Augusta blinked back hot tears that threatened to brim in her eyes. “I knew there was only one thing I could do to make sure Dally lived. That’s why I begged my folks to let me travel with them to the cowboy competitions. To let me hire on as one of the tramps who safeguard the men who ride the bulls. To make sure I was around anytime Dally showed up and had an opportunity to draw for the damned ride.”
“Is that why you handle the hat?”
Joey was smarter than she’d given him credit for, but she wasn’t about to admit to making sure Dally’s name was never matched with Bone Buster’s. “I handle the drawing because my father provides most of the stock.”
“Then you’re saying any Flying G hand could draw the names today?”
“Leave well enough alone, Joey, if you want to remain my friend.”
“That’s what I’m trying to be, Augusta—your friend. Let the man make his ride and tell him about his daughter.”
“Make sure we’re set up for the show just before the wild cow milking.” She pulled rank and dismissed any further discussion about what she should and shouldn’t do regarding Dally. She realized Joey was just trying to be helpful, but he couldn’t possibly understand. “And Maddy’s my business, understood?”
Joey saluted her and let her go on alone. She knew he would honor her demand. The clown was loyal and only meant the best for her. He’d proven it time and again.
“Well, here’s ol’ Rusty,” one of the men announced as she approached a table that had been set up near the chutes. For the four-day rodeo, the only stock being kept in the waiting pens normally used by animals that were to be transported east were those participating in the various events. A young boy, looking about ten years old, sat next to the mayor.
Augusta’s gaze automatically went to the pens housing the bulls. Bone Buster was the biggest, most dangerous looking of all.
“You ready to draw the names?” the mayor asked, offering his Stetson for her to do the honors and making her focus on the task at hand. “Young man,” he addressed the boy, “we’re glad you could join us on this prestigious occasion.”
“I’m hoping that’s something good, mayor.”
“So do these cowboys, young man”—he grinned at his constituents—“so do they.”
Augusta wondered who the boy was and why he’d been allowed to watch. Usually the drawing was left to participants and officials.
When Joey walked up, Augusta was surprised that he’d deliberately defied her orders to see if she would play fair. Maybe she didn’t know the clown as well as she thought. Maybe she needed to be a bit more careful than usual. Augusta waved away the mayor’s offer and pointed at another white hat in the crowd. “Let’s use his.”
Dally stepped up and placed his hat on the table, surprise darting across his eyes so briefly that she was sure only someone who knew him well would have noticed.
The young boy clapped his hands in approval of her choice. “Golly, Mr. Angelo. She’s gonna use your hat. Maybe it’ll bring you luck.”
“Let’s hope so, Jory.” Dally grinned at the boy.
Don’t count on it, Augusta thought as she held up strips of paper that had the bulls’ names on them. She dropped them into Dally’s hat and acted as if she were stirring them like a cook stirs his stew, then finally held up one paper high over her head.
“What’s the first man’s name on the list?”
“Buford Jenkins of the Lazy S.”
Everyone looked at the cowboy straddled over the top of one of the chutes, then back at Augusta anxiously. She handed the paper to the mayor, who wrote the bull’s name by the man who drew him. “Bad Company,” she announced.
A rally went up. Bad Company was a good draw for any man. Jenkins would earn lots of bragging rights if he made the ten seconds. “Next?”
“Slim Doogan of the Double D.”
Surprise registered across Dally’s face as their longtime friend stepped up and waited for Augusta to choose the next name.
“Fulla Stomp!” Augusta read the name and noticed that Slim turned slightly pale.
“Serves you right for trying to ride with the big guns.” Dally slapped his friend good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Want to back out while you still can?”
The other cowboys laughed, sharing in the fun. No man was counted coward for changing his mind about participating in the outlaw event. The competitions usually pertained to skills and talents used in their everyday working life on the ranch. Bull riding was meant for show, even to those who knew the event had started way back in ’67 between two Colorado outfits, long before the Pecos, Canadian or even the Prescott competitions.
