by Anne Carrole
Our customers again.
She swung up on Willow. She needed some space.
“Where are you headed?” he asked, his hands resting on his hips.
If he understood rodeo, he’d know. “We’re moving the stock into the pens.”
“You brought a horse for me, I hope.” Sun glinted in those eyes of his, creating a disconcerting sparkle.
“Was I supposed to?”
“Mandy, I’m taking over JM’s role. That means I’m involved in everything to do with the rodeo, including work behind the chutes.”
She tugged lightly on the reins, holding Willow in place. “We can’t have two bosses behind the chutes.” She’d been running the crew for the last two years. She thought it was her grandfather’s way of breaking her in. Apparently not.
“You’re still the boss of the crew, but I’m going to oversee things, just like JM did. And my presence will back you up as you earn the men’s respect.”
“The men respect me.” But even as she said it, she knew it was false. They respected her as a woman, as JM’s granddaughter. But not yet as head of the company. As one of the few women in the rodeo stock industry, she’d have to prove herself worthy—to the men and herself. Because Ty’s presence meant she hadn’t proved worthy to her grandfather. The hurt was still raw…the knowledge still stung.
She let out a resigned sigh. “Harold’s unloading the parade horses. He’ll mount you on the mare from the other evening.”
“Lead me to Harold, and I’ll choose my own horse.”
Mandy nudged Willow into a walk. This was going to be a long weekend.
* * *
Ty observed the unloading of the steers from atop a bay gelding that seemed to have a little more kick in him than the horse last evening. He didn’t want to calculate how many years it had been since he’d worked with livestock.
Once he’d headed off to college, he’d been pretty much persona non grata around the old homestead. Neither his father nor his brother, Trace, seemed to expect much from him, and he hadn’t been inclined to give much, since he saw a different future for himself. After his father died from a sudden heart attack, the will was read, and Trace was left the ranch. All Ty was left were memories, and not necessarily good ones. His father’s will stated that Ty was taken care of by virtue of JM’s scholarship and the education it had bought.
Ty had been determined to make sure his father was correct, and he’d never had cause to look back. Until now.
“Hey, cowboy. You’re doing pretty good.” Harold Prescott, mounted on a fine-looking black horse, had shouted that review from across the fenced alley where the bulls paraded. It was only half a compliment, Ty knew. The undertone of surprise was the other half.
He nodded an acknowledgment and looked around to locate Mandy. She’d turned her horse around and was trotting back toward the pens, probably to check on the animals. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help noticing every rounded curve of her body, including her fine butt glued to the saddle. Maybe he just needed to get her out of his system. Given he might have to suffer through two lust-filled years, maybe he should find out for sure if there could be anything between them.
It didn’t take long to pen the bulls. Harold knew what enclosure suited which bull. Ty guessed bulls were a lot more like people than most folks realized. Some didn’t mind sharing—others needed to be left alone.
Ty definitely fell in with the latter bunch as far as people were concerned. Yet here he was, managing a group of cowhands who had known each other for decades or whose family members had worked here for as long.
No doubt the rodeo hands had all heard about the will by now. JM had told him nothing much got by the crew. They would know he was now the boss, not Mandy, even if she was still managing the day-to-day operations, as she had under JM.
He still couldn’t figure out why she’d gotten upset that he’d resolved Guy’s concerns. What did it matter why Guy was upset or why he had calmed down? The fact was, Guy was no longer anxious about the rodeo operation, and that was a good thing.
The horses were moved more gingerly than the bulls. Some were led by their halter rope, and for that, Ty’s horse worked well, seeming to enjoy taking the lead, particularly when a mare was involved. The crew worked seamlessly, having undoubtedly been doing this too many years to count. While Ty typically gave orders rather than took them, for the moment he sublimated his own need to take charge and waited like every other cowhand for Harold to sort out the livestock and Mandy to determine what animal went with what cowboy.
