Cowboys Last All Night

by Jennifer Ashley

  Applause came from the small crowd and some shouts of encouragement. Adam clapped hard, but Carter stood unmoving, gaze fixed on Faith.

  Faith did look pretty, her brown hair in a tight braid under her straw cowboy hat, her jeans and button-down shirt clean and pressed. She rode well, head up, heels down, seat solid, one hand quiet on the reins, the other relaxed on her thigh. Dodie arched her neck and pricked her ears forward, looking eager.

  The trail class was an obstacle course, the rider proving she or he could take the horse through it calmly and quickly, without mistakes. Obstacles included a wooden bridge, a gate, rails arranged in an L-shape the horse had to back through, equally spaced poles to trot over, and whatever else the course designer had decided to use this year.

  Faith took Dodie through most of the obstacles without a problem, Dodie backing through the L on dainty feet. If the mare stepped outside the poles as Faith backed her, that was points off. Dodie placed her feet carefully, though, coming nowhere near them. Next, she trotted willingly over the evenly spaced poles without touching them, and walked over the hollow, echoing wooden bridge as though she ate scary bridges for breakfast.

  At one point, Faith had to turn Dodie in a three-sixty pivot, the horse staying within the confines of a square. Dodie turned in place, hips almost swaying, looking pleased with herself.

  “What a gal,” Clint said over the loudspeaker as Dodie completed a perfect circle. “She could spin around all day, like a quarter horse pole dancer. Bet she has the geldings wishing they could have something back.”

  The crowd booed him. Faith, paying no attention, rode Dodie to the last obstacle, the one Faith had the most trouble with. The gate.

  “You can do this, baby,” Carter whispered beside Adam. His face was tense, the hand that rested on the railing in front of him, clenched.

  “She’ll be fine,” Adam said quietly.

  Carter shot him a look then went back to watching Faith.

  The rider, still mounted, had to unlatch the gate, open it, take the horse through, close the gate, and latch it up again, without ever taking her right hand from the top of the gate. Faith often lost hold of it on the turnaround, the horse’s big body pushing her away. But if she let go, that would mean major points off her score, which would pretty much guarantee she didn’t place.

  Carter gripped the rail tighter as Faith slowed to approach the gate, her entire attention on it. She was fine leaning down to unlatch it, and in fact, Dodie helped nudge it open, to the crowd’s amusement.

  “Dodie wants to get through,” Clint boomed. “She’s sure her boyfriend lives on the other side.”

  “Careful,” Carter said under his breath. “Like we practiced. Don’t rush.”

  Faith got the gate open, and she and Dodie moved carefully through. Dodie’s back end swung around, the momentum tugging at Faith’s hand. She leaned down desperately, the tips of her fingers barely brushing the wood.

  “Dodie’s swishing her hips, ready to go,” Clint said. “Doesn’t want to wait to shut the gate. Ah, there it goes.”

  Faith walked her fingers along the top rail until she got a firm hold of it again. She pushed the gate closed, using Dodie’s turning body to help her, slid the latch into place, and rode triumphantly away.

  Carter breathed out again. Adam laughed and clapped him on the back. “Calm down. She was great.”

  Carter didn’t answer, his attention all for his daughter as Faith rode to exit the ring. When she passed Carter, she grinned down at him.

  “Dad, did you see me? I nailed it!”

  “Yeah, you did,” Carter said. “You’re beautiful, baby.”

  Faith beamed with happiness and rode on out to a wave of applause. Adam scanned the crowd on the bleachers, his gaze resting on Bailey, who stood next to his mom, both of them having come to watch Faith.

  Bailey looked so calm, smiling and giving encouraging nods to the young riders she knew, some of whom she’d given lessons to. A teacher proud of her pupils.

  She’d certainly taught Adam a lot these last few weeks. Foremost, that she was fearless. Whatever Bailey’s life in Austin and her failed marriage had done to her, they hadn’t defeated her. If anything, that disappointing life had made her throw off her inhibitions and come into her own.

