by Marin Thomas
“Michael’s rodeo buddies are passing their boots through the stands collecting donations for Lucy’s charity—the Pony Express.” When the applause died down, the announcer said, “The Pony Express is a free shuttle service for cowboys who’ve celebrated a bit too much at the local honky-tonks and require the services of a designated driver.”
Hoots and hollers echoed through the arena. “Folks, Lucy Durango will attempt to ride Migraine, and for each second this young lady stays on the bull…”
Tony blocked out the announcer’s voice and spoke to Lucy. “Remember to relax your spine.” If she remained too stiff when the bull left the chute, she wouldn’t last through the first buck.
“I will.”
There were so many things he needed to warn her about, but all he managed was a nod.
She straddled Migraine then fiddled with her grip on the rope, lining up her pinky finger in the middle of the bull’s back. Tony scanned the crowd for Cal and Sonja Durango but saw no sign of the couple—probably best that they weren’t present. Viewing Michael’s final ride would have opened old wounds.
While the announcer droned on about Wrangler matching Lucy’s donations, Tony sidled up to the chute. Look at me, Lucy. She must have heard his silent plea, because she turned her head. “You’re going to be okay.” He didn’t want her to try to hold on too long. “Don’t be a hero.”
“Heroine.” She flashed a shaky smile behind the face mask then shifted her focus to the gateman and tipped her head. The chute door opened and Tony scrambled to the top rail to watch the action. Time froze—even the bull appeared to move in slow motion before his eyes.
Migraine’s first buck threw Lucy forward and she struggled to stay centered. At the three-second mark, she slid parallel with Migraine’s side and he prayed to God she wouldn’t end up beneath the bull. His heart stopped beating as he watched her struggle to free her hand from the rope. When it came loose she managed to use the heel of her boot to push off. Her landing wasn’t pretty but she’d kept enough distance between her and the bull to avoid a stomping.
Run, Lucy!
She sprang to her feet and dashed for safety while Migraine headed in the opposite direction.
“Woo-wee, folks! Lucy Durango made it three seconds on the back of Migraine! Let’s show that courageous girl we appreciate her effort!”
The fans applauded and Lucy waved her hat to the crowd before stepping through the gate into the cowboy ready area.
Tony was there to greet her. “You did great.”
“Thanks.” Was it his imagination or was her smile strained? Cowboys congratulated Lucy, but the wrinkle across her brow deepened.
“What’s the matter?”
“I bruised my wrist.”
His gaze dropped to her hands. “Which one?”
“The right.”
“Let me help you with your gear and then we’ll have a medic check you over.” First the helmet, then the vest. The fact Lucy didn’t protest Tony helping her confirmed she was in pain. He packed her gear in the bag then escorted her to the first-aid area, where he hovered as a medic examined her wrist.
“A bad sprain,” the paramedic said. He used a compression wrap on her wrist and forearm, then handed Lucy an ice pack.
“Hey, Lucy!” Shannon Douglas appeared. “What happened?”
“Sprained wrist. It’s nothing.”
“Will you be able to ride next weekend?”
“Sure.”
“That’s good.” Shannon patted Lucy’s shoulder. “The rodeo committee is counting the donations and they’ll send you a check next week. I gave them your address.”
“And Wrangler’s matching that amount, right?” Lucy asked.
Shannon frowned. “I thought you understood.”
“Understood what?” Tony invited himself into the conversation.
“Wrangler will match your donations dollar for dollar, but only if you ride in all three rodeos.”
“I assumed it was per rodeo.” Lucy swayed and Tony grasped her arm, worried the stress of the bull ride and her injury was making her light-headed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t explain it better,” Shannon said.
“Don’t tell Wrangler about my sprained wrist.”
“Mum’s the word. Gotta go. My ride’s coming up.” Shannon left and Tony picked up Lucy’s gear bag. He guided her to the exit, stopping first at a concession stand to buy her a soft drink. The sugar and caffeine would keep her alert. Once they reached the parking lot, he asked, “Can you drive?”
“Of course.”
“Call me on my cell if you suddenly don’t feel well.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“We’ll stop to eat on the way,” he said.
“I’m not hungry.”
He didn’t know whether to be hurt, angry or indifferent to the fact that Lucy didn’t want to discuss what had happened between them the other night. When they reached her truck, he tossed the gear bag into the backseat. “If you change your mind about grabbing a bite to eat—”
“There’s no need to babysit me, Tony. I’m a big girl.”
When she opened the truck door, Tony put his hand against the frame, “Wait.”
She made eye contact and he cringed at the coolness in her gaze. What happened to the girl who’d been glad he’d shown up at the rodeo today? Miffed, he blurted, “About the other night—”
“It was a mistake.”
A mistake? Shit. When Lucy put a guy down, she buried him ten feet under. “Do I owe you an apology?”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. We were both consenting adults. No harm done.” She refused to meet his gaze. “Are you going to let me get into my truck?”
Tony removed his hand from the door. “Rest your wrist and don’t practice this week.”
