Arizona Cowboy

by Marin Thomas

  “I want to kiss you.”

  Rachel had less than a second to process Clint’s statement before his mouth covered hers. His lips teased and toyed, drugging her with their velvety touch. When he ended the kiss Rachel moaned.

  “More?”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t sure if she spoke the words or if Clint read her mind. He made love to her mouth, his lips and tongue creating a deep ache in her stomach that spread through her limbs. Fearing her legs would collapse, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He flicked his tongue over her lips then entered her mouth in a slow, sensual glide. Good Lord, the man was a wicked kisser. One more sweep of his tongue inside her mouth, then he pulled away and rested his cheek against hers. Neither spoke, their ragged breathing a testament to the heat of their kiss. Clint’s warm male scent enveloped Rachel, making her feel safe, comforted, desired. Her fingers tightened against his neck, reluctant to release him.

  Clint cleared his throat, ending the magical moment. “Go ahead,” he muttered.

  “Go ahead what?”

  “Curse me. Punch me.”

  “Why?”

  “For taking that kiss too far.”

  He regretted kissing her? “You didn’t want to?”

  “Hell, yes, I wanted to kiss you.” He paced several steps away.

  “Then why are you upset?”

  “We shouldn’t…” He stared at the ground.

  Terrific. She’d experienced the sexiest, most erotic kiss of her life and now the guy regretted it. Straightening her shirt she attempted to step past him.

  Clint grasped her hand. “It’s not that I didn’t enjoy kissing you…it’s that—”

  “It was a kiss.” She yanked her hand away. “No big deal.”

  He glanced at his watch. “We’d better head to the rodeo grounds to meet Lauren.”

  They drove in silence, Rachel replaying their kiss in her head. As much as Clint turned her on, he was smart to invoke the no-more-crossing-the-line rule. Becoming intimate with her father’s foreman would only muddle her mission.

  “I SAID NO VISITORS. What does an old man have to do to get people to listen to him?” P.T. grumbled after Clint entered his hospital room.

  “I’ll leave if you’re not in the mood for company.”

  “Be rude of me to send you home after you drove all this way.” The sparkle in P.T.’s eyes betrayed his grouchy demeanor.

  Clint crossed the room and stared out the window. “Nice view.” He settled into the recliner and extended the leg rest.

  “My doctor wants me to sit outside more often.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m guessing he believes if I surround myself with living things I won’t notice I’m dying.”

  P.T.’s morose words caught Clint by surprise. Until now, P.T. had maintained a positive attitude about his condition. “Has your cancer spread?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s bugging you?”

  “I miss working the rodeos.” P.T. gestured toward the door. “Did Rachel and Lauren come with you?”

  “I dropped the girls off at the mall. When they finish shopping they’ll catch a cab and head over here.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense. How’d the Canyon City Rodeo turn out?”

  Clint hoped P.T.’s cronies hadn’t informed him that Rachel had added a women’s rough-stock event to the schedule. “You talk to any of your friends?”

  “I phoned Mitch McDonnell but he hasn’t returned my call.”

  “The mayor’s too busy preening. The rodeo broke last year’s attendance records.”

  P.T. sat up straighter. “You don’t say? Did Gentry bring in better bucking stock this year?”

  Go with it. “He did and C. J. Rodriguez won both the bull and the saddle bronc competitions.”

  “That youngun’ might go all the way this year.” P.T. rubbed his hand down his whiskered cheek. “I had my doubts about asking Rachel to help this summer, but it looks like I worried for nothing.” He stared thoughtfully. “How are you and Rachel getting along?”

  Too well for our own good. “Lauren’s helping Rachel with the rodeos.”

  “Got to keep teenagers busy or they’ll get into trouble.”

  “I don’t remember giving you any problems.”

  “Once you decided to bust bulls you were too tired to misbehave.” P.T. shook his head. “I was against you riding bulls, but I guess you knew that.”

  No, Clint had not known P.T.’s feelings about the sport. “You never told me you disapproved.”

