The Return
A Sunnybell Story
Erin Knightley
Foreword by James Patterson
BookShots
Little, Brown and Company
New York Boston London
Contents
Cover
Title Page
FOREWORD
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
An Excerpt from “Learning to Ride”
About the Author
Available Now
Newsletters
Copyright
FOREWORD
When I first had the idea for BookShots, I knew that I wanted to include romantic stories. The whole point of BookShots is to give people lightning-fast reads that completely capture them for just a couple of hours in their day—so publishing romance felt right.
I have a lot of respect for romance authors. I took a stab at the genre when I wrote Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas. While I was happy with the results, I learned that the process of writing those stories requires hard work and dedication.
That’s why I wanted to pair up with the best romance authors for BookShots. I work with writers who know how to draw emotions out of their characters, all while catapulting their plots forward.
Erin Knightley and I had so much fun working on our first BookShot Learning to Ride, that we were ready to throw our hat in the ring for another project together. We chose this one, The Return. It’s the story of a man who rides bulls and a woman who rides horses, but underneath all of that, it’s about two people who find their way back to each other. And Erin’s got a way of putting her heart into every word. I know you’re going to love it.
James Patterson
Chapter 1
This was it. The final run of the night.
In the year since Mack McLeroy had qualified for the professional bull riding tour—the major leagues of professional riders—he’d done well for himself. But tonight he was looking at a crowd, and a cash pot, bigger than anything he’d seen in his career.
And tonight he was going to win everything.
So far, he’d had three lucky draws. He’d pulled bulls who were mean enough to score big points, but whose moves were right up Mack’s alley. In two words, he’d killed it. And not only had he had three of the best rides of his life all in a row, but two of the top contenders had ended up injured. Sucked for them—they were both good guys—but the win was solidly within Mack’s reach.
Anticipation pumped through his veins like a drug as he lowered himself onto Son of Sam for the last ride of the night. The beast was as black as sin and twice as ugly, with fat asymmetrical horns that curved haphazardly away from his bulbous head and a long, rangy tail that looked like something you’d pull out of a clogged drain. He moved restlessly in the chute, his flanks fairly vibrating with tension. But Mack grinned and patted the animal’s muscled back.
Bring it, Sonny.
SOS was famous for his unpredictability, which always made for an interesting ride. It also made for high scores.
Mack shook his head, excitement pooling in his gut. Six figures. That was more money than most of his friends from high school made in three years. All those people who had called him crazy for setting his sights on the rodeo were about to eat their words.
Leaning forward, he pulled the rope across his hand in a tight suicide wrap. With that kind of money at stake, he planned to stay stuck to that bull if it killed him. SOS shifted anxiously beneath him. Mack chuckled. “Ready to dance, Son? How ’bout I lead?”
He took a deep breath, lifted his free arm, and shouted that he was ready. The moment hung suspended in time for a heartbeat or two, Mack’s body poised for action.
Three, two, one…swoosh!
The gate swung open and SOS exploded into the arena, bucking like a sonofabitch. The crowd roared in approval as he spun left, then immediately changed both tactics and direction, throwing Mack momentarily off-balance. Thank God for the suicide hold, which saved his bacon as he fought to get back in position.
Even as he whipped back and forth with SOS’s earthquake-worthy bucks, he managed to right his center of gravity. And then he found the pocket—that place where he and the bull fell into a sort of violent rhythm together. Apparently the creature wanted to dance after all. Mack grinned for all of a quarter of a second before all hell broke loose.
One moment he was in the zone, and the next he was riding blind. The rhythm that had been there before dissolved into instant chaos. What the hell? A millisecond too late, his brain processed that in the frenzy of bucking, the bull’s tail had whipped forward and slapped him across the face with the force of a steel pole. Instinct made his eyes slam shut. But that was the worst thing that he could have done.
Son of a—Before he could even finish the curse, he was airborne, tethered to the earth by nothing more than the thin strap of leather wrapped around his hand. Not good—not good at all. The force of his momentum, which snapped the leather taut, nearly yanked his arm off. He flopped backward, colliding with the side of the bull before ricocheting up again like a boulder bouncing off a trampoline.
Even as he was thrashed around, he worked to free his hand, frantically tugging at the cursed strap that only moments ago he’d praised. Who knew he was so good at wrapping? Each buck made him dizzier and more disoriented. His blood rushed in and out of his head like a tide on crack. Desperation clawed at his brain and he yanked and pulled for all he was worth. Then, just when he was sure he was a goner, the strap gave way and he went flying.
Freedom!
The strobe effect caused by somersaulting through the air in the well-lit stadium would have been really cool if he hadn’t known that this particular flight was about to end very, very badly. He tried to control the fall so he either landed on his feet or on all fours. That’s what he’d been trained to do for years. But this time?
This time he was screwed.
