Your'e Still the One

by Debbi Rawlins

  The man had disappeared into the barn, but ducked back outside, tugging down the brim of his battered hat and squinting into the sunlight. “Is that you, kid?”

  “Depends which kid you mean.”

  His beard moved and there was a brief flash of off-white teeth. Son of a gun...it was a smile. “The smart-ass one,” Petey grumbled while removing a work glove.

  Matt grinned. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said, accepting the man’s extended hand, which was the size of a small ham. After a couple of hearty pumps, Matt winced. “Jesus, I still need this.”

  “Come on, big rodeo star like you.” Petey squeezed tighter, just enough to make Matt cuss but not cry. “You don’t want people thinking you shake like a girl.”

  Matt snorted. “Seriously, I have to be able to hold a rope, or you’re gonna be coming to my funeral.”

  Petey released him, and Matt drew back, flexing his hand and glancing around to see if the men were having a laugh.

  And then he realized what he’d said, and shot a look at Petey. A sick feeling burned in Matt’s gut at the memory of his mom’s casket being lowered into the ground...of the tears in the big man’s eyes...the lack in Wallace’s.

  “You’re right.” He clapped Matt’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t be horsing around. But you got a mean grip yourself there, kid.” Petey did some hand-flexing of his own, then shook his head with amusement. “Holding on to a ton of bull flesh, guess you gotta be strong or get dead.”

  “Yep,” Matt agreed. “I try real hard not to get dead.”

  Laughing, Petey yanked his hat off to scratch his head. His hair had thinned—what was left was as gray as it was black. “I never figured you for a bull rider.”

  Matt had heard the same thing from reporters. Riding was often a family tradition, the lifestyle passed down to boys who started the sport young. “I got that ornery Gunderson blood in me. I reckon that makes me and the bull pretty even.”

  “You got your ma’s fine blood in you, too,” Petey said quietly. “Don’t you forget that.”

  “No, sir. Keeps me sane.”

  “Before you got famous your ma used to tell me you were riding broncs.”

  After the funeral, Matt had wondered about his mom and Petey’s relationship. He hadn’t asked then, wouldn’t ask now. “I didn’t want her worrying.”

  “I figured as much.” Petey resettled his hat on his head. “She did anyway. I reckon that’s what ma’s do. But she was proud of you, too. Whether you took first place or not.”

  “After I took the world finals and all the publicity started, there was no more hiding the truth. And man, did I get an earful. No congratulations or asking what I was gonna do with all the money I’d won. She only asked if I had any idea how dangerous bull riding was.” Matt smiled. “’Course I failed to mention I’d cracked two ribs that night.”

  Petey laughed. “She tracked down every article on you she could find. They’d be goin’ on about your perfect form, or how you broke records and the part she’d read out loud was when you said, ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir.’” Petey looked off toward the snow-packed mountains. “She’d get that pretty smile on her face, proud that she raised you right.”

  “She did.” Matt swallowed around a lump in his throat. “I’m glad you were here for her.”

  He tugged down the brim of his hat. “Ah, we all miss her.”

  That was a lie, Matt thought, his gaze wandering toward the house, though one better left alone. This visit was about Nikki. Losing sight of that fact could kick up dust and blur a man’s vision. “You know where Wallace is?”

  Petey snorted, shaking his head. “We don’t talk much. Never have.”

  “Just as well.”

  “You seen him yet?”

  “Nope. He was passed out drunk when I arrived the first time. Then gone when I came back.”

  Petey stroked his scraggly beard. “Might be more than the booze knocking him down. I expect Lucy probably knows something.” He eyed Matt. “You here on account he’s ailing or because you got hitched?”

  “No, I’m not married and I don’t give a shit if he is sick. Whatever’s kicking his ass he brought on himself. How often does Lucy come by?”

  “Two or three times a week. She cooks meals, makes sure he eats. Not like those two hotheads he keeps around.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ll meet ’em.” Petey grunted. “Tony ain’t so bad—it’s the other one...he’s got the temper. No neck, built like a Brahma, the kid’s got more muscles than brains.”

  That didn’t sound like the kind of men Wallace would hire. “They from around here?”

