by Marin Thomas
Hank’s face turned red. “Pride’s a nasty disease, son. Holding a grudge against J.W. was easier than admitting my own stupidity.”
“That doesn’t excuse my father. He knew the truth about the value of that land, yet he didn’t—”
“No, son, he did.” Hank cleared his throat. “When Sheriff Percy told J.W. about my suspicions that Pennyton’s son had paid off the survey team but we didn’t have enough proof, J.W. sent me another check.”
Thank God his father had done the right thing.
“I returned the check.”
“That money was rightfully yours.”
“I wouldn’t let your father pay for my mistakes.”
“But that land will be worth a fortune when Walker taps into those gas wells.”
“I reckon it doesn’t matter who owns that land, seeing how my grandson’s a Cody and my daughter’s about to become one.”
Yesterday Josie had been adamant that she’d wanted nothing to do with marrying Dusty. Gas wells forgotten, Dexter asked, “So Josie’s decided to accept Dusty’s proposal?”
“I didn’t care much for Dusty when he and Josie dated in high school. Never could figure out what those two saw in each other.” He motioned to Dexter. “Now you and Josie—that’s a match I can see.”
Surprised by Hank’s honesty, Dexter said, “I’m not Matt’s father.”
“You’ve been more of a father to that boy in the past month than anyone else.”
His chest tightened at the faith Hank had in him, but everything inside Dexter insisted that claiming Josie for his own would tear his family apart. “Dusty deserves a chance.”
“A brush with death makes a man realize his years are numbered.” Hank’s eyes narrowed. “I’d like to see Josie and Matt stick around Markton.”
“She will if she marries Dusty.”
“There’s only one man Josie would give up California for, and it’s not the one coming out of the barn right now.”
Dexter swallowed hard. Was he doing the right thing in not claiming Josie for his own? She deserved to be loved within an inch of her life, and Dexter was the only man who could do that—who already loved Josie to distraction.
He watched Dusty and Matt walk hand in hand. The boy chatted up a storm, and Dusty appeared genuinely interested in what Matt had to say. Father and son had found common ground.
“Mr. D!” Matt sprinted to the porch, leaving Dusty trailing behind him. The boy raced up the steps and jumped in Dexter’s lap.
Dexter’s heart turned to mush at the big blue eyes gazing up at him. He already felt like Matt’s father and the thought of giving the boy over to Dusty made his chest ache. “What’s up, buddy?”
“Dusty says he’s a better roper than you.”
“He did, huh?” Dexter stared at Dusty, who paused before the porch steps. Dexter tightened his hold on Matt, and Dusty looked away.
“I told my dad—” Matt tugged Dexter’s shirtsleeve to get his attention “—that you put a saddle on Zeus, and my dad said you were the best whisper around.”
“Whisperer,” Dusty corrected.
“Yeah.” Matt clasped Dexter’s face between his little hands. “I’m gonna be a whisper just like you when I grow up.” Matt frowned as he studied Dexter’s face. He’d been too excited to notice the bruises until now. “Did a cow hurt you, too, Mr. D?”
“Yeah, buddy, but I’m okay.”
Matt wrapped his arms around Dexter’s neck and squeezed. “I don’t want you to be hurt ever, Mr. D.”
Dexter’s eyes stung so damned bad he squeezed them shut before he embarrassed himself. When he finally blinked, Dusty wore a sad smile.
“My dad says you’re gonna rodeo tomorrow. Can I come?”
Dexter glanced at Hank.
“Don’t see why not,” Hank said. “Be good for you to watch your daddy and your uncles compete.”
“Can I rodeo, Grandpa?”
“You’ll have to ask your mother about that.”
“Okay.” Matt slid off Dexter’s lap and ran into the house.
“He’s a great kid,” Dusty said.
“He is.” Hank leveled a pointed look at Dusty. “See that he stays that way.”
“Yes, sir.” Dusty turned to Dexter. “We’d better get another round of practice in.”
“See you tomorrow, Hank.” Dexter tipped his hat and followed Dusty to the truck.
Neither brother spoke a word the whole way home, each busy fighting their own demons.
