by Marin Thomas
“I was surprised you stayed in Stagecoach after you graduated,” Tony said, changing the subject.
“Really? Why?”
“Memories.” Tony balled up his burger wrapper. “I’ve been trying to get out of this place for a long time.”
Lucy wanted to ask if Tony was on the run from the memories of their brief affair or Michael’s death. She, on the other hand, preferred to smother herself in the memories. “My father said you put in for a job transfer to San Diego.”
“I’m ready for a new challenge.”
That was a bald-faced lie. Tony had told her plenty of times how much he loved Arizona, and that when he stopped rodeoing he intended to become a border patrol agent so he could stay put. Lucy’s heart ached that her mistake was forcing him to leave the home he loved. If she confessed that she was the reason Michael had driven home drunk from the bar, would Tony change his mind about leaving?
The truth won’t bring Michael back.
The thought made Lucy feel even guiltier.
“If we’re successful in shutting down this human-trafficking ring, I’m positive I’ll get my transfer.”
“I doubt your mother is happy about you transferring.”
“At least I’m not moving across the country.” He waved a hand. “Forget about my job. I want to know why you’re driving wasted cowboys home. Don’t you want to do something worthwhile with your business degree?”
She was doing something worthwhile—saving lives. But how many lives would she have to save to make up for Michael’s? “For now, I’m content running my nonprofit business.” Until she found the courage to come clean with her parents about the circumstances surrounding Michael’s death, Lucy didn’t have a whole lot of options.
“Have you ever been threatened by a passenger?”
Although she’d never admit it, there had been one passenger last year who’d made her keep her pepper spray close at hand. After that night she’d informed the bar managers where she was taking the cowboys. If she suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth, the sheriff could ask a few questions and figure out her route. “Most cowboys are decent, God-fearing men who treat women with respect, whether they’re drunk or not.”
“That may be true, but a girl like you—” Tony leaned closer and his masculine scent went straight to Lucy’s head “—would test any cowboy’s morals and values.”
Chapter Three
Was he nuts?
Tony had no business kissing Lucy, but he did anyway. Emboldened by her soft moan, he thrust his tongue inside her mouth, her sweet taste reminding him of the nights they’d shared on the rodeo circuit. His body shook with need, memories fueling his desire.
On the verge of losing control, he ended the kiss—or tried to. Lucy’s mouth followed his when he pulled away, their ragged breathing filling the truck cab. Damn. The joke was on him. He’d kissed Lucy because he’d been trying to make a point about her safety, but the sizzling chemistry between them proved that two years of trying to put this woman behind him had been in vain. He’d better keep his guard up, or she’d make him forget his reasons for leaving Stagecoach.
Lucy pressed her fingertips to her lips and mumbled, “What did you do that for?”
“Do you want me to apologize?”
“Do you want to apologize?”
“Not really,” Tony said.
A woman like Lucy came along once in a man’s lifetime, and he’d blown his shot with her. Who was he kidding? Even if they had gone through with their plan to tell their parents about their relationship, Cal Durango would have made Tony’s life miserable until he’d broken up with Lucy. No way would the wealthy, prominent businessman have allowed Tony anywhere near his daughter.
“Tony.”
“What?”
“I’m still mad at you.”
“For what?”
“For ignoring me after Michael died.”
Tony tensed. He didn’t want to discuss this.
“Why didn’t you return my calls after his funeral?” she asked.
“I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.”
“Okay. I’ll buy that, but we were all grieving, Tony, and I really needed you.”
“I’m sorry.” The walls were closing in on him. “I couldn’t be with anyone.”
“I thought what we’d shared meant something to you.”
The wounded look on Lucy’s face squeezed his heart, but he remained silent. There wasn’t anything he could say in his defense.
“I felt so alone,” she said.
