’s door. At least Sam had jerked back to her senses with Cole slamming the gate behind Lucy like he did. Otherwise, who knew what she’d have agreed to? Yes, Ethan, I’ll drop out of the rodeo for you. Sure, Ethan, I’ll run away with you. Sam scoffed. Right. Like he’d even offer.

  Would you want him to?

  Her traitorous thoughts mocked her as Sam locked herself in her room and reached for her pajamas in the top dresser. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. The idea of someone arriving to save the day used to sound like a cop-out, a cheesy notion meant only for helpless females in romance novels and low-budget movies. But now, the notion seemed to carry more relief than annoyance. It’d be nice to have the burden of money fall on more capable shoulders for once. Her own were sunburned, bruised and beyond weary.

  A verse she’d memorized as a child in Sunday school came to mind as Sam threw back the covers on her bed. Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

  Rest. What a concept. Some days it felt like Sam wouldn’t recognize rest if it jumped up and grabbed her around the neck. She slipped between the cool sheets and buried her head in her pillow, the verse still rolling around in her mind. She wished her family hadn’t been forced to stop attending services regularly in order to run the ranch, or maybe she’d have found some comfort for their current circumstances in the fellowship there.

  She rolled over onto her back, turning her head away from the glowing alarm clock numbers. All ye that labour and are heavy laden. At least she fit the description required for help. With the exception of her mother and maybe Cole, Sam didn’t think anyone in the city of Appleback could fulfill the prerequisite better. God could take away her burdens, but she had the sneaking feeling He wanted to help her through them instead.

  In between snippets of “heels down” and “chin up,” her father had often talked about God. Mini life lessons mixed in with the riding instruction. “God’s not a genie, Sam. When you ask Him for something, it better not be selfish.”

  A nostalgic smile turned Sam’s lips. The advice hadn’t stopped her for praying every night for a gold buckle in barrel racing, but it sure helped her appreciate it more when she finally earned it. She was the only girl in the competition who told everyone God had helped her win.

  A tear slipped from the corner of Sam’s eye and trailed into her ear. When her father died, she’d lost that childlike passion for her faith along with the passion for life. She still believed in God, of course, and knew better than to push Him away, too. His comforting arms helped her survive the aftermath of her father’s passing, but sometime after that, she’d grown distant, developed the age-old attitude of “God helps those who helps themselves.” She set out to help herself, all right, and what had that gotten her? A ranch in the red and a lonely existence.

  A weight settled on Sam’s chest, pressing her burden even heavier onto her shoulders. She flopped on her side and wiped at her wet cheeks. She really was only a crumbling shell of what she’d once been. Her dad wouldn’t have wanted her to stop living just because he did—so why had she?

  Maybe this rodeo would be more cathartic than she’d first thought. Not only could she win the money to save the ranch, but she could honor her father’s memory. Maybe then the pain would lessen just a little, and she could finally move on with her life.

  Despite Ethan’s attempts at persuading her otherwise, Sam had to ride. It was more important than ever. If she didn’t, not only would her chances of buying Noble Star disappear, but she feared, so would her very spirit.

  Sam closed her eyes, begging sleep to come. To erase the physical memory of landing in the dirt just hours before. To erase the recording of Ethan’s coaxing, pleading voice now looping in her head on repeat. But most of all, to erase the imprint of fire his gentle touch on her arm seemed to brand into her skin.

  Ethan Ames, handsome or not, was nothing but trouble for a woman with a goal such as hers. Sam had no time to wait around and be rescued, and unless God intervened, she would have to once again save the day herself.

  And if one day some prince offered to sweep Sam off her feet, he sure as shootin’ better be more of a cowboy than Ethan Ames.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ethan clicked his tongue at Wildfire, urging him forward from the stall. The horse grudgingly followed, hay dangling from his thick lips. Regardless of the gelding’s voracious appetite, it was time for the Saturday-morning ride, and Sam already had her hands full tacking up the remaining horses in the paddock. Cole had stumbled into the arena minutes earlier with a stuffy nose and fever, so Sam immediately sent him away with strict instructions to take medicine, chug a glass of water and drift back to sleep. It looked like the trail ride was up to Ethan and Sam to handle now. Hopefully the stable hand would be better by tomorrow night to help with the bonfire cookout Sam had been looking forward to for days.

