Harts Of The Rodeo 3 - Duke - Deputy Cowboy

by Roz Denny Fox

  “He broods, I’ve noticed,” she said as they entered the restaurant already filling up with regulars. Dinah and Duke claimed stools at the counter. Both ordered coffee and cinnamon rolls.

  “I don’t need these calories,” Dinah said when Irene Black set a giant, piping hot roll in front of her.

  Duke said nothing, but picked up his fork and dived in.

  “Did anyone you interviewed this morning complain about us not solving this case?” she asked Duke. “Remember my term as sheriff is up in January. Maybe I won’t be reelected. Darn it, I think I’m good at this job.”

  Duke considered her words. Another sheriff might not keep him on. “Soon as the fair is over and visitors clear out from the rodeo, we need to start your campaign. Meanwhile we’ll do everything possible to catch the thieves and locate Midnight.”

  “Yeah. You haven’t forgotten my class? I leave the last day of rodeo.”

  “At least you’ll be here to help me supervise the Wild Pony Race.”

  “How’s it going with the boys you’re teaching? Pam told me yesterday she’s hosting all of them Thursday night at a sleepover.”

  “Really?” Duke straightened and smiled.

  Dinah studied him momentarily. “Why does that excite you?”

  He shrugged, not about to tell her it excited him because it meant Angie would be free one whole night. Instead he said, “Tommy is a know-it-all who hogs the spotlight. Bobby and Luke listen, and try their best. Really, if those kids end up friends, the hassle with Tommy will be worth my time.”

  “Hmm. I don’t think the boys’ friendship would be why Mom said I should encourage you to take a greater interest in Luke’s mom.”

  “She what?” Duke fumbled his fork.

  Dinah grinned slyly and kept eating.

  “Honestly! Can’t a guy be nice to a neighbor and her kid without some people making a federal case out of it?”

  Dinah wadded her napkin and held up her hands. “I’m only relaying Mom’s directive. But it’s fun watching you squirm.” Sliding off her stool, Dinah tossed some bills by her plate and called goodbye to Sierra, who stood at the end of the counter straightening menus.

  “Oh, hey, Dinah.” Sierra seemed startled to see Dinah. When Dinah got near enough, Sierra set down the menus and hugged her.

  Duke joined them, and Sierra acted more surprised to see him. “I supposed you’d be off to a rodeo. Your dad said you’ll probably make the bull riding finals. Congrats. We see Joshua most days at lunch or dinner.”

  “Really? My dad?” Duke looked disbelieving.

  Irene came up with a question that took Sierra away. Dinah led the way out, with Duke following her. “My dad is someone else who’s acting weird,” he said. “Yesterday he said he’s thinking of retiring. Now it seems he’s wasting money driving to town for lunch every day. That’s not like him.”

  “Maybe it’s something in Roundup’s water,” Dinah mused.

  Duke ruminated on it while he sent out emails with new lists of the Jenkinses’ missing goods. His workday ended at noon. He took Zorro home to feed him, and spent time sorting through graphics that might work for Angie’s website. By two o’clock he’d worked up the nerve to call and ask her for a date. He punched in her number before he could back out. Her phone rang and rang, and as he was about to hang up, she answered, sounding out of breath.

  “Have I caught you at a bad time?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Duke...Adams,” he threw in for good measure, as if she’d be acquainted with more than one Duke.

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t recognize your voice. I was out checking in a new horse. A way underweight mare whose sides are welts of spur gouges. The Humane Society worker who delivered her said a manager for a stock contractor tried to make her buck. She’s too starved to buck. That’s what I mean about rodeo business sucking.”

  “Ouch. I believe we’ve had this discussion.”

  “We did. I’m sure you didn’t call to get another lecture. I guess Pam contacted you to ask if you’d drop Luke at her place after Thursday’s lesson. She’ll bring all three boys out to Thunder Ranch. She’s invited Luke to spend the night with the twins. If he’s scattered at the lesson it’s because he’s already bouncing off the walls in excitement.”

