Cowboy Crush

by Liz Talley

  “But it’s so dangerous.”

  “That’s part of it. It ain’t just holding on. It’s riding. There’s a difference. And when you can hit that zone, when you know what the bull is going to do because it’s there in your bones, there’s nothing like it. Maybe it’s like getting high or something. I don’t know. But it’s indescribable.”

  His words carried a reverence. She could tell he loved climbing onto a snorting, huge monster. “So don’t you win a buckle or something? How many have you won?”

  Cal smiled and took the soapy plate from her. “I’ve won a few.”

  “You don’t want to talk about it, huh? Is it the injury?”

  “No,” he said, his lower lip curving.

  He had nice lips that knew their way around. Probably all those women who showed up at the corrals—what did they call them again? She couldn’t remember. “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m taking a break from all that right now. Trying to heal and get my mind right. Guess I don’t feel like talking about the bulls and the buckles and the—”

  “Bunnies?” she said, finally remembering the name that escaped her. “I’ve heard that term before.”

  Cal looked over at her. “Them, too.”

  Something ugly moved inside her. She didn’t like the idea of faceless women in shiny halter tops and boots kissing his boo-boos better. Which was strange because she had no stake in Cal. He was a guy who’d done her a solid a few days ago, a guy she’d hired for a job, and pretty much the one person in Texas she could count on. Who he screwed or didn’t screw shouldn’t bother her.

  But it did.

  She peered out into the Texas night through a window that needed serious cleaning as she scrubbed the dishes. The dishwasher was already full of the cookware and silverware. Thankfully it had worked, as had the dried-up chunk of dish-washing detergent she’d pried out of the Cascade box under the sink. Cal remained silent, taking the plates she handed to him, drying and stacking them in a pile on the counter.

  The whole scene felt strange and yet oddly comforting.

  So much inside her twisted like a tornado. Everything had proved easier said than done. Her secret hope of finding a perfect place to land had been washed down the drain. Not that she had actually truly entertained the idea of moving to the middle of Nowhere, Texas. Probably had internalized all those stories Bud had told her about life in Texas and created a fairy-tale ideal or something. Like the faraway castle every little girl dreamed of. Or maybe it was she hated the thought of giving any of Bud’s selfish, whiny children part of the proceeds. Or maybe she had merely hoped things would be easier than they were. That she would have driven up to the Triple J, fallen in love with her new home and found a million dollars buried in the backyard. She had wanted to feel something for this place.

  But she hadn’t. Not really.

  Instead it felt like a big pain in the ass and now her life was on pause.

  But perhaps being stuck on pause wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe she needed to take time to think about what her future held. For many years she’d been on autopilot, taking care of Bud’s affairs, balancing work and merely existing. Not much passion in her life and not much time to study the stars, wash a dish and listen to the absolute quiet of the night.

  She’d just pulled the drain plug when a pair of headlights swept over the barn.

  “Cal,” she whispered. “Look.”

  He leaned over, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Shit.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We run their asses out of here is what we do,” he said, tossing the towel and heading toward the screened door.

  “Wait, what if they have a gun or something?”

  “They’re local punks. I used to be one. I know how to deal with them,” he said, pushing out the door. She saw the headlights cut off. The truck had parked right by the pens.

  Maggie followed Cal, squinting to adjust to the darkness. The sun had gone to bed thirty minutes ago and already it was pitch-black with only the stars above giving weak light. The bulbs in the outside lights had been busted. Cal had replacement bulbs on the huge list for the Home Depot, but that didn’t help since Maggie couldn’t see her surroundings. She picked her way around a big bush on the side of the house, noting Cal had slowed and walked calmly toward the pickup.

  Truck doors opened and two shapes emerged—a guy and a girl.

  Maggie caught the glint of golden hair and could see the boy held a bottle of liquor. The girl squealed when the boy grabbed her and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, giggling. They started kissing and at that moment, Maggie’s mind flashed to the spent condoms she’d found in the master bedroom. Yeah, there were a lot of them.

