Rodeo Daddy

by B. J Daniels

  “Wasn’t that just awful about C. J. Crocker?” Roberta said.

  Chelsea nodded.

  “Rodeos are dangerous places,” the older woman went on. “But that’s part of the thrill for the crowd. They come here because they know someone could get hurt.”

  “You make them sound so bloodthirsty,” Chelsea said.

  “They are, honey,” Roberta told her. “That’s why we raise rodeo stock. We want to give them a show for their money. And that’s why men like Jack ride bulls.”

  “It isn’t just to get chicks?” Chelsea said, trying to lighten the mood. But she felt a chill, afraid C.J.’s fall into the bull pen wasn’t an accident, and they might have a killer among them.

  “Next up in chute number three is a bull that has made a reputation for himself,” Rowdy said over the loudspeaker. “And so has the cowboy riding him. Here come Devil Twist and Jackson Robinson of Texas.”

  Jack was perched on the edge of the chute. Devil Twist slammed around inside while Jack teetered over him, obviously waiting for the bull to settle down.

  “This bull has been ridden the full count by nary a few cowboys,” Rowdy was saying. “This is one contrary bull. But this is also one contrary rider. These two have met before. Last year this bull took Jackson out of the running and landed him in the hospital for three months.”

  Chelsea gasped. This was the bull that had stomped and gored Jack last year?

  “But tonight folks, Jack’s going to get back on that two thousand pounds of twisting, turning, bucking bull. I think we’ve got a grudge match going between this here tough cowboy and this blamed ornery bull.”

  Chelsea stared in shock and disbelief at the bull snorting and kicking behind the metal bars of the chute. Was Jack completely crazy? Why would he get back on a bull that had almost killed him? Especially after what had just happened to C.J.

  What if Ray Dale’s killer was knocking off the cowhands one by one, and Jack was next?

  Her pulse pounded so loudly she could barely hear the announcer. She tried to find breath as Jack lowered himself to the bull’s back. No! Her rational mind argued that a killer would have no way of controlling the bull or Jack. But how had Jack gotten this awful bull? Could the killer have manipulated the draw?

  Jack raised his free hand and gave the gatekeeper a nod. The gate opened and Devil Twist lunged out with Jack on his back.

  The bull twisted fiercely one way, then the other, bucking and spinning, then charging headlong toward the fence. Jack hung on, thrown this way and that. The fence was coming up. Wasn’t that what Sam had told her? The bull had put him into the fence, then stomped and gored him?

  It appeared Devil Twist intended a repeat performance.

  Chelsea found herself on her feet with the rest of the crowd. At first people were hooting and hollering, then the crowd fell deathly silent as the bull made a swipe at the fence. A loud, “Oh!” rumbled from the crowd.

  The crowd let out another cry, this one more frightening, and Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut, praying Jack wouldn’t be hurt. What was she doing here? What was Jack doing here? Thank God, Sam wasn’t here to witness this. Had she witnessed the last time he was almost killed? How could Jack do this to his daughter?

  The buzzer sounded. The audience was screaming now. Chelsea opened her eyes, terrified of what she’d see.

  Jack was on the ground. The clowns were scrambling to get between him and the bull. The arena was in a state of pandemonium as the bull ran at Jack, horns lowered for the attack.

  At the very last moment, one of the clowns jumped between Jack and the bull, distracting the bovine just long enough for Jack to be pulled clear.

  Then he was on his feet, waving his hat in the air to the cheering crowd. She watched him climb the fence as the bull made another lunge at him, her heart in her throat. Anger mixed with her fear in lethal proportions.

  “That was some ride,” Rowdy was saying, sounding as scared as she felt. “That one will go down in the books. And it’s good for a…ninety-five!”

  The audience went wild with applause. She stared down at Jack’s smiling face as a bunch of rodeo cowboys swarmed around him to congratulate him. What was wrong with these people?

  “Did you see that?” a cowboy sitting in the stands commented. “I’ve never seen a bull do that before.”

