Bet on a Cowboy

by Julie Benson

  The horn blared. Ty jumped off the bull and scooted to safety. The crowd roared. The ovation rang in Griffin’s ears, but the cheers weren’t for him. Nor was the ninety-one point, first-place score blazing on the scoreboard.

  He pinched his eyes shut, trying to make the ache subside, but the pain wouldn’t let go. Damned if the wound wasn’t as fresh as the day the doctor had told him to give up bull riding.

  * * *

  ONCE BACK IN HER OFFICE that night, Maggie discovered an email from her producer. Instead of going with a tropical destination as planned, he’d decided to film the last two episodes at Twin Creeks, emphasizing the show’s Western theme. He’d ended the bombshell by saying he was leaving her to work out the details.

  She recalled Griffin saying in an earlier episode that he and his siblings each owned one-sixth of the ranch, and his mother owned half. Deciding that talking with Mrs. McAlister was the best place to start, Maggie pulled up the Twin Creeks website and searched for the ranch’s phone number.

  The last thing she wanted to do was meet Griffin’s family. It seemed as if the more she learned more about the man, the harder it was to ignore her feelings.

  She dialed and waited for someone to pick up. When Griffin’s mom answered, Maggie said, “Mrs. McAlister, this is Maggie Sullivan. I’m the director on the TV show Finding Mrs. Right.”

  “You work with Griffin.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.” She longed to barrage his mother with questions. Why did he work so hard to keep people at a distance? What was it about his injuries that had forced him to give up the rodeo? Could he ever fall in love with someone plain, like Maggie? “Usually we film the last regular episode and the show’s finale at an exotic location. However, this year we’d like to try something different, and shoot the last two shows at your ranch.”

  Silence.

  “I’ll be honest with you,” Mrs. McAllister finally said. “I don’t approve of my son being on your show. I told him straight out it wasn’t the way to find a wife, but he’s always been headstrong and there was no talking him out of it.”

  Maggie laughed. “He does like having things his way, doesn’t he? And he has an arsenal of tricks to accomplish that. But I stand my ground.”

  “You do that. Too many women give in to Griffin because he’s got a pretty face and a glib tongue. He needs someone to keep him in line.”

  Oh, no. That didn’t sound right at all. Fearing his mother had the wrong impression, Maggie rushed to clear up any misunderstanding. “I meant that I stand up to him in our business dealings. Ours is nothing more than a working relationship.”

  Working relationship? How had she gotten those words out without choking on the lie?

  We’ve kissed, and I’m more than halfway in love with him. How would she hide her feelings from his family? Talk about asking for trouble.

  “What would filming involve?”

  “Primarily we need footage of Griffin introducing the finalists to you. We’d also like to shoot some of the dates around Twin Creeks.”

  “I don’t see any reason to let you film here. While Griffin agreed to be on your show, the rest of the family didn’t sign on for the ride.”

  “We’d pay you to film at the ranch.” Maggie quoted a generous figure.

  “Now that changes things.”

  Obviously Griffin wasn’t the only one motivated by money.

  “For you to film on the ranch, I’d want certain areas of the house off-limits, like the bedrooms and my older son’s office,” Mrs. McAlister continued. “Even if Griffin is talking to someone, you can’t film in those rooms.”

  “That’s not a problem.” Maggie wasn’t happy about the condition, but she recognized where Griffin got his stubbornness, and realized she needed to choose her battles.

  “When they shot a commercial here, people were traipsing all over. You need to remember this is a working ranch, and I don’t want you interfering with our tours.”

  Maggie assured Griffin’s mother they wouldn’t interrupt the ranch’s business, especially since everyone would stay in cabins at Mary’s Lake Lodge. Then she said she’d add what they’d talked about to the show’s standard contract, and courier it to her.

  “I look forward to meeting you,” Maggie added out of politeness, rather than true sentiment.

  “I have one more question for you. How’s Griffin doing? It’s so hard to tell from watching the show, and he’s evasive when we talk.” A mother’s concern for her child laced the woman’s voice.

  Griffin’s distant and reserved. He puts on a show of being happy to be here, but he refuses to let anyone see the real him. Instead he plays the carefree playboy.

  But what could she tell his mother?

  “I think he’s doing well.”

  But I suspect he’s not happy, and none of the bachelorettes are good enough for him.

  Maggie couldn’t envision Griffin spending his life with any of them. The actress was too serious. All she talked about were her goals and how acting was a stepping stone to bigger and better things.

  All the lawyer talked about was the cases she’d won, and how she was on the fast track to partnership. But if that was true, why would her law firm let her take a leave of absence for three months plus?

  The opera singer couldn’t go half an hour without checking her makeup, and she worried about whether or not the cameramen were capturing her best side. She demanded everyone’s attention the minute she floated into a room—a lot of diva for never having landed anything but roles in the chorus.

  And none of them made Griffin laugh.

  “I’m anxious to meet the women he selected,” his mother was saying, “but I’m giving you fair warning. I’m not one to keep my opinions to myself, and you might not like what I have to say.”

  “That’s fine.” Maybe Griffin’s mother would see how wrong the finalists were for him, and say all the things Maggie couldn’t.

