by Liz Talley
“Stay with me,” she whispered, sliding off him and curling next to his side.
They were the same words she’d whispered every night, the words he loved to hear. “You bet.”
* * *
A FEW DAYS later Maggie watched Cal adjust the rope for Wyatt. The bucking barrel was ready and Cal’s kid brother looked like Christmas had come early.
“Start slow and work on tightening the muscles in your thighs as you move. You’ll be sore tomorrow, but it will be a good sore,” Cal said.
Wyatt nodded. “Can’t be worse than the way I feel after two-a-days. Besides I’ve been practicing on Jamie Riggs’s bucking barrel. I’m pretty good on it.”
“We’ll see,” Cal said, handing Wyatt a helmet.
“Why do I have to wear this? We’re practicing.” Wyatt frowned at the helmet that looked part bike helmet, part lacrosse helmet.
“Because everything matters. You practice the way you ride.”
“Got it,” Wyatt said, shoving the helmet onto his head. “Guess after having your head kicked a bunch of times, you would know.”
Those words made Maggie glance up at Cal. Had his head kicked? That sounded more than dangerous. He’d said his mother and Gary had issues with Wyatt riding, so why would Cal teach his younger brother something so dangerous? She’d done research on riding bulls, the PBR and injuries like the one Cal had sustained. She’d also read about Lane Frost and the other bull riders who’d met their death in the rodeo arena. Rodeo was not just dangerous. It was deadly. And the thought of Cal climbing onto the back of the bull who’d crushed him made her stomach sour. But then again, it was none of her business.
The pregnant barn cat meowed, drawing her mind away from the thought of Cal lying crumpled at the foot of a deadly animal.
Maggie had managed to lure the cat closer to her using canned tuna. She’d set it near the bucking barrel stall and spent several minutes inching closer. The cat seemed content to chow down. Maybe it was getting used to her.
“When can I get on a real bull?” Wyatt asked, sliding onto the apparatus that looked straight out of a playground sans the bright cartoon character.
“I called Hal and he said we could come out and try some of his yearlings. Let’s see how you do with proper instruction first.”
“Okay, but maybe next week? You’ll be ready by then, huh? I heard you tell Mom that you were doing better than you thought at therapy,” Wyatt said.
Maggie tore her gaze away from the cat. Over the past week, she’d watched Cal subconsciously rub his shoulder several times a day and pop pain pills. Several nights she’d woken to find the bed empty and Cal sitting on the old rocker, massaging his shoulder, his face etched in pain. Not exactly doing better.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Cal said, assisting his younger brother in positioning the rope. His tone was confident...or perhaps wishful. Either way, Maggie doubted he told the whole truth.
The tabby lapped at the canned tuna, the smell making Maggie wrinkle her nose. She crept a bit closer, easing herself onto the barn floor. The cat paused and looked up at her. Meeting gazes, they both sat still, watching each other. After nearly a minute, the cat resumed eating. Maggie stayed where she was, watching Wyatt rock and roll on the pretend bull, listening to Cal instruct him, and trying to show the cat she would do no harm.
Looking around the barn, she marveled at the changes. Fresh paint and a good scrubbing had done wonders. They’d hauled away tons of old junk, including the ancient tractor, and Cal had rounded up all the tack and taken it to be cleaned and repaired.
Never in a million years had she ever imagined herself sitting cross-legged and content on the floor of a barn in Texas watching a man she lo—
No. She didn’t love Cal. That was absurd.
Love wasn’t something she knew about. Oh, sure, she loved her family and few close friends, but she’d never been in love. The relationships she’d had thus far had been pleasant at best, forced at worst. But never had love been part of it.
“Maggie,” Cal called to her.
She tore her mind from thoughts of love. “What?”
“Come try the barrel,” Wyatt said.
“I’m fine here. You keep practicing,” she said, frowning as the cat finished her meal and slunk away. No petting her tonight.
“Come on, babe. I want to see if you can stay on. Don’t worry, I’ll give you the first lesson free.” Cal gave her a wink.
Her heart jerked at the grin and teasing. The man knew very well she’d already taken her first lesson. Of course this one wouldn’t end as pleasurably. “I don’t want to show Wyatt up.”
