Arizona Cowboy

by Marin Thomas

  “Is her daughter okay?”

  “She will be, but Barb needs to help care for the baby while her daughter recovers.”

  What else could go wrong the first day P.T. was gone?

  “I could assume the secretary’s duties and save my father money.”

  Was it false bravado or stupidity that prompted Rachel to volunteer for a position she had no experience with? He closed the space between them, stopping short when he caught a whiff of perfume-scented air. “Do you know what a secretary does?”

  “I’m guessing she keeps track of the expenditures for each rodeo?”

  Not even close. “Barb is in charge of processing entry fees, checking in the contestants when they arrive for the rodeo. She calculates the winners and cuts the checks for the cowboys and she creates the score sheets used that day by the officials. Then she gathers the sheets after each event and posts the standings. She also keeps track of the cowboy and livestock matchups, then informs the cowboys when they call in wanting to know which animal they’re scheduled to ride, as well as what score or time they need in order to place.”

  “I expect this Barb of all wonders also deals with the media?”

  “The press phoned?”

  “The Canyon City Courier wants to run a story on the upcoming rodeo.”

  “You didn’t tell them that P.T.’s in Phoenix undergoing cancer treatments, did you?”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t want people believing my father’s health might interfere with producing a successful rodeo.”

  Score a point for Rachel—the woman might not know a damned thing about the sport of rodeo but she possessed common sense. “Barb will be tough to replace,” he said. “She’s a four-time National Finals Rodeo secretary. Her mother was inducted into the Pro Rodeo Hall of Fame for her career as a rodeo secretary.”

  “Is that your way of saying I can’t handle the job?” Rachel asked.

  “Take my word for it, you can’t. Did you ask Barb to recommend a replacement?”

  “She offered the name of a woman who might be willing to cover for her. When I phoned the lady and introduced myself as P.T.’s daughter, she said P.T. didn’t have a daughter and I should be ashamed of making prank calls. Then she hung up on me.”

  “You didn’t tell her—”

  “How exactly does one explain their father kept their existence a secret?”

  Obviously Rachel was hurt that P.T. hadn’t told people about her but what did she expect when she hadn’t acted like a true daughter?

  “I don’t have time to make any calls until later.” Rachel had a lot to learn if she believed every time she encountered a roadblock he’d drop what he was doing and handle the situation.

  “Her name’s Nancy. Don’t wait too long to contact her. If she can’t fill in for Barb, we need time to find someone else ASAP.” Rachel stomped out of the barn, her tight little fanny twitching right, left and right.

  The stirring inside Clint’s jeans reminded him that his last roll in the hay had been over nine months ago—right before his on-again-off-again girlfriend, Monica, had ditched him for a Vegas gambler who’d promised her diamond rings and fancy dinners at five-star hotels.

  Damn. Why did he have to be attracted to Rachel when her very presence threatened his relationship with P.T.?

  RACHEL ENTERED HER father’s house and slammed the door behind her. She couldn’t believe she’d been on the job less than twenty-four hours and already had a major crisis on her hands—one she was ill prepared to handle, as Clint had kindly pointed out. The schmuck.

  “What’s wrong?” Lauren stepped into the hallway, the black cat from the yard snuggled in her arms.

  “Nothing,” Rachel lied. She motioned to the feline. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Felix. I promised P.T. I’d feed him while he was gone.” Lauren set Felix on the floor and he scurried off. “What are you doing today?”

  “Making phone calls.” Rachel entered P.T.’s office.

  Lauren followed Rachel into the office. “I’m bored.”

  “Your father could probably use your help with ranch chores.”

  “My dad’s so lame. No way am I helping him clean horse stalls.”

  “You shouldn’t disrespect your father.”

  “What do you mean?” Lauren’s brow puckered.

  “You called him lame. That’s rude.”

  “Yeah, well, using me as free labor all summer is rude, too.”

  Clint had his hands full with the teen. Rachel shuffled through a stack of papers on the desk, searching for a phone number she’d scribbled down earlier.

