Win Me Over

by Heather Slade

  “You say he trained with Buck Bishop?”

  Tristan nodded. “He thinks Bullet has a real good shot at regionals, at least.”

  Her father’s expression changed. “So, tell me, Tristan, why isn’t Lost Cowboy sponsoring him?”

  Now she wished she would’ve told him about the Lost Cowboy story first. If she told him about it now, she’d have to explain why she believed he was lost in the first place. This was getting too complicated, and just like before, if she lied, he’d know it in an instant.

  “He has Flying R’s sponsorship.”

  Her father raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms.

  “Knock, knock,” said a man who Tristan could only guess was the cardiac surgeon based on his white jacket and the fact that he looked to be all of twenty-one years old. His timing was impeccable.

  “I’m Dr. Fredericks,” he said, confirming her assumption. He shook her hand and her father’s, and then pulled a stool over as Dr. Perry walked in. She motioned for him to remain seated and leaned against the wall.

  Tristan listened as the surgeon explained the differences between the two types of valves, and gave the pros and cons.

  “What would you recommend if he were your father?” she asked.

  By his reaction, she guessed that wasn’t an appropriate question.

  “I can’t answer that,” he told her.

  Her father asked a few more questions, and the surgeon excused himself from the room.

  “If it were my father, in the shape your father is in,” said Dr. Perry, “I’d go with the bovine valve.”

  She explained her reasoning; mainly because her father was so active, having a mechanical valve would significantly restrict the things he was able to do, because he’d be on blood thinners for the rest of his life.

  She had taken a seat after Dr. Fredericks left, and now she stood.

  “This cardiologist will be taking over your case.” She handed both her and her father business cards. “I’ll stop in and see you from time to time though.”

  Tristan could’ve sworn she saw the lady doctor wink at her father before she turned around to leave.

  “By the way, that was the only way I could ethically answer your question. If I was your doctor of record, it would’ve been impossible for me to give you a personal opinion.”

  Tristan looked at the card. “I hope that isn’t the reason you’re not my father’s cardiologist any longer.”

  “No, no.” She smiled. “I have other reasons.”

  When the doctor winked again, she knew she wasn’t imagining it.

  Tristan fell onto her bed, almost too tired to consider taking off her clothes. How long had it been since she’d slept? It was after ten now, and other than the catnaps she took at her father’s bedside, she hadn’t slept since she was in Colorado.

  Tomorrow morning her father was scheduled for several tests in preparation for his surgery, and as long as nothing else presented itself, they’d replace his valve the following morning.

  She looked at her phone and scrolled through the text messages she’d received. Other than when he called earlier, she’d only gotten one other message from Bullet.

  I’m sure worried about you, his text read.

  If she weren’t so far beyond exhausted, she’d call him tonight, but the way she felt, it would have to wait until morning.

  “Liv said Tristan’s father needs some kinda heart surgery,” Lyric told Bullet.

  “Yeah?” he scowled.

  “What’s your problem?”

  “Nothin’,” he said before he walked outside and slammed the door behind him. He still hadn’t heard from her, even though he’d called and texted. It was a little after seven, which meant it was what…eight…nine in New York? He could not keep track of that kind of shit. He went inside to ask Lyric, but she was head-to-head with Gram about something.

  He’d just taken a seat at the kitchen table when he heard a rap on the back door.

  Bullet stood and opened it. “Hey, King. Sorry, but I’ve got some other things to take care of this morning. You can head to the barn and see if anyone else needs help.”

  “I already did. And Bill told me to take the day off. Said we’d be damn busy the next few weeks so I should enjoy today.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I’m not here for you, Bullet; I’m here to see your sister.”

  Lyric pushed Bullet out of the way and invited King inside. “Why didn’t you call?”

  King waved his cell phone. “Didn’t get your number last night.”

  “Let’s fix that right now.”

  Bullet walked back outside and closed the door behind him. He didn’t want to hear his sister’s conversation with his soon-to-be traveling partner. And he didn’t want to witness what was likely the start of a new relationship, not when he was so sure the one he wanted so badly didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

  Someone knocking on the bedroom door woke Tristan from a deep sleep. She propped herself up on her elbows, wondering what time it was. Whoever it was knocked again.

  “Sorry,” she answered. “Come in.”

  Liv stuck her head in the door. “I’m sorry to wake you, but—”

  Tristan waved her hand. “It’s okay. What time is it?”

  “A little after ten.”

  Tristan flew out of bed. “Oh my God. I can’t believe how late I slept.”

  “You were exhausted, sweetheart.”

  She picked up her phone, but there were no messages. “My dad. He’s supposed to have tests this morning.”

  Liv came in and sat on the edge of the bed, patting it for Tristan to sit back down. “Ben took your grandfather to the hospital a little after seven this morning. Your dad hasn’t been alone; he’s been with him the whole time.”

  Tristan laid back on the bed and covered her eyes with her arm. “I was just so tired.”

  “Your dad would’ve wanted you to sleep. You know that.”

  Tristan nodded. Liv was right. She still felt terrible that she’d slept as late as she had.