“Shit,” Wyatt scoffed.
“Watch your language around a lady,” Cal said.
“I ain’t no lady,” Maggie drawled in her best Mae West imitation.
“Sorry, Maggie,” Wyatt said, sliding his eyes away, looking abashed. “He’s right. I’m not supposed to be cussing around girls.”
“You Texans kill me,” Maggie said, shaking her head. Lifting her leg over the barrel, she made to leap up. Cal caught her around the waist and set her on the back of the bucking barrel.
“Why? ’Cause we treat a lady like a lady?” Cal said, helping to guide her hand into the slack area in the knotted rope.
“Yeah, and I’ve never seen people who identify themselves so much by the state they live in,” she said, wiggling until she felt steady on the bucking bull.
“We can be a little obnoxious about it,” Cal said, stepping back. “Let’s see what you can do, cowgirl.”
Maggie started moving, stiffening up when the barrel shifted to the front. Felt like riding a slinky. “This is hard.”
“That’s what she sa...” Wyatt pressed his mouth together, making Maggie laugh. But not for long. She tightened her thighs and shifted in the other direction. The barrel went with her.
“Arm up,” Cal shouted, steadying her with his big hands. She liked the way they felt on her, guiding her as she tried to ride the glorified playground apparatus. “Now move with the bull.”
She tried to move with the barrel, but she’d had too many days of lounging and not enough days at the gym. Her core was weak and her thighs felt like jelly. No wonder Cal had abs of steel. “Okay, enough,” she said.
Cal pulled her off the barrel and into his arms. Leaning down he kissed her nose before releasing her. “Good job for a city girl.”
“You know, Cal, you really ought to buy this place from Maggie,” Wyatt said.
Cal straightened. “Got no use for it.”
“You could train cowboys here, like a rodeo school. Or you could raise stock. Lots of cowboys do that. Remember Scotty Dawes? That’s what he does now and his bull is up for Bull of the Year.”
“I know damn well what Scotty does. His goddamned bull was the one who caused this.” Cal pointed toward his injured shoulder.
“Jeez, I was making talk. Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Wyatt said, immediately bristling.
“Don’t worry about what I’m going to do once I’m washed up. I’ll manage.”
Maggie shuffled back toward the barn door, not wanting to be part of this conversation. She’d already seen his reaction to meddling when they were at the Co-op. It was obvious Cal avoided thinking about his future after walking away from the PBR. And since their own arrangement would expire soon, there was no need to look ahead to anything more than what they would grill that night or whether they should paint the bathroom the same color as the bedroom. Essentially, she and Cal were Mr. and Mrs. Right Now.
No future.
“I didn’t say you were washed up, Cal. You’re puttin’ words in my mouth.”
Cal didn’t say anything.
“Mom said we’d try to make Vegas this year.”
Cal glanced up with surprise, a smile curving his mouth.
Maggie turned away at the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. Not at Cal’s response to his brother’s declaration, but because it was further proof his life wou
ld go on without her. By the time he went to Mobile, she’d be wrapping up things here in Coyote Creek. She’d be moving on...if she could sell the place. Money had disappeared from her savings account like rain on a dry pasture.
She blinked the moisture from her eyes, determined not to be maudlin over life marching on, and nearly knocked over Charlie.
The old cowboy steadied her and said, “Good news. Think I found a buyer for this place.”
12
CAL HATED THE potential buyer, Hunt Turner, on sight. For one thing the man was from Alabama. For another, he was tall, fit and looked like Clint Eastwood. And the deal breaker was the way he looked at Maggie. Like he judged good horseflesh and found her to his liking.
Hunt had stopped at a gas station almost a week ago and inquired about spreads for sale around the area. Luckily, Charlie had been at the Stop-N-Go buying a few things (aka beer) and overheard his conversation with the cashier. Charlie took the man’s custom-made card with a fancy-sounding corporation imprinted under the name Hunter Clayton Turner, Jr.
Cal bet the man didn’t know a cow from a steer. Probably had his boots hand tooled in Italy or something stupid like that.
