Regulars sat at the polished mahogany bar, swigging their beer or whiskey, exchanging stories and occasionally checking the score of the basketball game playing on the wall-mounted TV. A second couple snuggled in the booth. A group of four men occupied a table and loudly bickered about politics and its effect on the price of cattle.
No one paid Nate much attention until he claimed the only empty stool at the bar.
His neighbor, an elderly gentleman with graying whiskers, turned and offered a friendly greeting. “A bit nippy out there.”
Nate unbuttoned his jacket and slung it over the bar stool before sitting. “You can say that again.”
The bartender, a small, whip-thin gal with the telltale signs of a hard life spent serving drinks either at this bar or one just like it, sidled over to take his order. Fifteen seconds later, a longneck beer was placed before him and money exchanged.
Noticing the older man’s gaze returning to the basketball game, Nate said, “Suns might actually win this one.”
“If their defense doesn’t fall apart in the last five minutes.”
He wore the clothes of a ranch hand but, from his age, Nate figured him to be retired. That didn’t discount him as a source of information. In fact, he might know more than most.
“What brings you to Mustang Valley?” the man asked, lifting a glass tumbler to his lips. His hand visibly shook.
Nate was immediately reminded of his late brother, Allan, though this man almost certainly didn’t suffer from cystic fibrosis. And his brother’s hands had shaken only near the end and when he was especially fatigued. Yet, there was an undeniable similarity. Nate would bet money this man suffered from some health issue.
“A favor for a family friend,” he answered. “But at the moment, I’m looking for work. Have you heard if any of the ranches in the area are hiring? I’m a pretty good cow wrangler. I’m also a decent handyman and have worked construction off and on.”
“Check out The Small Change,” the man offered. “Northeast of town. Ask for the owner, Theo McGraw. He might have an opening for a wrangler or a handyman.”
“Appreciate it.”
By then, the bartender sidled over. “Either of you boys ready for another round?”
Nate shook his head. “I’m good for now.”
The older man raised his glass, the melting ice cubes tinkling from his shaking hand. “When you have a second, Bess.”
“Coming right up, Theo.”
Nate turned and stared at him. “Theo? As in Theo McGraw?”
“This here’s the owner of The Small Change,” Bess said. “Biggest cattle ranch in the valley.”
“I do believe I’ve just been played.” Nate tipped his bottle of beer at Theo, who grinned in return.
“The invitation to drop by still stands.”
The bartender returned with Theo’s drink. As if it were an afterthought, she paused to study Nate. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so.” He was often recognized by people familiar with rodeo. These days, he didn’t supply his name in case someone asked what the hell had happened to his career. He didn’t like admitting it had suffered a slow, painful death.
“Give me a second.” She wagged a finger at him and squinted her eyes.
He attempted to distract her. “I’ve been here before. But it was years ago.”
“Well, I’ll be!” The woman beamed as recognition dawned. “You’re Nate Truett.”
Her announcement also got the attention of several people sitting at the bar, including Theo McGraw.
“The Nate Truett?” he asked.
“World champion bull rider,” Bess said, bursting with pride at her accomplishment.
“Guilty as charged.” Nate wished the bartender didn’t have such a keen memory for faces.
“Did I hear you say you’re looking for a job? Because I might have one.”
“I’d be lying if I said I ever bartended.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Not that. Something else. Something better than a wrangler. Sorry, Theo.” She sent him an apologetic smile.
He laid a hand over his heart. “You wound me, dear lady.”
The woman propped her arms on the bar in front of Nate. “I’ll show you. On my break. Can you wait half an hour?”
“All right.” Nate was intrigued.
Theo, too, judging by his expression.
Suddenly, the front door whooshed open. Along with an unwelcome gust of cold air came three people, huddled and chatting amiably. As the door banged closed behind them, they split apart. To Nate’s amazement, there stood Ronnie.
The next second, she spotted him and her smile instantly died.
Chapter Three
Ronnie didn’t normally swear. A ripe oath, however, slipped past her lips at the sight of Nate sitting alongside Theo McGraw, her father’s boss. Luckily, her clients, the Carringtons, appeared oblivious. Not that she needed to worry. Both were former rodeo competitors and had probably heard a lot worse during their many years on the circuit.
Still, Ronnie preferred to make a good impression. Especially on clients like the Carringtons, whose daughter was one of Ronnie’s students. If all went well, they’d close the deal tonight on Star Shine, a reliable beginner barrel racing horse Ronnie was selling on behalf of a friend. In exchange, she’d receive a small percentage of the final price.
A good deal for all concerned. Star Shine was an excellent match for the Carringtons’ daughter and would serve her well over the next few years. The price was fair, and in return, the horse would be well cared for and doted on by the thirteen-year-old.
Hugh Carrington remained the sole holdout and had suggested they meet at the Poco Dinero to rehash the details. Ronnie had acquiesced. She and the owner, Bess, had recently entered into a business arrangement, and meeting at the honky-tonk made sense. Now, Ronnie wished she’d insisted on a different spot.
“How about that one?” Hugh motioned to an empty table near the bar, which, of course, put them in close proximity to Nate.
