“Let’s recap the steps. First you catch them all.” Shane smiled that nonthreatening smile of his, the one he’d used when he’d admitted he had no skill prepping horses to ride. “I’m sure word will get out that you’re looking for bull riders. Maybe you should advertise that you’ll train young cowboys how to ride, or let them practice bull riding for free. Like an internship. Or, maybe you should open up your call list to women.”
“No.” She scowled. “And no.”
He gave her a funny look.
“No,” she said again, this time louder. “It’s not a summer trail ride on some dude ranch. These are large animals with small amounts of patience. And those are the domesticated ones. These aren’t starter bulls with training wheels.”
He frowned. “Life isn’t safe. Accidents happen. Things go south. I get it now. You need bodies, preferably qualified bodies to—”
“Would you stop using the word bodies.” Franny’s stomach had plummeted back into knots, and she rubbed her hands over her face. “That’s exactly what I’ll get if I follow your suggestions.” All it would take was another injury or—heaven forbid—death for her insurance to skyrocket and her resolve to keep things going to crumble.
Shane stopped talking. He stopped being the attractive man sitting next to her on a wooden bench that needed a coat of paint. There was a quietness to him that spoke of empathy, not teasing attraction. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.”
There was. “My husband... Kyle was...” Franny swallowed thickly. “Kyle was killed by a bull while trying to bring in our strays alone.” Although she sometimes suspected he’d gone out to capture a feral. “He was killed by a wild bull on the ridge above our property.” Gored. Organs punctured. Limbs trampled. His face. His sweet, handsome face...
Franny held her breath, held in the grief and the hurt as it welled behind her eyes.
In the living room, the boys cheered over the performance of someone playing a video game.
In the mudroom, Shane took her hand. His face was a different kind of handsome than Kyle’s had been, more refined and in some ways harder. He brushed a lock of her hair into place. “You aren’t planning on training those bulls alone, are you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I need another type of bull.”
“I don’t understand.”
Franny sighed. “Fact—this ranch used to make a fortune at selling killer bulls to the rodeo circuit.”
Shane didn’t say anything for a beat too long. “How long ago?”
His question confused her. “How long since Kyle died?”
“No. You said this place used to make a fortune. How long has it been since the Bucking Bull earned a generous profit?”
Franny pressed her eyes closed. She’d married Kyle ten years ago. They’d never made a fortune since she’d lived on the ranch. “Maybe six years ago, when Gertie’s husband, Percy, died.” She opened her eyes. And wasn’t that a revelation. She let out a half-hysterical laugh. “I’d been thinking it was all my fault. That our financial woes were recent.” When in fact they’d been there all along. Franny blew out a breath. There was still fear riding in her chest, but there was an ease to her shoulders that hadn’t been there before.
“My offer still stands,” Shane said. “I can ride a horse and say get along little doggies.”
Franny leaned back to take him in—from his disheveled black polo to his wrinkled khakis. “Tell me the truth. You’re not really a Monroe, are you?” He couldn’t be if he was offering to help a struggling rancher.
He chuckled, spreading his arms. “Don’t believe what you read in the press.” Instead of returning his hands to his lap, he captured one of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “In business, you have to decide if the fight to stay in business is worth the effort. Or the risk. And it sounds like, in your business, the physical risk is great.”
The image of shadowy eyes in the trees pressed on Franny’s chest. She explained about the feral bulls. She told him about the cunning one that had hit the post rail defending his herd.
“How many wild bulls do you need to satisfy the stockman?”
Franny’s mouth fell open. “How many?” It was overwhelming to think beyond one.
“Remember?” His hand was warm on hers. His gaze steady as a rock. “Stick to the facts. Let’s say you train a few of your own stock to round out the package and make the whole thing look attractive for sale—how many feral bulls would you need?”
“Two or three if he’s looking for ten. Five if he’s on the market for twenty.” She pulled her hand free. “But don’t. Don’t try and plant hope in my heart. I can’t find cowboys to even train our stock, much less catch ferals.”
Shane tapped his forehead. “Logistics, remember. Two of my cousins came back to town today, one of which is my cousin Bo, who was raised on a ranch in Texas. That’s enough bodies to round up the rest of your herd. And if need be, I can cover for Emily at Sophie’s shop. Retail should have been my middle name.”
More weight was lifted from her shoulders, just enough to keep hope alive. “And the bull riders?”
“This country is full of cowboys. Make some more calls. You’ll find someone. Keep your spirits up.”
And pray, she added.
Because someone was bound to get hurt.
And she wished with all her might it wasn’t Shane.
* * *
ANDY SNORED.
He was lying across the top of the sofa in the Clarks’ living room, arms hanging down on either side of the couch where Shane was trying to sleep.
On the opposite end of the couch, Alex was lying across his legs and snoring, too.
The rain had moved on. But everything dripped outside. Drip, drip, drip. The moon moved in and out of the clouds. And there was the snoring.
“Listen,” he muttered, thinking of his conversation with Gertie. Oh, he was listening, all right.