  “You were eighteen.”

  “Why didn’t you speak your mind?” Clint pressed.

  “Wasn’t my place to tell you what you could or couldn’t do. You weren’t rightfully my son.”

  Clint’s lungs seized up on him, making breathing difficult. P.T. had treated him like a son but deep down hadn’t considered Clint his child. The moment P.T. had become his foster parent Clint had believed they’d become a family—the two of them. Even when he’d learned of Rachel’s existence, he hadn’t felt threatened because she lived far away and had little contact with her father. He didn’t want to accept that P.T. put Rachel ahead of him.

  Maybe you were never number one.

  The thought sent a sharp pain through Clint’s chest.

  “That first year you rode the circuit I said a prayer when you climbed on the back of each bull,” P.T. said.

  “You weren’t the only one praying.” Clint braved a smile. He might not have been P.T.’s son but at least the old man had cared enough to be concerned about him. P.T. stared into space, his brow furrowed.

  “What’s troubling you?” Clint asked.

  “When a man hears the word cancer he recalls all the mistakes he made in his life and worries he won’t have time to square things with the people he wronged.”

  “You never wronged me. I’m grateful to you for giving me a home,” Clint said.

  “You wouldn’t be thankful if you knew the real reason I took you in.”

  Stunned, Clint opened his mouth to ask P.T. to explain but a knock on the door interrupted them.

  “You awake, P.T.?” Lauren popped her head into the room.

  “I’ve got cancer, not narcolepsy.”

  Lauren went straight to P.T. and hugged him. “Did you finish Planet Destiny?”

  “Read the final chapter last night. Can’t figure out what you young girls find so fascinating about a young man with hair down to his knees and skin as red as a lobster tail.”

  Lauren laughed. “Yeah, Zordan’s hot, isn’t he?”

  “Zordan was a fool to take on the Androids by himself.”

  “He had to defeat their army in order to free Princess Miriam from the clutches of evil Lord Trent.”

  “Miriam should have never fallen for Lord Trent’s false promises,” P.T. argued.

  “Girls will do anything for love.”

  Clint wondered if Rachel had answered P.T.’s call for help not because he was her father and in poor health but because she, too, yearned for love? “Where’s Rachel?” Clint asked.

  “She stopped in the gift shop.”

  “Have you read any of the Zane Gray novels?” P.T. spoke to Lauren.

  “I’m halfway through Riders of the Purple Sage.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I like that Jane Withersteen owns her own ranch and I don’t blame her for not wanting to marry some old man in their church, but the writing is lame.”

  “That book was written in 1912. Back then, people—” He stopped talking when Rachel entered the room.

  “Sorry if I’m interrupting.” Rachel set a shopping bag by the door and smiled at her father. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m still here,” P.T. groused.

  “Lauren, what do you say we check out the cafeteria while Rachel visits with P.T.?”

  “You don’t have to leave,” Rachel protested, but Clint and Lauren waltzed out of the room, shutting the door behind t
hem. Left alone with her father, she retreated to the window. “The terrace sure is a popular place.” Eleven patients visited with friends and family.

  “Clint said the Canyon City Rodeo broke attendance records.”

  “Mayor McDonnell was pleased.” She eyed her father’s reflection in the glass.

  “I hear Lauren’s helping you. What do you have her doing?”

  “Answering the phone, sending out flyers.” Rachel didn’t care to discuss the rodeos. She sat in the recliner, aware of her father’s eyes on her. The air in the room thickened with tension. Why was it so difficult to speak about the past?

  “Are you going to ask me or just sit there?” he said.

  “Ask you what?”

  “Why I sent you to live with my sister.”

  They were going to have the come-to-Jesus talk right now—with Lauren and Clint returning any minute? “I am curious as to why you took Clint in but couldn’t see fit to raise your own daughter.”

  P.T. dropped his gaze to his lap.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Rachel said. “What you did for Clint was generous and noble, but I’m suspicious of why you suddenly needed my help this summer after wanting nothing to do with me most of my life.”