Not as alone as he had felt after he’d been banned from Michael’s funeral service. He’d gotten the message loud and clear—now that Michael was gone, Cal Durango had no use for Tony. In truth, he might have found the nerve to stand up to Durango and insist he was good enough for Lucy, but he didn’t have the right to after he’d ditched Michael in the bar. That decision had sealed Tony’s fate and convinced him that the best thing to do was to keep his distance from Lucy.
Unable to stop himself, Tony tucked a strand of blond hair behind Lucy’s ear. Maybe fate had brought them together again so he could apologize for Michael’s death—not that he expected an apology to absolve him of his sins. “I’m sorry, Lucy. Sorry Michael died.” Sorry things ended the way they did between us.
“Michael’s death still doesn’t feel real to me.”
Memories hurled Tony back in time. Lucy had phoned at 4:00 a.m. with the devastating news that her brother’s vehicle had run off the road and he’d been pronounced dead at the scene. Lucy had told him not to bother driving out to the crash, because medics had already taken Michael’s body to the hospital.
Tony hadn’t known what to do. His mother had been working the night shift at the truck stop and he was alone in the trailer. He’d paced the floor, wishing Lucy or Mrs. Durango would insist he mourn with them at the ranch. Not until his mother walked through the door several hours later had Tony broken down. When the day of the funeral arrived, he’d driven to the church, desperate for a final glimpse of his best friend, but Cal Durango had denied him even that.
The pressure building in Tony’s chest crushed his lungs. Forcing the words past his lips, he said, “It was my fault Michael died.”
Lucy sucked in a quiet breath. “It was not your fault, Tony.”
“I shouldn’t have left your brother at the bar.”
“Why did you?” Lucy squeezed his hand.
The truth wasn’t flattering. He’d been angry that Michael’s leap to the top of the standings meant Tony had to sacrifice being with Lucy in order to travel the circuit with Michael as he made a run for the National Finals Rodeo title. Don’t blame Michael. Tony could have quit rodeo but he hadn’t been able to walk away from the deep bond he’d shared with his best friend since childhood.
Tony spit out a lie. “I was tired and I didn’t feel like drinking that night.” He pulled his hand from Lucy’s—he didn’t deserve sympathy or compassion.
Lucy closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the seat. Tony regretted that the conversation upset her. “If I’d known that Michael intended to drink until he was wasted, I would have stuck it out at the bar with him.” His apology failed to make Tony feel better, which reinforced his belief that he didn’t deserve to be happy after what he’d done or, in this case, hadn’t done to prevent Michael’s death.
A shrill ring startled them. Lucy answered her cell phone. “Pony Express, Lucy speaking.” She tapped the truck horn and the waitress removed the food tray. Lucy put the truck into Reverse and backed out of the spot. “Not a problem. I’ll be there in thirty minutes or less.” She disconnected the call.
“Where to now?”
“Willie’s.”
Willie’s Wet Whistle had been a favorite haunt of Michael’s.
“The Cowboy Rebels are playing to a packed house and Carter—” Lucy looked both ways before pulling onto the road and heading back to the Saguaro Cactus Lounge “—said a couple of guys have reached their limit and he wants them gone before they pick a fight.”
“Carter should call the cops if his customers are giving him trouble.”
“He’d rather I haul the cowboys away than risk the sheriff’s deputy closing him down for the night.”
Tony hated the thought of Lucy alone on the road with drunken men.
She’s not your girl. You have no say in what she does.
Lucy turned into the lounge and parked next to the Pony Express van. Before they got out of his truck, he said, “Mind if I ride along with you tonight?” What the heck else did he have to do but go home and worry about Lucy’s safety?
“Okay.” Lucy smiled. “I doubt the passengers will give me any trouble with a border patrol agent riding shotgun.”
* * *
“YOU MISSED THE turnoff,” Tony said.
Shoot. Lucy had been thinking about Tony’s confession that he was to blame for Michael’s death. “Sorry.” She slowed the van, checked her mirrors and made a U-turn. She hadn’t believed she could feel any guiltier than she already did, but Tony’s admission twisted the screws tighter.