  “You’re miffed,” Lauren said.

  “I received some unsettling news this morning.”

  Lauren’s eyes widened. “It’s not about P.T., is it?”

  “No. P.T.’s fine.” She glanced at the wall clock. “He’s probably in Phoenix by now.”

  “I like P.T. He’s cool and he doesn’t care if my hair’s pink.” Lauren’s gaze landed on the books piled in the corner of the desk. “His Zane Grey novels.” She grabbed the first book. “I guess you figured out this is your dad’s favorite author.”

  Rachel hadn’t known her father loved the famous writer of Westerns.

  “P.T. made a bet with me,” Lauren said. “He promised to read Planet Destiny if I read one of his Zane Grey novels. We’re both trying to broaden our horizons.” Lauren smiled. “I wonder what he’ll think of the outer-space romance.”

  “I thought the author did a great job building a believable science-fiction world,” Rachel said. She’d read Planet Destiny because half the girls in the school were fans of the alien love story. In order for Rachel to better help her students she had to understand what they were interested in and where they were coming from.

  “I hated that Zordan died at the end, but I bet the author will write a sequel and bring him back to life.” Lauren scooped the rest of the books from the desk. “What’s the bad news you got this morning?”

  Rachel didn’t want to burden the teen but there was no one else to talk to. “The rodeo secretary quit and I need to find a replacement before the Canyon City event a week from next Saturday.”

  “Ask my dad. He’ll know who to call.”

  “I did. He’s going to contact a woman for me.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Only if the woman agrees to help us out.” Lauren appeared in no hurry to leave. Wanting to appease her curiosity about Clint’s relationship with her father, Rachel asked, “How long has your dad worked at the ranch?”

  “Since he was a kid.”

  A kid? Wait a minute. “So your grandparents lived and worked on the ranch?”

  “I don’t think my dad knows who his parents are. He doesn’t share a lot of his childhood with me, because it wasn’t very good,” Lauren said. “But then, what kid has a perfect childhood?”

  Amen to that.

  “Dad was a foster child but ran away at sixteen. P.T. took him in and he’s never left the ranch.”

  “How old is your father?”

  “Thirty-seven.”

  Shock squeezed the oxygen from Rachel’s lungs. She’d have been seven or eight when Clint arrived at the ranch. Aunt Edna must have known about the situation—had she kept the knowledge to herself because she feared the news would hurt Rachel? And hurt it did. How could her own father have sent her away then a few years later take in a sixteen-year-old boy?

  “Don’t you feel well?” Lauren’s gaze dropped to Rachel’s hand pressed against her stomach.

  “Indigestion from breakfast,” Rachel mumbled. She’d answered her father’s call for help because she’d desired to reconnect with him. To repair the damage he’d inflicted when he’d emotionally abandoned her. Damned if P.T. wasn’t testing her good intentions. The realization that Clint had more of a right to call Five Star Ranch home than she did squeezed her heart like a vise.

  “Lauren, if you’ll excuse me I need to make a few calls.”

 
“Oh, yeah, sure.” The teen left the office and a moment later the sound of the front door closing echoed in the foyer.

  Refusing to cry, Rachel sank into the desk chair and closed her eyes. No wonder Clint hadn’t been thrilled when her father had put her in charge of his rodeo company. After living with him for years, Clint was protective of P.T.—a man he’d come to view as a father.

  Well, tough. P.T. was her father—not Clint’s.

  Rachel’s mind raced through the years, searching for clues her aunt might have given that P.T. had been raising a teenager, but nothing stood out in her memory. Lauren said Clint had run from foster care. Rachel guessed there was some consolation in knowing Clint hadn’t been the result of her father having had an affair. P.T. may consider Clint his son, but Rachel held one advantage over the ranch hand—she was P.T.’s daughter by blood.

  This was her one chance to show her father that she, not the kid P.T. had taken in off the streets, deserved recognition. Rachel would do everything in her power to make sure the summer rodeos succeeded—beyond her father’s wildest imagination.

  What happens after you make your point?