Slim shook his head. “Nope, I’ll stick. But will you mind toting a tub of ice water to my tent later tonight, friend?” he asked Dally. “I got a funny feeling I’m gonna be sitting sore after that horn hooker gets done with me.”
Everyone laughed but loudly congratulated him for his grit.
“Next name?” Augusta looked over at the mayor’s list, needing to get on with the drawing. She and Joey had other responsibilities and the clown seemed bent on ignoring his until she got done here.
“Dally Angelo,” the mayor announced.
A hush swept over the crowd. Anticipation etched Jory’s face. Augusta’s heart felt as if it leapt into her throat. She could feel her pulse beating at her temples, her cheeks, racing down her arms to her wrists. Thrum, thrum, thrum. Her hand shook as she reached in to draw a name from the hat.
Please don’t let him see, she whispered silently. Dally was standing awfully close.
A band of iron reached out and clamped around her wrist, stopping her from grabbing the piece of paper from the hat.
“My hat. My draw,” the sinfully sexy voice demanded, sending a brushfire of anxiety blazing through her.
Augusta couldn’t protest without justifying her reasoning. She could do nothing but grant his request. God, what if he noticed what she’d done? What if everyone did? They’d never believe she only meant to affect the outcome for Dally and no one else.
His hand dipped in and out, his fingers unfolding the paper. Disappointment etched his brow as his jaw set hard and unforgiving. “Big Windy.”
“Too bad, Angelo,” someone said. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“That bull can’t hold lucky much longer,” another offered. “Why, I’ll bet—”
“Ahh, shucks,” said Jory.
The wager was lost in a multitude of discussion about when Dally would draw Bone Buster.
Slim Doogan slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Bone Buster’s looking a might relieved you didn’t draw him tonight if you ask me.”
The crowd laughed and took a collective glance at the object of their discussion. The bull snorted at all the attention, giving the back of his pen a good kick for measure.
“Yeah, real relieved,” Dally muttered. “Looks plumb puny if you ask me.”
Laugh it off, Augusta thought, knowing how disappointed Dally was at not drawing the brindle’s name. She nudged the hat back from Dally and stirred the names again, this time making sure she grabbed the paper she had hooked on one side beneath the inner lining of the Stetson so that it would be difficult to dislodge. “Next name?”
“Gill Puckett of Jacks Bluff.”
Augusta wished she had waited to dislodge the paper. Tempest wouldn’t appreciate one of her ranch hands being mangled by the mankiller. She made a great show of looking surprised as she unfolded the paper. “Bone Buster.”
“Lucky man,” she heard Dally say beneath his breath before he offered a hand to Puckett, giving him a hearty, “Congratulations.”
Six more men’s names were chosen from the hat. Six more minutes of watching Dally study Bone Buster, the bull that always seemed to evade him. When the drawing was over and the others headed back to town, Augusta signaled Joey to the table.
“Hand Dally back his hat.”
“No, I’m taking a break, boss.” Joey shook his head and started backing away. “
You do it. Besides, he’s busy telling that little boy good-bye.”
Realizing the clown meant to leave her and Dally alone at the chutes, she protested, but it did no good. Joey grinned. “Time to pay for your past. I can’t do that for you.”
Augusta swung around and decided to show her coworker that she could deal with Dally without falling to pieces. But just as resolve rose to engulf her, it sank to the pit of her stomach. There Dally was, moving the way she remembered, with a purposeful stride and lean, muscular limbs.
His chaps, scuffed boots and a white chambray shirt were nothing different than what most of the other cowboys wore, but they looked a part of him—masculine and seductive in an earthy sort of way.
He’d lost none of his good looks over the years and she knew it was from spending time chasing the rodeo and riding wild stock. A man didn’t sit a saddle long without staying fit. She had thought she would be long past any attraction she felt toward him but the surprise at seeing him again had sent her senses reeling like a fishing line cast in a fast current. She’d lost control of any solid reasoning not to kiss him. Touching him, kissing him, tasting him had been her downfall. She couldn’t let it happen again if she was going to make it through these four days with any sanity left intact.