“I like what you’ve done with the house so far,” Hunt said, nodding at the freshly painted bathroom. “Nice fixtures, clean lines.”
“A soaker tub will go here. Cal’s tiling halfway up the wall with the most gorgeous green tiles you’ve ever seen. Whoever’s soaking in the bubble bath will have a perfect view of the backyard. Once I get those roses put in along the white fence, it will be such a pretty vista. Are you married, Mr. Turner?” Maggie asked.
“Not any longer, but I’m looking to settle down. That’s why I’m interested in the place. Putting down roots in a small town is important to me,” he said, taking Maggie’s elbow as she stepped over the boxes of tile Cal had stacked there yesterday. They were supposed to have begun the project that morning, but Hunt Turner called and asked to stop by before he drove back to Alabama. The man’s big hands on Maggie’s arm irritated the hell out of Cal.
“Why Texas?” Cal asked.
“Why not?” Hunt answered, giving nothing away.
“Because you’re from Alabama,” Cal sniped.
Hunt’s lips twitched. “Guess that’s true, but my grandfather was from Texas and I have good memories here. Besides, my business interests have shifted over the past few years. Moving closer to where I work makes sense.”
“What’s your business?”
“Oil and gas.”
Of course it was. Not only was the man abnormally decent looking, but he likely had millions wasting away in some bank somewhere. “That’s a volatile business, huh? Up and down.”
“That’s true,” Hunt said, pausing at the door, allowing Maggie to exit first. Probably so he could check out how incredible her ass looked in the short skirt she’d pressed that morning. She wore her hair in a braid and a bright blue shirt that hugged her curves. And those cowboy boots. Damn, she looked like a Southern dream in those cowboy boots.
“Next is the barn. After you’ve seen it and the outer buildings, Cal will drive you out to look at the land. He can answer your questions in regards to livestock, property lines and what have you,” Maggie said, using a professional voice. Like she answered phones or something. But her smile was more genuine than polite.
“Thank you, Maggie,” Hunt said, following her out into the living area.
“I hate you have to see the place mid-renovation,” Maggie said, turning and gesturing to the fireplace. “We’re still in the process of installing a new mantel and you can see the wood we’re using for the floors. It’s a nice stained oak.”
“No worries,” Hunt said, his eyes on Maggie’s breasts. Or maybe not. Cal couldn’t tell. Hunt seemed a sneaky devil, the kind of man who could ogle boobs but not get caught at it. “I can see it will be nice once it’s completed. I like the kitchen floor.”
“Thank you. We thought it contrasted nicely with the white cabinets and quartz counters.” Maggie’s amber eyes glinted with pride. Her gaze met Cal’s and damned if her pleasure over how nicely the kitchen they’d designed turned out didn’t make his heart swell. Not to mention during the entire tour she’d said “we did this” or “we thought that.” Never I. Always we. As if they were a team. He hoped it gave Mr. Cadillac Fancy Pants the firm idea Maggie wasn’t up for grabs.
Only the Triple J.
And even that bothered him.
Ever since Wyatt had suggested he buy the place, he’d been flipping the idea over in his head. He had unfinished business and wanted that million-dollar purse. But some day he’d have to do something else. And when he did, why not do as his brother suggested? Bull riding school. He knew there were a few decent bull riding schools around the country, but there was only one in the whole state of Texas. Maybe he could raise bulls and conduct some sessions on bull riding at the same time. The bunkhouse could easily be converted into dormitories and the spread was the perfect size for both endeavors. It could work. In fact, it could work really well.
But he didn’t have a couple of million lying around to make something like that happen. Sure, he had made good investments, thanks to his stepfather, but he didn’t have much liquidity. Still, a sound business plan could net him a loan. He had the name recognition to pull it off and if he could hire a few other decent bull riders, he’d be a shoe-in trainer for up-and-comers. Maybe he’d talk to Gary and see what his stepfather thought. Gary might even see it as an investment opportunity. Cal would have to put pen to paper and see what he could come up with before he broached the subject over Sunday dinner.
“Should we go to the barn?” Maggie asked, walking toward the front door. “It’s in great shape. Do you own horses, Mr. Turner?”