  “Nah, nobody knows those two. He hired ’em a few months back. They aren’t social. You might catch one or the other at the Watering Hole, but mostly they don’t leave Wallace’s side.”

  Matt started to ask something when the collies came bounding out of nowhere, their loud barks drowning him out.

  Petey motioned toward the truck or Wallace’s large SUV, hard to tell, speeding down the gravel driveway too fast. Whoever was at the wheel was an idiot. Which could easily mean Wallace, though for all his faults, he’d never been a reckless driver. Maybe long-term boozing had changed that.

  “Reckon I’ll be getting back to work.” Petey pulled on his glove. “Sure good to see you, kid.”

  “Who is that? Wallace?”

  “Tony or the hothead. Your pa don’t hardly drive no more, but likely he’s with ’em or they’d have their own truck. Don’t let him get you riled,” Petey said, then headed inside the barn.

  Matt watched the vehicle approach. He considered giving Nikki a heads-up, but he didn’t feel like having an audience when he saw Wallace. He didn’t care about the two guys babysitting him. As long as they weren’t giving the hands a hard time, Matt had no call to make them his business.

  At the last minute, he turned and headed for the house. They would’ve seen him. He hoped that didn’t mean they’d turn around or Wallace would refuse to come inside. Nikki’s nerves were on edge and she wouldn’t agree to stick around much longer. The idea would bother him less if he hadn’t seen Rachel again.

  Those sparkling eyes, that fiery hair and generous smile. What a beauty. And smart, too, with a heart as big as the whole state of Montana. She’d seen his pain, his despair, his frustration and she’d never run from him, never done anything but accept him. Even though she probably hated the Gunderson name as much as everyone else in her family...hell, maybe the entire county....

  Matt had to get this matter with Nikki squared away, free himself to spend time with Rachel. He went in through the front door and straight to the window to watch the SUV pull under the covered space near the stables where it had been parked yesterday.

  Goddamn Wallace, if he didn’t get inside right now, Matt would drag him in. He would...

  The driver’s door opened, and Petey was right, the guy who climbed out was all muscle and no neck. He had a mean squinty stare that he aimed at the house. When the other two doors opened, Matt knew Wallace was there.

  “Hey.”

  He turned when he heard Nikki, standing at the top of the stairs, hands stuffed in her jeans, her shoulders hunched as if she were cold. “You okay?” he asked, pulling off his jacket.

  “I heard the dogs barking? Is it him?”

  “I think so. Wait in your room until I call you, if you want. Or not.”

  She bit at her lower lip. “Yeah, let’s stick with the plan.” She hesitated. “Let me know if it’s not him.”

  “You got it.” He watched her slip down the hall, then he turned back to the window.

  The SUV had already been abandoned. He couldn’t see anyone, had no way to tell which direction everyone had gone. If Wallace planned on coming inside, it had to be through the kitchen or Matt would see him out front.

  He hung his jacket on the hall coat tree, listening until he heard the back door open and close. No voices, so that was good. Drawing in a deep breath, he moved into the den and
made himself comfortable on the red leather chair that matched the couch. It wouldn’t matter if Wallace planned on hiding in his office, took the stairs or went into the living room. From Matt’s vantage point, he’d see him.

  After rattling around the kitchen for a few minutes, Wallace walked into the den. He slid a glance at Matt, but didn’t miss a step on his way to the wet bar at the back of the room. He took a glass off the shelf and grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam. After he poured a couple of fingers worth, he hesitated, then brought down a second glass.

  “Your woman make the food sitting in the kitchen?” he asked, his back to Matt as he poured again.

  Matt didn’t answer, just watched in pure amazement. This was all the man had to say after not seeing his son in the three years since his wife’s funeral. But then, no reason to be surprised, they hadn’t said a word to each other after the service. Matt had grabbed his bag and left.

  “You drunk?” Matt asked, studying him closely. He seemed coordinated enough and hadn’t slurred his words.

  “Not yet.” Wallace carried both glasses from the bar, his pallor and frail body as startling to Matt today as it was yesterday. “You come to help build my coffin?” Wallace asked, his bloodless lips curled in a faint sneer as he passed the whiskey to Matt.