“You worry too much, Tony.”
You don’t worry enough, Lucy. “Drive safe.” Tony watched the truck turn out of the parking lot and disappear from sight.
As far as days went…this one sure as hell sucked.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday morning Lucy stood in front of the office window in the barn, which offered a view of the gardens behind the house. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her mother do yard work when the temperature had already reached eighty-five by ten o’clock.
Watching her mother pull weeds brought back memories of days gone by when Lucy would hold the weed bucket and follow her mother around the yard. They’d chitchat about insects, flowers and lizards, and her mother would warn Lucy to look before she stepped in case there were snakes hiding in the rocks. Feeling nostalgic, Lucy left the barn.
“Hey, Mom.” She approached the stone path where her mother knelt on a foam garden pad.
Her mother sat back on her heels and wiped her shirt sleeve across her brow. “I can’t believe how big this bush has grown since Michael planted it.”
Lucy dropped to her knees and tugged awkwardly with her left hand at the crabgrass growing beneath the Red Bird of Paradise shrub. Her brother had bought the bush as a mother’s-day gift five years ago.
“You know what, Mom?”
“What, dear?”
“I think you should spread Michael’s ashes beneath this bush, then when you come out here to garden you can be with him.”
Tears welled in her mother’s eyes and Lucy held her hand. They sat in silence for several minutes before her mother nodded. “That’s a wonderful idea. I’ll talk to your father about it.”
As they worked side by side, her mother kept glancing at the elastic wrap around Lucy’s right wrist. Lucy wanted to reassure her that she wouldn’t get injured in the next rodeo, but doubted her mother would believe her.
Her mother saved them both from the uncomfortable subje
ct. “Whatever happened to that young man you dated before your brother died?”
“What young—” How could Lucy have forgotten the tale she’d spun to cover her tracks when she’d left the ASU campus to meet up with Tony on the road? Drat. What was his name?
“I think you said his name was Eric.”
Her mother’s recollection triggered Lucy’s memory. “Eric Smith. I met him at a frat party.”
“That’s right. Where was he from again?”
“Chicago. We’d only been on a few dates, but he was nice enough.”
“Why don’t you invite him out to the ranch for a visit? Or maybe we could schedule a shopping trip to Chicago.”
Lucy and her mother hadn’t chatted about girl things like shopping and boyfriends in a long time and suddenly Lucy wished with all her heart that Eric Smith was real.
“I lost touch with him after I moved back home, Mom.”
Her mother stood. “I think that’s enough weed pulling.” She returned the mat to her garden bench then said, “I made a pitcher of sangria last night. Would you like a glass?”
“It’s a little early to drink, isn’t it?”
Her mother’s eyes twinkled. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, isn’t it?”
Lucy laughed. “Okay, you talked me into it.”
Her mother disappeared inside the house and Lucy made herself comfortable on the outdoor sectional.
Her mother returned with the pitcher and two hand-blown glass goblets. She poured the drinks then settled into the chair next to the sectional and put her feet up on the ottoman.
“This is tasty, Mom, thanks.”
“I worry about you, Lucinda.”
“Me? Why?”
“I never expected you to settle down in Stagecoach.”
“Why? You did.” Her mother had been born and raised in Southern California and had met Lucy’s father when they’d both attended Stanford.
“I didn’t have a choice. I loved your father and he was expected to take over the mine after he graduated.”
“Any regrets?” Lucy asked.
“What are you referring to—your father or living in Arizona?”
Lucy laughed. “Arizona.”
“The desert has grown on me, but there are times I miss the lushness of California.”
“Is that why Dad planted so many palm trees in the yard?”
“I think he was worried I’d change my mind and return to California so he brought the Golden State here to me.”
“It’s a lucky thing for Dad that the ranch sits above an underground spring. There’s no way all this vegetation would survive without water.”
“After all this time, I still don’t understand why you chose to go to college in-state when you had the grades and the opportunity to go anywhere you wanted.”
“I wasn’t ready to leave home,” Lucy said. That was the truth. By her senior year of high school, she’d developed a huge crush on Tony. He hadn’t given her the time of day and she’d naively believed that once she went off to college he’d see her as a desirable woman and not his best friend’s sister. That never happened the first year of school, and eventually Lucy moved on and dated other boys. But it was no surprise that her two serious relationships in college hadn’t worked out in the end—the poor guys had never measured up to Tony.
Her luck had changed when she’d gone to one of her brother’s rodeos on a whim. Afterward, she’d celebrated with Michael and Tony at a local honky-tonk. She’d worn a pair of extra-tight jeans that night and a sexy tank top with rhinestones that sparkled and drew the stares of several cowboys. Tony asked her to dance to a slow song, and right there on the floor their attraction to each other exploded in their faces and the rest was history.
“Tell me the truth,” her mother said. “And I mean it, Lucy. I want the truth—don’t lie to me.”
“Okay.”
“Are you staying in Stagecoach because of me?”
“No!”
“Then why? Is the Pony Express really what you want to do with the rest of your life?”
