by Quint, Suzie
“Good heavens! Why? He’s grade A prime.”
Yeah, well . . . Looks aren’t everything.” And if looks were all Sol McKnight had to offer, Georgia would long ago have relegated him to lessons learned.
Unfortunately, in the twelve years since their divorce, she had, on rare occasion, not been averse to letting him eat crackers and a few other delectables in her bed—something she always regretted afterward.
“Would it be too weird if I checked that out for myself? I mean, since you don’t want him and all.”
Weird? No. Tacky? Yes. Their friendship had been little more than superficial in recent years. It had grown out of convenience and shared classes in their junior college days, back when Georgia had set her sights on earning her teaching certificate. For some unfathomable reason, Lydia had made the effort to stay in touch. She’d also gotten her certification three years before Georgia and landed a job a couple of towns over from Hero Creek. Close enough that Georgia had felt compelled to call her, asking Lydia to meet her at the rodeo, when she’d succumbed to Bethany’s persuasion. Coming to the rodeo alone had just felt too pathetic.
Not wanting to examine why Lydia’s request sowed a seed of anger in her chest, Georgia kept her eyes on the action in the arena and forced a casual response to Lydia’s question. “Sure. Why not?”
“Could you introduce me to him?”
Georgia did glance at her then. Lydia didn’t see it; her gaze was locked greedily on Sol as he bent over the chute to steady the cowboy on the restless bull’s back.
The seed of anger threatened to sprout. Forcing herself to ignore it, Georgia said, “Later. I’ve got a favor I need to ask of him first.” Which was the only reason she was there at all. God Almighty, but she hated watching Sol ride.
She shifted her gaze to the action at the chute where the rider who was about to give the nod for the gate to open. Sol’s jeans stretched tight across his behind as he reached into the chute, and Georgia had to admit Lydia at least had good taste. With that lean build typical of rodeo cowboys, her ex-husband was still a hunk. Georgia shook her head. Such thoughts could cause a girl to make stupid decisions. Lord knew she’d already made too many of those where he was concerned.
The bull rider’s hat bobbed, the gate swung away, and the bull shot into the arena.
Even to Georgia’s less-than-discerning eye, the bull under this cowboy seemed to buck in an easy rhythmic pattern. She glanced back to the chute, but Sol had dropped out of sight. Ignoring the eight-second buzzer, she scanned the men hanging on the rails.
The crowd’s collective gasp jerked back to the arena. The rider had made his ride, but his gloved hand had hung up in the bull rope during his dismount. His feet bounced over the ground as the bull continued to buck. The flopping cowboy at his side energized the bull, and he bucked harder and more erratically than he had for the ride.
Bull fighters in their clown makeup and bright clothes rushed in to distract the bull. Other cowboys jumped off the railings. They crowded around the bull, reaching over the bull’s back, trying to release the taut rope that had the cowboy’s hand trapped. Seeing Sol in their midst had Georgia’s heart pounding like a sledgehammer against her ribs. She’d hoped the injury that had taken him out of the PBR cup tour two years ago would convince him to quit the bulls, but that had proved an empty fantasy because there he was, risking his life, crowding a disgruntled bull, to save a fellow rider.
It seemed to take forever to get the cowboy loose. In reality, it probably wasn’t even ten seconds, but that was a long damned time to be flopping around beside an unhappy bull. Miraculously, no one looked damaged except the rider, who cradled his abused arm close to his body as he hobbled out of the arena to find the rodeo doctor.
The extra adrenaline was still rushing through her system a few minutes later when she realized Sol was in the chute, mounted on a bull. On those rare occasions when she sat in the stands, she usually discovered a desperate thirst just before he rode. She was about to make her excuse to go to the concession stand when Lydia grabbed her hand. In her excitement—and maybe the fear that if something bad happened she wouldn’t get to meet him—Lydia squeezed Georgia’s hand too tightly.
