Rodeo Daughter (Harlequin American Romance)

by Leigh Duncan

  Strictly as one old friend asking about another, of course.

  Mitch shot the cuff of a suitably Western-style shirt and checked his watch just as chimes signaled the arrival of the babysitter. Hailey’s little-girl laughter rang through the room. Their tea party abruptly forgotten, she charged toward the front door.

  In the entryway, where stick-figure artwork crowded the walls, Mitch motioned Betty Jean into the air-conditioning that made life on Florida’s east coast bearable. The college student was familiar with their routines, so once Hailey calmed down enough for him to get a word in edgewise, he made quick work of the necessary instructions.

  “There’s leftover spaghetti, mac ’n cheese, chicken tenders or fish sticks for supper.” He rattled off the list of Hailey’s current favorites. “Cookies for dessert. She can have a couple.” He waited until Hailey’s back was turned to signal that three would be okay.

  “I’ll be home before midnight,” he whispered, wary of last-minute objections.

  He needn’t have worried.

  Betty Jean pulled bottles of glittery nail polish from her backpack, earning herself a big tip and his daughter’s instant devotion. Soon, the girls were chatting like magpies as they cleared away the tea things to make room for a manicure station. And when Mitch bent to deliver the promised good-night kiss, Hailey barely offered her cheek with a, “Bye, Daddy, see ya later,” before asking the babysitter which polish matched her outfit.

  Seeing his child engrossed in the girlie stuff he didn’t quite understand, Mitch rubbed at an empty spot in his chest. For the moment, he shoved the feeling aside. But weaving his way through rows of cars parked on a grassy field twenty minutes later, he couldn’t avoid second-guessing his plans for the night. Now that his ex-wife had breezed back into town demanding not just a place in their child’s life, but full custody, should he have stayed home, tried harder to be both mother and father to his little girl?

  The heel of one cowboy boot caught a divot in the grass, and his other foot came down hard. The move jarred Mitch, and he smiled, thinking it might have knocked some sense back into him. He was a prominent attorney. He’d worked hard to make a good home for Hailey. While he couldn’t guarantee the judge’s ruling, he could definitely prove he was a better parent than the woman who hadn’t called or visited her child in four years.

  His thoughts settled, he stopped by the Boots and Spurs barn, where a band was setting up for the dance following the rodeo. Making his way past scattered hay bales and picnic benches, he dutifully checked out the silent auction part of the fundraising event. This year’s prizes ranged from a dance with one of the rodeo stars to riding lessons. Since Hailey would enjoy the latter, he scribbled down a bid before dropping a generous check in the donation box.

  Then it was on to the arena, where he plunged into a milling throng. He bought a bag of freshly roasted peanuts from a vendor, and worked his way toward the stands, chatting with people he knew, greeting some he didn’t. He traded nods with Randall Hill, the county’s district attorney, before taking a seat in the reserved section. Mitch had barely settled into it when a cowboy on a gray horse raced onto the dirt track, quickly wove between several flagpoles, and sped back the way he’d come.

  Top-notch entertainment?

  Maybe not, Mitch decided as he cracked a few peanut shells. By the end of his summer at rodeo camp, he’d ridden nearly as well. He smiled, remembering how Mandy had taken pity on his inexperience and given him a few pointers on calf roping. He’d spent the next six weeks head-over-heels for her. His thoughts drifted to the stolen hours they’d spent in each other’s arms. The innocence of those days helped keep his fears about the looming custody case at bay. Or so he told himself, until the arena emptied and he realized he’d been so lost in thought he’d missed the warm-up acts.

  “We’re sorry to hafta tell ya’ll that Tom Markette can’t be with us tonight,” a voice drawled over the loudspeakers. “But we got a real treat for ya. Takin’ his place is one time-member of the Markette Ropin’ Team and a champ-een barrel racer in her own right…Ma-a-and-y Mar-ket-t-te.”

  Mitch searched the ring below. Had he heard correctly? Or had the flood of memories about his first love tricked his ears into deceiving him?