  She was no longer the shy Bailey, hoping to be accepted by the cool kids. She stood upright, radiating beauty and confidence.

  She’d given that confidence to Adam, working him hard, not letting him give in to his nerves, or whatever it was that had kept him down. Even though he wasn’t sure he was ready to perform today, he’d do it anyway. Win or lose, just getting through the challenge would be a major victory.

  The trouble was, it hadn’t been Kyle or the festival coordinators, in the end, who’d set up whatever it was Adam would have to do. His brothers had. Grant, Tyler, Carter, and Ross knew what Adam could do, and they’d taken over figuring out something that would test his skills, just as Ray and his sister Grace had set up what Kyle would have to do to win.

  When Adam asked his brothers why they were taking sides with him against Kyle, Carter said bluntly that they were sick of the rivalry between the two, and that both of them needed their asses kicked.

  Did not make Adam more confident.

  He was also not confident about leaving after this weekend, win or lose, for Los Angeles. Mark and Adam had talked almost every day since the initial phone call, going over the details for the upcoming job. Adam felt a stir of both fear and excitement with every call, until he’d hang up the phone and look at Bailey.

  Taking the job meant leaving her behind.

  Not that Bailey was upset about it. She encouraged him to go at every turn, was training him back to one-hundred percent. Not getting in his way. Not begging him to stay.

  Dawson would want Adam to go and not sit around and wallow because he got hurt. You need to get off your ass, he’d hear Dawson saying whenever he became discouraged these last weeks. I never sat around saying, oh poor baby, every time you broke your finger, did I? I got you up and got you going. Right?

  Right.

  Adam had come back to Riverbend and left it again many times before, his work consuming him. But this time Adam would be leaving more than the town, his family, his home. Once before, he’d walked away from what he’d started with Bailey, and he didn’t want to walk away again.

  So here he was. Ready to prove to the world that he wasn’t down and out. Ready to blow this town and get back to the gritty hard work and fast-paced life of the glittering city.

  Bailey caught his eye and smiled.

  He was going to miss that smile—and her eyes, and her body beneath his in the night.

  He’d almost asked her to come with him, except she’d told him as they’d worked, that she loved it here and would never dream of leaving again. She’d found her home. Adam had to wonder whether she’d volunteered that information to tell him not to bother asking.

  The riders of the trail class were called back to the ring, and the winners were announced. Faith won the blue.

  She had tears in her eyes as she rode back out with the ribbon tucked into her belt, patting Dodie and praising her. Carter met the pair when they emerged, helping Faith dismount and catching her in his arms for a proud dad hug.

  Bailey was on her feet, shouting for Faith. She was lovely in her jeans and bust-hugging white shirt, her smile flashing in the sunshine.

  As Bailey left the bleachers, Adam’s attention was pulled to another woman sitting a few rows above Bailey. The woman was watching Faith, couldn’t take her eyes from her. She looked vaguely familiar, and Adam narrowed his eyes.

  Couldn’t be …

  Adam looked quickly at Carter, but Carter was walking away with Faith and Dodie, Bailey and Olivia coming to meet them. When Adam looked back at the bleachers, the woman had gone.

  **

  Christina was working in a vendor’s tent the bar had set up for the event. It was an easy gig—take the coupons that had
to be bought with ID at the gate, dispense beer or wine into plastic cups, smile at everyone, and stop anyone underage who tried to get the alcohol. Easy enough, because Christina knew everyone, and the teenagers of River County weren’t getting away with anything under her watch today.

  It was fine until two tickets hit the booth at a relatively quiet time, and a familiar voice said, “Can I get a couple beers from you?”

  Christina rose from the shadows where she’d been hooking up a new keg. Grant stilled, his gaze becoming fixed when he saw her. He must not have known it was her back here.

  Looking into the blue eyes she used to see above her in the night, as he’d made deep, sweet love to her, was a hell of a hard thing to do. The broad hand that rested on the table had stroked fire through her, the blunt fingertips had slid inside her to bring her to pleasure.