Before she could pull free, Sol’s hat bobbed and the gate opened. Her throat closed up. The announcer’s voice blurred into a loud buzzing in her ears. She looked at the announcer’s box perched above the fans at the end of the arena then at the crowd below him. If the sound system had developed a problem, no one else seemed aware of it. Her gaze flickered to the clock with its large digital numbers. It changed from 3.2 to 3.3 as she watched. Ten seconds later, it read 3.4. Dear God. The clock’s broken.
She made the mistake of looking into the arena as the bull spun hard to the right. Sol’s right arm swung through the air, counterbalancing the bull’s forward lunge. Georgia’s free hand clenched the railing while her knees threatened to buckle.
She looked back at the clock: 5.2. At tenth-of-a-second intervals that seemed to last minutes, it clicked over a number. 5.3 . . . 5.4 . . . 5.5.
She locked her jaw, trying to convince her supper to stay in her stomach. The bull switched directions, but Sol stayed with him.
At last, the whistle blared. The bull’s front hooves hit the ground, its rear hooves rising to the apex of a kick as Sol jumped from its back. It was as clean a dismount as Georgia had ever seen, but his momentum still pushed Sol to one knee. She took a shaky breath as he scrambled away from the still bucking bull.
The bull quickly calmed and trotted placidly toward the exit gate. The buzz in her ears faded, the announcer’s voice, only slightly garbled now, rose through it. “. . . and that’s a good eight-second ride for Sol McKnight on Thunder Alley!”
###
The bars always filled up after the rodeo. The cowboys walked in, looking to make up for lost time, followed closely by the buckle bunnies. It wasn’t hard for Georgia to find Sol’s truck at a local watering hole.
A sea of cowboy hats filled the room. She scanned the space around her while Lydia waited at the bar for their drinks. Finally, she spotted Sol near the pool tables.
“Hey, Sol,” she said as she came up behind him.
He turned, his face registering surprise. “Georgia.”
She hadn’t been able to tell from across the arena, but she saw with astonishment he was sporting a neatly trimmed mustache. Very Tom Selleck, she thought.
Someone bumped Georgia from behind. The small step forward she took to keep her balance brought her close enough to feel the heat from Sol’s body. Had he changed his aftershave, too? She liked the unfamiliar, musky scent.
Sol took her arm. “C’mon. Let’s find a less crowded spot.”
She let him steer her to a corner where the bar had shoved extra tables to open up the dance floor. He settled one butt cheek on the corner of a table and leaned back. An Ace bandage was wrapped around his left hand. Bull riders rode hurt more often than not, so that might not be new. He hadn’t been injured on Thunder Alley, but it could have happened in the short round; she’d gone to the concession stand rather than watch him ride again.
“I was sorry to hear about your mama,” Sol said. “How’s she doing?”
Ensuring she’d keep her hands to herself, Georgia tucked her fingers into the rear pockets of her jeans. “It’s tough. The doctor says the stroke could have done a lot more damage, but if she works at the therapy, we should see a full recovery.” Georgia stopped there. She didn’t want to share her frustrations with Sol. Her mother’s verbal skills had taken a bad hit. She seemed to know what she wanted to say, but the right words eluded her. Even when she found them, they came out garbled. Communicating with her mama had turned into a not-very-amusing game of charades—a game Georgia had never been good at.
Sol seemed to know she was holding back; his gray eyes grew sympathetic. “How’s your daddy doing?”
It was nice of him to ask. Her parents had never liked Sol—a fact not lost on him. “Not well. You know ho
w Mama always does everything for him.”
Sol’s eyes lightened and a smile tugged at his lips. “I bet your poor daddy wanders around the kitchen, trying to figure out how to feed hisself.” He grinned widely and chuckled. “And I can just picture him trying to do his own laundry.”
Georgia couldn’t hold back the airy pfft of disbelief. “Then you’re the only one who can picture it. I’ve come for the summer to help out—”
“You have?”
His attention sharpened but Georgia didn’t like the look in his eyes. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have called it a “what’s in this for me” look.
She took a deep breath and plowed ahead. “I need a favor, Sol. You know there are no kids near my folks’ place for Eden to hang out with. She really wants to come out to the ranch.”