  A sigh escaped P.T. “I believed I was acting in your best interest by sending you to live with my sister.”

  “I was five years old. I’d lost my mother. How could you think I’d be better off without both my parents?”

  “Because the only parent you had left didn’t trust himself to keep you safe from harm if you remained on the ranch.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you believe something bad would happen to me if I lived with you?”

  The answer to Rachel’s question would have to wait when the door opened and Clint came back into the room, Lauren on his heels.

  “This is a really cool hospital, P.T. I like the game room.” Lauren’s gaze swung to Rachel. “There’s an old-fashioned pinball machine and an air-hockey table next to the cafeteria.”

  “Nothing but the best, kiddo.” P.T.’s smile failed to hide the pain in his eyes when he looked at Rachel.

  “We should head back to Stagecoach,” Rachel said.

  “Wait a second.” P.T. rummaged through the drawer in the nightstand next to his bed. “With everything going on I’d forgotten that I’d booked a houseboat on Lake Powell last year for the July Fourth holiday.” He held up a white envelope. “I’d planned to invite a few business associates to discuss the possibility of expanding Five Star Rodeos’s summer schedule, but with me stuck here, the men have made other plans. Too late for a refund and it’d be a shame to waste those days on the boat. You three go in my place?”

  Was her father trying to make amends for the proverbial bomb he’d dropped on her a few minutes ago? No matter his objective, Rachel conceded that she would enjoy a break from the ranch. “I’d love to see more of Arizona,” she said. Now that the groundwork had been laid with the media, and interviews scheduled for the Boot Hill Rodeo July 16th and 17th, there was little else to do.

  “We’re right in the middle of a busy rodeo season,” Clint said.

  He acted as if being stuck with Rachel on a boat in the middle of a lake would be torture…unless he considered being alone with her torture of a sensual kind.

  P.T. handed Rachel the envelope. “The marina number’s in there. Call and tell them you’re taking my place.”

  Rachel offered a token of resistance. “Like Clint said, Dad, we’re busy preparing for the next rodeo. We don’t have time—”

  “A few days won’t make or break any rodeo schedule.” P.T. pointed at Clint. “Ask Mark Donner to feed the stock and watch the ranch while you’re gone. He owes me for taking in that renegade bull that attacked his herd.”

  Rachel shrugged and mouthed the word whatever when Clint looked at her.

  “Stay well.” Clint patted P.T.’s shoulder.

  Lauren hugged P.T. “I miss you.”

  Torn over needing her father’s hug and wanting to run from the room, Rachel took a step toward the bed, but chickened out at the last second. “Take care of yourself.” She left the room first and waited in the hall for Lauren and Clint.

  The drive back to Stagecoach took forever. Lauren listened to her iPod. Clint fiddled with the radio every half hour. Rachel stared out the window.

  When Clint pulled into the ranch yard, he said, “We didn’t stop for supper on the way home. I could throw a few hamburgers on the grill.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” Rachel hopped out of the truck and shut the door in his face.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Rachel didn’t even hug P.T. goodbye.”

  “You noticed, huh?”

  “Is she mad at him?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I thought maybe Rachel was upset because he got sick. I know it doesn’t make sense but my sociology teacher said when people feel helpless they become angry. Rachel probably wishes she could cure P.T.’s cancer.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You should go talk to her, Dad. Tell her P.T.’s cancer isn’t her fault.”

  “I think Rachel needs her space.” He got out of the truck and walked with Lauren to the cabin.

  “Dad?”

  “What?”

  “Shannon and her friends are coming over tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Okay.” Clint was getting damned tired of corralling practice bulls, but he couldn’t very well tell the women to find a new facility—not when they were the reason Five Star Rodeos kicked butt in Canyon City.

  “I’ve been practicing on the mechanical bull in the barn and I’m getting better. Shannon’s been helping me. She thinks I’m ready to try a real bull.”

  “The hell you say!” Clint hadn’t meant to yell but he was so confused about his feelings for Rachel that he couldn’t think straight. “Sorry.” He exhaled slowly. “What level?” There were three levels on the bucking machine—beginner, intermediate and advanced.