  Wouldn’t be so difficult if Grant didn’t always look so good. Sunshine danced on his dark hair, bringing out the highlights, and his tanned face held the handsomeness of the Campbell brothers. He filled out his black button-down shirt, part of his costume for his upcoming performance, with solid muscle. He’d put on a string tie and a black hat later, but right now, the top button of his shirt was undone, showing a sliver of chest and dark hair there.

  No one was behind him, and Christina was the only one in the stall. In the crowd that swarmed the fairgrounds, she and Grant were alone.

  She made herself turn away from him, take two plastic cups off the top of the stack, and start a stream of beer into one. “Should you be drinking before your ride?” she asked, her voice light.

  “They’re not for me.”

  He shut up, not telling her more. Probably they were for some of the groupies who followed him around, showing up at every performance. Grant was always gracious to them. Now that Grant and Christina weren’t together anymore, he likely was more than gracious.

  The thought of him smiling at one of those young women, touching her like he’d touched Christina, pushed a big lump into her throat.

  She set down one full glass and started on the other. She wouldn’t spit in them, she promised herself. She wasn’t that petty. Nope, not her.

  “How’s Ray doing?” Grant asked.

  Christina’s hand shook on the spigot, but she made herself shrug. “He’s fine. No permanent damage.” She and Ray hadn’t gone out much since the accident, but she wasn’t going to tell Grant that she spent most nights home, alone. Missing him.

  “Good to hear,” Grant said.

  They were so formal. Like people who barely knew each other. As though Grant hadn’t laughed at her in the darkness, saying I love you, angel. You make everything bad go away.

  Christina put the second beer onto the counter. She slid the tickets off the table and dropped them into the bucket with the others.

  Grant reached into his pocket, pulled out a five between two fingers, and reached with it toward her tip jar.

  Christina slammed both hands to the counter. “No. Don’t you dare.”

  Grant looked at her in surprise. “Why the hell not?”

  “You put that in there, Grant Campbell, I’ll take it out and burn it.”

  Grant’s veil of politeness dropped. Shattered was a better word. “Doesn’t look like you say that to everyone offering you a tip.” He glanced at the jar swimming with ones, fives, and a few twenties. “What’s wrong with my money?”

  “I don’t want it, that’s what’s wrong with it.”

  Grant looked Christina up and down, really looked at her, instead of holding himself remote, as he usually did these days. He let his gaze rest on her bosom, round and full under the black T-shirt with the bar’s logo.

  “I get it,” he growled. He shoved the five back into his pocket, then withdrew a twenty instead and slammed it into the tip jar before she could stop him. He grabbed the beers and turned abruptly away, sloshing liquid all over the place.

  Christina snatched the twenty-dollar bill out of the wide-mouthed jar. The paper was still warm from being in his pocket. Christina swallowed, fetched a lighter from under the counter, held the twenty between her fingertips, and set fire to it.

  Grant looked back. He stopped and turned all the way around, a beer in each hand, as he watched Christina burning the money. He stared at her, scowling, then he shook his head and strode away.

  Christina’s eyes stung from the smoke. She dropped the last bits of the bill to the dirt on the ground before the flame could reach her fingers.

  Her eyes were watering, and she angrily swiped at them. Her eyes stung even more when she saw Grant reach two women—buckle-bunnies half falling out of the tightest jeans and halter tops she’d ever seen—hand them the beers, then put one arm around each of them and walk away.

  “Damn it.” Christina turned her back, stalking out of the tent for another keg. It was a long time before her eyes cleared, and she could see straight again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bailey showed one of the Campbells’ newer horses in a halter class, and the filly did well, winning second place. A filly from another ranch in the county, owned by a family who raised world-champion quarter horses, won first. Didn’t matter—that horse would probably come to the Campbells to be trained eventually anyway.

  The Fall Festival was the biggest event of the year in River County, with plenty for everyone. The baking tents held delectable treats, games for the kids kept them busy and happy, and there would be dancing later tonight.

  Bailey had missed this. When she’d lived in Austin, she’d been working too hard on new rollouts every October to leave even for the weekend. She’d made a lot of money as a programmer, but she’d worked her ass off for it almost twenty-four seven.