  She didn’t know what the bull had done, nor how Jack had survived it. She couldn’t have cared less. She rushed from the grandstand as the rodeo crowd swarmed around him as if he were a hero. When he spotted her, he pointed to the motor home and headed in that direction himself, breaking free of his friends.

  She caught up with him just before he reached it. Grabbing his arm, she swung him around to face her.

  “Chelsea, did you see—”

  The smack she gave him made him jerk back in shock.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “WHAT THE HELL is wrong with you?” Jack demanded.

  “That’s exactly what I want to know. Have you lost your mind, getting back on a bull that almost killed you? Did you ever think about Sam or me or—” Angry sobs choked off the rest of her words.

  Jack pulled her into his arms. She struggled at first, then let him hold her. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay and they both knew it.

  Without another word, Jack led her to the motor home. He could see she was scared and mad. “This is why it would never work between you and me,” he said quietly once they were inside.

  She looked up at him, tears still in her eyes. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

  He shook his head. “I ride bulls. It’s what I do.” That she cared this much made him ache inside. But her anger and fear only emphasized the problem between them.

  “You rode a bull that almost killed you last year! What kind of sense is that?”

  “I ride whatever bull I draw. Maybe you don’t understand what we’re doing here.”

  “No, I don’t! Risking your life? And for what?”

  “A ninety-five and the National Finals Rodeo and a shot at another world championship,” he said, annoyed with her for not realizing how important this was to him.

  “For a good score? A title? Money?”

  Her derisive dismissal of money struck another blow. He wouldn’t always be a bull rider, but he would always be poorer than Chelsea Jensen.

  Anger rose deep within him. “Yes, money, Chelsea. Some people have to make it. It isn’t just given to them.”

  “You could have been killed,” she said more quietly. “At least with my job I don’t have to risk my life every day.”

  “A lot of jobs are dangerous. This one is mine.” It hurt that she’d belittled his accomplishments. “If you knew me, you’d know how much this means to me. It’s more than a good score, Chelsea. More than titles. Even more than money. That’s something you obviously won’t be able to understand. Not in one week, one year, one lifetime.”

  “What about the people who love you? What about them?”

  “I’m trying to give Sam a good life,” he said, hurt that she didn’t seem to acknowledge that. “She likes you, Chelsea, but I don’t want her thinking there’s a chance for you and me because obviously there isn’t.”

  “Of course not. Because of your pride. You love me, Jack, I know it. I feel it.” She slammed her hand down over her heart. “But you couldn’t possibly be with a woman who has more money than you do. Even if it is the best thing for you and your daughter.”

  “I know what’s best for my daughter,” he snapped.

  “Really? Do you know how badly she wants a home that doesn’t have wheels on it? A horse of her own? To go to school with other children?”

  “Someday she’ll have all of that…” He waved a hand through the air. He didn’t have to explain himself to her.

  “What about now? She isn’t a baby anymore, Jack. She needs a woman in her life. A mother.”

  His gaze narrowed. “She didn’t before yo
u came along.” Was Sam getting her hopes up that Chelsea could be her mother?

  “This isn’t about my rodeoing or about Sam having a house and you know it,” he said, angry with her, and even more angry with himself. “It’s about you thinking you can get me back to the Wishing Tree. It isn’t going to happen, Chelsea. If that’s what you thought, then you’ve been wasting your time.”

  What had he been thinking, letting Chelsea tag along with him on this quest of hers? All it had done was given Sam false expectations and put Chelsea in physical danger.

  He’d thought he could protect her until she tired of her search, but the truth was, she’d be safer back at her ranch with her brother and all their hired help around to watch her.

  Sam would be disappointed. As much as he hadn’t wanted or expected it to happen, she had gotten attached to Chelsea. His daughter would get over it, though, and so would he. “I think it’s time for you to go home. I’m going to see if Sam’s back, then I’m going to turn out of my ride in Oklahoma City and take you home.”