  “Hey,” Cal shouted.

  The couple froze and then the boy said, “Oh, fuck.” He dropped the girl and the booze before scrambling back toward the driver’s door. The girl screeched and ran toward the passenger side. The light came on in the truck and Maggie could plainly see two teenagers—a boy with shaggy dark hair, the girl with long blond hair. They looked panicked. Totally busted.

  “Stop,” Cal yelled, running toward the pickup. The headlights came on as the engine roared to life. Cal grabbed the door handle as the kid shifted into Reverse. “Goddamn it. Stop.”

  “Cal?” the kid shouted.

  The truck slammed into Park, rocking the vehicle.

  “Get the hell out,” Cal growled, cradling his bad shoulder, a grimace of pain evident in the light given off by the headlights.

  “Shit, man, what are you doing out here?” the kid said, opening the door. The light in the cab came on again and Maggie could see the boy more distinctly. It was obvious Cal knew the kid.

  Cal hauled him out of the truck. “What in God’s name are you doing out here? This is private property.”

  “Nothing. I mean, me and Hannah were just, you know, um, making out and stuff. Everyone comes out here for that,” the kid said, scrambling to pull away from the grip Cal had on his arm. The blonde girl started crying.

  Maggie finally reached the truck. The kid looked at her and then looked back at Cal. “What are you doing here? Who’s she?”

  “I’m Margaret Stanton, the owner of the Triple J.”

  “The owner?” the kid repeated, suddenly looking scared. “No one ever said someone owned this place. Everyone thinks it’s abandoned.”

  Cal let go of the kid. “Maggie, this is Wyatt. My dumb-ass brother.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Yeah, a brother who engages in criminal activity like breaking and entering. Should we add vandalism?”

  Wyatt snapped his head up. “Everyone comes out here.”

  “And trashes property that doesn’t belong to them? Is that what’s cool these days? Vandalism? Tearing up—”

  “I didn’t do none of this,” Wyatt said, anger seeping into his voice. Cal’s brother was several inches taller than him, but still slim as a fence post. He had the same color hair, but he seemed to have brown eyes and a swarthy complexion. “People tore this place up a long time ago.”

  “You may not be destroying property, but you are trespassing.”

  “Well, I didn’t know. We were just looking for a place to—”

  “Just shut up, Wyatt,” the blonde said, wiping the tears leaking from her eyes.

  Maggie placed a hand on Cal’s arm. She could feel his frustration. “It’s okay, Cal.”

  “It’s not okay. These kids have been—”

  “Cal,” she said, rubbing his arm. Wyatt noticed and looked at her a bit harder, so she turned to him. “Wyatt, I’d appreciate if you’d let everyone know the Triple J is occupied. We’re renovating the property and there will be a lot of workers around in the next few weeks. The property will be sold to new owners who won’t look favorably on local kids tearing up their things. As of tonight, the Triple J is closed for drinking, carousing and, uh, making out. Tell everyone to find a new place to party.”

  Wyatt n
odded. “Okay, but you’re not going to, like, press charges or something, right? I mean, we didn’t do any graffiti or anything.”

  “No charges. And now you can put it on blast.” Cal uncrossed his arms.

  “No one says that anymore,” Wyatt observed.

  “Well, whatever kids call it these days,” Cal said, nodding toward the cab. “Take Hannah home. I won’t say anything to Mom about this. Wait, have you been drinking?”

  “Not yet,” Wyatt said, looking disappointed his night hadn’t gone as planned. “But if we had, this would have totally killed our buzz.”

  “I better not catch you drinking and driving. I’ll go to Gary and you can kiss your 4x4 goodbye.” Cal set his hands on his hips, looking commanding. Maggie noted how good commanding looked on him.

  “Way to be a bro,” Wyatt muttered before pausing. “Wait, why are you out here, anyway?”

  “I’m helping Maggie get the place ready to go on the block,” Cal said.