  A girl could always hope.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING Griffin congratulated himself for enduring the rodeo date. Watching someone he’d beaten going for the championship he’d chased had twisted his gut into one huge knot.

  That should’ve been me.

  When he’d first given up bull riding, he’d marked time by what rodeo event was coming up next. He thought about who would be competing, and who’d win the purse. As time passed, he’d forced himself to forget about the sport. He’d filled his days with backbreaking work around the ranch, and his nights with beer and women, until he grew numb. He’d learned to survive.

  Maggie’s little date yesterday shot all that to hell.

  Airing the footage with Ty would lay out his rodeo career, his accident and his dad’s death for the whole world to see. Griffin had worked too hard to bury those memories to let this TV show dig them up. Could he convince Maggie not to use the footage? Not likely. But despite the lousy odds, he had to try.

  Griffin snatched his iPhone off the nightstand and called her. When she answered, he said, “I need to talk to you.”

  “We can talk at the key ceremony this afternoon.”

  “It can’t wait.”

  “Griffin, it’s six-thirty. I haven’t even gone on my run yet.”

  “That’s perfect. I’ll run with you, and we can talk.”

  “No.”

  He gripped the phone so tight he expected it to crumble in his hand. “Please? It’s important.”

  Silence met his request. Then Maggie’s sigh floated across the phone lines. “I’ll text you my address.”

  As he drove through the quiet Las Vegas residential streets to where she was staying, he tried to push aside the ache gnawing at him. How could he forget again, now that he’d relived the rush, the excitement, the sense of accomplishment he’d felt bull riding?

  After parking in the driveway of the modest ranch house, he wondered what he should say to Maggie. When she answered the front door dressed in sweatpants, a baggie NYU sweatshirt that reached midthigh, an
d spotless white tennis shoes, he still didn’t know.

  They set out on a faster pace than he expected, but the exercise felt good and the crisp air cleared his head. “I wasn’t going to talk about my rodeo career or the accident.”

  “Are you embarrassed? You shouldn’t be.”

  Easy for Maggie to say. People wouldn’t look at her with pity, and gossip about how he hadn’t done anything worthwhile with his life since the accident.

  “I checked the latest tweets and chats. Women are concerned because you’re not opening up. They aren’t seeing the real you. Yesterday you shared something personal.”

  “I didn’t. Ty did, and he had no right to.”

  Unable to bear her searching gaze, or the need he felt to open up to her, he stared at the road ahead. “I don’t want stuff about Dad’s death or my accident aired. You don’t need it. Cut it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “People at home know that’s off-limits.” He paused “Now every tourist coming to the ranch will ask about it.”

  “Ignore them,” Maggie insisted.

  “That didn’t work with you.” Frustrated with talking in short bursts, he slowed to a walk. “Have people ever looked at you with pity? It sucks.”

  She stumbled, and he reached out to steady her.

  “At age eleven, I towered over my classmates,” she admitted. “I was clumsy, skinny, and wore thick glasses. My mom couldn’t afford contacts. I bought them with babysitting money. When people looked at me I knew they were thinking ‘you poor thing.’”

  A picture of Maggie, all arms and legs, with glasses emphasizing her sharp facial features, flashed in his mind. From her pained look, he guessed the kids must have been brutal, probably calling her names like beanpole and hawk face. His heart twisted for what she must have gone through, which was so different from his own experience in school.

  “Then you understand. I don’t want people looking at me like that.”

  “Viewers will admire you for surviving, and coming out better for it.”

  Better? He worked on his family’s ranch, not managing the finances like Rory, but mucking out stalls and fixing fences. He’d been unable to add to the family coffers in a meaningful way until this damned reality show. Maggie must’ve lost her mind.

  “You’re wrong. I’m not a better man.” He clasped her hand, halting them. “Before my accident, I was a contender for the bull riding championship. I had a shot at major endorsements. Now I’m nothing but a ranch hand.”

  Though he’d tried to keep her at a distance, Maggie saw past his defenses the way no one ever had. And despite knowing better, he’d come to care for her, damned if he knew why.

  “Our viewers will sympathize with you. A lot of people have coped with broken dreams.”

  He released her hand. “I don’t want sympathy. I won’t be a spokesman for the shattered dreams club. Scrap the footage.”

  “I can’t. The editor goes through the film daily. He’s already seen the rodeo footage. It’s out of my hands.”

  All Griffin could do now was salvage some of his pride. He flashed Maggie what he hoped was an I-don’t-give-a-damn look. “You can’t blame a guy for trying. Admit it. I almost had you there for a minute.”

  “You’re not fooling me. I see how much this hurts you.”

  When she reached out to him, he jogged away. If she touched him, he worried what he might say or do. A few seconds later she caught up with him. “Whenever things don’t go your way, you act like you never cared. I don’t buy it.”

  He kept jogging, refusing to admit how on target she was, but stopped when her house came into view. He wasn’t the only one hiding something. He pointed to her baggy sweatshirt. “And you hide behind ugly clothes. What’re you afraid of?”

  “Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about how you feel.”