On the floor near Shane’s shoulders, Bolt, the Clark’s Labrador, was lying on his back, feet in the air, also snoring.
Shane wondered if he snored. He wondered if establishing the historical significance of Second Chance would be enough to spark tourism and protect the town from vultures like his father. He needed things to prosper in town if he was going to head all the family’s businesses one day. He wondered why he’d told Franny about his past. He wondered if it was wise to help Franny when, increasingly, he wanted to kiss her.
It wasn’t in his nature to renege on a deal, although she had the most kissable lips and he wasn’t going to stick around town forever. He wasn’t setting down roots here. He wasn’t a cowboy looking for a ranch to work on. He wasn’t looking to be a father to three rambunctious boys. Franny needed all that from a man and more. And yet...
I promised.
Not just Franny, but Zeke and Gertie.
Bolt pawed the couch cushion near Shane’s head.
Shane inched closer to the back of the couch and bumped Andy’s hand with his head. His nephew startled and clutched Shane’s short hair, trying to find balance. Shane stifled a cry and steadied his nephew’s arm. Alex sat up, as if sensing his brother’s distress, and then flopped forward and drove his elbows into Shane’s legs. Bolt sat up, surveyed the situation and put his two front paws on the cushion beneath Shane’s shoulder.
“No,” Shane whispered, shooing the dog aside.
With one hand on Andy to keep his nephew from falling off the couch, Shane sat up. He scooped the boy into his arms and walked down the hall to Emily’s room, then tucked him into bed because that’s where the twins had started the evening. Shane returned for Alex and slid him beneath the quilts next to his brother.
With a running start, Bolt managed to leap on the foot of the bed. He circled, pawed the quilt to his liking and then settled down with a sigh.
“Stay,” Shane whispered, backing out of
the room. The couch would be ten times more comfortable without this trio, lumps and all.
He padded to the living room, pausing to put another couple of logs on the fire.
Movement outside the window caught his eye—a large, four-legged body moved in and out of the trees on the other side of the barn. Except the longer he stared in its direction, the less it seemed to be anything other than a shadow from a cloud drifting overhead.
Shane settled on the couch, wondering...
If that had been one of Franny’s feral bulls, it had been big.
But it couldn’t have been a wild bull this close to the house...
Could it?
CHAPTER NINE
FRANNY CAME DOWN the stairs early the next morning with her mind made up.
First order of business? Put distance between herself and Shane. She’d kept herself awake last night marveling at his no-nonsense approach to her problems.
And the warmth in his brown eyes.
She pulled herself up short at the thought.
There will be no appreciation of the warmth in his eyes.
She continued down the stairs.
Second order of business? Ride Danger to check to see if the road was passable for Shane in his SUV. The rain had finished moving through the valley sometime after midnight.
It’d be so much easier to ignore how the warmth in Shane’s eyes sparks an answering warmth in my chest if he was gone.
She stopped on the landing, staring out the front window to confirm the water wasn’t rushing through the yard the way it had been yesterday.
It wasn’t.
She stared at it a while longer because she knew what she’d see when she walked through the living room to the kitchen—Shane sleeping on the couch.
Third order of business? Ride the fence line in the ATV looking for breaks. Note to self: bring supplies to make repairs. And Kyle’s gun.
That struck a little fear in her heart, enough to bolster her courage to face the handsome man sleeping on her couch.
She turned.
Shane was lying facedown on the sofa in front of the dying fire. Alex was sprawled on top of him. Andy was draped across the couch back, arms and legs dangling on either side. And Bolt was curled between Shane’s legs.
This is worse than gazing into his eyes.
Franny swallowed.
He’s adorable.
Not that it mattered. He was like a lost show pony. Eventually, he’d find his way back to the bright lights.
Franny walked on near silent feet to the kitchen because no day truly started without at least a little caffeine. She knew the coffeemaker was set to finish brewing a pot right about now.
Shane extricated himself from his human and doggy blankets as she passed, easing Andy from the couch back onto the cushions without waking him.
His nephews and Bolt slept on.
“Need any help?” he asked as he followed Franny into the kitchen. He contorted himself as if he needed to work the kinks out of his body.
With effort, she kept from staring. “I’d ask you how you slept, but I think that’s obvious.” The coffeemaker was in the final spitting stages of finishing the brew. Franny took two mugs from the cupboard. “You look like the sandman left sand in your eyes.”
“My nephews don’t know the meaning of the words personal space.” And yet, he’d sacrificed his personal space for their comfort. The tenderness in his voice was likely to have spilled into his eyes, so she didn’t look. “I carried them back to bed twice during the night.”
Bolt joined them in the kitchen and sat on top of Shane’s bare foot. Traitor. He rarely got up in the morning until Adam did.
“Stay here while I get the barn chores done.” Franny poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Enjoy the peace and quiet.”
Staring at the gray-muzzled dog, Shane shook his head. “You can show me how to help in the barn. Even if it’s only picking up eggs.”
“You should dress like a local if you’re going to pitch in like a local.” Franny froze in midpour.
“Visitors can pitch in.” His voice was low and intimate. “No matter how they dress.”