She walked toward him, eager to give him back his hat and get away from him. The longer she remained near him, the weaker her resolve to resist him became.
“So when did you start working the shows?” Dally brushed back his mussed hair as she approached. “I thought you were going to head east and go to school. Become a lady doc or some other such something.”
She offered the hat and watched as he placed it on his head. “I said I wasn’t going to settle for anything traditional. Tramping isn’t exactly traditional employment for a woman.”
“Then you didn’t take it on just to follow me around?” He managed to look hurt, though she knew he was being arrogant.
“Of all the brazen, conceited—”
“C’mon, Stubborn Redhead,” he teased, “I only meant that it’s strange that your employment puts you in the same places I’m bound to show up. The shame of it is that you handle the hat and, still, you’re too honest to rig the draw in my favor. It sure would have been sweet to put an end to all this controversy and let me have my reckoning with the brindle.”
She caught her breath. Had he guessed or was this just lucky teasing? He’d never forgive her if he knew the truth that she’d deliberately held back Bone Buster’s name for another man. “Drawing Big Windy was a good thing.”
“How so?”
“No use taking on a ride with the brindle without getting a few practice rides under your belt. You’ll warm up on Big Windy and then, if you’re lucky, maybe have another ride or two before you draw Bone Buster.”
A moment later Dally stood beside her, looking down at her with speculation dancing in his eyes. “What are you afraid of, Augusta? That I’ll be hurt?”
She lifted her chin and stared back, willing herself to ignore how close he stood, how masculine he smelled, how loco she’d been to get into this discussion with him. Nothing would ever change and it served no purpose but to make her angry.
“God, I’d forgotten how beautiful you really are.” Dally’s heated whisper brushed against her cheek.
To her chagrin, his compliment sent a ripple of pleasure rushing to all the nerve endings in her body to beat steady drums at their pulse points. “Stop it, Dally. If you think I’m going to let you pick up where you left off, you’re sadly mistaken. I refuse to—”
The next moment, his face paused only inches from hers. A band of velvet granite had wrapped itself around her waist as he captured her in his embrace. He smelled like the red earth that had been so much of their playground as youths and the Texas sky that had warmed their skin on days they’d spent learning to love each other in the sun-drenched Indian paintbrush and clover. Most of all, the secret scent of love wafted through her senses, the fragrance that arose when two hearts came together again with a renewed sense of belonging.
Her heart pounded as if she were competing in the horse race. Augusta gazed up at him and thought that she was lost forever. She’d forgotten how vibrant his eyes were, like the clear Texas sky Kasota Springs had been named after. She felt dizzy. Her knees trembled as if she were sinking in quicksand.
His breath mingled with hers as he leaned in to lay claim.
She wouldn’t let him kiss her again. Her chin rose. She glared at him, daring him to defy her and take a kiss. She was no longer a teenager, so in love that she had no reason to her thoughts. He couldn’t just ride in and think they could pick up where they left off.
He made no move to touch her. Instead, he asked very softly, “When do you think I’ll get to?”
Augusta couldn’t believe his arrogance, but she wouldn’t admit to knowing exactly what he meant. She blinked, unable to hold his stare. “When do I think you’ll get to do what?”
“Ride Bone Buster.” His mouth lifted into a sinfully, sexy grin. “What do you think I meant?”
Oh, you just love it, don’t you, seeing if you can test my willpower. Well, I’m older now. Wiser. I can handle your devilish good looks a lot better than I used to. “How should I know and why should I care?”
When Dally moved aside, she began to breathe again and found better footing. She hadn’t meant to be so brutal about it, but he’d left her no choice. She hadn’t felt so vulnerable in a long time.
“So, what do you think?” His voice held an edge of anger in it. “Do you think Puckett can ride the brindle?”
