Cherished Love (Cherished Cowboys 1)

by Charlene Bright

  Cherished Love

  Cherish Book One

  CHARLENE BRIGHT

  Cherished Love

  Copyright © 2015 by Charlene Bright

  All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Books by Charlene Bright

  Canton County Cowboys Trilogy

  A Cowboy Worth Loving

  Dare to Love a Cowboy

  Captivated by a Cowboy

  Courageous Love Series

  Courage to Follow

  Courage to Believe

  Cherish Series

  Cherished Love

  I Saw Mommy Kissing a Cowboy

  (Cowboy Christmas Romance coming November, 2015)

  Cherished Love

  He was eight seconds from glory…

  Rodeo icon Wade Williamson has suffered what could be a career-ending injury. Coming home after a decade of hard rides and broken hearts, he hopes for a swift recovery. But when a secret from the past comes to light, it could mean the end of his career…that is, until his boyhood friend’s kid sister throws open the gate of his heart, and offers him redemption in her arms. He’s healing his body; she’s stealing his heart.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Lilah was taking her own sweet time in the bathroom. That really wasn’t that unusual; a woman who looked that good had to take pains to keep that going for as long as she could. He had an understanding with her. He wouldn’t talk about how old and wrinkled she was getting, and she wouldn’t call him by another guy’s name.

  Lilah Chapman was an amazing creature. Tall, blond, and thin, she’d had difficulty in her past finding guys who were tall enough, tough enough, and tenacious enough to put up with her. Most men quivered when even talking with her; she was a force to be reckoned with, and it took a strong will to keep up with her. She’d been following Wade’s career, saw where it might lead, and while she didn’t expect it to last—her own wanderlust wouldn’t allow it—she did know a good thing when she saw it.

  He knew she was a wild thing, but that didn’t matter to him. His life was wrapped up in some kind of self-destructive cycle of limited success and abject failure. Lilah knew she would be able to help him break free, if only she could break him in. His life was tied up with his past, and so far, she hadn’t gotten past the second barrel.

  For now, though, it didn’t matter. They had the road, the ride, and each other. It wouldn’t last, but so far, for three years, it had. They had been running the circuit together, she in barrel racing, and he in bull riding.

  Their “understanding” about old age and other men’s names began about a month ago, on the road between San Antonio and Dallas, when they had gotten a little rowdy and stopped the rig for “downtime” at a rest area. The warmth of the Texas afternoon had been fighting a losing battle with the big RV’s air-conditioning unit, and they parked beneath the shade of the rest area’s taller ash trees. The bedroom, if you can call it that, was only big enough for the bed and a couple of built-in cabinets, but as they climbed over each other and into its softness, they joined each other in scratching that itch, fulfilling that need. They were in the back, their clothes all on the floor. She had a thing for wearing her boots; he had a thing for, well, her. So naturally they were having a heck of a time, and all of a sudden…

  He was telling her, in his sexy voice, all the things he loved to do to her, with her, and what he found attractive. In this litany of sweetness, he inadvertently, but passionately said, “You are such an experienced lover,” which she translated as, “You are old.” And at that same instance, she called out, “Blake! Oh! Blake!”

  His name was Wade.

  Talk about stopping something cold.

  He looked at her. She at him. Both had a moment of strident clarity. You could say the rest of the afternoon was pretty much shot.

  Chapter 1

  Wade always considered his exit strategy first. He kicked the dirt, felt its solid, spongy recoil. Exits were always the toughest part of the ride, slightly tougher than the release, that tense moment when hand left rope, and you were completely at the mercy of the bull. He looked down, took in the sawdust and cow dung that made up the arena floor. The ride would be as tough as ever, but he smiled to think this might be the One Perfect Ride. The best exit ever.

  Red Rampage. A roan bull with half a horn, the other removed to prevent bodily injury. An Octavian bull from north Texas, his draw of the massive beef behemoth had been won over a fifth of Patron and a case of Dos Equis (the owner’s idea; Wade just did his job and didn’t fall over drunk. Of course, cutting his alcohol with water really helped).

  Red stood, tail unconsciously slapping and whipping the ubiquitous black flies to distraction. The bull had seen three seasons and never been successfully ridden. Wade had had three seasons too, and though he had successfully ridden dozens of times, he had never ridden a bull of Red’s caliber. Neither bull nor rider had made it to the nationals—Red, because his throws and bucks had injured three riders, one seriously (hence the docking of the one horn; the other broken against a steel gate); and Wade, well, he hadn’t learned how to work his way through the dance until this year, throwing away all the chances for Rookie of the Year, Best Improved Rider, etc. They eyed each other across the outdoor arena under the hot Oklahoma sun. Wade sneered.

  Red Bull. Don’t you dare give me wings. For at least eight seconds, he thought.

  Despite his great desire for evening to come, the sun was just as intense as it always was in the mid-afternoon in Tulsa. He adjusted his straw cowboy hat to shield the sun from his eyes, smelled that hair-gel-and-sweat aroma that always reminded him of doing field work as a youth and instinctively felt his fingers twitch with anticipation; the rope was never forgiving, and he rubbed his palms together. The grit and dust on the hot Oklahoma breeze was not as helpful as it might have been, had there been any humidity at all; the hot air just took your sweat away, leaving a stinging dryness at the corners of your eyes and your nostrils. Fortunately, its strength was enough to drive the flies away.