  “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll drive over together. How’s that?” Liv offered.

  Tristan moved her arm and looked at Liv. “That would be great, but I feel so bad. Don’t you need to get back?”

  “We do, but we aren’t going anywhere until after your father’s surgery.”

  “Are you sure? I mean…if you need to go, I understand.”

  Liv smiled. “I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  Tristan smiled back. “Thank you.”

  Liv stood. “You’re welcome. When you’re ready, there’s coffee and a couple out-of-this-world homemade blueberry scones waiting for you.”

  “You’re a gift from heaven,” Tristan murmured.

  After Liv closed the bedroom door, she looked up at the ceiling. “Did you send her to me, Mom? Cuz I’ll tell you, I don’t know what I’d do without her right now.”

  Liv stuck her head back in the door. “By the way, if you have a minute, you might want to give Bullet a call. I think he’s close to a breakdown.”

  Tristan’s eyes opened wide.

  “I’m kidding, but he is very anxious to speak with you.”

  “Thank you,” she said as Liv closed the door.

  She hit the callback button, but Bullet’s phone rang a couple of times and then went straight to voicemail. Instead of leaving him a message, she’d just call back after she got out of the shower.

  Bullet grabbed his phone when he climbed out of the shower and saw he’d missed a call from Tristan. When he called back, she didn’t answer. “Shit!”

  With the towel slung around his waist, he went into his bedroom to get dressed. His parents and Gram had taken Pearl and Grey to the zoo, today, since it was sunny and supposed to stay warm all day. He would’ve gone along, but he knew he’d be lousy company until he talked to her.

  When his phone buzzed again, Bullet jumped on it before it rang twice. “Hello?”

  “Bullet
, it’s Tristan.”

  “Hi,” he sighed. “Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Yours too. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back last night.”

  “I’d tell you it’s okay, but I haven’t gotten a whole lot of sleep the last two nights, hopin’ you’d call.”

  “God, Bullet, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Just tell me how you are now.”

  Tristan told him what happened with her father, and about the surgery that was scheduled for the following day.

  “What’s the recovery like?” he asked.

  “He’ll be in the hospital for a few days. And then, once he’s home, he’ll have rehab. I’m not sure for how long.”

  Bullet didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t exactly ask her when she might be back in Colorado.

  All he could come up with was, “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  If Pearl weren’t here with him, he’d hop on a plane and go be with her, but he hardly had any time with his little girl as it was. Soon he’d be on the road and away from Grey too. And it wasn’t like he could bring them to New York with him.

  “I want you to know, if I could, I’d be there.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it. You have a lot on your plate right now, Bullet, and so do I.”

  “So, no idea when we might see each other again?”

  “I’m sorry, but no.”

  He wanted to keep talking to her, but he had no idea what else to say. Everything he wanted to say seemed wrong given her dad’s health and his…life.

  “Well, bye for now, then, but you call me every chance you get. Okay?”

  “I will. And you call me too. Okay?”

  Bullet was nodding his head and disconnected the call before he realized he hadn’t answered her, or said goodbye.

  1972

  Dottie had been in the hospital ten long days. She had four broken ribs and a collapsed lung, but that wasn’t as bad as what the doctors had initially thought. The first thing they told him was they suspected her back was broken and she may never walk again.

  She could walk, but it was very painful for her to do so. There wasn’t a lot they could do for broken ribs, they told him. They’d heal on their own.

  Clancy couldn’t say what had spooked the horse Dottie rode over to their house that morning, but he’d watched as she was thrown. He’d yelled for Jane to call the ambulance as he ran out of the house.

  “You saved her life,” Bill told him. He knew Clancy felt terrible that there wasn’t more he could’ve done, but Dottie was alive, and that was all that mattered to Bill.

  The nurse told him the doctors were planning to release Dottie from the hospital in the next couple of days, but there was something important they wanted to discuss with him before they did.

  Bill sat in the private waiting area, the next afternoon, as a doctor he hadn’t met before told him it was unlikely Dottie would be able to have children.

  “Does she know?” Bill asked.

  “We thought it best if we told you first.”

  “Do you want me to tell her?”

  The doctor told him it was up to him. They could tell her, with him present, or he could wait until she was home and more comfortable.

  “She broke some ribs, and her lung was hurt. What would that have to do with her ability to have children?”

  “Your wife was pregnant at the time of the accident Mr. Patterson.”

  The timing was right. The first time he and Dottie made love was over spring break. He’d convinced her that, in just a few weeks, they’d be married anyway. He told her he didn’t want to wait any longer.

  If they had waited, if he hadn’t pushed, Dottie wouldn’t have been pregnant, and she’d still be able to have children.

  Bill was devastated. He had no idea how to tell the most loving woman he’d ever known—besides his own mama—that she’d never be a mama herself. And it was all his fault.

  19

  Bullet was riding like crap. He hadn’t covered the last seven bulls he’d gotten on. No one really said anything about it. Bulls prevailed over cowboys far more often than the other way around.