Tell him it isn’t his fault. Tell him it’s your fault.
Too late. The lot at Willie’s was jammed, so Lucy parked in front of the entrance—an oversize royal-blue door that sported a silhouette of a cowboy. The dance hall reminded Lucy of an airplane hangar—a windowless aluminum building with a rusty tin roof. Giant swamp coolers circulated damp air while the metal doors at both ends of the building had been rolled up, allowing the music to spill into the desert.
“Wait here,” Lucy said.
“Are you kidding? I want to see you in action.” Tony followed her into the bar.
Lucy winced at the loud music as she wove through the maze of sweaty bodies and worked her way up to the bar, where the owner poured drinks. Carter spotted her and nodded. The former Phoenix Cardinal linebacker had retired in Yuma and opened Willie’s five years ago. When Lucy reached him, he motioned to the guys sitting at a nearby table.
“Bobby Ray and Billy John,” Carter shouted above the noise. “Good luck.” He handed Lucy a set of keys.
Tony intercepted the pass and snatched the key ring.
“You hire a new driver?” Carter glanced between Lucy and Tony.
“Carter Hawkins…Tony Bravo,” Lucy said. They shook hands.
“I remember you,” Carter said. “You rode bulls with Lucy’s brother.”
“And you had a pretty good career with the Cardinals,” Tony said.
“I did.” Carter grinned. “Still ride bulls?”
“Every now and then. Tonight I’m riding along with Lucy.”
“Good.” Carter pointed to her customers. “Billy John is harmless but Bobby Ray’s a hothead.” One of the waitresses called Carter’s name and the owner walked off.
“I’ll handle these guys,” Tony said.
Tony’s take-charge attitude didn’t offend Lucy. He wouldn’t be a good border patrol agent if he wasn’t self-assured and confident. “Let’s go,” Tony said to the men.
The cowboys stared with stony expressions. Time to pour on the charm. “Evenin’, gentlemen.” Lucy smiled sweetly. “You’ve bought yourselves a ticket on the Pony Express.” The line sounded corny but most of her customers chuckled.
Casting evil glares at Carter, the men rose to their feet and stumbled toward the exit. Once they stepped outside, Lucy asked, “Where are you fellas from?”
“Yuma,” Bobby Ray said.
She unlocked the side door on the van. “You looking for a ride into town then?”
“Unless you’re offerin’ a different kind of ride tonight?” Bobby Ray leered at Lucy, and Billy John snickered.
Tony stepped forward, but Lucy blocked his path. She’d use Tony as backup only if necessary. “Sorry, but you won’t find that kind of ride in this van.”
“Aw, c’mon, sugar.”
When Bobby Ray made a move toward Lucy, she grabbed his forearm and spun, tossing him over her shoulder and onto the ground. Before the cowboy knew what had happened, Lucy had planted her boot heel against his windpipe. “Rule number one. Don’t mess with the driver. Got that, Bobby Ray?”
Tony whistled low between his teeth. “Nice job.”
Secretly pleased she’d impressed Tony, Lucy said, “If you gentlemen mind your manners, I’ll give you a lift into Yuma. If not, you sit in the parking lot until the sheriff arrives. What’ll it be?”
Bobby Ray grimaced. “Yuma.”
“Shut up and behave, Bobby.” Billy John helped his friend off the ground. “Sue Ann will have my head if I don’t come home tonight.”
“Either of you carrying a weapon?” Lucy asked.
“No, ma’am.” Both men raised their arms in the air.
“Lift your jeans up over your boots.” Satisfied neither cowboy carried a knife or a gun, Lucy said, “Get in.”
Tony closed the van door then hopped into the front passenger seat.
“Who are you?” Billy John asked Tony after Lucy started the engine.
“Tony Bravo. Border patrol agent.”
“Someone give me an address.” Lucy input the information into the GPS as Billy John recited it.
“How often do you end up at the wrong house?” Tony asked.