Chapter Fourteen
The pungent smell of dung, worn leather and smoky barbecue assaulted Josie’s nostrils and made her eyes water as she, Matt and her parents entered the arena at the Missoula Hoedown Rodeo Saturday afternoon. Hoping to avoid a confrontation with J.W. and Anne Cody, Josie had delayed finding their seats until just before the opening ceremony. Spectators, from all over Montana as well as other states, packed the arena eager to watch cowboys and cowgirls wrestle steers, bust broncs, tangle with bulls and rope calves.
Josie led the way to the cheap seats in the bleachers. The temperature hovered in the upper eighties and thankfully clouds had gathered in the sky, providing some relief from the heat. She stared with envy at the expensive seats located beneath a covered grandstand. Industrial-size fans circulated the air and misters kept fairgoers comfortable. Josie scanned the crowd, searching for J.W. and Anne Cody. She imagined their excitement at meeting their grandson today and hoped the reunion would go off without a hitch.
A flash of color caught her eye. Anne. Dressed in an aquamarine cowboy shirt with black fringe along the yoke and shoulders, the older woman looked elegant and every inch the matriarch of a wealthy ranching family. J.W. sat next to her clothed in traditional ranching garb—a Western shirt, bolo tie and blue jeans. Josie breathed a sigh of relief that the couple’s gaze had skipped over her.
She hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep the previous night—thoughts of Dexter stealing her peace. Why did she have to fall in love with such a stubborn man? He was determined to step aside so Dusty could step up.
What Dexter failed to take into consideration was that no amount of persuasion would convince her that marrying his twin was the right thing to do. Dusty didn’t want marriage any more than Josie, and she’d gotten the impression he’d been relieved that she’d stood her ground and refused to marry him.
Matt’s excitement was palpable. Thank goodness Josie’s parents enjoyed listening to their grandson jabber nonstop, because she couldn’t concentrate on anything but Dexter and the feeling that if she didn’t do something drastic to change his mind about them, they’d both be making the biggest mistake of their lives.
Josie believed with every fiber of her being that Dexter was the man she was meant to be with for the rest of her life—the man she was meant to love.
A program hawker passed by and her father purchased one, then handed it to her. She scanned the list of events—Ellen would be the first of the Codys to compete. Bull riding followed barrel racing, then bronc busting, the chuck wagon races and lastly Dexter and Dusty’s event—team roping.
“Ladies and gents, welcome to the Missoula Hoedown Rodeo!”
Music blared from the loudspeakers as a group of cowgirls carrying U.S. flags circled the arena on horseback. A young woman dressed from head to toe in red raced into the middle of the circle on a white gelding. She stopped in the center and dismounted, then approached a small stage.
“Please stand for the National Anthem sung by the Missoula Hoedown Rodeo Queen, Candy Morton.”
Candy did a decent job singing the anthem, but Josie attributed the rousing applause that followed to the rodeo queen’s curvaceous figure, big blond hair and skintight outfit.
Once the queen and her court left the arena, the crowd settled into their seats, and the announcer asked guests to bow their heads as he recited the famous Rodeo Cowboy’s Prayer.
“Okay, folks, it’s time for the barrel racing competition! In this event, the fastest time wins. If one of th
e cowgirls knocks a barrel down they’ll be assessed a five-second penalty. But that ain’t gonna happen, ’cause we’ve got the best barrel racers in the country competing today.”
Josie had attempted barrel racing in high school, but had never managed to acquire the hang of controlling the horse around the turns. One bad spill and a broken thumb had been reason enough to quit the sport. While the first few cowgirls raced, Josie switched her attention to the opposite end of the arena, where stock contractors loaded bulls into the chutes. Each bull acted like a favorite family pet—until a cowboy sat on its back.
“We’re down to our last cowgirl of the day, Ellen Cody.” The cheers grew in volume—Ellen was a favorite among rodeo fans. “If the Cody name sounds familiar it’s because the whole family’s here today. Let’s see if Ellen and her horse, Pepper, can give the family their first win. Sixteen point nine seconds is the time to beat.”
“Matt, that cowgirl is your aunt Ellen.” Josie pointed to Elly.
“Is she gonna win?”