  “You?” Wyatt looked at his older brother like he’d just announced he was wearing panty hose and a bra. “I thought you were about to start training. Does Mom know?”

  “She knows and I’m still training. Now take Hannah home.”

  Wyatt shrugged, his dark eyes reflecting amusement. “I guess I ain’t blind and can see what you’re up to.”

  Cal didn’t look too happy about his younger brother’s parting shot. Wyatt climbed into the truck, shut the door and fired the engine, giving his brother a salute on the way out.

  “What does he think you’re up to?” Maggie said, watching the twin red brake lights as they blinked in the darkness before disappearing over the rise.

  “Let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Cal said, turning back toward the house. The inky darkness settled around them again, the night eerily quiet other than the serenade of crickets.

  So he thought their kiss was the beginning. But she had the power to nip the attraction in the bud if she so wished. Problem was...she wasn’t sure she wished it.

  5

  THREE DAYS LATER Cal pulled into the parking lot of the Home Depot and turned to Maggie. The woman wore a sundress that gathered just beneath her full breasts and strappy sandals that would do little good in a home-improvement store. But he had to admit she looked delicious.

  Practical or sexy?

  He’d go with sexy every time. Or at least most times.

  A woman like Maggie made him glad to be a man.

  “So I have the list right here,” she said, unbuckling and waving the pad he’d been scribbling on for the past few days. “Where shall we start?”

  “At the top,” he said, climbing from the cab and jogging around to get her door. She’d been in the process of opening it and looked at him oddly when he pulled it open and held out his hand. “I’m helping you down.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “Bud wasn’t much of a Texan, was he?”

  “He was from Philly. Texas was his hobby. Though he often commented on how much he wished he’d sold the business and moved down here full-time. Guess Edelman’s Ice Cream was part of who he was. Couldn’t let something his father loved go so easily.”

  “I was referring to his manners. Didn’t he ever open a door for a lady?”

  Maggie stopped next to the orange shopping carts and tilted her head. Real cute-like. “I get that dudes down here think they have to be chivalrous, but women are perfectly capable of opening a damn door.”

  “You don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head, moving toward the double doors that swooshed open, giving him the scent of fresh lumber.

  “Nope, but I’ll try to appreciate it better,” she said, grabbing a shopping cart.

  “Perfect. We need some doorknobs,” he said, grabbing a few pewter-colored ones from a display near the machine that made keys. Counting out five, he set them in the back of the cart.

  “Those aren’t at the top of the list. Are those the right size?” she asked, eyeing the packages.

  “Cal Lincoln?” the voice came from his left, making his heart sink. He’d hoped he could get through the afternoon without the PBR faithful recognizing him. Which is why he’d left his jeans and boots at home, choosing the seldom-used athletic shorts and sneakers instead. He felt naked without his cowboy hat, but compromised by jerking on a Nike visor. He looked like a suburban soccer dad. Or so he’d thought.

  He turned and donned a smile.

  “Damn, man, I haven’t seen you in eight or nine years, but I recognized that walk,” the man said, holding out his hand.

  Cal grabbed it, staring at the man hard, trying to figure out if he was supposed to know him or if he was a fan. The man looked about his age though he had balded prematurely. A round basketball stomach made the Texas Rangers T-shirt stick out and when the Lord was handing out asses, this man had skipped the line. But the friendly smile was familiar. “Hey, man.”

  “You don’t remember me, huh?” the guy said, taking his hand.

  “You got me there. See so many people—”

  “James Maloney?”

  “Oh, shit, man. Of course. Coyote Creek High School. Can’t believe I didn’t recognize you,” Cal said, slapping him on the shoulder. James had been a baseball teammate before Cal had dropped out to pursue bull riding full-time. Of course his friend had had a thick mane of curly hair back then.

  James ran a hand over his shining head. “Well, I’ve lost a little up top.” He looked at Maggie with an appreciative smile, unasked question in his eyes.