  Despite always wearing the Tony Llama-branded gloves his sponsors afforded him when he rode competition, for his off-season rides like this, he kept his hands in shape by riding without. That meant they were his pride and joy, family-tradition rough. Callouses and scars of the rope burns and wrist sprains he’d suffered. His “war wounds.”

  Of course, when his mind followed that old cow trail, it always reminded him of Tommy, and he would have to leave off the trail. That pain, though nearly ten years old, was more than he could take.

  “Emotion like that,” his dad would say, “don’t need to be showed to no one. ’Specially the bull or bronc you’re fixin’ to ride.”

  He looked over again to the pen where Red Rampage stood, puffing in the hot air. Unlike the ride
rs, they kept the bulls, and broncs when they were there, under shade and with all the amenities they needed. Speaking of needs, Wade turned and headed toward the truck.

  This was to be his night. He had spent a lot of years learning how things worked, who he needed to party with, which owners he had to stroke, to get a prime ride. Those first two years in Oklahoma were hard, back-breaking years, and he’d never even made it to a regionals. Tonight was it. If he could stay aboard, keep Red from throwing, bucking, or tearing him off for those precious eight seconds, even with a mediocre ride, he was guaranteed a spot in the National Bull Riding Championships. It was what he’d been working toward for years, and now all his hard work, broken bones, disappointments, and lonely nights on the circuit were about to pay off.

  He hocked and spat into the dirt. Musing, he grinned that sideways grin, the one that always opened the door for his charm to waltz in. He’d not had many of those lonely nights. There were always buckle bunnies looking to get a ride of their own, and his grin turned sour. It was never a good thing to mix pleasure with business, and the very thought started to cut the edge, weaken him. He thought of his current one, Lilah, and then absent-mindedly kicked a fencepost as he walked along. He noted that out here, beyond the arena, the dust and manure were almost the same green-gray color as his boots, and smiled. The manure cleared his mind of Lilah. That was an interesting observation. The grin returned, and his truck was there in another twenty paces.

  Wade’s truck was a big orange Dodge Ram with a Hemi, a toy hauler with the big roomy walk-in RV-style package, and the horse trailer for Elsa, his competition filly, and for now, Lightning, Lilah’s barrel-racer. It had plenty of hauling room, and plenty of power to make Dallas, Tucson, even Vegas. When he climbed in, he saw that Lilah’d left the 52-inch Bravia blasting the rodeo, and noted her competition ride was set to start. He smiled to himself as he dropped his lanky form into the captain’s chair to watch. He hadn’t noted which direction the horse barns were, so he didn’t know how to get there before it started, and besides, here he could enjoy her ride in comfort. He leaned forward, almost opening the mini-fridge under the cabinet, and catching himself, cursing gently under his breath. Instinctively, he looked around, half-imagining he would find his granddad looking back, disapprovingly.

  “Hot damn it, woman,” he almost cursed again. He always blamed the women in his life, because he knew they were his Achilles Heels, his Kryptonite. He had to keep his mind on the ride, on Red Rampage, because he knew Red had only one thought in its animal brain; knocking him on his ass in less than eight seconds.

  Suddenly, the gate on the TV opened, and a work of sheer beauty streaked out of the gate, fast and low. Surprising that a mare of almost seventeen hands was so nimble; it wasn’t surprising how Lilah worked her. As she dove into the first barrel, the look of determination that had drawn him to her was there, her green eyes ablaze, her blond hair flying back as a result of the speed. Heading for two, he noted she shifted balance, her form and grace a thing of wonder. Two was always a trick for the big mare, and a slight tip cost Lilah a few precious points. As she headed for three, she put the heels to it and the big horse flew. The dust in the air from the first two legs gave the image an almost angelic appearance, and the number three barrel turn was a work of art. Glancing at the clock, Wade was aware that she was nowhere near the record, and he winced as she crossed the finish, a full second slower than the lead racer in the standings. That bump on two had cost her dearly.

  As usual, for televised performances, he certainly wasn’t looking forward to the coming encounter with the color commentator. He had no doubts about what would happen when they brought the dog-and-pony show to Lilah and asked her opinion, especially since her daddy owned the local TV station covering the fair. Personally, Wade liked being in front of the camera, in front of his fans and the rest of the people who loved the rodeo like he did. Lilah was not a fan of the media or the critical nature of the reporters. Here in Tulsa, her personal nemesis, a former barrel rider and now sports commentator for the sports network, named Mitzi, would be over to talk to her. Wade knew that Lilah hated the brassy-haired woman, and also knew that Mitzi was just as spiteful as a sidewinder.