  The pent-up anger inside Rachel escaped in a harsh wheeze. She didn’t know what she expected from her father—an apology? Yes. Rachel needed P.T. to admit he regretted sending her to live with his sister.

  I’m sorry wouldn’t erase his mistake, but at least admitting regret would clear the way for them to establish a new relationship.

  “WHAT DID NANCY SAY?”

  Startled, Clint glanced up from behind P.T.’s desk. Rachel hovered in the doorway. Had she eavesdropped on his call to the secretary? “Nancy will cover the rodeo on the twentieth and the following two if we like her work.”

  “Is she asking for the same pay as Barb?”

  “No. Nancy wants two hundred dollars more per rodeo.”

  Rachel stepped farther into the room and shut the door. “You didn’t think to ask me if that was okay?”

  “I didn’t ask you because it wouldn’t have mattered whether you’d agreed to her fee or not. Nancy refused to work for less.”

  “You didn’t even try to negotiate with her.”

  Rachel’s statement proved she’d listened in on the call. Clearly she didn’t trust him. No matter, he didn’t trust her, either. Clint could have sweet-talked Nancy into taking less pay but he had no burning desire to make things easier on Rachel.

  “P.T. set a firm budget per rodeo.”

  “If you can do better, contact Nancy and renegotiate her pay.” He held out the cordless phone and he and Rachel engaged in a stare down. She glanced away first.

  “I’m heading out to check on the water tanks—” Clint rounded the desk “—in case another crisis arises that you can’t handle.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t inconvenience you again.”

  Clint couldn’t leave the house fast enough—frustration and guilt nipping at his boot heels. Paying the rodeo secretary a few extra bucks wasn’t a big deal. Besides, Rachel screwing up and falling short in P.T.’s eyes might be the only way Clint could keep a toehold in the family. Damn it, P.T. was like a father to Clint and he refused to step aside willingly.

  “Hey, Dad.” Lauren’s voice stopped Clint before he reached the end of the walking path. “Where are you going?”

  “To check the water tanks. Why don’t you come with me?”

  “And do what? Watch animals drink?” Lauren moved closer. “Can we go somewhere?”

  Smack dab in the middle of the day? Clint considered the chores waiting for him when he returned from checking the water supply. “I’m busy ’til suppertime.”

  “You’re always busy.” Lauren stamped her foot. “What about me? I’m stuck here with nothing to do.”

  “You could read the books P.T. left for you.”

  “Like I’m supposed to read until dinner? That’s five hours from now.”

  Not wanting to argue with his daughter, Clint fished his wallet from his back pocket and handed her fifty dollars. “Take the ranch truck into town and get your nails done.”

  His suggestion erased the scowl from her face.

  “If you want, we’ll watch the movie that came in the mail on Saturday.” Once he discovered Lauren was a night owl, staying up until one or two in the morning, he’d signed up for Netflix so she could watch movies in her bedroom after he hit the sack following the nightly news.

  “It’s another zombie picture,” she said.

  Great. Lauren was into vampires, zombies and werewolves—not Clint’s cup of tea but he’d gladly lose a few hours of sleep tonight if it pacified his daughter and allowed him to get his work done. “Guess I’ll be a zombie expert by the end of the summer.”

  “Cool.” Lauren retreated to the cabin.

  “Do you always do that?” Rachel stood near the paloverde tree by the front door. Did she intend to trail him around the ranch and spy on him?

  “Do I always do what?” Clint asked.

  “Give in to your daughter if she whines loud and long enough.”

  “My relationship with Lauren isn’t any of your business.”

  “True, but if you haven’t already figured it out, teens will try to manipulate the adults in their world at every turn.”

  “Lauren isn’t manipulating me.”

  “Yes, she is. She’s figured out that if she complains loud and long enough she’ll either get her way or get your money.”

  Damn Rachel. Wasn’t it enough that she was running the show for P.T.? Did she have to point out Clint’s failings as a father, too? “Did you want something or did you just step outside to give me parenting advice?”