  * * *

  TAKE HER HOME? Chelsea wanted to tell him that she was perfectly capable of taking herself home. But who said she’d be going home just because she wouldn’t be traveling with Jack? Hadn’t she started out determined to find who had been rustling cattle with Ray Dale? Now she realized that rustler might also be a murderer. None of this had gone as she’d planned.

  But Jack was right about one thing. She was wasting her time with him. She would never understand him any more than he would ever get over the fact that she had money. And he’d made it clear he would never come back to the Wishing Tree.

  She was just winding up to tell Jack what she thought of him taking her home, when her cell phone rang. “Don’t move,” she told him. “I have to get this.” She could see it was from Dylan—and urgent.

  “I just got a call from the sheriff in Kingfisher County outside of Oklahoma City,” Dylan said without preamble. “Tucker McCray’s body was found crushed under his tractor. It appears he was working on it and it fell off the jack.”

  She felt a chill and hugged herself. Another accident. She told him about Crocker.

  “Chelsea, it looks as if someone is covering his tracks,” Dylan said. “I’m going to keep working on this, but until this person is caught, there could be more…accidents. I can’t stress enough how dangerous this is.”

  Dangerous for anyone who might know about the rustling? Or the murder?

  She looked up at Jack, her heart taking off. Had someone seen him at Box Canyon that night? Did that someone think he knew more than he did?

  “Don’t worry,” she assured Dylan. “Thank you for letting me know.” She hung up and looked at Jack. “Tucker McCray’s been killed in a tractor accident. I was planning to talk to him when we got to Oklahoma City.”

  Jack let out an oath. “That’s why you were so determined to stay on the circuit. You knew I would be riding in Oklahoma City in a few days and you saw a way to kill two birds with one stone. First Ray Dale, then Crocker and now Tucker McCray. That cuts it, Chelsea. You’re going home where you’ll be safe.”

  Before she could protest, he turned on his boot heel and walked away. She was getting damned tired of him giving her his backside and no opportunity for the last word.

  She hugged herself against the chill he’d left behind, the taste of him still on her lips.

  He still loved her.

  The thought gave her little consolation. She’d failed. Jack and Sam weren’t coming back to the Wishing Tree with her and there wasn’t any kind of life for her on the rodeo circuit, even if Jack had offered.

  Between them stood her money, her family and above all her ranch. The Wishing Tree was her home. Her history. The ranch was an extension of her. How could she deny that part of herself? For Jack, it represented broken dreams, shame and humiliation.

  Jack was right. He’d been right about everything, especially that she didn’t belong here. And now she might have put him in danger. She went to pack. It was time to go home.

  * * *

  JACK WALKED through the camp, his hat pulled low against the building wind, his heart aching. He’d known he wouldn’t be able to keep away from her. Just as he’d known this week would only end up hurting them both. And now he feared it had hurt Sam as well, and put Chelsea in danger.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. That had been a mistake. He shook his head, angry with himself. Angry with her. She’d wanted the truth. Well, now she had it. But no good would come of it. And he had only himself to blame.

  He neared the Harpers’ trailer and heard his daughter’s laughter, a sound that invariably made him smile in spite of himself.

  As he came around the corner of the trailer, he found Sam and Becky on the step. Abigail was handing them a plate of cookies out the door.

  “Dad, please don’t make me leave,” Sam cried the moment she saw him. “Look, we have the tent all set up and blankets and a flashlight and food—”

  “Please, Mr. Robinson, please,” Becky begged, locking her arm with Sam’s.

  “Oh, let her stay, Jack,” Abigail chimed in. “The girls hardly ever get to see each other. They’ve worked so hard getting that old tent set up.”

  Jack looked at the lopsided tent already leaning in the breeze and the two girls standing in front of it. “What about the storm?” A thunderstorm was predicted, and from the looks of the sky, it wasn’t far off.

  “If the tent leaks or we get scared, Mrs. Harper said we can come inside and sleep,” Sam assured him.

  Sam had her “Say yes, you’re the best daddy in the whole world” look on her face—the one that never failed to turn him to putty.

  “Okay,” he agreed. She threw her arms around his neck, something she seldom did anymore. He was struck with the realization that she was growing up too fast—and that he didn’t want her to.