  “Angie, I called to ask if you’d go to dinner and maybe dancing with me Thursday night.”

  Time ticked past, then she said, “You and me...like on a date?”

  “Is that so unimaginable?”

  “I...uh...haven’t dated anyone since before Lucas was born.”

  “So, what do you say we give it a whirl? We can go to the Prime Rib and Fish House out at the river and maybe eat on the porch overlooking the water. I hear they have dancing now every night. I’m no Fred Astaire, but I can two-step enough to get by.”

  “Thank you, but I worry about not being home if Luke decides he doesn’t like sleepovers. I could fix you dinner here,” she offered, although it wasn’t a very robust invitation.

  “My plan was to give you a break, Angie. If you don’t have a cell phone, you can give Lucas my number.”

  “I have to get a cell. Oh, eating out does sound fun. I’ll need to feed and water all the animals first. And...is it dressy? I don’t have anything fancy to wear, and I don’t want to embarrass you.”

  “Angie, stop! You’d never embarrass me. Jeans are fine. Be comfortable. We’re about to swing into the fair and rodeo days. Western wear is—what’s the phrase I’m looking for? I saw it in this morning’s paper. Got it—‘Montana chic.’ ”

  She laughed, and the silvery sound shot goose bumps up Duke’s spine. “I’ll come at seven,” he said quickly. “If you need help with the animals, I’ll pitch in.”

  “Seven? Okay. I’ll make sure Lucas has your phone number.”

  Duke found himself staring at the wall with a crazy grin, still clutching his phone in a sweating hand. He was equally rusty at asking a woman out. Perhaps Angie would have felt better if he’d told her that.

  * * *

  THURSDAY WITH THE KIDS went better, although Tommy still couldn’t get on the pony even when Luke and Bobby managed to slow him down. Duke tried to show Tommy how to get lift in a flying mount, by demonstrating in an adjacent corral with a full-size running horse.

  Luke and Bobby wanted to try, but Tommy blustered and he was good at manipulation, so he talked them out of attempting it. At session’s end, the dust-caked boys buckled into Duke’s pickup.

  “We are so gonna lose,” Bobby moaned.

  “Because you two squirts can’t hang on to the stupid pony.” As usual Tommy placed all the blame on his brother and Luke.

  Duke opened his mouth to chide Tommy, but it was Luke who said fiercely, “We’re getting better, aren’t we, Duke?”

  “You are, indeed.” What pleased Duke was the fact Luke got that statement out with nary a stutter. “We can probably work in two more sessions next week if you fellows want to. The rodeo and pony race aren’t until the following week, but the fair starts this weekend, and I’ll be logging extra hours at my deputy job.”

  “We need to practice so we can beat Jeb Woolsey’s team,” Tommy said. “They’re telling everyone they’re going to take home the trophy.”

  “I just want to go and have fun, Tommy,” his brother mumbled.

  “It’s no fun if you don’t win a trophy to show everybody,” Tommy insisted. “Those dumb ribbons they give out for participating are for sissies.”

 
Duke noticed the smaller boys slumped in their seats after that. But Zorro, bless his big heart, commiserated. He licked Luke’s and Bobby’s ears. Duke thought it was telling that his dog left Tommy alone.

  Once Duke dropped the boys off at Pam’s and they agreed on times for two more outings, he spent a few hours at the office. He had the place to himself. Dinah was out checking side roads she and Duke had identified as possible spots thieves may have pulled off, looking for fresh tire tracks or beer cans or maybe identifiable cigarette butts.

  Duke skipped lunch to go inspect an area where bleachers were being erected for the rodeo. The same volunteers set up booths for the fair, but the fairgrounds were the county’s jurisdiction and the rodeo arena fell within Roundup’s city limits. He passed the time with several helpers sprucing up the grounds. All hailed him a champion as they congratulated him on his NFR standing.