“Bone Buster is as rank as they come,” she warned. “Gill Puckett will—”
“Get himself killed is what he’s going to do.” Dally didn’t let her finish, glaring at her as if she were the Jacks Bluff ranch hand.
“And you wouldn’t?” She couldn’t believe what she heard. Envy stirred Dally’s anger. She wasn’t about to let him get away with making her feel more responsibility than she already felt at pairing the man up with the brindle. “You’re afraid someone else is going to ride him the full ten seconds before you do, aren’t you?”
Something dangerous flashed in Dally’s eyes, intensifying the blue until it looked like the static display that ran across beef horns when lightning struck too close to the herd. She’d gone too far. Said too much.
“Hell, yes, I want to be the first. He killed my father, not anyone else’s. Me and that bull’s gonna come to terms with each other. It won’t do if Puckett or anybody else rides him first.”
She couldn’t help herself. She reached up and touched Dally’s cheek, unwilling to let him think she didn’t understand what drove his anger. She’d always understood; she just didn’t agree that this was the way to face the fact that his father was gone. Riding the bull wouldn’t bring Flint Angelo back. Nothing would.
Her fingers lingered on Dally’s cheek for a moment before she halfheartedly pulled them away. She remembered tracing the sharp angles of his face, the cleft in his chin one hot summer’s eve, branding to memory every nuance of his cherished face. “I almost wish somebody else had ridden him after all these years, Dally. Maybe then we could have had a chance together.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have always made sure Bone Buster was matched with a cowboy who had no chance of riding him.
Maybe she shouldn’t have always made sure Dally never had the luck of the draw.
Maybe she should quit rigging the draw and let fate decide Dally’s destiny.
“Maybe when I make the ride”—Dally brushed her lips softly with his before she could react—“we’ll finally talk about why you really walked out on me.”
He walked away this time, leaving her standing and staring after him.
Chapter 5
Slim Doogan was an easy man to find. Wherever there was a skillet of sourdough biscuits and a bucket of bubbling, pepper-flavored beans, the man would be taking his fill. He might be thinner than a wheat stalk, but he had always been
able to eat his weight in free grub. And he never failed to find something to complain about, no matter how good his fortune. Augusta approached the crowd lined up at the Flying G’s chuckwagon and overheard him doing his best to stir up some sympathy.
“I…tell…you,” Slim grumbled around a mouthful of beans, deliberately pausing between each chew, “drawing Fulla Stomp is about the worst stroke ’a luck what’s ever befallen me. Why, I remember the day I rode ol’ White Toe…”
A collective gasp of appreciation rippled through the crowd. Augusta did her best to hide her chuckle, almost glad for his stretching the truth. It got her mind off the reason she needed to talk to him.
“He was a ton of fury and three gallons of slobber and snot.” Slim eyes widened as he tried to build suspense. “I weren’t much bigger than I am now.”
“Hell, you ain’t never been bigger, Slim. Get back to the bull-honkey.”
“Here, let me fetch another of them fine Flying G biscuits.” He stepped in line and grabbed another biscuit from the skillet, instigating a quick rap of the ladle against his knuckles. “Dang it, Sam,” Slim complained. “I can’t help it if you got the best biscuits on the Llano.”
“Get back in line, next time, Doogan, and let some other folks eat. And quit jawing about riding White Toe. Ain’t nobody but Dally Angelo rode that white son-of-a-blizzard, so quit polishing your spurs ’bout it,” Sam groused and went back to work feeding the hungry stream of people who were standing in line waiting their turn to receive some of the fine fare.
If Slim’s yarn-spinning halted the speed of the serving line again, Augusta knew he’d learn soon enough that a bull was the least of his worries. Preventing a chuckwagon cook from doing his duties bordered on yanking the tail of a bobcat and expecting it to purr.
Realizing he’d been caught stretching the truth, Slim pulled his hat down to cover his eyes. “A man can’t even fancy up a story round here without…” He let his words trail off as he crammed his mouth full of biscuit and walked over to one of the bales of hay that had been set out to provide a resting place for folks to sit.
Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy Page 45
