Ruby shrugged. “Folks are entitled to their own opinions. Me, I fire up my truck and leave the café to my waitresses when it’s bull-ridin’ time.” Her shrewd eyes narrowed on a man walking toward the judges’ stand across the arena, and she blew out a disgusted breath. “There’s that struttin’ peacock Trent Campion. He’s a good rider—mostly ’cause he has the whole livelong day to practice if he wants. Hope that bull tosses him on his fancy backside.”
Maggie followed Ruby’s gaze. “Because of that business with Ross?”
“Nope, just on principle. Him and his daddy both need to find a little humility. Ben was nasty as spit in a windstorm when I phoned him about Trent beatin’ that horse. He sure changed his tune when I told him I’d write it up on my menu board if he didn’t get Ross sprung by supper time.”
Maggie smiled and offered Ruby some of her French fries, which she accepted. She could just see Ruby wiping the daily specials off her chalkboard and replacing them with Trent Campion’s a no account horse beater. And she could see Ben Campion doing what he had to do to protect his family’s reputation. With most of the country’s current outrage over political faux pas, that kind of publicity wouldn’t have been good for Trent’s bid for the legislature.
The music stopped, and the announcer’s voice blared over the loudspeaker again. “All right, folks. It’s time for the bull ridin’. If you were listenin’ before, you heard me say Trent Campion was up first on Rampage. Well, Rampage isn’t cooperatin’ right now, so Trent’s gonna wait a bit, and we’re gonna move on to the number two rider. Comin’ out of the west chute, we have Ross Dalton on Diablo.”
Maggie’s hand clenched, crushing her cone of French fries.
To the roar of cheering fans, a huge black bull came out of the chute like damnation on Judgment Day, spinning and tossing its massive bulk with Ross hanging on one-handed to a rope tied around the bull’s middle. Maggie’s nerves went raw as she watched Ross lean back for balance and clamp his legs tight, saw the cardboard number on the back of his vest fly out as the bull churned up dust and convulsed wildly—trying to toss the hazy blue blur that was Ross into the air. Ross’s back whipped and jerked but he still kept one arm in the air and stayed on. The bull went into a constant, heaving spin. Then, thank heaven, the eight-second horn sounded and Ross leaped off to the applause of the crowd, while the rodeo clowns hazed the bull back through the gate.
Maggie realized her throat had gone dry, and she gulped her cola. That’s why there had been no sign of him when she’d looked around town earlier. And a bull named Diablo had been his lunch date. Good heavens, what an insane sport. What made a reasonably intelligent man trade the thrill of gambling for money for the thrill of gambling with his life? What was this need of his to live life on the edge?
“He’ll git a ninety-somethin’ fer sure! That was a dandy ride!” Ruby yelled proudly. “A dandy ride!” She waited until the scores were announced, then clapped Maggie firmly on her denim-clad thigh. “Eighty-nine. Not as good as I thought, but good enough to beat whoever rides agin’ him.” Then she stood and packed her cushion into her bag.
Maggie sent her a curious look. “You’re leaving?”
“Got work to do. Now that I know he didn’t break his fool neck, I can git back to it.”
“You came all the way out here just to see Ross ride?” Maggie smiled. “That was nice.”
Ruby’s brisk, no-nonsense attitude softened. “He’s family, honey, and I love him. After the mess he made of his life a few years back, this is the only place most folks around here accept him. I need to see that.” She paused. “And he needs to feel it.”
With a nod of agreement, Maggie stood as well. She imagined that Ross did need it, and felt a tug of compassion. “I’ll walk you back to your truck.” The tiny woman’s climb up the bleachers had been accomplished safely, but Ruby Cayhill was close to eighty—if she hadn’t already reached that milestone. It wasn’t good to tempt fate.
They were only a few feet from the grassy, roped-off parking area when Ruby spied someone that she recognized at the cotton-candy booth. Maggie waited while she hiked across the packed dirt to chat with a good-looking, dark-haired man and his family.