  “A winning ride is seventy percent the bull you draw, and thirty percent luck,” he joked with two of the workers.

  “You’re too modest,” one guy called. “According to your brother it’s 100 percent about skill.”

  “Well, or 100 percent loving to ride,” Duke said, grinning from ear to ear before he meandered through the chutes and holding pens. Ranking was like whipped cream on a chocolate sundae, but the ride itself and the cheers of the crowd were exhilarating.

  His tour of the grounds ended, and he headed home to get ready for his night out. Thought of his date with Angie gave him the same ripple of excitement as bull riding. On stepping from the shower he wished he’d taken time for a haircut. Haircuts weren’t something he invested in until his hair reached too far under his collar. Usually, if he looked slightly shaggy it didn’t bother him. He wondered, worried really, about how Angie would view a slightly unkempt cowboy.

  He knew she was one person not impressed by his bull-riding ranking. But, looking in the mirror, he admitted that he hoped to make a good impression on her.

  Probably for the first time in history, he didn’t study his closet full of black T-shirts and worn jeans and think his wardrobe was fine. Still, he had assured Angie it was okay to be casual. One concession he made to look special, he put on a belt with one of his winning buckles depicting a bull rider and fairly new handmade boots.

  Zorro acted miffed to be left behind when Duke grabbed his wallet, keys and hat and ordered his pet to stay. Boy, howdy, but that showed how this evening was out of the ordinary. He rarely went anywhere without Zorro.

  * * *

  LATE IN THE AFTERNOON Angie fed and watered her menagerie. It felt odd not to have Luke chattering at her heels. From the day he was born, except when he went to school, he rarely was out of her sight. Admittedly she wasn’t prepared for her son to become less dependent, and to spend more time at sports or things that took him away from her. Long ago she’d scratched marriage from her long-term life plan; after she’d been let down by Luke’s jerk of a father. The sperm donor.

  This date tonight with Dylan Adams was probably another error. She should have refused. But darn it, if you dangled a carrot in front of a horse long enough, you could tempt the animal to follow you anywhere. An evening of dinner and dancing had been Dylan’s carrot, and she’d snapped up his bait.

  He wasn’t due to pick her up for another hour. She still had time to call him and cancel out, her voice of reason pestered.

  She could make a lot of headway readying her new quarters to make large batches of horse treats. After all, she’d forked over forty hard-earned dollars to take a booth at the fair. It’d be her first time. In line to book her booth, she’d met Austin Wright’s sister, Cheyenne, who planned to sell her handcrafted jewelry. Cheyenne’s twin girls were so cute. In all the times Angie had been in and out of Austin’s store she hadn’t known until lately that he had a sister. Gramps said Austin’s dad, Buddy, was once the town drunk. And he’d spent time in jail. Angie couldn’t remember what for. But he must have reformed, because Cheyenne said she and the girls were living with him. The little girls were shy. But that day, Luke hid behind her, too. Since their booths ended up across from each other, Angie hoped she and Cheyenne might get to know each other better.

  She missed having girlfriends. In Texas, as a waitress for a big, busy restaurant that catered to cowboys and rodeo jockeys, she’d had girlfriends galore—workmates. All of them had dropped her after she’d left Carter Gray. That was how popular rodeo stars were at the Lonesome Coyote restaurant.

  So what on earth possessed her to get friendly with another rodeo jock? Her voice of reason turned canny, whispering inside her head—Because Dylan Adams is tall, lean and sinfully good-looking. Because he’s soft-spoken and caring. But the biggest reason of all—he’s so good with Luke. It gave Dylan an A-plus-plus in Angie’s book.

  In her bedroom she shed her work clothes and showered. If this was going to be their one and only date—and it was—what did it matter what she wore? It just does. Pride made her want to look good; made her want to see Dylan drool a little.

  She owned one pair of black jeans with silver-studded bling in a spray across back pockets that hugged her derriere. She had a white tank top cut deeper around the shoulders in back. Angie remembered the clerk saying when she bought the top in several colors that the style looked sexy on her. Did she want to look sexy? Heck, yes!