  As he watched, an elaborately costumed blonde calmly made her way to the center of the arena astride a large and equally bedecked golden horse. Mitch’s gaze narrowed in on the rider as the pair turned, giving him his first good look at the woman Mandy had become. Gone was the coltish figure of that long-ago summer, replaced by womanly curves. Horse and rider stood still for several long seconds, until a hush fell over the crowd.

  Then, without warning, Mandy let loose a rebel yell. Dirt sprayed from the horse’s hooves. The big palomino raced through a dizzying series of figure eights. Coming out of a final turn, the rider called, “Hee-yah!”

  Instantly, the horse beneath her surged into a full gallop.

  Mitch stared, unwilling to move, hardly daring to breathe. His heart pounded while Mandy danced in the saddle, sometimes standing, sometimes leaning so far over her long braids brushed the ground. When she wheeled for the final run, everyone in the crowd surged to their feet. Mitch scrambled to his, glad for the extra few inches that let him see over those in front.

  Below, a broad smile on her face, her arms spread wide, Mandy stood atop the prancing palomino. While the crowd roared in approval, horse and rider raced for the gate.

  All too soon the last dirt clod settled to the ground. By the time a rodeo clown stepped into the arena, doffed a ten-gallon Stetson and latched the gate, Mitch’s feet were in motion. With every step he took closer to the barn, his plans firmed. He would attend the dance and talk shop with the law clerks who lingered around the punch bowl. But first, he’d enter a bid in the silent auction. One high enough to win a dance with the star of tonight’s rodeo.

  * * *

  HEART PUMPING, limbs trembling from the exertion, Amanda slid from Brindle’s saddle, patted the horse soundly and slipped him a couple of well-deserved sugar cubes. The big palomino snorted in pleasure, and she gave him a hug. Together, they had nailed it. Delivered the performance of a lifetime. So what if the ride hadn’t been quite flawless? The applause from the grandstand proved that no one at the Saddle Up Stampede cared if she’d lost her hat halfway through the second cloverleaf. Or nearly lost her footing as she rode out of the arena.

  “Be sure you walk him until he cools off.” She handed Brindle’s reins to a waiting stable hand. “Then give him an extra measure of oats and a long rubdown.”

  Lucky horse. His work was done. Hers, not so much.

  The sawing screech of an out-of-tune fiddle drifted across the parking lot, a reminder of the country dance that would end the evening’s festivities. Her pulse still racing on the high of a near-perfect ride, Amanda spun on a boot heel. The barn, where cowboy hats bobbed on a sea of plaid shirts above straight-legged Levi’s, beckoned.

  At a gingham-covered table, she asked about the winning bid for the first dance.

  “Great show, Amanda.” The auctioneer beamed. “You musta’ made an impression on Mitchell Goodwin.” He pointed to the dark-haired man who strode toward them from the cashier’s booth.

  Mitch? Now, that was a name she hadn’t expected. Memories rose like smoke from the campfire she and Mitch had once cuddled beside. They’d gazed at the stars and talked for hours, and ended up falling in love.

  Frowning at her exaggerated version of puppy love, Amanda swallowed a wave of nostalgia. At sixteen, Mitch had been all knobby knees and elbows. Tonight, there was nothing awkward about the man whose long strides brought him ever closer. Laugh lines around his mouth enhanced his broad smile. Her own lips curved upward as she noted his familiar straight nose and high cheekbones, and her breath hitched when their eyes met. His were so deep that, for a moment, she let herself get lost in their azure depths, the way she had one summer night as they stood in line for the Ferris wheel. How had she ever forgotten eyes
such a vibrant blue? Or the way his quick smile had once thrilled her heart? She’d kept a diary that summer, each page crammed with inky script, their initials entwined along the edges.

  She gave him her best smile. “It’s good to see you, Mitch.”

  “Mandy.” His focus never wavered as he extended a hand. “It’s been too long.”