“Never. But Hector’s landed in a few strange places.”
“That was pretty impressive,” Tony said. “Where’d you learn to flip a guy onto his back?”
“I took a self-defense class in college.” She left out that she’d dated her instructor, Keith, for nine months.
“I’m glad you know how to defend yourself, but you should have a partner if you’re going to drive the van.”
“Quit harassing me. You’re worse than my parents.” Lucy had thought long and hard before making the decision to start up the Pony Express. She’d weighed the pros and cons, but in the end the only thing that had mattered was saving lives.
Halfway to Yuma, Bobby Ray crawled into the third seat and fell asleep. His quiet snores served as background music to Billy John’s conversation with Tony about border security.
Lucy followed the GPS map and ended up at the Desert Sands Apartments. “Which way?” she asked, turning into the entrance.
“Third building on the right.” Billy John unbuckled his belt when the van stopped. “How much do we owe you?”
“Nothing. The Pony Express is free, but if you’re feeling generous you can leave a tip to help pay for gas.” Lucy held out a mason jar and Billy John dropped a five-dollar bill in it then roused Bobby Ray.
Tony steadied the man as he stumbled from the van.
“Stay home the rest of the night, okay?” Lucy said.
“Yes, ma’am.” Billy John lugged his friend up the sidewalk to the apartment.
Lucy waited until the men went inside before pulling away. Tony remained quiet, but she sensed he had something to say. “You might as well spit it out.”
“I underestimated you.”
“How so?”
“You’re a rich, spoiled girl.”
“Yes, I am.” Or she had been until her father cut off her inheritance.
“I never imagined you caring about what happens to lowlifes.”
“Just because a cowboy drinks a little too much doesn’t mean he’s scum. Most of the guys who catch a lift home from the Pony Express are hardworking ranch hands or down-on-their-luck rodeo cowboys.”
Lucy tuned the radio to a country station and returned to the Saguaro Cactus Lounge. Tony remained quiet during the drive and she found his silence comforting, no
t nerve-racking. As soon as she pulled into the parking lot of the bar her phone rang. Shannon Douglas. “Sorry, I have to take this call.”
“No problem. Thanks for the ride-along, and watch yourself tonight.” Tony hopped out and shut the door before she had a chance to hand him his truck keys. He’d probably forgotten she had them from earlier in the evening.
“Hi, Shannon, what’s up?” Lucy’s blood pumped faster through her veins as she listened to the good news.
“Great. Thanks so much. I’ll arrive at the rodeo a couple of hours before my ride.” Lucy grabbed the pen and notepad she kept in the van and scribbled down information about the Ajo rodeo the middle of May. “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”
When Shannon lectured her on the importance of being in top physical shape, Lucy said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’ve found someone to help me train for the rodeo.” She crossed her fingers, hoping she hadn’t told a lie.
After disconnecting the call, she let out a whoop of joy. Shannon had persuaded Wrangler to allow Lucy to ride in three summer rodeos to raise money for the Pony Express. The two rodeos following Ajo were yet to be determined. Lucy left the van and waited for Tony to come out of the bar.
“Looking for these?” She jingled the keychain when he stepped outside. “I have a huge favor to ask, but I’m positive you’ll say no.” She handed over the keys.
“Then why ask?”
“I have no one else to turn to.”
“What do you need help with?”
“Teach me to ride bulls.”
His mouth sagged.
“Please, Tony. I’ve organized a fundraiser—”
“No.”
“Is that a no or a maybe no?”
“No means no, Lucy.”
“I realize this came out of left field, but—”
“You have no business on the back of a bull.” Good God, Tony thought. The woman was small-boned, five-feet-six or -seven inches tall at the most, and probably weighed less than one-ten, sopping wet.
“This is important, Tony.”
He’d worked for the border patrol long enough to tell the difference between people who were serious and sane and those who were serious and insane. Lucy was dead serious—whether she was sane or insane was anyone’s guess. “Why do you need to ride a bull?”