  “Beginner, but if I could practice on a real bull…” The yearning on his daughter’s face tugged at Clint. He’d experienced that same desire when he’d asked P.T. to let him ride bulls.

  “Please, Dad.”

  “You’ve never even ridden a horse,” Clint said.

  “I don’t care about horses. I want to ride bulls.”

  “It’s late.” Clint wasn’t in the mood for another go-round with his stubborn daughter. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “We never discuss. I ask. You say no.” Lauren stomped off, but paused on the cabin steps. “Just when I was kinda of getting to like it here, you go and ruin it for me.”

  Lauren liked being here? Clint’s resolve wavered. “Your mother would have a fit if she found out,” he said.

  “You’d be there watching me.”

  Damn straight he would. “Riding a bull isn’t like other sports. There’s balance and technique involved and you need to be able to judge the bull’s next move.”

  “Then teach me. You were a bull rider.” Lauren’s eyes shone with hope. “Maybe I inherited your cowboy genes.”

  Giving his daughter pointers on bull riding would allow them to share a common interest and maybe by the grace of God help strengthen their relationship. He pointed a finger. “You only ride when I’m present.”

  “Promise.”

  “I mean it, Lauren. If I discover you’ve ridden a bull behind my back, you’re done.”

  “Understood.” Lauren clapped her hands together.

  “And don’t tell your mom.”

  “It’ll be our secret.”

  Another secret. There seemed to be a lot of secrets floating around Five Star Ranch these days.

  Chapter Ten

  “Are you sure about this, Lauren?” Clint watched his daughter settle onto Curly’s back. Before he’d escorted the bull into the bucking pen, he’d had a long chat with Curly, reminding the retired rodeo rock star that if not for
P.T. granting him sanctuary at the ranch, his hide would be covering a rich man’s floor.

  “I can do this.” Lauren’s mouth pursed with determination but her confident demeanor did little to reassure Clint.

  Not an hour went by that he didn’t regret agreeing to teach his daughter the finer points of bull riding, but working together had brought about an uneasy peace between them and Clint was reluctant for their relationship to return to sullen teen vs. bewildered father.

  “Hold the bull rope with both hands,” he said.

  “I’m ready for one hand,” she insisted.

  “Squeeze your—”

  “You’ve told me this stuff a million times.” Lauren glanced across the corral. “Rachel’s coming.”

  Clint braced himself. He’d kept his contact with Rachel to a minimum since their visit with P.T. in Phoenix. While she promoted the Boot Hill Rodeo, he spent his days feeding livestock and babysitting Lauren in the bull pen. Nights were a different story. As soon as his head hit the pillow, thoughts and images of Rachel crowded his mind. Their kiss the night of the Canyon City Rodeo had changed everything between them. He no longer associated Rachel with being P.T.’s daughter. Instead, he viewed her as a sexy, feisty, desirable woman—a woman he wanted in his bed.

  “Another lesson?” Rachel stopped next to the chute.

  “Dad says I still have to hang on with both hands.”

  “Is she ready, Clint?” Rachel asked.

  He liked the way Rachel’s blond hair shone almost white beneath the hot afternoon sun. “She’s ready,” he muttered. But I’m not.

  “Make it to eight.” Rachel high-fived Lauren.

  “Get the gate, Dad.” Lauren tightened the strap beneath her protective headgear.

  Clenching his jaw, Clint opened the chute door and Curly leaped into action. The bull’s twists and bucks lacked the vigor of the animals used in the Canyon City rodeo, but Lauren had to fight hard to keep her seat.

  After a moment Clint’s adrenaline shoved aside his fear and he shouted, “Arm in the air!”

  Lauren’s arm shot high above her head, then Curly decided to be a stinker, kicking his back legs out and rolling his wide girth to the side. Lauren sailed through the air. She hit the ground but bounced to her feet before Curly figured out he no longer had a rider on his back and ceased bucking.