  In order to save his sanity, Wade shut off the program just as it was setting up that inevitable meeting. He paused for a second, took his hat off, and impatiently brushed his fingers through his barely there and definitely too-dirty black hair. Mama’d be appalled if she knew the type of woman he was seeing. In fact, he went out of his way not to introduce his family to Lilah at any of the rodeos they’d come to. There was no way she’d ever be going to meet them in Cherish.

  His hometown, Cherish, Montana, was a flyspeck on a map with two stop signs, and an on-ramp on the 90 freeway. The town had some excitement back in the 1990s, as their local truck stop had been the first one in the state to have showers. All those smelly, strung-out rig jockeys dropping into town for a fill-up and hot steaming water in their faces. Luxury.

  Of course, just a couple of years later, the Travel America and Pilot truck stops did too and the big to-do in Cherish nearly closed the town up for good. If it hadn’t been Cherish’s good luck to be on the route to Sturgis for the bikers, and also happened to be the county seat for the rodeo, they’d have just been erased off the map altogether.

  Musing on how good it was to be far from Cherish, Wade thought again about his mama. She had always expected him to settle down with a good woman, not a good-time woman. Someone caring and loving who would be a true partner in life. He snorted. Definitely not Lilah. Or the past dozen or so women he’d had since he left Cherish in the dust. Instinctively, he twitched his shoulders uncomfortably as he jammed his hat back on, stood up, and moved toward the truck’s door. He hadn’t realized it, but he was shaking his head as he gripped the handle to open the truck. He wasn’t looking for anyone to settle down with. And the kind of woman his family would approve of would only be a drag on the rodeo circuit, pulling him down and killing his buzz. No, any woman like Lilah, who would suit his needs right now, was exactly all his life could handle right now. And right now, none of that was what he wanted. At all.

  He strode out with more determination, whistling cheerfully, heading out into the mid-afternoon sun. As he rounded the trailer, he almost ran into Kyle, one the other cowboys, who seemed to be almost at a run toward his truck. That was odd.

  Kyle had been on the circuit for a while and was somewhat of an anomaly. Unlike most of the bull riders, he had a lovely young wife named Amy and a couple of kids already. Though Kyle was younger than Wade, his skill on the back of a bull was more stable, and he had the routine of a rodeo down pat. It was odd to see him so wound up. Wade intercepted the younger bull rider, pushing the younger fella back, diverting his course.

  “Whoa, there, partner.”

  Kyle stopped. Blinked uncomprehendingly. He obviously hadn’t expected to see Wade here, any more than Wade had expected him.

  “Looking for Lilah?” Wade asked, a little confused. Lilah was known across the circuit as a woman who could be a bit impatient. And the out-of-breath nature of Kyle’s demeanor probably meant she needed something from the younger guy.

  “Yeah, is she back yet from competing? She wanted me to walk Lightning and curry her before putting her in her paddock. I had expected to see her right after. Must not be; I don’t see her around.”

  “Sorry, man, haven’t seen her since her competition.”

  “Ah, right.” Kyle nodded, yet still was acting uncomfortably, even a bit sullen. He asked, almost furtively, “So any idea where she could be then?”

  Wade shook his head. She had certainly gotten under this young cowboy’s skin. It reminded him of someone.…

  “I’d guess she’ll be here when she gets here.”

  He looked at the expression on Kyle’s face and grimaced.

  “Never mind. Obviously you’re only thinking about one thing, and I’m not going to change your mind.”

  He jerked hi
s finger toward the next barn.

  “She was about to talk to Mitzi when I last saw her. Maybe she’ll still be there.”

  Kyle nodded his thanks and took off. Wade didn’t blame the young buck for being overly jumpy about doing something for Lilah. He was glad that he didn’t have to be working under her either. Not that he minded being under her in another capacity.

  His granddad metaphorically slapped him upside his head as he let out a quiet, insignificant, but clearly targeted curse. “Damn!”

  * * *

  Wade was not what you would call a handsome man, but he worked what he had well enough. The top of his head was usually covered, either cowboy hat, baseball cap, or bandana. If it were the former, it would be black felt or a hayseed straw, all crinkled up like he had dug it out of a ditch. If it were the second, it had to be jet black or Earnhardt blue. If it were a bandana, hell, it could be any color. He’d learned someplace, whether from an authority or and old wives’ tale, that a man can keep his hair longer by keeping it covered outside, and his personal experience seemed to bear that out.

  He let his hair grow in the summers, and every other year or so, he would donate it in twelve-inch lengths to a cancer charity. He didn’t know if it helped really, but he did get pictures every few years that showed little boys or girls whose chemo had taken their own hair, and it felt good to think they were happier with his hair on their head

  He was tall, over six foot two, and thin as a rail. He often considered weight training, then decided that the extra muscle might slow him down. He wasn’t emaciated; enough of the girls that followed the bull riding circuit had complimented him on the tight buns, six-pack abdomen, and taught, hairless chest that he was reasonably confident about his physique. Just under his left eye, he had a faint but noticeable scar, somewhat in the shape of a question mark, put there when he was a kid, playing with his father’s trick bullwhip. Raymond Williamson, his father, had been a famous rodeo clown, protecting the bull- and bronc-riders at the Deer Run Frontier Days, before they were famous.