  She rarely wore jewelry. The last time her grandfather had taken ill, he’d given her a narrow silver chain with a small cross that had belonged to her grandmother. Angie wore it a few times to church, but always put it away afterward for fear she’d lose it. Pulling it out now, she decided it went well with the plain shirt, and drew together the silver on her jeans and silver toe-clips on her one pair of Sunday boots.

  Oh, her hair. She stuck her tongue out at her mirror’s reflection. Should she braid her hair or not?

  Dylan decided that dilemma for her by pulling in ten minutes early. She left her hair loose and quickly slicked pink sheen across her lips then dashed for the door.

  Yep, her decision on clothes was right on if the way Dylan snatched off his hat, did a noticeable double take and fanned his face as she stood in the doorway was any indication.

  “Don’t you look ready to paint the town red,” he said, slowly taking in every inch of her.

  “Not too red.” She laughed, but gripped the door frame. “I meant it when I said I was out of practice at this dating stuff, Dylan.”

  “What kind of practice does it take to order off a menu and eat?” he asked in all seriousness.

  “You’re right. I’m ready to go if you are. Will I need a sweater?”

  “Maybe, if we get seated on the porch. I probably should have called and reserved a table. So there you are, I’m out of practice, too.”

  She plucked a black cardigan from a row of pegs near the door, and tucked a few items in her jeans pockets. “You have your cell phone? I put your number on sticky notes in three places in Luke’s backpack.”

  “I have it.” And indeed it bulged in his pocket. “How’s the little guy getting along at his sleepover?” Duke set a hand at the small of Angie’s back and ushered her to his pickup where he took her elbow and assisted her into his tall vehicle. The fact the big Ford had oversized tires made it more difficult to climb into, especially for someone as petite as Angie.

  Her hand and the flesh of her back beneath her thin tank top tingled from the lingering warmth of his fingers. “Luke didn’t call me,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “But I checked on him twice, which s
hould tell you who’s the more apprehensive about his first overnighter. Pam understood. First time I phoned the kids were playing Nintendo. The second time they were barbecuing hot dogs. Pam called Luke a delight. That’s music to a mother’s ears,” Angie said, lifting her hair to one side while she bent to fasten her seat belt.

  Duke sat staring at her, one hand on the wheel, the other on the ignition key.

  Their gazes collided. “Is something wrong with your pickup?” she asked.

  “No, nothing.” He cranked the engine over with a roar. “I like your hair down. I thought I preferred it braided best, because it reminded me of winters when I was a kid. Ace and Colt braided bull ropes around a fire burning in Aunt Sarah’s big fireplace. Each guy tried to outdo the other by coming up with fancier styles—like you don’t always braid your hair the same way. Well, shoot,” he muttered as he noticed Angie gazing bemusedly at him. “I meant that as a compliment. You probably don’t think it’s high praise to have your hair compared to a bull rope.”

  “I do. Coming from you it’s refreshingly honest. I know how much you admire Ace, and your smile said it was a good memory.” She relaxed into the brown leather seat. “You should smile more often, Dylan. Tell me more about your family traditions. In my family, we didn’t stay anywhere long enough to carve out traditions.”

  Duke turned onto the highway that followed the river. Angie had rolled down her window, so he did the same and leaned an arm out. “The credit in our family all goes to Aunt Sarah. Her husband, John, and my dad, if it’d been up to them holidays would have been regular workdays. She doesn’t decorate for every occasion the way she used to when us kids were little. Maybe she will again, you know, having grandkids. Holidays with all the trimmings are a big deal to kids.”

  Angie clamped her teeth over her lip. “I hope Luke doesn’t feel cheated when he’s your age and reminiscing.” She rolled her head toward Duke. “Sadly too much of my time is taken up by work to decorate, or otherwise make a fuss over holidays except I cook a little more at Christmas.”