“Regardless...” Was that her voice? It was equally low, equally husky. Her cheeks heated. “If you want to help out on the ranch, you’ll need a pair of cowboy boots. Blue jeans are recommended, but optional.”
“I know where to find boots in town. And contrary to popular local belief, I do own blue jeans.”
She wanted to lift her gaze and see his face. She kept staring into her coffee mug. “Yes, but did you bring the jeans you own with you?” Because no one in town remembered seeing him wear them.
“If you’re willing to let me help with those bulls, you’ll find out, won’t you?” The warmth. The tease. The magnetism.
Franny closed her eyes. “You make me afraid.” Afraid she’d find out too many other things about Shane Monroe, appealing things, and fall for him.
“I scare you?”
“Yes.” She opened her eyes and met his gaze, firmly, the way a woman with responsibilities would. “Because you aren’t a cowboy. Because you don’t aspire to the ranch life. And because you aren’t going to stay in Second Chance.”
“Meaning these long glances we exchange aren’t predictive of a future together.”
“Yes.” Her pulse raced. She couldn’t believe she’d told him that nothing was going to happen between them. That nothing could happen between them.
Shane cleared his throat and gestured toward her with his mug. “I appreciate your candor.”
“I appreciate you not arguing my points.” She slurped down her hot coffee, suddenly aware that Gertie’s bedroom was just off the kitchen.
“You’re the boss.” Shane drank his coffee without a sound. His gaze on hers was as soft as a caress. “What else is there to do besides collect eggs this morning, boss?”
“Mucking out stalls.”
Humor lit his dark eyes. “My cousins would say I’m good at shoveling—”
“Shhh.” She clapped a hand over his mouth, removing it almost immediately. But not before she felt his warm breath on her palm. Her heart was off to the races again. “We don’t use that word.”
Shane grinned. “I was going to say shoveling fertilizer.”
“Sure you were.”
There it was again. That warm-eyed smile that made her forget she’d been married and widowed.
“Finish your coffee,” he said. “I need a minute to wash up.”
Together, they made short work of the chores in the barn and chicken coop. Franny lingered at Buttercup’s stall. The old bull ate slowly, as if he’d lost his appetite.
“You keep a bull in the barn?” Shane had returned from dumping manure in the compost pile and parked the wheelbarrow near the equipment room.
“Buttercup is special.” Franny explained about his storied past. “He’s actually Buttercup number four. When the Clarks find a feral bull that’s successful on the rodeo circuit, he retires with the name Buttercup.”
“He’s tame then?”
The old bull raised his head and stared at Shane, as if offended by his remark.
“No. He’s far from tame.” She made sure his stall latch was secure. “That’s why I open the door to let him out in the paddock before I clean his stall.”
An engine roared to life outside.
Shane frowned. “Does Gertie drive?”
“No. That’s Davey. He probably noticed we’re out of milk and decided we need to go to the store.” Without realizing the road might still be flooded—or worse—washed out. Franny opened the barn door as Davey drove the truck toward her.
“Whoa.” Shane came up behind her. “He’s not just warming up the truck. He’s driving.” He elbowed Franny out of the way. “Can he reach the brake?”
<
br /> “He’s fine. We teach kids early how to operate machinery.”
Davey stopped the truck safely and rolled down the window. “Mom, we need milk.”
“I’ve got to check the road first.”
“I’ll do it.” Davey shut off the truck and hopped out. He ran into the barn. “Yoda loves to ride in the morning.”
“Okay. Breakfast in thirty minutes.” Franny picked up the bucket with eggs and headed for the house.
Shane dogged her steps. “You’re going to let a kid ride down the mountain alone? What about—” he lowered his voice “—the feral bull?”
“There are too many fences between the pasture where I saw the bull and the road.” Franny was already shifting gears, thinking about how to round out a meal of eggs for a crowd.
“Are you sure?” Shane glanced back toward the barn, frowning.
“History has proven me correct.” She reached the porch steps and hurried up them. It was only when she got to the front door that she realized Shane wasn’t with her.
He stood at the corner of the barn, looking at something a few feet away on the ground.
“Are you coming?” she called out to him.
Shane shook his head. “I’m going to ride the road with Davey.”
* * *
“THANKS FOR SADDLING Zeke’s horse for me.” Shane rode the sleek brown horse along the gravel road next to Davey. He searched the ground for hoofprints and the trees for large, oblong bodies.
“Pandora likes to be ridden.” Davey sat tall in the saddle and surveyed the land like a king enjoying the view. “Someday I’m going to have a horse like her. A true cattle horse trained by Grandpa Rich.”
They rounded a corner made blind by overgrown brush. Water rushed in the stream to their right. And the stream had carried the dirt and gravel road away. There was a huge gulley where the road used to be, too steep of an incline to traverse in a vehicle without ending up balancing on its headlights.
Shane pulled at his horse’s reins. “Well, this is unexpected.” He was grateful Franny hadn’t let him attempt driving away yesterday.
Lassoed by the Would-Be Rancher--A Clean Romance Page 9
