Arizona Cowboy

by Marin Thomas

  Clint soaked in the scent and feel of Rachel. In her arms he forgot she threatened everything dear to him—his place in P.T.’s heart and his home at Five Star Ranch. As a father with a daughter of his own he didn’t want to be the man who stood in Rachel’s way of reconciling with P.T.

  Rachel deserves a chance to build a relationship with P.T.

  Clint had had P.T. all to himself for years and Rachel was entitled to her father’s love and attention, especially now with P.T.’s health in question. Clint worried that he didn’t have the courage to step aside and allow Rachel and her father the space they needed to grow closer and heal their wounds.

  “Hungry?”

  The whispered question ended Clint’s snarled thoughts. “I doubt the steaks are edible anymore.”

  Rachel propped herself on her elbows and smiled. The sparkle in her blue eyes set off another a surge of desire in his body. “I wasn’t referring to food.” Her mouth closed over Clint’s and damned if all his good intentions didn’t jump ship.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Rachel!” Lauren’s frantic voice rang out as she zigzagged through the milling cowboys and cowgirls preparing for the Saturday afternoon events at the Boot Hill Rodeo.

  “Whoa. Where’s the fire?” Rachel’s joke failed to erase the deer-in-the-headlights expression from Lauren’s face. “What’s wrong?” Rachel’s first thought was Clint. She hadn’t seen him in several hours but since returning from the houseboat on Lake Powell he was never far from her mind.

  “Skylar isn’t riding,” Lauren said.

  “Why?”

  “Her dad had a heart attack this morning.”

  “Will he be okay?”

  “Shannon said yes but the doctors are doing a medical procedure on him and Skylar’s staying at the hospital with her mom.”

  Poor Skylar.

  “What are we going to do, Rachel? We’re one bull rider short.”

  A giant knot formed in Rachel’s stomach. After Julie had dislocated her shoulder at the Canyon City Rodeo, Shannon had found a replacement—Hannah Buck from Tucson—but without Skylar they were still one competitor short.

  “Let me take Skylar’s place.”

  Rachel stared at Lauren in shock.

  “You’ve seen me practice at the ranch. I’m ready.”

  Clint would never forgive Rachel if she allowed his daughter to compete without his permission. “Have you asked your father?”

  “I’m not stupid, Rachel. I know my dad won’t let me ride in a real competition.”

  At least the teen was honest. “I’m sorry, Lauren. I can’t allow you to go behind your father’s back.”

  “But they’ll cancel the event.”

  “Let’s talk with Shannon and the others.” Rachel and Lauren joined the cowgirls who’d gathered near the bull pen.

  “I’m guessing it’s impossible to find another woman willing to ride in less than an hour.” Rachel directed the comment to Shannon.

  “Unlike barrel racers, female bull riders aren’t a dime a dozen,” Shannon said.

  Wendy pointed to the bleachers where fans waved posters in support of the women’s event. “We can’t let them down.”

  “Maybe one of the barrel racers will help us out,” Dixie chimed in.

  Earlier in the day Rachel had overheard Shannon and Dixie chatting and discovered Shannon was paying Dixie a thousand dollars for each of the Five Star Rodeos Dixie competed in. Dixie had informed Shannon that she’d use the money to market her soaps online. If the women’s event was canceled, Dixie wouldn’t make her thousand dollars.

  Rachel eyed the bulls in the holding pen. From a distance the animals appeared docile, but she’d witnessed firsthand their brutality.

  You’re in excellent physical condition.

  You’re strong.

  Stubborn.

  Tough.

  More bullheaded than a bull.

  An image of her father sitting on his hospital bed flashed before Rachel’s eyes. Why was it so important that she not fail him? Did she really believe after all this time his feelings for her would change if the rodeos were a success this summer?

  Are you willing to risk your life for a few words of appreciation from P.T.?

  Dear God, help me. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” She motioned the women closer and they formed a tight circle. “I’m taking Skylar’s place.”

  Silence greeted her statement. Then Dixie spoke. “You’ve never ridden a bull.”

  “Do not say a word to your father,” Rachel told Lauren. “I’ll switch my name with Skylar’s right before the event.” Pulse pounding in her veins, she spoke to Shannon. “I need a lesson in bull riding 101.”

  “You’re not going for eight are you?” Shannon asked.

  “I’m a fool but not that big of one,” Rachel said.

  “Okay, then. Wendy and I will secure the rope and make sure you’ve got a good grip. As soon as the bull clears the chute, release the bull rope and dive off.”

  “What’s the best way to land?” Rachel expected a few bruises but wanted to avoid breaking her neck or snapping her spine, if possible.

  “Depends on how you’re thrown,” Shannon said. “If you’re headed face-first toward the dirt, twist at the waist so your shoulder takes the brunt of the impact. You’ll get the wind knocked out of you, but you’ve got to roll away from the bull and get to your feet as quick as possible.”

  Block out the pain until I’m safe.

  “The bullfighters will distract the bull so he doesn’t charge,” Kim said.