Their coloring was different, but the man reminded Maggie of Ross. Both men were tall, and had that same loose-limbed look that said they knew who they were and that they were satisfied with that. Then the hugs and smiles exchanged all around told Maggie that the man had to be Ross’s brother, Jess. His wife—Casey, her Aunt Lila had called her—was a pretty blonde, and their toddler was a carbon copy of her daddy. The little girl looked to be about two.
Low, muttered voices tugged her attention away. Maggie turned slightly to see Trent Campion and his father having an animated conversation between two parked trucks. She almost moved away, afraid Trent would see her and think she’d come to watch him ride. Then she heard a familiar name and remained where she was.
“You’re ten times the rider he is, now stop whinin’ and do it.”
“I wasn’t whining, Dad,” Trent returned angrily. “I just said Dalton’s score would be hard to beat. And these are just qualifying rounds for the Founder’s Day rodeo in July anyway.”
“If you take that attitude, you’re a loser already,” Ben said harshly. “It’s high time you realize voters don’t get real excited about also-rans. Or maybe you like being humiliated the way you were at the sheriff’s office two weeks ago. You’re a Campion. Now get out there and win.”
“That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Winning and the Campion name. You certainly don’t care about me.”
“Don’t take that tone with me. If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be there to pull your fanny out of the fire every time you do something stupid. Do I have to remind you what happened five years ago?” He paused, his voice hardening. “Ross Dalton took away your manhood. You got to get it back.”
The demeaning way Ben Campion spoke to his son made Maggie regret that she’d listened—and made her feel sorry for Trent. Small wonder that he acted the way he did. She saw Ben’s gaze narrow bitterly as it settled on someone or something ahead of her, then she heard him say, “Come on. Let’s see if that bull’s settled down enough to get him into the chute.”
Maggie’s eyes followed Ben’s stare. And a sudden warmth moved through her. Ross had joined his family beside the cotton-candy booth.
He was dusty, and his damp chambray shirt clung to his broad shoulders and lean midsection. He was still the most appealing man she’d ever seen. His thick, feathered hair was sweat-darkened at the temples and his tan Stetson rode low, shading his face.
A surprising tenderness touched Maggie’s heart when the little girl in Casey Dalton’s arms stretched her wee ones out to her uncle. Maggie saw him shake his head and gesture to his dirty clothing. But the child kept reaching for him. Finally, Ross laughed and took her from her mother, then swung her high above his head and pulled her down fast for a silly bear hug. The little one’s giggles and high-pitched shrieks breached the afternoon air.
Abruptly, Ruby motioned toward Maggie, making everyone aware of her presence. She felt that warmth again as Ross turned to her and smiled. Handing the baby back, he waved goodbye to his departing family, then fell into step beside his great-aunt.
“Hi,” he said, as they walked up to Maggie.
She returned his greeting warily. “Hi.” Out of the blue, an uneasy feeling had come over her—a feeling that had nothing to do with the good-looking man standing beside her. On impulse, she scanned the area.
Cy Farrell was watching her as he mingled with the crowd near the holding pens. A judgmental frown creased his thick features. For an instant, Maggie caught his eye, and she could imagine what Farrell was thinking—that she’d thrown in with the Daltons, joined the “enemy camp.”
Ruby spoke, snagging Maggie’s attention again.
“Well, I gotta git movin’.” Her pale eyes sparkled with approval as she glanced from Maggie to Ross. She headed tow
ard the roped-off lot. “Thanks for the company, Maggie.”
“My pleasure.”
“Nephew,” she continued over her shoulder, “you know where the keys are if you need my truck later.”
“Thanks, Aunt Ruby.” After another wave, Ross met Maggie’s gaze. “Are you leaving, too?”
Maggie hesitated. Why did she feel as though she would be knuckling under to Farrell’s unspoken demands if she did what she’d already planned to do? “Yes, we were both on our way to the lot.”
“Then I’d better apologize quick.” His smile pushed fine lines into the skin beside his blue eyes. “I shouldn’t have baited you the way I did the last time we were together. I’m sorry, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.”