  “You’ll get after ’em next time,” Bill would say at the end of a buck-off. But then, when he’d find a place to practice, Bullet would be the one Bill was getting after.

  Tonight, they were in Colorado Springs for the Pikes Peak or Bust Rodeo. It was the first time Bullet would get on a bull at what he considered his “new hometown” rodeo.

  His parents, Gram, Lyric, and most of the Flying R Rough Stock partners were here with their wives. In total they had four boxes reserved on the south side of the event center. Several of the Flying R team were competing, including him and King West, who was predicted to do well in the steer wrestling timed event. Unlike Bullet, he’d been in the money on several of his recent outs.

  Regardless of whether he covered his bulls tonight, or through the weekend, he’d be home for the next week. He’d been on the road pretty near non-stop since May, so the break was welcome—and unusual at this time of the year.

  July was considered “Cowboy Christmas,” because of the number of rodeos taking place. Competitors could potentially earn thousands of dollars, traveling from one rodeo to the next, virtually non-stop. The higher they climbed in earnings, the better chance they had of being in the top fifteen invited to compete in the NFR in December. Bullet had lost hope seven bulls ago. He wasn’t feelin’ it tonight either.

  “You give up before the bull’s in the chute, you might as well go home now.”

  Bullet looked up to see Buck Bishop sitting on the back of the bucking chute. No one told him Buck would be here, but it may have been that no one expected him to be.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where’s your head, son?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, but not because he didn’t know the answer. He shrugged his shoulders because he didn’t want anyone else to know.

  “Brought you some good luck.” Buck tossed a bundle wrapped in brown paper at him and walked away.

  “What’s this?” Bullet shouted after him, but Buck didn’t answer. He jumped down and went around the corner to open the heavy package. Inside, he found a pair of chaps. Buck gave him a new pair of chaps? What the hell? He didn’t get it, but when he turned them over, he saw the tag. McCullough Cowboy. Tristan. He ran back over to the rail and looked at all four boxes Flying R had reserved. If she was here, she’d probably be sitting with Liv. He didn’t see either one of them.

  “Lookin’ for somebody, cowboy?”

  Bullet turned and looked in the prettiest eyes he’d seen in weeks. “Sure am, darlin’.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not your darlin’?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that you are?”

  “I shouldn’t be back here.”

  “I don’t give a shit.” Bullet picked her up and spun her in a circle, right before he covered her mouth with his. “God damn, I missed you, girl.”

  “Better watch your language around my daughter, cowboy.” When the man came around the corner, Bullet set Tristan back on the ground. “Hello, sir. I’m Bullet Simmons.”

  “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Hugh McCullough, and Tristan’s daddy.” The man shook Bullet’s hand and winked at him.

  Bullet looked him up and down. “Dang, you’re lookin’ pretty good for a guy who just had heart surgery. I don’t know how you looked before, but…”

  “Thanks,” Mr. McCullough answered. “But it wasn’t exactly just. I’ve been on the mend for a couple of months. Thought it was about time I let this one out of her nursing duties.”

  Tristan smiled.

  “What are you doin’ here?” he asked Tristan, hoping her daddy wouldn’t overhear him.

  “I missed you too, Bullet. Ready, Daddy?” With that, she put her arm through her father’s and the two walked in the direction of the Flying R boxes.

  “Do me proud since you�
�re the first bull rider wearin’ McCullough Cowboy chaps,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  Bullet had to bend over, put his hands on his knees, and take a deep breath. Was he dreaming? He’d certainly dreamed about seeing Tristan again often enough. Buck Bishop? The chaps? Had to be a dream. Maybe he could keep it going and dream he covered his bull tonight too.

  Tristan couldn’t believe she was finally back in Colorado. It felt so good to be with her Flying R family. That’s the way she thought of them—her family.

  When Lyric called and invited her to their grandmother’s ProRodeo Hall of Fame induction, Tristan said yes without giving herself time to think about it.

  When Liv called back, a few minutes later, and told her they were making a week of it by having all the partners meet during opening night of the Pikes Peak or Bust Rodeo, she agreed to that too.

  She also asked if she could bring her father and grandfather along, who, of course, were welcome. She hadn’t asked them yet, but there wasn’t any reason her father couldn’t travel. He’d been cleared to do most anything since he’d successfully gotten through rehab.

  Tristan had talked about little other than the Flying R partners and the cast of characters that surrounded the rough stockers. Her father had said, at one point, that the next time she got together with them, he wanted to go along and meet this infamous group in person. This would be the perfect opportunity.

  When she asked him if he wanted to go, she dangled another carrot. “I heard that Mark Cochran, Nate Simmons, and Ben Rice are performing at the party following the PRCA Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony.

  A few weeks ago, she’d found him on the treadmill, listening to blaring rock music. When she turned it down and asked him who the band was, he was dumbfounded. “You talk about these guys all the time. You don’t recognize Cochran’s and Satin’s music when you hear it?”

  Tristan and her grandfather, who had come in behind her, raised their eyebrows.

  “I used to listen to Cochran and Satin all the time.”

  “Wanna try again and tell me the truth this time,” she teased.