“It’s a noble cause, Mom.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t. But you were meant for better things, Lucy.”
So was Michael.
“There are other ways you can honor your brother’s memory.”
Really? “How?”
“Be happy. You’ll never find a young man to fall in love with if you stay in Stagecoach. Michael wouldn’t want you to remain single all your life.” Her mother smiled. “And I’d like to be a grandmother before I leave this earth.”
Lucy chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I can’t picture you as a grandmother.”
Her mother smiled. “I know I’ve been busy with my charities, but after Michael died… I’m ready to slow down and appreciate the little things in life.”
“Grandchildren aren’t little things. They’re loud, smelly and rude.”
Her mother’s laughter soothed Lucy’s bruised soul. “Grandchildren will drive your father crazy and won’t that be fun to watch.”
“Mom!”
“Seriously, dear, you need to make plans for your life. You know your father will help you find a job if you want to move to Chicago.”
“You’re trying to get me to give up the Pony Express, aren’t you?”
“I’m doing what any mother who loves her daughter would do—I’m trying to help you move on from your brother’s death.”
Lucy wanted to ask her mother when she would move on but held her tongue.
“And, I confess, I’m worried something will happen to you when you drive that van.”
“I appreciate your worry but—”
“Lucy. You’re the only child I have left. I love you and I don’t want to lose you, but more important, I want you to live your life for you and not in your brother’s shadow.” She waved a hand in the air. “Sometimes when tragedy strikes, a person needs a fresh start. Your father and I are tied to the ranch so we’ll never leave the area, but you’re young. You can start over in a new place.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
Her mother dropped her gaze to the drink in her hand. “I’d love it if you remained in Stagecoach, but only if you can be happy here.”
“What if I find a man right here in Stagecoach?”
“That would be wonderful, but I doubt you will.” She sat forward in her chair and hugged Lucy. “Just know that you have my support if you feel the need to move on.”
“What about you, Mom? Are you ready to move on?”
Her mother’s gaze shifted to the Red Bird of Paradise. “I’m getting there, dear.”
Lucy squeezed her hand. “I love you, Mom.”
“And I love you, too, sweetheart.”
Her mother’s love wrapped around her like a warm cloak and Lucy savored the feeling, knowing the truth would destroy their bond.
* * *
THE CONSTANT CLICKING of the office printer did little to drown out Tony’s thoughts as he sat at his desk staring at the case file in front of him. Monday morning was either boring, because nothing had happened over the weekend, or busy, because all hell had broken loose.
The only hell breaking loose this past weekend was Lucy’s bull ride in Ajo. Since then, Tony had lost count of the number of times he’d checked his cell phone for messages—not one from Lucy.
He shoved a hand through his short hair. If only they hadn’t slept together, his heart wouldn’t feel as if it were being ripped to shreds. He wished he could talk to his mother about his feelings for Lucy, but he knew what side of the fence she stood on and she’d only point out all the reasons they shouldn’t be together.
Aside from the usual Monday-afternoon meetings, his da
y remained wide open. He’d already called P. T. Lewis and informed him that Lucy had sprained her wrist in Ajo and shouldn’t practice on Curly this week. Shoot, someone needed to give P.T. a heads-up, and it wouldn’t be Lucy. The Cibola Rodeo was six days away. If Lucy felt an urge to practice, she could use the bucking machine.
Tony set aside the file he’d been reading and logged on to the internet. He clicked on the Favorites menu, then on the Pony Express website. He stared in astonishment at the flashing dollar amount displayed on the home page—eleven-thousand dollars.
The competitor in Tony wanted Lucy to go the distance to see how much money she could raise, but the guy who was losing his heart to her wished she’d walk away from the final two rodeos and not risk further injury.
Tony wasn’t sure how long he’d been glued to the computer screen when he became aware of the giant belt buckle in the shape of a gold nugget on the other side of his desk. Bracing himself, Tony exited Lucy’s website then lifted his head and stared into Cal Durango’s steely eyes. Intuition insisted Lucy’s father hadn’t stopped by to chat about the department’s surveillance plans at the mine. Noticing his coworkers had stopped talking, Tony stood. “Let’s talk in the hallway.” He led the way out of the office, closing the door behind Durango. “What brings you into Yuma today?”
“You’re the one helping my daughter kill herself, aren’t you?” Durango didn’t mince words.
“I did my best to talk Lucy out of her fundraising idea, but she’s stubborn. She wouldn’t listen.”
“And because she wouldn’t listen, you decided to take her under your wing and teach her everything you know about bull riding, which, if I recall, isn’t much.”
The insult jarred Tony, but he held his temper in check. “I’m not teaching her how to ride, I’m teaching her how to survive.”
Durango’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly and delivered a counter blow. “You won’t be happy until you take both my children from me, will you?”
Tony curled his hands into fists and it took every ounce of strength not to throw a punch at Lucy’s father.
“You stay away from my daughter or—”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll make sure your transfer to San Diego doesn’t happen.”