Sighing, Maggie slipped off her sunglasses and tucked them into her purse. “No, you shouldn’t have... and maybe you should try.” She nodded toward the stands, deliberately looking away from Farrell’s cold perusal. “Why are you out here when the bull riding’s still going on? Don’t you want to see if anyone beats your score?”
“I thought I came out to say goodbye to Casey and Jess. But maybe the fates had another reason for sending me out.” He didn’t elaborate, and Maggie didn’t ask. “And yes, I would like to see if anyone beats me. Campion’s riding soon.” He paused for a moment, seeming to mull something over in his mind. When he spoke again, Maggie detected none of the cockiness that he usually showed her. His voice softened. “Buy you a hotdog if you watch the rest of the bull riding with me.”
Maggie tried to ignore the stirring in her veins. What was wrong with her? She wanted to say yes! But hadn’t she vowed to stay away from overgrown children with charming smiles? And how could she go—with Farrell watching her like a hawk? Like that proverbial carrot, the deputyship he’d promised spun and dangled before her, a bright red warning tag hanging from it.
Ross’s brow lined and his eyes clouded slightly. “Never mind. I won’t put you on the spot. Farrell’s skulking around here somewhere, and if he sees you with me, it’ll probably cost you.” He turned away. “Wish me luck.”
“Ross, wait.”
He stopped, his shadowed expression questioning her beneath the brim of his hat.
Suddenly, Maggie resented Farrell’s blatant manipulations. He had no right to pressure her—yet without uttering one word, he was doing just that. When she wasn’t in the office, her time was her own. And if Farrell objected, they would have to have a talk about the discrimination laws in this country. It occurred to her that Ross could be doing a bit of subtle manipulating, too, but she didn’t think so.
Maggie walked toward Ross, still not one-hundred-percent sure that she was acting in her own best interests. Forcing a smile, she fell into step beside him and said, “I like chili on my hotdogs.”
She ended up doing much more than watching the rest of the bull-riding competition with him. When the event was over and Trent had beaten Ross’s score by a point, Ross asked Maggie for a ride to his aunt Ruby’s, and she couldn’t say no.
After tossing his hat in the back seat, Ross folded himself into the small Ford and pushed the seat back as far as it would go. “My truck was loaded with building supplies, so I rode in with Jess and Casey this morning. Then my niece—Lexi—got to be a handful and they took her home for a nap. I’ll just borrow Aunt Ruby’s truck and return it in the morning.”
“She won’t need it?”
“She said she wouldn’t. She lives upstairs over the café, so getting to work won’t be a problem.”
Maggie kept both hands on the steering wheel, unnerved by his presence as she drove from the outskirts toward town.
With his wide shoulders and rangy frame stuffed inside the tiny car, Ross seemed even more formidable than usual. His warm male scent invaded her nostrils, the faint odors of animals and sweat only adding to his rugged appeal. Maggie slid a veiled look his way. He kept surprising her. The only outward expression of disappointment he’d shown when Trent had beaten his score was a wry grin and a shrug.
Turning her attention back to the road, she mentioned it. “I expected you to be more upset about Trent beating you out.”
“If there’d been a nice purse involved, I might have been. But this was only a qualifying round, and the money wasn’t all that much.” He paused. “We’ll both ride in the finals. All I needed today was a decent score.”
Maggie nodded. Her mind had already turned to something else. Or rather, returned to something else. They were only a minute away from Ruby’s now, and she knew that she was insane for offering, but...
“I was just thinking,” she said. “I have to pass Brokenstraw to get to the Lazy J anyway. Why don’t I just drop you off? Then you don’t have to worry about returning your aunt’s truck in the morning.”
The look he sent her was startled but pleased. “You don’t mind?”
“As I said, I’m going that way anyhow.”
“Then sure, that would be great.” He motioned ahead of them to where houses and businesses had suddenly sprung up. “There’s the café. Want a piece of pie and a cup of coffee before we head back?”
Maggie had to think about that. Sitting in the bleachers with him was one thing. Having pie and coffee was another. She’d already done herself some damage in Farrell’s eyes, and if the sheriff happened to see them go into Ruby’s, he might attach more importance to their being together than was warranted. On the other hand...her life was her own, wasn’t it?