He might have been wrong about the men respecting her. They looked to Mandy, as well as Harold, for their orders and followed what was said without comment.
He watched as Mandy, sitting atop her horse, pointed to the bunch of steers still on the truck and the crew went into action, herding them through the chutes to one of the larger pens. Her booted foot in the stirrup, her long legs wrapped around the belly of her horse, her focus was on the animals. His gaze traveled up to her tight waist and the fluttering of her cotton shirt due to the cooling afternoon breeze. The top buttons of her blouse were open right above her breasts, and the fabric had flapped over to reveal the beginning swell of her bosom, exposing a slip of white lace from her bra. He wanted to bury his head inside her blouse and plant a kiss right on that creamy skin. He raised his gaze to the indent of her throat, glistening with moisture. And kiss there too. And then up to her lips, pursed in concentration as she watched over the operations. And definitely there.
The idea of marrying held more appeal than he’d ever thought possible. As long as it would be just for six months, of course. Too bad she wanted nothing to do with him and didn’t much like him, or so she said. Yet, they would have to work together as a team if Prescott was going to be successful, at least in the short term. When it was over, he would start his land development business, alone.
As the thud of horse hooves, the bellowing of steers, along with the snorting of the bulls and the occasional shouts of the cowhands, filled the dusty, humid air, a sense of isolation crept over Ty despite the hubbub around him. While he might pretend he belonged to this rodeo community, reality was, he didn’t belong anywhere.
* * *
Two dozen cowboys, along with Mandy’s mother and Harold, stood among bales of hay, folding chairs, and work stools in the small tent designated for the event crew. Flies buzzed, and scents of horse, manure, and hay mingled with wafts of fried burgers and chili emanating from the hospitality tent next door as a country tune played in the background.
Clipboard in hand, Mandy gazed at the somber faces of Doug McClane, Slim Matthews, Patrick Saunders, Neil Tanner, Keith Bradshaw—Kyle’s brother—and the rest of the crew gathered at this, the first rodeo since JM’s funeral. She wondered how they would respond to the change in management. How should she present the fact that Ty was the boss but she was in charge, at least in her mind she was.
Movement near the entrance caught her eye, and she watched Stan Lassiter enter and stand to the side of the tent flap. She felt a headache coming on. Stan Lassiter was only assisting at this rodeo, yet he had decided to accompany his contingent to Greenville instead of sending one of his foremen. More than likely he had come to undercut her with the rodeo committee for next year. Stan certainly wasn’t above such a tactic, and it was no secret he’d been after JM to sell once he learned JM was ill. If only Stan wouldn’t make Ty aware of his interest.
She closed her mind to the thought of Prescott livestock being merged into the Rustic Rodeo operation. All the work Harold had put into the breeding program could end up benefiting a rodeo supplier who had never sent one horse or bull to the NRF in the last five years, while Prescott had sent at least one every year for the past twenty.
It was her show, and the humming birds flapping in her stomach didn’t help. Nor the fact Ty had situated himself on a stool right behind her as if he was grading her. He’d changed into the white dress shirt that proclaimed Prescott Rodeo on the back. T
he shirt was required attire for all employees who would be front and center at the event. He’d rolled up the sleeves, exposing hair-brushed forearms, like most of the cowboys did when the weather was humid, making him look more like one of the crew than suited her.
He hadn’t said a word to her when she’d come in. He may be able to ignore her, but she had a hard time ignoring him, considering all she could think about were the pros and cons of marrying him. And that was not a healthy place for her mind to go.
Seeing the last cowboy enter the tent, she stepped forward to speak just as Ty rose from his perch, a hand anchored on each hip.
“This is a difficult time for the Prescott Rodeo family,” Ty announced. “As many of you may know by now, JM left the overall running of the rodeo to me on an interim basis until Mandy is ready to take the reins.”
She felt her cheeks heat and her temples pound.