  “I’ve never been good with a hammer,” he said, “but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  Wallace chuckled. “There’s hope for you yet, boy.” He raised his glass in salute, then downed the liquor.

  Matt gritted his teeth, watching Wallace go back for the bottle. “Can you lay off the booze for a while? I want you to meet someone.”

  He slowly put the whiskey down, kept his back to Matt and stared at the wall where a mirror had once been part of the intricately hand-carved bar. The frame was still a beautiful piece, made from mesquite brought from Texas, a one-of-a-kind beveled mirror from New Orleans and crafted by Matt’s great-great-grandfather. The meticulous work had stretched over two winters and got passed down through three generations. In a drunken rage, it took Wallace only seconds to smash the glass and ruin the family heirloom forever.

  Matt had just turned twelve. His mother had cried for an hour, and he’d felt guilty because it was the one time he hadn’t blamed Wallace. The bastard probably hated looking himself in the eye, and try as he might, Matt couldn’t fault him for that.

  After a long tension-charged moment, Wallace turned around, no glass, no bottle in his hands. He looked confused, his features pinched as he reached behind and held on to the bar as if to steady himself. “You actually want me to meet her?”

  Matt finally understood, and he almost laughed. “Yeah, I came home for your blessing.”

  The second Wallace recognized Matt’s sarcasm, he clenched his jaw. “Where is she?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Better get moving before I change my mind about that drink.”

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Matt got to his feet and noticed how heavily Wallace sagged against the bar.

  “I don’t need you ordering me around.”

  He shook his head, not just at Wallace’s scowl but at Matt’s own foolishness. Poking the man into a foul mood right before he met Nikki was plain stupid. Matt stopped at the foyer. “How’ve you been?”

  “Shitty.”

  “Anything I should know about?”

  Wallace hesitated, then cursed. “Lucy?”

  “What about her?”

  “She wrote you.”

  “Nope, and I haven’t seen her since Mom’s funeral.”

  Wallace’s gray eyebrows dipped into a suspicious frown. “Why are you really here?”

  “Already told you. I want you to meet someone.” Matt started for the stairs, then stopped long enough to add, “I’ll tell you this, she’s not my wife or my girlfriend.”

  With that he raced up the stairs. They had nothing more to say to each other, but Nikki and Wallace might have plenty. She must’ve heard him because she opened her door before he made it to the landing and stared at him with uncertainty.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “No.” She breathed in deeply, closed the door behind her and dragged her palms down the front of her jeans. “Where is he?”

  “In the den.”

  “Drunk?”

  “Not yet.” Matt waited for her to join him on the stairs and then slid an arm around her shoulders. “You have the upper hand,” he whispered. “You say whatever you want. I’m with you all the way.”

  “Thanks.” She exhaled. “Go first.”

  He took his time, then waited at the bottom, his heart twisting with each slow painful step she took. When she motioned for him to enter the den first, he took the lead, panicking for a second when he didn’t spot Wallace. Then he saw him, sitting in the longhorn chair near the bar, small and frail, his hands clasped between his thin legs.

  It was gonna take some doing for Matt to get used to the new image. His father had been a virile handsome man well into his fifties. Next to him on the side table was the Jim Beam bottle and the empty glass.

  “Come on.” Matt gestured for Nikki when he realized she was still at the bottom of the stairs.

  She lifted her chin and moved to stand alongside Matt, her cynical gaze slowly finding the man who’d fathered her.

  “This is Nikki,” Matt said, switching his attention to Wallace’s drawn face.

  He stared, the prominent Adam’s apple in his thin neck bobbing with a convulsive swallow. Leaning slightly forward, he blinked at her rapidly then squinted, as if struggling to focus. His lips moved, but nothing came out, and the desperation in his tortured eyes actually got to Matt.

  “Wallace Gunderson,” Nikki said, her voice flat. “You look nothing like your picture.”

  He slowly shook his head, as if in disbelief. And then the strangest damn smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Rosa,” he whispered, and tried unsuccessfully to stand.

  Nikki jerked.