  “I forgot to ask if you’d heard anything from P.T. I called his cell phone three times today but he’s not picking up.”

  “P.T. doesn’t like to talk on the phone.” Rachel would have known that if she’d attempted to contact her father through the years.

  “If he calls will you let me know?”

  “Sure. Anything else?”

  “No.”

  Clint made a beeline for his truck and sped away, ticked off at Rachel—not so much because she poked her nose into his relationship with Lauren but because she’d been right. In order to keep the peace, Clint was allowing Lauren to walk all over him. Regardless, how he handled his daughter was his business, not Rachel’s. He and Lauren were still finding their way as father and daughter. Eventually things would settle down between them and he’d no longer feel pressured to cave in to her demands.

  Chapter Five

  By Friday afternoon Rachel’s nerves were frayed. The simple task of contacting the rodeo sponsors had taken more time than she’d anticipated because representatives from the companies wouldn’t return her calls. She’d been forced to change tactics and drop by their places of business to meet in person, but that proved worthless as the business owners wanted to know why P.T. wasn’t the one securing their financial pledges. She’d hemmed and hawed, which had only increased their suspicion of her.

  Rachel had considered asking Clint to intervene on her behalf but she hadn’t wanted to admit defeat and doubted he’d help her after she’d overstepped her bounds and criticized his parenting skills. Good grief. What had gotten into her—telling the foreman how to raise his daughter?

  After speaking with the sponsors, Rachel had checked in with the program announcer. Jim Fendwick had pestered Rachel, demanding to know why she and not P.T. had phoned to discuss the particulars of each rodeo. Rachel had fast-talked her way past the subject, promising that P.T. would touch base with Jim soon. Next on her to-do list was phoning the stock contractor and verifying the animals’ arrival twenty-four hours prior to the rodeos—the first of which took place in Canyon City, Saturday, June twentieth—eight days from now.

  “Hey, Rachel?” Lauren waltzed into the office.

  Another interruption. “What can I do for you?” Rachel sifted through the yellow sticky notes she’d compiled during the week, searching for the stock contracto
r’s number.

  “I forgot to tell you someone called the foreman’s cabin this morning after Dad left to check the animals.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Mitch O’Donnell or McDonnell…or Mc—”

  “McDonnell.” The mayor of Canyon City. Why had he called Clint and not her? She’d made it clear the last time she spoke with the mayor that she and not Clint was in charge of the Canyon City Rodeo. How was she to get anything done if no one trusted her? “What did Mr. McDonnell want?”

  “He asked why P.T. wasn’t answering his cell phone.”

  “Did you tell him I’d return his call?”

  “Yeah, but he sounded ticked off.”

  “I’m sorry he was rude to you.”

  “That’s okay. Once I told him P.T. was in Phoenix getting cancer treatments he got all worried and apologized.”

  Rachel’s stomach plummeted. Hadn’t Clint elicited a promise from his daughter to keep P.T.’s medical condition a secret? “Lauren, if people ask about P.T., please don’t tell them he has cancer or where he is.”

  The teen’s eyes widened. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “P.T.’s a private person—” at least when it came to telling his friends and business associates he had a daughter “—and he doesn’t want people discussing his health or worrying the rodeos won’t be up to Five Star standards without him at the helm.”

  “But my dad will make sure they are.”

  If no one had faith in Rachel why had P.T. picked her as his replacement? Swallowing her anger, she said, “Promise you won’t mention P.T.’s medical condition to anyone.”

  “Okay, sure.” Lauren backpedaled out of the room and shut the door.

  Rachel practiced her yoga breathing—long, deep breaths to help calm her body and focus her mind. One mistake shouldn’t hurt. Hopefully Mayor McDonnell wouldn’t spread rumors about P.T.’s health. Feeling less panicky, Rachel spent the next few hours tracking down the stock contractor.

  At three o’clock in the afternoon the mayor of Canyon City phoned and Rachel knew she was in big trouble. “Mr. McDonnell, please calm down. I’ll answer all your questions.”