All his senses were jumbled as if he were being tossed in a dryer set on high. He needed to see but couldn’t clear his blurred vision no matter how desperately he blinked. His body position was all wrong—that was for damn sure. He was flying through the air like a rudderless chopper shot down in battle.
As the ground rushed to meet him, Mack could almost hear the bull laughing. SOS: 1; Mack: 0. Next time he’d keep his smack talk to himself.
His shoulder crashed to the dirt first, and he did his best to relax and roll with the motion, but damned if the presence of a 2,500-pound pissed-off bull didn’t make it hard. Pain splintered and zinged through his collarbone like bottled lightning. That’s gonna leave a mark. Next came the impact to his left hip, followed quickly by his booted feet slamming back down to the earth with all the force of a cannonball.
A roar filled his ears—the bull’s, his, or the crowd’s, he couldn’t tell—as bright lights burst across his vision. White-hot sensation bolted down his left side. As much as this hurt, only one thought echoed in his brain over and over: Get up! Get up! Get up!
But his body wouldn’t respond. The wind had been knocked out of him by the impact, and between his disorientation, his spasming lungs, and his screaming pain, nothing was working right.
Something close to panic set in. He wasn’t worri
ed about the pain; it hurt like hell, but he’d had worse. What he was worried about was being a sitting duck when old SOS decided to finish what he’d started.
And that was the moment the bastard charged.
The bull turned on him, hellfire blazing in his black eyes. With impeccable aim, his front hooves came down like the business end of an anvil. The full weight of the beast landed dead center of Mack’s chest, squashing his lungs as if they were a pair of spent whoopee cushions. The pressure was indescribable; the pain was epic. His protective vest might as well have been made of tissue paper for all it seemed to help.
The arena dimmed and blurred. The only thing he could make out was the flash of frantic color as the bullfighters streaked around him, risking their lives to protect him from further injury until the medics moved in.
It couldn’t be over. He couldn’t be over.
By sheer force of will, he struggled to push back against the rising blackness, but it was like wading through scalding-hot tar. Hopeless. Before he could so much as move his damn pinkie, the world went dark and he fell backward into the yawning ocean of agony.
Chapter 2
“I’ve got fresh gossip to go with these fresh veggies,” Laurie Beth Simmons announced, wiggling her eyebrows.
Ashley Montoya grinned at her friend’s declaration. No one knew more about the goings-on in Sunnybell than Laurie Beth. “I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” Ashley said wryly, setting down the sweet potatoes she’d been inspecting.
Laurie Beth laughed and set a freshly manicured hand on her hip. “Well, what good would I be if I didn’t come bearing juicy news? Nobody would recognize me.”
“Can’t argue with that. Come on, let’s get out of this crowd so we can chat.”
It was opening day for the Sunnybell farmers’ market and the place was packed. Ashley and Laurie Beth ducked down a side lane that was much quieter. Pausing beside a table of jarred salsas, Ashley said, “So, what’s the latest? I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”
“I know! With Madeline’s bookstore launching next week, it’s been crazy. I’m glad I offered to help out with it, though, ’cause that’s where I heard this particular gem. I wanted to be sure I told you before you found out from someone else.”
Well, that got her attention. Shifting her heavy canvas tote bag on her shoulder, Ashley pinned her friend with a “spill it” stare. “I’m all ears.”
She honestly couldn’t think of a single bit of news that would have anything to do with her. Over the past five months, she’d made an effort to step back into her old life by going out with friends, diving back into her book club, and volunteering at the nursing home. She certainly hadn’t done anything to garner attention, and she couldn’t think of anyone else whose business had anything to do with her. After what she’d been through, the daily dramas of small-town life no longer seemed important.
Still, she wanted to know what was up.
“I was loading up shelves with Madeline and Tanner last night—I swear those two are sweeter than honey together—when he happened to mention that he talked to Mack yesterday.”
Even though she knew that Laurie Beth was watching closely for her reaction, Ashley couldn’t help lifting an eyebrow. “Oh?” she said, trying to sound casual, although she was curious as hell.
“Mm-hmm. Brace yourself, darlin’. Tanner said Mack is moving in with his mama for the next few months while he gets back on his feet.”
Ashley’s breath left her lungs in a whoosh.
Mack was coming home?
She knew about the accident—if you could call anything that happened when a person willingly climbed on top of a bull an accident. Everyone knew about the accident. For the past two months, it had single-handedly powered the gossip mills of Sunnybell. What he could have done differently, what had gone wrong, how long he would be out of commission—it seemed everyone had an opinion.
Except her.
Whenever possible, she chose not to think of him at all. She’d done enough of that to last a lifetime when she was a lovesick teenager over him, and look at how well that had worked out for her.
But not thinking about him was much easier when he was anywhere but here, following wherever the rodeo winds blew. She didn’t even mind his occasional visits home, when she’d see him at the local bar or at the gas station fueling up that massive new truck he’d bought the moment he’d hit the top thirty-five last season.
But coming back to stay long term?