  Life out here moved a little slower, which was what she needed. Even if Adam wouldn’t be a part of it after this, she couldn’t leave Riverbend. Not now that she’d found a refuge.

  Tyler and Grant did some exhibition stunt riding to an appreciative crowd, Bailey helping out. They did a Wild West gunfight on horseback, Tyler playing the good guy, Grant with a black hat, black shirt, and black jeans, playing the bad guy.

  They galloped around each other, Tyler on Bobby; Grant on Buster, nearly brushing as they passed. They did a lot of antics, like jumping to a stand on the saddles, pretending to shoot at each other’s balls and leaping out of the way, legs spread, just in time. The crowd loved it.

  For the finale, they each jumped from their horse to the other’s, trying to knock each other off, and missing completely to end up riding the other’s horse. At last, Grant leapt at Tyler, ready to finish off the “good guy,” appeared to miscalculate, and ended up sitting backwards behind Tyler, looking astonished. Tyler rocketed out of the ring on Bobby, Grant hanging on for dear life to the cheers of the crowd.

  Buster, left alone, ran around the ring by himself, bucking and dancing. Bailey’s job was to go in and bring him out.

  Buster capered around while the audience laughed. Everyone knew Buster.

  Bailey stopped in the middle of the ring and held out her hand, calling softly to him. Buster, who’d practiced this with her, swung around and trotted directly toward her, nuzzling her as she caught his reins to lead him out.

  “He knows whose company he prefers,” Clint boomed above them. “Who can blame him? She’s gaw-geous.”

  Bailey led Buster out, catching up with Tyler and Grant who were dismounting Bobby. Grant bore a scowl that went well with his black hat and painted on villain mustache.

  “That was great,” Bailey said, then frowned when Grant only glared at her. “You all right?”

  “Fine,” Grant snapped. Then he seemed to realize who he was talking to and took the edge from his voice. “Sorry, Bailey. I’m fine.”

  He turned away, but Bailey saw his gaze go straight to the bar’s tent outside the riding area. Christina, serving customers, was smiling and talking in her animated way. She didn’t look over at Grant, which made his scowl deepen.

  Ah, Bailey thought. Those
two being apart was so wrong. Once Bailey finished putting Adam back together, she’d have to start on her sister and Grant.

  **

  As the sun went down at the end of the full day, Bailey joined the crowd at the rodeo arena for the last event—the challenge between Kyle and Adam. Lights came on, their white glare replacing the softer glow of sunshine.

  The face-off between two of the best riders in Riverbend was drawing business. Bailey knew that under-the-table betting had gone on all over town. No one knew exactly what the two would have to do to win, only that it would be a serious task for their abilities.

  Bailey knew some of what Adam would have to face, because the brothers had brought her into the circle last night. She’d mostly just given her opinion, and now she bit her lip, wondering if she’d done right. She could warn him—but that would undo any good she hoped the course would have for him.

  Kyle’s challenge was first. He and Adam walked together into the ring, stood and faced the crowd, the noise of which rose to a fever pitch. Boots stomped on the metal bleachers, and screams and yelling built into a wall of noise.

  Kyle raised his arms, hamming it up. Adam simply stood and regarded them calmly.

  The two finally turned to each other and shook hands. The crowd loved that—they’d be good sports—but Bailey noted how firm the shake was, how hard they held it.

  They broke apart only when a rodeo clown dashed out and threatened to yank them apart. Kyle and Adam made their bows, each retreating from the arena.

  A bellow broke through even the noise of the audience. Bailey looked down at the bull chute, and her eyes widened. That couldn’t be …

  A white bull was banging around in the chute, the handlers dodging his horns and hooves. The bull was known as the White Devil, one of the highest scoring bulls on the circuit. No one, but no one had been able to stay on him more than a second or two, not even Kyle and Ray, national champion riders.

  She saw Kyle on the fence, staring down at the bull, then at his brother. Ray was grinning, teeth flashing in the dim light.