“I hope so.” Josie crossed her fingers and Matt copied her actions. A moment later Ellen and Pepper flew past the electric eye into the arena. Josie held her breath as Ellen turned the horse tightly around the first barrel. The crowd roared. Ellen circled the second barrel without incident, then guided Pepper around the third barrel, before racing toward the exit. The fans’ eyes shifted to the clock above the JumboTron.
“Sixteen point seven seconds! Ellen Cody and her horse, Pepper, win first place!” When the crowd quieted, the announcer added, “Time will tell if the Cody brothers can match their sister’s performance.”
Josie spied Dexter walking toward Ellen. His sexy cowboy swagger spawned heated memories of a certain mechanical bull. Dexter hugged his sister and they spoke for a moment. Then his eyes searched the stands. Was he looking for her? When he glanced at Josie’s section she popped out of her seat.
I’m right here, Dex. Josie’s heart thudded in disappointment when he turned away.
Rodeo clowns cartwheeled into the arena and entertained the fans while the cowboys prepared for the bull-riding event, but Josie only had eyes for Dexter. She followed his movements behind the chutes, wishing he’d stop and search for her again.
Dexter wove through the throng of competitors toward his brother Jesse, who was engaged in a heated discussion with Mark Hansen. If Jesse’s and Mark’s expressions were any indication, the conversation was far from friendly.
Josie’s father nudged her arm. “Mark Hansen and Jesse Cody are fierce competitors,” he said.
As long as Josie could remember, Mark and Jesse had never liked each other. They’d both ridden for Riverside High’s rodeo team, but Jesse had been the better of the two. Josie hated to think the men were still at odds after all these years. Then she considered her dad and J.W. and admitted intense rivalries were the nature of the sport.
“Looks like Hansen’s getting ganged up on,” her father said.
Walker, Ellen and Dusty had joined Dexter to lend Jesse their support. Josie sympathized with Mark—the guy didn’t stand a chance when the Cody siblings banded together. Josie checked the grandstands. J.W. and Anne watched the exchange with worried expressions on their faces.
“The town’s split because of having two good bull riders,” her father said. “The way I figure, no matter who wins the NFR this December, Markton comes out a winner.”
Right then Jesse shoved Mark and he stumbled backward. Mark raised his arm to punch his competitor, but Janie Hansen stepped between the two bull riders. The short, dark-haired, curvaceous woman glared at her brother. Nicki Sable joined the group, her ire directed at her longtime friend Jesse. Both men knew when they were outmatched and backed down.
“Ladies and gents, it’s time for a little bull riding!”
The crowd roared as the clowns exited the arena and scenes of bull rides from previous rodeos flashed across the JumboTron. “The stakes are high for two of our contestants. Jesse Cody and Mark Hansen are tied for first place in the standings. Both bull buckers want to make it to Vegas at the end of the year, and a win today means sole possession of first place.”
“My bet’s on Mark,” Josie’s father said.
“Why?”
“Hansen’s got a chip on his shoulder. He wants it more.”
“What kind of chip?” She didn’t know a whole lot about Mark except that he grew up dirt-poor—but then most of Markton was poor compared to the Codys.
Her father didn’t have time to explain before the announcer proceeded with the introductions. “First up is Bo Cutter. Bo’s an Oklahoma boy and sits in tenth place in the standings. He’s ridin’ Gator!”
Josie paid scant attention to the bull ride; instead she kept track of Dexter’s movements. He patted Jesse on the back, and the brothers bowed their heads in private conversation. She wished she’d had a brother or sister to take her side in an argument no matter if she was right or wrong. For the first time she saw the Codys not as a threat to her son but as a blessing.
Matt would grow up surrounded by family, who would protect him and support his endeavors in life. Yes, J.W. and Anne would probably spoil Matt rotten—not with fire trucks or toy trains but with real-live horses, F-150s and vacations around the world. Josie couldn’t compete with that, but she’d do her best to raise her son to be humble and generous with the wealth the Codys bequeathed to him.
Her father nudged her side. “Mark’s up next.”
“Folks, Mark Hansen from Markton, Wyoming, has drawn Dirt Devil. Look over at chute number five. Dirt Devil’s already pickin’ a fight with Hansen.”