“Come on,” he teased. “Your reputation’s shot by now, anyway. The busybodies who saw you with me today already have you three-months’ pregnant, and us on our way to the altar.”
Maggie made a squealing U-turn in the middle of the street as something that was half shock, half fear shot through her. Her heartbeat stepped up its pace. Pie and coffee with Ross? What in the world was she thinking? “I have to get back.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “Look, it was just a joke—I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know. I—I just need to get home.”
Even though she’d thought about how Farrell would perceive their spending time together, she wasn’t really worried about rumors. Gossip died down as soon as it ran out of fuel. But his “three months’ pregnant” comment had hammered home something she’d managed to ignore all afternoon. She shouldn’t be spending time with him at all.
From high school and beyond, Ross had had the reputation of bedding any willing female in the county. Despite her rather puritanical upbringing, she was willing to accept—but not condone—his life-style. As long as he kept his head and no one got hurt, fine.
Conversely, she was twenty-eight years old and ready to settle down—with a man who could commit to a long-term relationship. A solid, steady man who could give her children and wouldn’t be eyeing every woman who came down the pike. So why was she watching bulls and eating hot dogs with a commitment-phobic rodeo rider who’d never had a serious thought in his life?
When she looked past his obvious physical appeal, Ross Dalton was the antithesis of everything she wanted—everything she needed.
“Guess that wasn’t as funny as I thought it was,” Ross said quietly as the silence stretched on between them.
Maggie sent him a small smile. His subdued look said that he would accept her excuse. But he obviously didn’t believe it.
Late that night as she tossed in bed, Maggie decided she needed a good, long session on a psychiatrist’s couch. Because there Ross was, back in her thoughts again.
Why was she so attracted to a man who—simply by being—could ruin her life?
Seeing Ross at the rodeo wasn’t happenstance. Just as her noontime shopping trip to Hardy’s Mercantile wasn’t something she’d done on a whim. Hardy’s was right across the street from Ruby’s Café—the place that he probably would have taken his supposed lunch date.
When there was no sign of him in town, she should just have driven back to the Lazy J—that would’ve been the sensible thing to do. Instead, she’d read
the rodeo playbill in Ruby’s window, remembered the flashy buckle on Ross’s belt, and suddenly she was off to the fairgrounds. Worse yet, Farrell had witnessed her momentary madness.
She flipped her pillow to the cool side, then flopped back down again. She had to get a grip on herself.
Maggie climbed out of bed and went to the window of her upstairs room. The drapes billowed gently as the night breeze blew through the screen, bathing her bare legs beneath her white eyelet nightie. What a lovely place this is, she thought. The pale, three-quarters moon was high, illuminating the jagged peaks of the mountains and lighting the dark pine ridges below. Stars seemed to glimmer from every corner of the galaxy.
This was why she’d come back to Comfort...why she’d come back to Montana. Colorado was a miracle of mountain peaks and lush alpine forests. But this was home.
She couldn’t let an infantile crush ruin her chances for a solid, productive life here. She had to stay away from Ross Dalton.
Chapter 4
The bell above the door jangled late Sunday morning as Ross walked into the café and scanned the crowded dining room. Like most of the shops and businesses on the restored main street of town, Aunt Ruby’s Cafe had once been something else. In the 1890s when Comfort was a brawling cow town, the café had been one of eight raucous saloons—and the only one with a calliope. Ruby claimed that her breakfast crowds were every bit as noisy. Today, Ross had to believe her. The sounds of silverware clanking and friendly chatter nearly drowned out the twangy country ballad on the radio.
Ruby walked briskly across the floor towards him, carrying two coffeepots. Ross grinned. The skinny little woman liked red. She had to own at least four red sweaters and—come snow or ninety-degree weather—one of them always topped her white uniform. Her truck was red; her sneakers were red; and red, white and black dominated the café’s homey decor.
“Mornin’, Aunt Ruby. Jess said you wanted to see me about something.”
Accidental Hero Page 5