Ronnie sighed. Would she get even one break today? Every time she least expected it, Nate was there, insinuating himself into her life. Showing up at the ranch earlier, driving Sam home, parking his trailer at her sister’s house and, now, sitting next to the man who signed her father’s paychecks—both of them a pebble’s toss from her important business meeting.
Hugh pulled out a chair for his wife, Jessica, and the three of them sat. Within seconds, the waitress arrived to take their order, and Ronnie indicated she’d pick up the tab when they were done.
She tried desperately to ignore Nate’s stare, which burned into the side of her face, and focus on the meeting.
“The good thing about a horse like Star Shine,” Ronnie said, “is that she has the ability to progress along with your daughter. You yourselves have even commented on what a good partnership they have while watching them compete together.”
Jessica beamed. “I love her speckled markings.”
Hugh’s gaze wandered to the bar, and his ruddy brow furrowed. “Wait a sec...well, I’ll be. Jessica, honey, look. Isn’t that Nate Truett at the bar?”
She swiveled in her chair. “Oh, my God, you’re right!”
Ronnie was thankful the pair were keeping their voices low enough that Nate couldn’t hear them over the music and noise.
“We’ve met,” Hugh commented. “Several times during my last year on the circuit. He’d just started coming up strong. Not long after that, his career skyrocketed.”
“I remember,” Jessica concurred.
Hugh returned his attention to Ronnie. “Does he live in Mustang Valley?”
“Passing through, I believe.”
“You know him?”
For a wild second, Ronnie debated lying. “Yes,” she finally admitted. “We’re acquainted.”
> As if sensing the conversation was about him, Nate glanced their way. His brown eyes twinkling, he lifted his beer bottle in a mock toast, which Hugh and Jessica eagerly returned.
“Mind if I invite him to join us?”
Hugh didn’t wait for Ronnie’s reply before getting up and striding over to the bar where he and Nate engaged in a testosterone-infused reacquaintance that included a death-grip handshake and mutual shoulder clapping.
She swallowed a groan, silently begging Nate to decline the invitation. Naturally, he didn’t.
At the table, he bent over Jessica for a half hug and exchange of hellos before flashing a grin at Ronnie and claiming the empty chair next to her.
“Hey, Ronnie,” he said. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
She tensed but forced a smile.
“No, no,” Hugh insisted, “not at all. We’re thinking of buying a horse from Ronnie for our daughter. She started competing in junior events this past summer.”
“If it’s one of Ronnie’s horses,” Nate drawled, “I doubt you can go wrong.”
And he would know this how?
“Actually, Star Shine belongs to a friend of mine.” Ridiculous, for sure, but Ronnie felt the need to clarify. “But I’ve been training the horse off and on for a while.”
“Like I said,” Nate repeated, “I doubt you can go wrong. When it comes to barrel racing, Ronnie’s a heck of a horse trainer.”
She frowned. It wasn’t like she needed help closing the deal. Especially from Nate.
“And teacher,” Jessica added. “Our daughter adores Ronnie. She’s won three ribbons so far and is making tremendous progress.”
“Isn’t this past summer about the time you started your school?” Nate asked.
Technically, Ronnie had started the school this past spring, after her father had gifted her with a share of his lottery winnings. Wanting to sound more qualified, she answered, “I’ve been a barrel racing and Western horsemanship instructor at Powell Ranch for over three years. It’s only recently I went out on my own.”
There. That sounded good. And professional. She’d gotten her point across without bragging.
“What have you and your beautiful wife been up to lately?” Nate asked Hugh. “Besides having a family?”
“Working our tails off. Jessica and I own three Sandwich Nirvana shops. All of them in the Phoenix area.”
“No kidding! I love your French dip.”
“Me, too.” Hugh grinned proudly. “It’s our bestseller.”
“How’d you go from rodeoing to sandwich shop entrepreneur?”
“We always wanted to own our own business. After I retired from competition, we checked into several franchises. Sandwich Nirvana was the best fit.”
Hugh rambled on about his successes. Growing his first shop into three, buying a six-acre home in Mustang Valley with all the amenities, sending his children to the best private school in the area, as well as taking the family on a trip to Alaska.
Commendable, for sure, though Ronnie thought he might be going a bit overboard. Funny thing, the longer Hugh talked, the quieter Nate became.
When Hugh finally paused for air, he asked, “What about you, Nate? What have you been doing since retiring?”
“A little of everything. Traveling, primarily—mostly around the southwest. Nothing as far away as Alaska.”
Hmmm, Ronnie pondered. He seemed to have a habit of giving vague answers.
“With all your talent and titles,” Hugh continued, “I figured you’d be competing a lot longer than you did or moving into a related field. Didn’t Rocky Mountain Rodeo Equipment make you a pretty slick offer?”
Nate twirled his bottle, watching the last of his beer slosh around in the bottom. “Unfortunately that fell through, along with a couple other deals.”
“Happens sometimes. Business has its downside.”
“Weren’t you in some kind of accident?” Jessica scrunched her mouth in concentration. “A fall from a horse?”