The bull rammed his side against the rails. Mark raised his leg in the nick of time, sparing himself serious injury.
“Dirt Devil’s a head thrower, which means he’s gonna try to hit the cowboy with his horns while he’s buckin’.” The fans booed the bull.
The gate opened and Dirt Devil shot into the arena. As the announcer predicted, the bull flung his head back in an attempt to injure his rider. Mark managed to keep his seat and his face away from the deadly horns. Eight seconds lasted a lifetime. When the buzzer sounded Mark remained seated on the bull and the arena exploded with applause. The bullfighters rushed Dirt Devil, and Mark jumped to safety, then stumbled toward the rails.
“Hansen’s earned an 82! Good enough to take over first place. Now getting ready in chute eight is Hansen’s rival, Jesse Cody. The cowboy’s drawn a money bull. If Cody lasts eight seconds on Grim Reaper, he’ll take home a little pocket change!”
Josie watched Jesse wrap the bull rope around his hand, then the gate opened and Grim Reaper catapulted into the air. Men shouted. Women screamed. She wondered if Jesse heard the commotion, or if he blocked out all the noise. The bull bucked so hard it looked as if Jesse’s arm might rip from its socket. His pristine white hat flew off and landed beneath the bull’s hooves where the animal promptly stomped it flat.
Six…seven… The buzzer sounded and Jesse looked for an escape route. When all four of the bull’s legs hit the ground at once, Jesse flung himself off the animal. Grim Reaper twisted left, almost hooking Jesse in the head. When the bull regained his balance, he charged.
The bullfighters closed in, but Grim Reaper wouldn’t be deterred—his rage focused solely on Jesse. The roar in the arena dropped several decibels. Josie held her breath when Dexter climbed the chute and threw one leg over the top rail, poised to come to his brother’s aid if need be. Once again Dexter proved why Josie loved him so much—his loyalty to family went beyond anything she’d ever known.
She wanted that love and loyalty for herself.
Jesse had no chance to gain his footing before the bull struck his backside, sending him sprawling into the dirt. The crowd gasped, then the bull changed direction and went after one of the bullfighters. Jesse limped to safety among the roar of fans, Dexter right there with a helping hand.
“Well, folks, I gotta feelin’ that was our ride of the day.”
The crowd’s app
lause increased when an 85 flashed on the JumboTron. “Jesse Cody is our first place winner! Ti yi yippee-yippee-yay!”
“Did Uncle Jesse win, Mom?” Matt asked.
“He sure did, honey.” Josie looked across the arena and discovered Anne Cody’s gaze glued to Matt. The longing on the older woman’s face brought tears to Josie’s eyes. Anne’s attention shifted to Josie, and the older woman flashed a hesitant smile. Josie smiled back.
She considered escorting Matt around the arena to meet his grandparents but decided Dusty should be the one to introduce them. Right then Anne nudged J.W. and pointed in Josie’s direction. J.W.’s stern expression changed to wonderment when he spotted Matt. She supposed even from this distance there was no mistaking that Matt was Dusty’s son.
Worry about how Matt would react to meeting his new grandparents kept Josie’s mind occupied during the bronc-riding competition. By the time the final cowboy had competed, she’d decided she’d fretted for nothing and forced herself to relax.
“Folks, we got a special treat today before we move on to team roping—the final event of the afternoon. Get ready for the pony chuck races.”
Rodeo workers set up the barrels for the race. Two miniature chuck wagons would compete at one time.
“Wait until you see this, Matt,” she said when the first pair of wagons came into view. The drivers and their partners wore Western shirts, which matched the color of their wagons—robin-egg blue and apricot.
“Folks, this here race is called Hell’s Half Mile!” The announcer chuckled. “When the race begins, the driver’s assistants are gonna climb over the seat and stow all the pots and pans hanging on the cross bow in that there cupboard in the back. The cowboy who packs up the most dishes before their wagon crosses the finish line wins.”
A gun blast rent the air and the wagons took off, kicking up a dust storm. One cowboy crawled over the bench seat and lost his balance, but managed to hang on when his legs swung out alongside the wagon. He flung himself over the side, knocking his head on a cast-iron skillet in the process.