  She’d left the nickname behind the day she’d walked away from professional rodeo, but mentioning that now seemed petty. Slipping her fingers into his warm grasp, she was surprised by the pinprick of heartbreak that lingered after all these years. The urge to move closer faded.

  Mitch had always had an uncanny way of reading her thoughts. Now, he stepped back, relinquishing his hold. “Well, you’ve certainly come a long way since rodeo camp.”

  His slow, appraising glance skimmed over her like a caress.

  “I always knew you would. You put on a great show tonight.” His smile widened into a teasing grin. “I guess you hear that all the time.”

  “Not so often anymore, but you always did say the nicest things.”

  Her sarcasm surprised Amanda almost as much as the embarrassed look that passed quickly over Mitch’s face. Her throat tightened, and she cleared it. His smile had dredged up memories of the kisses they’d shared…and the hurt that had followed. She raced to think of a topic that might steer the conversation away from painful adolescent memories.

  “I guess you stuck with the plan and went into law.” She gestured toward the crowd of bar association members who stood around in tight knots, waiting for the dance to start. “What’s your specialty?”

  “I’m with the district attorney’s office.”

  His answer explained the air of authority he carried on his wide shoulders. She nodded, understanding why they hadn’t run into each other. So far, her work hadn’t required a visit to the courthouse’s criminal division.

  Before she had a chance to mention her own practice, the band finished their warm-ups and ran through the opening bars of “Arkansas Traveler.” On the plywood stage, Mark Jansen, president of the bar association, stepped to the microphone. Throughout the barn, chatter quieted, except when someone in the back yelled “Let’s hear some music!” The call echoed off the rafters.

  Jansen grinned, waiting until a spate of laughter died down before promising to keep his remarks brief. After assuring everyone that their contributions would appear in the next edition of the Bar News, he revealed the amount they’d raised for charities catering to at-risk children. The evening’s total was impressive enough that several wolf whistles punctuated a round of applause.

  “That’s four thousand more than we raised last year. In this economy, you’ve truly outdone yourselves.” He signaled the band. “And now, our own Mitchell Goodwin will lead tonight’s star performer, Mandy Markette, in the first dance. Ya’ll join in, y’hear.”

  Her hand tucked in Mitch’s grasp, Amanda followed the good-looking attorney out onto the straw-covered dance floor. She’d barely turned to face him before the fiddle player led them into a slow rendition of “Rodeo Moon.”

  “Shall we?” Mitch bowed ever so slightly.

  With a reminder that the night was all about charity, Amanda plastered on a broad smile and ignored her misgivings about stepping into Mitch’s arms again. She told herself they certainly wouldn’t fit together as well as they had one long-ago summer. She was a different person from the girl he’d known back then. Plus, in the intervening years Mitch had grown several inches taller. At six-feet-something, he now towered over her compact frame.

  But two measures into the waltz, Mitch slipped his arm around her waist. The gentle press of his hand sent familiar tingles up and down her spine.

  Struggling to hide a rush of heat, Amanda pressed her cheek to his chest. His woodsy aftershave mingled with a faint powdery smell she couldn’t quite identify. Whatever it was, it triggered a wave of longing for the home her childhood on the road had never included. She inhaled deeper while the singer belted out a song that made the rodeo circuit sound far more romantic than the life she’d known.

  All too soon, the notes of the first number faded. Mitch’s smoldering eyes met hers, and Amanda knew with one glance that he wanted to continue their time together. When he motioned toward one of the barn’s big doors, she barely hesitated. She ducked outside, feeling giddy, while he grabbed two cups of punch from a table decked out like a chuck wagon. They moved into the shadows beyond the light that spilled from the door, not stopping until they’d left the acrid odor of several cigarette smokers behind. In a quiet spot, they leaned against a hitching rail.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here. I’d planned to ask your dad about you after the show, but seeing you is so much better.” Concern dimmed the light in Mitch’s eyes. “He ever straighten up? Become the father you needed him to be?”