  “You want to know?” He shoved his fists into his jacket pockets, his anger making him want to run until he dropped. “I hate the world knowing what I went through. It hurts like hell. I had to give up the only thing I ever wanted to do, the only thing I was good at. Then three years after the accident, when my dad died, I couldn’t save him.”

  He’d never told anyone how guilty he felt over his father’s death. The memories hammered him. They’d been mending the fence in the far western pasture. His dad had been fine one minute, and on the ground the next. When Griffin failed to find a pulse, all he could do was call 911. By the time the paramedics arrived his dad was gone.

  “What happened?”

  “He had a heart attack. If I’d known CPR, I could’ve saved him.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “At least I could’ve done something other than sit beside him waiting for the ambulance.”

  With tears flowing down her face, Maggie wrapped her arms around Griffin’s waist and pulled him against her, rubbing his back as she told him to forgive himself. That his dad wouldn’t want him carrying this burden around. Her warmth, her concern, wrapped around Griffin like a comforting blanket.

  Maggie was one of those women who’d help a guy up when life’s hard knocks sent him to the cold, hard ground. A for-better-or-worse kind of gal, who actually meant the words.

  Everything inside him froze. He pushed her away, mumbled something he hoped resembled a goodbye, and ran for his car. Things had gotten way out of control.

  * * *

  MAGGIE SAT ON THE overstuffed sofa in the living room of her rental house, a cup of maple tea and her computer on the rustic coffee table in front of her, guilt swirling inside her.

  She’d hurt Griffin today by dredging up memories of his accident, leaving the rodeo, and his father’s death. In two weeks, she would hurt him further by airing the episode. She’d have given anything to help him.

  No, that wasn’t true. She refused to risk her job by going to the higher ups and trying to get them to cut the footage. She had put her dream of motherhood above his feelings, and tried to convince Griffin things wouldn’t be that bad. For a moment, he’d trusted her, allowed her to comfort him, and she’d attempted to ease his guilt over his father’s death. Then just as quickly he’d closed himself off.

  And tomorrow he would pretend as if nothing had happened. That’s what he did whenever she got close. More than likely, she’d pretend that, too, because it was safer for both of them.

  This season had been an odd contradiction. They’d taped five shows and the aired episodes had received the highest ratings in the program’s history. Online chats went crazy debating whether or not the cheerleader outfit was a smart attention grabber or reeked of desperation. At the last key ceremony, after Maggie gave Griffin the okay, he’d eliminated the teacher. In two weeks, when that episode aired, the website would launch a survey, asking if people thought he’d made the right decision or if he’d made a big mistake.

  The season was a shining success, but at what cost?

  Trying to get her mind on anything but Griffin, Maggie pulled up her notes for the group date tomorrow, staring at them for five minutes before she gave up and connected to the internet. When the Google screen appeared, she typed in Griffin’s name and hit Search.

  She read various articles about his numerous bull-riding wins. From the moment he entered the sport, he’d been identified as a cowboy who would go places. She cringed every time she read about an injury he’d received competing, and there were many. Broken bones. Concussions. Injured spleen.

  Most of the stories speculated on when, not if, he’d win the championship. Then she found the article about the accident that had ended his career.

  His father had suffered a heart attack while driving, lost control, and rolled the truck. She read further. For a while the doctors had worried that Griffin wouldn’t survive. He’d undergone surgery, but she couldn’t locate the particulars. None of the articles divulged what about his injuries prevented him from returning to bull riding.

  Why would Griffin think anyone would look at him with pity? What he
’d survived spoke volumes about his character. Why couldn’t he see that?

  And he hid all that pain under a carefree facade.

  When her cell phone rang, she glanced at the screen. It was Janet, the staff member who monitored the cameras in the bachelorette’s mansion overnight. This couldn’t be good. “What’s up?”

  “Our cheerleader crawled into a cab. She’s on her way to see Griffin.”

  The woman wanted to up her chances by sleeping with him. Maggie berated herself for not anticipating the ploy. When she and her casting director first interviewed Jasmine, they’d perceived an underlying desperation, a sense that she was unhappy with her life and wanted a man to rescue her. Deciding that emotion could make her unpredictable and create good conflict, they’d cast her.

  “You couldn’t catch her before she left?”

  “She must have found one of the few spots in the house the cameras can’t see, and called the cab. I didn’t know about her plans until she told her roommate how upset she was over not getting enough time alone with Griffin, and how she planned to fix the problem. Then she taunted the woman, saying she’d found out where he was staying. By the time I got there she was gone.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Chapter Nine

  The pounding on the front door woke Griffin. Soaked in sweat and unnerved by a vivid and intimate dream of him and Maggie, he glanced at his alarm clock. Who the hell would be at his place at two in the morning?

  He lay there, hoping whoever it was would go away, but then a slurred female voice started shouting his name. After snatching his jeans and shirt off the floor where he’d tossed them, he trudged through the house toward the entryway. A quick glance through the peephole revealed the cheerleader on his doorstep. She bellowed his name again. “Open the door. I got a present for you.”

  Nothing wrong with her lungs, but her mental state was more than a little suspect.