  “Tell Chelsea to come see our tent,” Sam said.

  “Chelsea has to go back to the ranch,” he said. “Something’s come up and she’s needed there.”

  The disappointment in his daughter’s eyes almost killed him.

  “But she has to stay all week or lose the bet,” Sam cried. “You had a fight, didn’t you?” she accused, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Sam, if you come home with me we can talk about this.”

  She shook her head angrily and ran to Abigail. The woman took Sam in her arms and looked over the girl’s shoulder at Jack, her gaze concerned and, it seemed to him, disappointed, too. “Give her some time,” Abigail whispered. “I’ll talk to her.”

  He nodded, but the last thing he wanted to do was leave his daughter. The only reason he did was because he could see that Sam needed a woman’s comfort, something he hadn’t wanted to admit.

  The rodeo was over. Everyone had gone home except for the few cowboys who wouldn’t be leaving until tomorrow. Smoke drifted up from a couple of campfires, and laughter carried on the breeze.

  He headed toward the grandstands, not knowing where else to go. He wasn’t about to go back to the motor home until Chelsea was packed and ready to leave. He sat down and realized he’d gone to the very spot Chelsea had sat and watched him ride. He felt bad about scaring her, but why couldn’t she understand what rodeo meant to him? It had saved him after he left the Wishing Tree.

  Was she right, though? Was it just stubborn pride? Could he marry a woman who had more money than he did?

  He was grumbling to himself when he heard someone approaching. Looking up, he watched as Rowdy Harper came over and sat down beside him.

  * * *

  THE TAP ON the door surprised her. Chelsea stopped packing and went to answer it, knowing it wouldn’t be Jack. Abigail Harper stood on the step. The woman’s smile widened a little. “Jack asked me to stop by. He wants you to meet him in the barn. The big old one at the edge of the grounds.” She shrugged as if it were a mystery to her.

  “Thank you.” Chelsea couldn’t help but frown. This was so unlike Jack. Why w
ould he ask Abigail to come tell her instead of doing it himself?

  “He said to tell you to wear your blue dress and he’d meet you in thirty minutes.” Wear her blue dress? She didn’t even think Jack had noticed her blue dress hanging in the closet. It wasn’t as though she’d had a chance to wear it. But to the barn?

  “Really?” she said.

  Abigail smiled and crossed her fingers.

  It took Chelsea a moment. Had Jack changed his mind?

  It seemed unbelievable. Not Jackson Robinson. But who was she to question it? Excited and hopeful she rushed into the bathroom to get ready. Maybe, just maybe…

  * * *

  THE AIR WAS RICH with summer smells as she walked to the barn. In the distance, she thought she heard thunder, but it could have just been her heart. As she neared the barn, she saw a light coming through the cracks in the door.

  Cautiously, she pushed open the door. A tiny table had been set in a corner of the barn and the wooden floor swept clean. The table was covered with a tablecloth and set for two with plates, silverware and wineglasses. A candle glowed at the center.

  Chelsea smiled. Maybe, just maybe…

  She didn’t see Jack anywhere, but near the table she spotted a large picnic basket and caught the aroma of something mouthwatering. When she lifted the lid, she discovered lasagna and warm bread with herbed butter. A bottle of wine cooled in a bucket of ice beside the table. “Oh, Jack.”

  “Oh, Jack, indeed,” said a familiar male voice behind her. He stood just inside the barn door at the edge of the candlelight, dressed up but frowning. “Quite the setup.”

  “I should say.” She smiled but noticed he didn’t return the smile. “You don’t think I did this?”

  He raised a brow. “Well, it certainly wasn’t my doing. Rowdy told me—”

  “Abigail told me—” She tried to hide her disappointment.

  Suddenly the soft sound of a slow country-and-western song drifted down from the loft along with a few pieces of straw.

  “Sam,” they said in unison. Jack shook his head and Chelsea smiled, thinking how much she was going to miss Sam. Several hushed whispers sounded from above.