  “I’m Maggie,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Cal’s boss.”

  She liked saying that. And that amused Cal. James frowned, but managed to recoup the smile. “His boss, huh? Y’all married or something?”

  “Of course not. He’s working for me,” she said, dropping his hand.

  James shot Cal a funny look. “I thought you were rehabbing the shoulder?”

  “Oh, he still goes to physical therapy several times a week,” Maggie said, glancing at him with a questioning look as if she didn’t understand how a guy he hadn’t seen in ten years would know he was in rehab. He supposed she was so accustomed to speaking for Bud Edelman, she naturally tried to handle situations. Like the night before last with his brother. She’d inserted herself right in the middle of the issue, even stroking his arm to calm him when she felt him losing his temper. Underneath her calm, cool vibe was a nosy, bossy busybody, but Cal appreciated she was a little big for her britches. And if he could get her out of those britches? Even better.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Maggie the boss.” James gave her an amused look. She narrowed her eyes.

  “I’ll be seeing you, man,” Cal said, slapping his old friend on the back again. “Gotta get back to work before my boss docks my pay.”

  James laughed. “Yeah, me, too. My wife’s been texting me to get my behind out to the garden center for the last few minutes. Total ball buster.” And with a final wave, James disappeared behind a display of shop vacuums.

  Cal took the list from the cart and peered at it. “Okay, let’s head over to grab the caulk I’ll need for the sink and bathtub.” He started walking, but after a few yards he sensed she wasn’t behind him. Figured she wouldn’t follow him.

  Turning, he found her regarding him.

  “What?”

  She shoved the cart to the side and walked toward him, arms crossed. She reminded him of his mother when he’d spilled something on the clean kitchen floor. “Something’s not gelling with you. Everyone knows you’re rehabbing your shoulder. At first I thought it was because Coyote Creek is such a small town, but now this guy you haven’t seen in ten years knows about it.”

  “What if I’m on Facebook?”

  She wagged a finger. “Nuh-uh, you would have recognized your friend. Would have known he’d gone bald. So what aren’t you telling me?”

  At that moment a store associate in an orange vest passed them. Then she stopped and backed up. “Cal Lincoln?”


  He donned the smile he put on each week when he stayed hours after the last ride to sign autographs for PBR fans. “Hey.”

  “Oh. My. God.” The woman slapped her palms together and then emitted a high-pitched squeal that dogs three counties over could probably hear. “You’re my rider. You’re my rider!”

  “Thank you,” he said, stretching out his hand just as a shopping cart slammed into his ass. He turned to find Maggie glaring at him.

  “Sally,” the woman said grabbing his hand and pumping it up and down. “Oh, crap. I gotta get you to sign something. My son loves you. He even has a T-shirt with you on it. Wore it every Friday to school last year.”

  “Here,” Maggie said, ripping off a piece of the yellow notebook paper and setting it over the list. “And here’s a pen so Cal can sign something for your son. For what? I don’t exactly know.”

  Sally made an incredulous face. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Not at all.”

  Sally looked at him like Maggie was cracked. He shrugged and arched an eyebrow. “What’s your boy’s name?”

  “Ryan. He’s seven years old. You’re his hero. Well, you and John Cena.”

  “Good taste,” Cal cracked, scribbling a signature to the woman’s son.

  “Oh, and would you mind taking a picture with me?” she asked, digging her cell phone out of her apron pocket. She handed it to Maggie. “If you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not,” Maggie said, taking the phone and holding it up. Clicking the button, she took three photos and handed the phone back. After a few more seconds of Sally fawning on him, he started toward the back of the store. Normally, he didn’t have to worry about being recognized by fans. Oh, sure, every now and then someone recognized him, but usually he flew under the radar of even the most loyal of fans. But he was in Texas only thirty minutes from where he rode his first bull. People followed him avidly on the PBR tour around these parts. He heard Maggie behind him, pushing the cart with the wonky wheel.