  Matt took hold of her arm. They’d come too far for her to run just because Wallace had mistaken her for her mother. Of course Matt hadn’t seen this coming either. She resembled Rosa some, but not enough for his father to be confused. But then Matt hadn’t seen her as a young woman. And Rosa had lived a hard life, largely thanks to Wallace.

  He gave up trying to stand. Just sat there smiling, and whispering Rosa’s name again.

  “Wallace, this is Nikki. Not Rosa.” Matt tried to urge her into the room but she wouldn’t move.

  She held up a finger, glaring at Wallace, her anger so potent it seemed to suck the air from the room. “You aren’t allowed to say her name. Ever. You understand me?”

  “But—” His shocked gaze darted to Matt. “Why?”

  “Nikki is your daughter, Wallace. Yours and Rosa’s.”

  She twisted away from Matt, her body tense and ready to bolt. “I can’t do this.”

  “Wait.” He sent her a pleading look. “Please, Nikki, for me.”

  “Don’t, Matt.” Her lashes fluttered, trying to stop the moisture from seeping down her cheeks. He’d only seen her cry once, even though she’d had plenty of reason for tears. “Damn you, Matt, don’t ask this of me,” she begged softly.

  “I’ve only loved two women,” Wallace said, drawing their attention back to him. “My whole life. I know it was wrong, but I loved them both so much that I...” His voice trailed off and he slumped back, his shoulders sagging in defeat, his chin dropped to his narrow chest.

  Matt stared at him. Yeah, the old man admitted to loving Rosa. But it was the first time Matt had heard Wallace say he cared for Catherine Gunderson, the woman who’d loved him blindly and devoted her life to him. Not even at her funeral had he said the word. Yet he had loved her...in his own warped selfish way....

  Something weird shifted inside Matt’s chest.

  “I’m sorry, Matt.” Nikki had already backed into the foyer.

  “Hey,” he said, following her. “We knew this would be rough.”

  “It
’s stupid and hopeless, and I can’t stay here.” She grabbed the railing. “I have to go back to Houston.”

  “Let’s take a minute. I’ll come upstairs with you.” He glanced back at Wallace, who’d found the energy to tip the bottle to his glass.

  “Fine.” Sniffing, she turned to find her footing on the first step. “You can watch me pack.”

  He stayed on her heels. “How about the Sundance? Would you feel comfortable staying there?”

  She stopped halfway and cautiously met his eyes. “Just being in the same room with him makes me sick.”

  “I know.” Matt scrubbed at his face. “I understand,” he said, lying, because he was at a complete loss. He didn’t know what the hell was going on in his brain. Nikki, Rachel, Wallace, his mother...everything was a damn jumble. “Give me...give this thing with Wallace a few more days?”

  Nikki studied him, as if he’d spoken to her in a foreign language she had to translate. Her lips slowly curved in a worried smile. She hesitated, then rubbed his arm. “Sure, Matt. I can do that.”

  8

  RACHEL’S DAY IMPROVED a hundred percent after she answered Matt’s call. Hilda and her mother had offered to cover for her in the kitchen so she could ready Nikki’s room. They probably suspected she was anxious to race upstairs to touch up her makeup before Matt arrived within the hour. Not that she cared. They knew about the casserole she’d taken to the Lone Wolf, and when she returned she might’ve been a bit flushed and chattered on about Matt a minute or two longer than prudent....

  Oh, well, it seemed her teenage crush on him hadn’t been the secret of the century she’d imagined. No big deal. And if her mom’s and Hilda’s shared glances meant they thought she might still have a crush on him, that didn’t bother Rachel either.

  That kiss.

  The new hard body Matt was rocking.

  And holy crap, that huge bulge behind his fly this morning... If her adrenaline hadn’t been pumping before, it was now.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, she sighed happily. Oh, they were so going to do more than kiss. Location could be a problem. Plus there was Nikki to consider. They couldn’t ignore her. Trace would eagerly step in and keep her entertained, but Rachel wasn’t sure if Nikki would like that. Ninety-five percent of the single women in the county would offer to have Trace’s firstborn. Just Rachel’s luck, Nikki hadn’t been dazzled.