“Mandy and I will be operating Prescott Rodeo as a team,” Ty continued. “Mandy will continue to run the logistics as she did when JM was in charge, and I will take over JM’s role on the business end, such as contract negotiations and the like. If you have any questions or concerns, see either Mandy or me, and we’ll do our best to give you the answers.”
The pain in her head arced as Ty looked at her expectantly, like he was waiting for her to add something. There was much she wanted to add, but she’d save that for Ty. Right now, it was more important that the crew saw them as working together, however much of a fantasy that was.
“Let’s bow our heads and say a prayer in honor of JM,” she said, taking the high road.
As she recited the words to the cowboy prayer, her thoughts turned to past rodeos when JM would lead them in prayer. She wanted to believe that he would walk through the tent flap and upbraid them for starting the meeting without him, ending this nightmare his death had trapped her in.
She blinked back a tear as the prayer ended. Hoping no one would notice, she picked up her clipboard from the bale of hay. JM had been a stickler for details, and he’d taught her to be the same. She went through the rosters for each event, making sure that Harold, as the chute boss, knew who was riding what, and what calf or steer was to go with each contestant in the timed event. Besides the shadow of JM that permeated everything to do with the rodeo, she was supremely aware of Ty sitting behind her on a stool, no doubt evaluating everything she did.
“Doug and Slim, you will be timing the tie-down roping event. You have your positions marked in the arena?” she asked.
Gratified that both men nodded, she moved on. “Harold, you’re operating the chutes for that event. Were you able to test the chute operation?”
“I also tested them,” Ty answered as Harold nodded.
“Great,” she muttered, trying to hide her surprise at Ty’s sudden interest in all things rodeo.
Clipboard in hand, she continued down her list. She checked that every committee person had a mount for the parade. She assured that the pick-up men and bull fighters knew the order of the less experienced bull riders. Finishing her list, she removed several sheets of paper from the clipboard and handed Jace Parish, the announcer, the information on each Prescott horse and bull that was being used.
“Stan, do you have your list available for Jace?” Mandy asked, acknowledging for the first time Stan’s presence.
Stan nodded and ambled over to Jace, with a single sheet of paper in hand. She’d done this rundown dozens of times before, but JM had always been beside her.
“Everything square for you?” She turned to the representative for this rodeo’s major sponsor, an auto dealer. If the money sponsor wasn’t happy, the rodeo committee wouldn’t be happy.
“Yes, ma’am,” responded the middle-aged man with a serious face. He wore dark-blue denims and a pressed chambray shirt, looking like a dude-ranch cowboy. No participants were allowed behind the chutes if they weren’t in cowboy dress, PRRA rules.
“Any questions?” she asked the rest of the group, wrapping up. Several cowboys had already checked their watches a few times. She’d gone over by almost ten minutes in her quest to be sure everything was locked down tight in this, their first rodeo since JM’s passing.
“Have you got the names of the clubs we need to recognize tonight during the grand parade?” Jace asked.
Even though Jace’s boyish face held an encouraging expression, heat climbed her neck. She’d forgotten to give him the list. “Yes, right here,” she said with a grimace, pulling out the sheet from her clipboard. If those clubs weren’t announced, the rodeo committee would have her head. Giving locals recognition was part of the fabric of the rodeo communities. She handed the sheet to Jace. At least someone had her back.
“Anything else I may have forgotten?” she asked. No sense standing on pride. She wanted this show to be the best, and she needed those in the room to do their part. If they knew about something amiss, she wanted to give them the opportunity to tell her. She looked from weathered face to weathered face.
Slim Matthews stepped forward. “Who are we taking orders from? You or Ty?”
Mandy opened her mouth to speak, but from behind her came Ty’s voice.
“Both of us. I am not expecting Mandy and I to have any conflicts,” Ty said.
She turned around to face him and fought not to roll her eyes as Ty rose off his stool.
“You a rodeo operator?” Doug McClane asked.