Sol’s body stiffened and his eyes darkened again; Georgia had to fight the instinct to flinch. In spite of how difficult it was asking him for a favor, she’d thought he’d be happy to have the standard six weeks he had his daughter turn into the whole summer. Unless having his daughter for so long was going to create problems with his love life.
He pushed himself upright. “You’re asking if Eden can stay at the ranch, and you call it a favor?” He shoved his cowboy hat back on his head and hit her with a scowl of disgust. “Dammit, Georgia. She ain’t no shirttail relation no one wants to own up to. She’s my daughter. Anything she needs from me she can have without asking.”
Georgia squared her shoulders. “Well, pardon me for not wanting to sound like a demanding ex-wife.”
“Where Eden’s concerned, there ain’t no demands. When have I ever not been there for her?”
Lydia’s voice behind her saved Georgia from having to admit he never said no when the subject was Eden. Never. Not even when he should.
“There you are! I was wondering where you’d high-tailed it off to.”
Georgia turned as Lydia came up beside her. Her friend had two longneck beers and fresh lipstick on her mouth.
“Hiding in a corner with the best-looking man in the place.” Lydia tsked as she handed Georgia a beer. “I thought friends were supposed to share.”
“Sol, this is Lydia.” Georgia sounded sulky even in her own ears.
Sol turned off his anger to acknowledge the introduction. “Hey, Lydia.”
“I was so impressed when you rode that big ol’ bull. I swear I nearly stopped breathing when he busted outta that gate.”
It was all Georgia could do not to roll her eyes.
“Some folks see bull riding as irresponsible.”
Georgia didn’t miss the flick of his eyes toward her. Her mouth dropped open. She had never called it irresponsible. Not exactly. What she’d said was it was hard to explain to Eden why her daddy risked life and limb for something that didn’t pay squat.
Before she could defend herself, Lydia closed the distance between herself and Sol and slipped her hand around his arm. He bent his elbow so her fingers lay lightly inside the crook of his elbow.
“You shouldn’t pay attention to folks like that. They’re just jealous.” Lydia flipped a wave of chestnut hair over her shoulder and looked up at Sol. Her voice dropped into a sultry register. “I think it’s brave. How do you ever find the courage to get on those bulls?”
Sol’s eyebrows rose as though he was surprised to discover a buckle bunny among Georgia’s friends. Georgia could have told him Lydia didn’t give a damn about championship buckles; she was into tight male asses and always had been.
“Sol.” His name came out of Georgia’s mouth harsh and demanding.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers, but he looked dazed as though he couldn’t see her through the image of himself Lydia imprinted on his mind.
“Can I bring Eden out to the ranch tomorrow?”
His response came slowly as though he’d had to process the question one word at a time. “Yeah. Sure. Bring her out. Mama will want you to stay to supper.”
“Well, I—”
But Lydia was tugging Sol away, chattering once more about how impressed she was by his courage.
Whoever said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach had never tried flattery. “Oh, you’re so brave,” Georgia simpered sarcastically but not loud enough for anyone to hear.
God, men were such fools.
###
Lydia was one of those smooth women, Sol decided, who could be a lot of fun until you went up against them. Instinct told him he was no match for her; ten minutes in her company proved it. He wasn’t quite sure how she roped him into shooting partners pool with her, but rope him she did, no less capably than a champion bulldogger.
She played helpless until somehow he found himself leaning over her back, his hands on hers, showing her how to line up a shot, her denim-covered backside pressed, to any bystander’s eyes, innocently against his groin. What he carried in his pants didn’t care that she wasn’t who he would have chosen to have pressed up against him. She shifted her feet, resetting her stance, her bottom wiggling against his loins in short, quick motions that had him all but swallowing his tongue.
He didn’t think for a minute it was anything but intentional. He backed off as if she were a hot branding iron, snatching his cowboy hat off his head to hold casually in front of his groin.
Lydia shot and the ball slammed into the corner pocket. She let out a delighted yelp, spun on the ball of one foot, wrapped her free arm around his neck, and kissed him, oh so spontaneously. Once more, Sol suspected her of feminine guile, but his mouth responded without asking his brain’s permission.