That was right! How could Ronnie have forgotten? It had happened about a month after she’d left him. Mutual friends had told her Nate fell from a horse he was riding and that, though injured, he would recover. She’d been relieved and debated reaching out to him. Ultimately, she hadn’t, convinced he’d reject her effort.
“Yeah,” Nate admitted with a mirthless chuckle. “Seven years riding bulls, the last five professionally, and my knee was fractured by a two-year-old colt barely fourteen hands high. That’s what I get for thinking I could break a green horse.”
“What a shame,” Hugh commiserated. “Injuries have ended more than one career. You out for good?”
“Much to my parents’ and agent’s disappointment.” Nate’s attempt at levity fell flat, as evidenced by the somber expressions of everyone at the table.
“Much to your many fans’ disappointment,” Jessica added quickly.
Hugh pointed at Nate’s beer, the universal signal for inquiring if he wanted another one.
Nate shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m driving.”
“I notice you aren’t limping. And you’re still young enough. Ever considered returning?”
“Doc told me if I injure the knee again, I might lose use of the leg for good.”
Ronnie hadn’t heard that part of the story.
“Which brings you to where you are today,” Hugh said.
Again, Nate redirected the conversation by pointing to the posters on the wall. “What do you think about the recreational rodeo arena under construction? Instead of mechanical bulls, customers can now ride real bulls.”
Ronnie observed Nate while he talked, trying to pinpoint what was different about him. The Nate from her past had been an open book. He hadn’t practiced the fine art of deflection, and he certainly hadn’t been mysterious.
Admittedly, she was intrigued and not because he was someone she’d once loved.
Before too long Bess came over to their table.
“Sorry to bother you folks.” She smiled eagerly at Nate. “Any chance you and I can chat about that matter we discussed earlier?”
Matter? Ronnie was instantly curious.
Nate scooted back from the table, his glance encompassing the Carringtons and Ronnie. “If you don’t mind...”
“Course not.” Hugh shook his hand. “Hope to see you around.”
Jessica wouldn’t settle for anything less than a hug. “It was such a pleasure chatting with you.”
“Same here.”
Ronnie offered neither her hand nor a hug. She’d be seeing him tomorrow, after all, during Sam’s practice. Hating herself for it, she watched him walk away. He and Bess didn’t stop at the bar, instead continuing toward the door leading out back.
“I wonder what that’s about,” Hugh mused.
Ronnie wondered as well but said nothing.
Eventually, she and the Carringtons returned to discussing Star Shine. Ronnie was prepared to go the distance with her pitch. It proved unnecessary.
“If Nate thinks highly of your horse training abilities,” Hugh said, “that’s good enough for us. We’ll take Star Shine. When do you want us to pick her up?”
“When’s a convenient time for you?”
Hugh wanted another drink to celebrate their deal. Thankfully, Jessica nixed the suggestion and insisted they head home.
“You ladies ready?” Hugh swept his keys and phone off the table.
Ronnie knew she should go with them; she’d parked her truck two spaces down from theirs...
“You go on. I have something to do first.”
Jessica grabbed Hugh’s arm and gave a little wave with her free hand. “Have a good night.”
Ronnie strolled past the bar, saying a brief hello to Theo McGraw and a woman who boarded her horse at Powell Ranch. They probably assumed she was visit
ing the restroom. Once around the corner, she made straight for the back door, not at all sure what she’d give as an excuse if she encountered Nate and Bess.
As it turned out, she didn’t need one. The tall cowboy and the tiny bartender stood at the far end of the small arena, which was brightly lit by the overhead floodlights. A bank of aluminum bleachers had been installed since Ronnie’d last seen the arena, along with a trio of bucking chutes lined end-to-end.
Before long, the Poco Dinero would being hosting amateur bull riding and barrel racing events every weekend. When Bess had asked Ronnie to manage the barrel racing, she’d leaped at the opportunity, seeing a way to grow her school and horse training business.
As of yet, Bess hadn’t found the right candidate for bull riding manager. She couldn’t possibly be considering Nate, could she?
Ronnie stood in the shadows under the awning, observing him and Bess while they circled the arena. Their expressions were animated, their hands constantly making big gestures. Ronnie tried imagining other reasons for the tour. Maybe Bess was showing off her latest business endeavor to a renowned bull rider. Or, she could be seeking Nate’s advice.
When they suddenly changed direction and cut across the arena, Ronnie ducked back inside rather than be caught spying. In her haste, she dropped her keys just as the door closed behind her. Murmuring her second oath for the evening, she bent to retrieve the keys. Nerves got the best of her, and she dropped them a second time.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot!”
The door banged open, missing her by an inch. She popped up, heat flooding her cheeks.
“Sorry about that? Are you okay?”
At the sound of Nate’s voice, she slowly pivoted. “I, ah...” She held up her keys. “Dropped these when I went to the bathroom.”
He shot a glance at the restroom door, a good fifteen feet away. “Did you?”
He clearly suspected she’d gone in search of him and Bess. Ronnie could kick herself. Stuffing her keys in her jacket pocket, she asked, “Where’s Bess?”
“Locking the equipment room.”
The Bull Rider's Valentine Page 4