  Amanda stifled an angry reply. No matter how much she’d changed, some things remained the same—and her dad was one of them. After her mom died, he’d dumped Amanda in rodeo camp and toured the country, preferring to rope and ride alone than help her deal with her grief. Meeting Mitch had been the only bright spot that terrible summer, and her dad had been the topic of more than one conversation between them.

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s still up to the same old tricks. He backed out of the Saddle Up Stampede at the last minute, conned me into riding in his place. How about yourself? Did you go back to Camp Bridle Catch the next year?”

  “Nah, that was the last in a long line of summer camps. It was all college prep and internships after that.”

  Their lives couldn’t have been more different. For her, the next few years had been about winning a gold buckle in Las Vegas.

  Amanda drained the cup Mitch handed her and set it aside. Talking to him brought back all her old hurts. It was as if she’d been asleep for years and had now been shaken awake, her adrenaline pumping for a fight. The urge to give Mitch a piece of her mind warred with the desire to grab him and hug him. She wasn’t sure where to start. In the end, she decided to rip the bandage off by tackling their breakup.

  “I waited for you in the stables like we’d planned that last day of camp. You never showed.”

  Mitch propped his arms on the top rail beside hers. “I couldn’t. My parents were furious—and probably embarrassed—that Ben and I had gotten into a fight. They refused to listen when I tried to explain. Instead, they marched us to the car. We were halfway to the Grand Canyon before I got a chance to state my case.”

  “You never called. Never wrote.”

  “I wanted to. I scoured the internet for the Markette Ropin’ Team. What little information I could find was always about where you’d been, not where you were headed. I’m sorry we never got to say goodbye.”

  Amanda nodded, finally understanding why Mitch had left her alone and confused and, after an hour, madder than a wet cat.

  “What was that all about, anyway? I never understood why you and your brother got into it like that.”

  “Guy stuff.” Mitch shrugged. “Teen guy stuff,” he corrected. “Ben made some crack about my hot girlfriend. Before I knew it, he was on the ground and I was standing there, daring him to get up.”

  Amanda laughed when Mitch gently elbowed her ribs.

  “Oh. So, your brother thought I was hot, did he?”

  His quiet “You still are” made her heart beat double time. Not quite ready to pick up where they’d left off as teenagers, she reminded herself that she didn’t know the man he’d become. She changed the subject.

  “How’d you wind up in Melbourne? I thought you’d settle in Savannah near your folks.” As a teen, Mitch had talked about joining the family law practice.

  “I did for a while. Almost made partner in Goodwin & Sons before…” Mitch’s shoulders straightened. “Things changed. Dad’s firm specializes in defense work. I got one of his clients off on a technicality. Turned out the guy was guilty. The next time he robbed a liquor store, somebody got hurt. I took a job
with the state attorney’s office and moved here soon after.”

  “Oh.” Amanda sighed. “That must have been rough.” His plans had changed as much as hers had. Back when they’d known each other, she’d wanted nothing more than to become a champion barrel racer and earn her dad’s approval. She’d accomplished one, realized she’d never have the other, and moved on. Once she’d passed the bar, she’d narrowed her search for a new home to places as far off the professional rodeo circuit as she could find. Melbourne, with its growing need for family law specialists, fit the bill.

  Mitch gestured toward a faint glow that rose above the distant town. “I’ve been here almost six years. And in the interest of full disclosure, I’m a single dad. Divorced. But my ex-wife has been out of the picture for a long time. So.” He paused a beat. “How ’bout you?”

  How about her?

  For the past ten months, ever since she’d hung her shingle outside a converted house in the town’s quaint business district, she’d been too busy for relationships, significant or otherwise. A home-school education meant college and law school had demanded every ounce of her concentration. On the rodeo circuit, she’d been the new girl in a different town every week. The locals hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat so, other than that summer, her love life had been practically nonexistent.

  But on a warm August night after she’d aced a difficult performance, dredging up her entire history wasn’t on her agenda. Especially not with a tall, handsome man standing at her elbow. She studied his face and rediscovered the tiny dip in his chin that she used to trace with her fingers.