A white cowboy hat floated past the end of the pool table. Under the hat, Georgia scowled at him.
What the hell had he done wrong now? Sol’s gut twisted the way it always did when she got mad at him. She was the one who’d introduced him to her predatory girlfriend, yet somehow he was the one in the wrong. Screw her, he thought. Trying to please her never had paid off. Maybe this time, he’d push the memory of her aside and focus on the girl who did want him.
It would serve Georgia right if he took Lydia home with him. Let her see how she liked that.
He basked in his bravado until she walked out the door. In the end, he knew he wouldn’t do it. He had never been that big a fool.
Chapter Three
Georgia let herself into her parents’ house through the back door. They were both already in bed, but Eden was still up, watching an old movie. The picture flickered in the darkened living room, illuminating her daughter sprawled on the floor on her stomach. The sound was down so low, Georgia could barely hear it across the room.
She grabbed a bag of Doritos from the stash in the bedroom they shared and sat cross-legged on the floor by her daughter. “Hey, sugar butt.”
Eden rolled onto her side. “Hi, Mama. I waited up.”
“I see that.” She held out the open bag of chips.
Eden grabbed a huge handful then rolled onto her back, so she could lay them on her stomach.
“Did you have a good time with your cousins?”
Eden crinkled her nose. “It was okay.”
Bethany’s kids were all significantly younger than Eden, so her lack of enthusiasm wasn’t surprising.
“Did you see Daddy?” Eden asked.
“I did.” Georgia looked at the TV. Fred Astaire was dancing with Audrey Hepburn in a Paris park. Audrey was graceful in her full-skirted white dress and veil. “Oh, Funny Face! Good choice.” She’d passed her love of classic films on to her daughter. Who said repetition compulsion had to be only the bad stuff?
Eden wasn’t having any of her mother’s delaying tactics. “And?” she prompted.
“And what?” Georgia asked, her eyes glued to the screen.
“What did Daddy say?”
“Oh, just what I expected he’d say.”
“Mama!”
Georgia flashed a grin at her daughter. “You’re going to the ranch tomorrow.”
All too aware of her parents in their rooms,
Georgia hushed her daughter, and Eden bit off her joyous screech. Together they picked up the chips that had bounced off Eden’s stomach, so they wouldn’t hear about the mess when Georgia’s daddy got up in the morning. The lack of playmates wasn’t the only reason Georgia was eager to get Eden out to the ranch.
“Can we go in the morning?” Eden asked.
Georgia shook her head. “After Mama’s speech therapy.”
Eden wrinkled her nose. “But that’ll be late.”
“You’ll be there in time for supper. Why don’t you go on to bed? After tomorrow, you won’t have to worry about anyone’s nose getting out of joint if you want to sleep late.”
Eden sighed. “Okay.” She got onto her knees and kissed Georgia’s cheek. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Eden headed for the bedroom. “Brush your teeth,” Georgia stage whispered after her. Eden looped back toward the bathroom, but she stopped in the doorway.
“Oh, I nearly forgot. Deanne called.”
Of course she had. Tomorrow was the day Deanne would go to her mother’s. “Is she still excited about seeing her mama?”
“Yeah. She’s kinda nervous though, too.”
Georgia nodded. It wouldn’t be normal if Deanne wasn’t a little apprehensive.
“Oh, and her daddy said to say ‘hi.’“ Eden grinned. “Deanne says Tink sleeps with him.”
Georgia smiled as she picked Doritos crumbs off her shirt. She’d known Daniel’s complaints about Tinker Bell were all bluster.
“Mama.” Eden lingered in the bathroom doorway, the toes of one foot curled on top of her other foot, a frown on her face. “Do you think Deanne’s parents will get back together?”
The question surprised Georgia, though it shouldn’t have. Kids’ minds were constantly weighing possibilities. “Is that what Deanne’s hoping for?”
Eden shrugged. “She’s excited about seeing her mama. It’s just . . . if they got back together, Mr. Thomas could decide to move back to Houston.”
Ah. Eden didn’t want her friend to move away. “I don’t think that’s likely, sugar bear.”