  He blinked against the sun as he stepped out of the barn, Wildfire close behind. Ethan’s mom was lined up outside with the other guests, along with the honeymoon couple he’d seen at the lodge the other night. Unfortunately, so were Mike and Davy. The father was talking to Angie Jenson—as usual, it seemed—and Davy was attempting to scale the adjacent paddock fence where the stallions grazed, despite his father’s repeated protests. Ethan groaned. Figured that the one day they were shorthanded, the terrible twosome decided to show up.

  He looped Wildfire’s lead rope around the fence post, then his hands stilled over the frayed material. When had he started considering himself part of the staff? He shook his head. Those thoughts would only get him in trouble. Ethan might be participating in chores—and there was no arguing he’d learned a lot over the past week or so—but Sam made it clear that was as far as it went. Would he ever be able to impress her?

  And would it ever stop mattering so much whether or not he did?

  Across the rail, Sam looked up from saddling Piper and offered a short nod in Ethan’s direction. He smiled in return, but she kept her eyes on the task in front of her. Hopefully she was just busy and not holding a grudge against his attempts last night at talking her out of the rodeo. Time would tell if she was mad, that much was certain—with Sam, her feelings were right there on her shirtsleeve along with the tiny red checked pattern.

  He should have known she wouldn’t have gone for dropping out. But in that one moment in time, he had really thought she might consider it. He just couldn’t get comfortable with the idea of Sam risking her life, no matter how worthy the cause.

  Ethan secured Wildfire’s rope with a quick yank. He wondered what would happen if he bought the Stephenses’ coveted stallion for Sam? Called Kate’s father, swore him to secrecy, handed over the money—even if it did have to come from his savings—and plopped the horse right there in the paddock, along with the other stallions left over from the Jensons’ breeding farm days? She’d never know who did it.

  He risked a glance at Sam from the corner of his eye. Yeah, right. Not only would Sam know immediately who’d bought the horse, she’d make Ethan take it back. The only thing firmer than her no-charity rule would be Jeffrey’s tone as he threatened Ethan’s job—and his place in the family. Talk about the extreme other end of an order. Ethan was supposed to be talking Sam out of entering the rodeo—not offering to make the path easier. God, a little advice would be greatly appreciated. Ever since his desperate prayer last night at seeing Sam fall, talking to God had suddenly become easy for the first time in years. Ethan wasn’t sure what had changed, but for now, he was rolling with it. It felt good being back on speaking terms.

  “Wildfire’s ready to be tacked up.” Ethan patted the gelding’s neck as he ducked underneath to edge closer to Sam. “What can I do next?” At least helping out around
the ranch made the guilt that seemed to keep permanent residence in his throat easier to swallow.

  Sam straightened from tugging at the saddle’s girth strap and brushed a damp strand of hair off her forehead. “If you could saddle Wildfire, I’ll bring Diego from the barn. Then we should be ready to ride.”

  “No problem.” Ethan slid the blanket on top of Wildfire’s back as Sam hurried toward the stables. He couldn’t keep from watching her leave, despite his attempts to focus on the buckles in his hand. Did Sam have any idea how beautiful she was? The girls from his regular group of friends in New York would clamor for their compacts and hairbrushes the second they began to perspire—yet Sam would work up a flat-out sweat in this Texas heat and do nothing other than mop her brow with her shirtsleeve and keep working. That kind of confidence was so much more attractive than the superficial beauty of his old crowd.

  Ethan frowned as he straightened the blanket and reached for Wildfire’s saddle. Old crowd, as in past tense? This working vacation was messing up his mindset in more ways than one. In a matter of days, he had to go back to New York with his family—to his old life, even if only for a short time while he prepared for his new one. He was getting far too attached to Sam—and to the slower pace of Texas, for that matter. Even the southern accents were growing on him. What would it be like to relocate somewhere with a drawl? Somewhere with grass as far as the eye could see, instead of skyscrapers?

  A sudden high-pitched scream split the air, followed by a distressed whinny. Ethan spun around. The trouble-making boy, Davy, had managed to slip inside the stallions’ fence and now was trapped between two skittish horses. The terror on the kid’s face sprung Ethan into action. He dropped the saddle and bolted toward the paddock.