Ty pushed up his rolled-up sleeves, and his posture went ramrod straight, almost as if he was readying for a fight. His smile had vanished, and his eyes had narrowed. “No. I’ve worked cattle before, but I’m a lawyer by training. And the one JM asked to lead this company while Mandy comes up to speed.”
A murmur went through the gathering. Lawyers were about as respected as used-car salesmen in these parts.
“Any other questions?” Ty didn’t look eager to entertain any more, and the men must have gotten the message, as a number of heads shook.
Harold stepped forward. “This rodeo is being dedicated to JM, so in his honor, let’s put on the best rodeo these people have ever seen.” With that the crew departed quickly, as if someone had yelled fire and Harold ushered Sheila out of the tent. Mandy breathed a silent sigh of relief while she sorted her papers, trying to ignore Ty, who was standing mere inches from her. The meeting hadn’t gone as smoothly as she’d wanted, but it was over, and the difficult facts of JM’s will had been announced, though not by her.
Relief was short lived when she noted Stan hanging by the entrance as if he wanted to talk to her. Hopefully he wouldn’t have the poor taste to bring up the topic of buying the company in front of Ty.
“Ty, you got a minute?” Stan asked, crossing his arms over his barreled belly.
Mandy held her breath.
“Sure, what’s up?” Ty said, not moving from his spot behind her.
Stan shrugged. “Just wondering if we can meet at the bar tonight. Thought I might be able to give you some rodeo insight, you know.”
“Appreciate it, Stan. But can I take a rain check? I’ve promised Mandy I’d buy her a drink tonight. First rodeo since JM passed, and all.”
“Sure. Understand.” Stan’s cool gaze settled on Mandy. “I know this must be rough for you, it all being so recent.” He gave a nod as if he’d done his duty by acknowledging her. “I’ll catch you, Ty, tomorrow night.” Stan edged his bulky frame through the entryway and escaped into the forming crowd.
“I’m just curious. What did I say when you promised to buy me a drink?”
“Yes, of course.”
She shook her head. No way did she want to spend any more time with Ty than was absolutely necessary. “I’ve got a rodeo to put on. I’ll be dead on my feet after I see that the animals are all fed and bedded down for the night. It will be late. Thanks but no thanks.”
She turned to leave and felt Ty’s firm fingers grasp her elbow. “Wait.”
She spun back to look into his eyes. She couldn’t guess what he had to say to her or what he th
ought would change her mind.
“We’ve got some decisions to make before Tuesday, Mandy. We need time to talk.”
“I already made my decision.” Though she hadn’t been able to rid her mind of the question.
Every time she looked into Ty’s dark, dangerous eyes, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to wed the man. What would it be like to finally feel all the power of his body against hers? Heck, what would it be like just to feel those demanding lips again?
Though he’d only been nineteen during that fateful summer, he’d been far more experienced than she in the loving department. There had been nothing tentative or naïve about his kisses. Or his touch. And with her, he’d found ample opportunity and an eager partner. But that was then. She was older, and hopefully wiser, and a lot more demanding in her own right.
She just wished she didn’t feel an electric zing ping through her when he was in sight. If there wasn’t that ludicrous provision, and the fact he was ready to sell her company, things might have even happened naturally in the one-night-stand department. But only one night. Just to see.
“There’s no decision until Tuesday. And I think we owe it to JM—and ourselves—to give it the weekend. Once we make a choice, there’s no going back. Don’t tell me you’re afraid to have a drink together.”
She shrugged out of his grasp, hoping to break that potent spell that wrapped around her whenever he was near.
“Not afraid. Just not interested.”
“Most women I know would be interested.”
“I’m not most women.”
“Not often someone offers you a company in return for a six-month relationship.” He stood there, sleeves rolled up, arms crossed over his chest and an amused expression on his face, like this was some game. Fine hair dusted his forearms, and a five o’clock shadow outlined his jaw. She should be appalled at his arrogance, but instead she was rattled by the fact he actually wanted to get married.