Her stomach nose-dived down to her knees.
She met Laurie Beth’s green eyes bravely and said, “Why now? The surgery was months ago.”
“Apparently he’d wanted to stay in his apartment in Austin, but Mrs. McLeroy finally wore him down and convinced him to come home. Lord knows he has nothing else to do. Tanner didn’t speculate on the matter, but I suspect it has something to do with the fact that Mrs. McLeroy cleans up after him and feeds him those famous muffins of hers.”
“Yes, I guess that’s nice,” Ashley said as she nonchalantly turned back toward the salsa jars. “I’m sure she’ll take good care of him.”
Laurie Beth snorted. “Uh-huh. You’re not fooling me, honey.”
“What? It’s not like I wish him ill or anything.”
Anymore.
“Now, see? You always have been a better person than me. I like him well enough, but if he’d have done to me what he did to you, I’d have slathered his britches in honey and tied him to a blueberry bush a long time ago.”
A horrified laugh escaped Ashley’s lips. “Laurie Beth!” She looked around to make sure no one was paying attention. She knew her friend was teasing, but good Lord. “I guess your exes should be glad that there aren’t any bears around here.”
“More’s the pity,” she said with a wicked little grin. “Anyway, I thought you’d want a little warning. Forewarned is forearmed, or so I’ve been told.”
Sighing, Ashley nodded. “Yeah, I do appreciate that. Thanks for looking out for me.”
It would be easy enough to avoid him if she stayed away from the town’s two bars for the next few months. Not exactly a hardship. Plus, it would save her from the inevitable knot of old resentment and unwanted attraction that always tangled in her gut whenever she saw him.
Laurie Beth waved her words away. “Shoot, girl, nobody knows better than me what it’s like having an unwanted ex around. At least you’ll be prepared when Mr. McHandsome makes his appearance.”
That made Ashley half groan, half laugh. “Please dear Lord, do not call Mack that to his face. With his ego, his head is likely to explode, and there’s not enough duct tape in the county to put it back together.”
“Hell, if I looked like him and rode like that, my ego would be the size of Texas, too. I imagine having all those buckle bunnies fall all over him every night doesn’t help things, either.”
“Ugh—I could have gone my whole life without thinking about that,” Ashley said with a grimace. Rodeo groupies were notoriously determined.
“Sorry,” Laurie Beth said with a wince. “Anything else you wanted to get before we head to lunch?”
Ashley glanced around, then spotted a display and grinned. If she were lucky, Mack and his britches wouldn’t come anywhere near her during his stay, but just in case…
“You know what?” she said as she walked to the nearby table and lifted a cheery bear-shaped container filled with a golden treat. “I’ve suddenly got a hankering for a bit of fresh honey.”
Chapter 3
Air hissed through Mack’s teeth as he fought back yet another wave of pain and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. It was amazing how thoroughly you could curse a pothole, the Department of Transportation, and the shocks of the piece-of-shit old truck you’re driving when you really put your mind to it.
This was ridiculous.
It had been nearly two months since the accident. Every time he thought he was getting better, he’d seize up putting his boots on or wake up stiff as
a board or feel the screech of agony when he hit a dang pothole the size of Crater Lake. He’d done the surgery the doctors had insisted on and had religiously gone to physical therapy, yet his recovery was so slow that sometimes he felt as though he was going backward.
Frozen molasses made more progress than he had.
Gritting his teeth, he concentrated every fiber of his being on avoiding any more bumps on the lonely stretch of two-lane highway ahead of him. He needed to get back in the arena. Soon. He’d already run through every dime he had—including selling both his gleaming limited edition F-250 with its glorious top-of-the-line shocks and the color-matched trailer he’d bought shortly after joining the tour. The only thing that was keeping him afloat at this point was his sponsorship and the rent-free housing at his mother’s place.
Honestly, if that didn’t make a man feel like a failure, he didn’t know what did.
His phone buzzed from the cup holder, and he used it as an excuse to pull over and take a break. He glanced at the screen before accepting the call. “What’s going on, Mama?”
“Hey there, darlin’,” she replied, her voice significantly less cheery than he was used to. “How’s the trip?”
“Less fun than eatin’ dirt,” he said glibly, rubbing at the small of his back. “I should be there in about an hour.”
“Glad to hear it. Listen, son, I’m afraid I’m the bearer of some bad news. Why don’t you pull over, so I don’t have to worry about you wrecking your truck and undoing all the doctors’ fine work on you?”
Great. Just what he needed: more bad news. “Already stopped,” he said with a sigh. “What’s up?”
“Well, I would have waited ’til you got home, but I didn’t know if you’d want to call them before they close for the day.” She paused, and he imagined her taking a deep breath. “I’m afraid I opened a piece of mail that I thought was for me, but turned out to be yours. There’s no use beatin’ around the bush. They’re canceling your contract.”
The Return (BookShots Flames) Page 1