“We have two Irish Sport horses, but I also have a few quarter horses. My daughter shows.”
“Oh, you have a daughter,” Maggie said, raising her eyebrows.
Hunt smiled, following her onto the porch. “Sara’s passionate about her horses.”
“How old is she?”
“Ten.” Hunt wasn’t very forthcoming, but that suited Cal fine. He didn’t want the man getting chummy with Maggie any more than he had to. In fact, he didn’t want to show him the acreage. Hunt needed to leave and forget about Maggie and the Triple J.
Adios, Bama.
“What a fun age,” Maggie said, beaming at Hunt. “I remember when I was ten. So curious about the world, but still so innocent. Treasure that.”
“I do. I wasn’t around much when she was younger, so I’m trying to make it up to her. Fresh start.”
Something in his tone made Cal soften slightly toward the man. Sounded like regret and Cal could understand that. He’d not spoken to his mother for the first part of Wyatt’s life so he felt he hardly knew the sometimes sullen, sometimes enthusiastic teenager who’d sat across from him at the breakfast table the whole month of June. That realization was one of the reasons he’d agreed to teach Wyatt how to ride a bull. Before the accident and surgery, Cal had dreaded the thought of being in Coyote Creek, stuck in bed at the Whitehorse house. He hadn’t wanted to intrude on a family that didn’t feel his, especially when he knew he’d be in pain.
Over the past few weeks of loving Maggie every night and spending time with his brother, Cal had found life in Coyote Creek not as painful as anticipated.
“A fresh start,” Maggie repeated, nodding her head. “Sounds like a perfect plan.”
Fifteen minutes later, they stood in front of Cal’s pickup. The old horse Maggie now called Sissy nickered at the fence, looking not as pathetic as she once did. Or maybe she did, but Cal now saw her through a different lens.
“I haven’t seen the land yet, but I already know I’m interested,” Hunt said, setting his hands on his lean hips and perusing the house and surrounding buildings. “It’s the perfect size for my needs and it’s not too fussy. Feels like a real home.”
Maggie looked over at the house, something sparkin
g in her eyes. “Yes, it’s very much like a real home.”
Her words sounded sad. Was she regretting her decision to sell? Part of him wanted her to. Because something inside him wanted her to choose him, to stay in Texas and fight for what they had between them. But it wasn’t fair of him to wish that. Not when he knew he couldn’t—no, that he wouldn’t—commit to a future.
He had his eye on the prize and that prize was in Las Vegas.
Cal would finish the business he had before he faced the monster that nipped at his heels...let go of who he’d always been.
A few days ago he’d gone in for an MRI on his shoulder. The doctor had left a message on his phone in a voice that left little room for doubt. Early on they’d discussed the possibility of a second surgery and now Cal knew the possibility was a reality. A tear in his rotator cuff needed to be repaired in order for him to have full rotation of his arm. Cal had likely overtaxed his shoulder too soon after the original surgery. His enthusiasm for getting stronger had led to redamaging the ligaments. The tiny tear was the reason he still had to pop half a pain pill a couple of times a day. Of course, even with the tear, Cal could finish the season. Riding that way would mean a steady diet of medication and therapy. He’d have to compensate for the inflexibility. Climbing in the rankings would be doubly hard. But Cal could do it.
“Cal?” Hunt said, turning toward him.
“Yeah.”
“Maggie said you’d drive me around?” Hunt asked.
Cal gestured toward his truck. “Sure.”
Maggie’s forehead furrowed at his clipped reply. Couldn’t the woman see the guy’s slimy gaze on her? Didn’t she realize Cal was obliged to warn the man off? Did she know she was Cal’s? At least his for almost three more weeks.
When Hunt glanced back, Maggie summoned a cheerful smile. “See y’all when you get back.”
“Did you just say ‘y’all’?” Cal asked.
She blinked, looking surprised before laughing. “Well, when in Texas.”
She’d said those words several times before. As if being in Texas was like a magic pass to do things she’d never do again. Like wear cowboy boots. Shoot tequila. Ride a cowboy. It was as if saying “when in Texas” made everything they’d been doing for the past weeks a mere lark. Not real.