  “What happens if the bull comes after me?”

  “Run for the rails in a zigzag pattern and don’t look back,” Dixie said.

  I can do this.

  Shannon removed her riding gloves and handed them to Rachel. “Try these on. If they’re too loose we’ll find another pair.”

  “They fit fine.”

  “We’re about the same size.” Wendy handed Rachel her vest and protective headgear. “You want my chaps, too?”

  “No.” Rachel stood quietly while the other women tugged, pulled, snapped, tied and zipped her into the bull-riding gear.

  “You’re riding Sweet Water,” Shannon said. “I’m not familiar with the bull so I can’t help you with how he leaves the chute.”

  “Lean back, not forward.” Kim secured the leather vest. “You don’t want to fly over the bull’s head.”

  “Should I try to keep my left hand in the air?” Rachel asked.

  “I’d hang on with both hands if I were you and don’t be concerned about disqualifying.” Shannon stared into Rachel’s eyes. “You’re trying to survive, not win.”

  “Heavens, this thing is heavy.” Rachel tugged on the vest. Hopefully the extra fifteen pounds of added weight would help her stay balanced. “I better sign in.”

  When she arrived at the sign-in table she said, “There’s been a change in the women’s bull-riding event.”

  “I know. Clint McGraw already informed us.”

  Clint had spoken to the rodeo officials? “Informed you of what?”

  “That the women’s event tonight has been canceled because one of the cowgirls didn’t show.”

  Stunned, Rachel stood mute for a moment. Why would Clint cancel the event without consulting her first? Because he wants to see you fail.

  No. A lump formed in Rachel’s throat, threatening to choke her. Not after their trip to Lake Powell. Not after spending time together…becoming closer…making love.

  “There’s been a mistake,” Rachel said.

  “What kind of mistake?” the rodeo worker asked.

  “We have a replacement for Skylar Riggins.”

  “Clint didn’t mention a substitute.”

  “He didn’t know.”

  “All right. Who’s taking Skylar’s place?”

  “Me. Rachel Lewis.”

  “Where are you from, Rachel?”

  “Providence, Rhode Island.”

  The woman’s eyes twi
nkled. “Didn’t think they had women’s bull riding out East.”

  Rachel didn’t comment.

  “Okay, I’ll inform the announcers and judges that the women’s bull-riding event is still a go. Good luck.”

  “Thank you.” Rachel returned to the chutes, but kept Clint’s devious actions to herself, not wanting to upset the women before they rode.

  “Are you scared, Rachel?” Lauren asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Then don’t ride. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Lauren’s confession tugged at Rachel’s heartstrings. “I’ll be fine. As soon as I see the right opening, I’m diving for safety.”

  The JumboTron flashed images of the women riding their bulls at the Canyon City Rodeo and after a minute the music died down and the announcer spoke.

  “Folks, earlier tonight one of the female bull riders had to withdraw due to a family emergency.”

  Rachel scanned the cowboy-ready area searching for Clint. She spotted him speaking with his bullfighting partner Randy. Dressed in their colorful uniforms, their heads were bent in conversation.

  “We’d planned to cancel the women’s bull-riding event, but it looks as if a replacement for Skylar Riggins has been found, so we’re gonna get to see these brave women compete after all!”

  Clint’s head snapped up and he glanced toward the chutes. His gaze landed on Rachel, his eyes widening when he noticed she wore rodeo gear. While the fans applauded and stomped their boots on the metal bleachers, Rachel engaged in a stare down with Clint. Shannon forced Rachel to break eye contact first.

  “Be careful.” Shannon’s comment drew Rachel’s attention to Sweet Water.

  The black bull with flecks of white and brown around the neck appeared docile. Be a nice boy. Rachel climbed the rails and watched Shannon and Wendy work the rope around the animal. After they finished, Rachel gingerly settled onto Sweet Water’s back, her blood pumping hard and fast through her veins.

  “Give me your hand,” Shannon said. She wrapped the rope around Rachel’s fingers, pinning her hand in place—tight but not too tight.

  “Will I be able to free my hand?” Rachel asked.

  “The bull’s bucking will loosen the rope. Remember, lean back and when you clear the rails, release your grip and push off.”

  “When do I nod to the gateman?” Rachel asked.

  “Whenever you’re ready.” Shannon patted Rachel’s thigh. “Go get ’em, cowgirl!”

  CLINT STOOD TO THE RIGHT of the bull chute and fumed. Heart pounding like a jackhammer inside his chest, he couldn’t take his eyes off Rachel sitting atop Sweet Water. The woman had lost her mind—the desert heat had finally driven her plum crazy.

  “Folks, we’ve got six of the bravest women you’ll ever run across in your lifetime. These cowgirls risk their lives for eight seconds of glory and a share of the pot. Riding first is Rachel Lewis from Providence, Rhode Island!”

  A fear-induced sweat broke out across Clint’s brow.

  “Rachel’s riding Sweet Water—a bull more sour than sweet,” the announcer said.

  Clint sent a hand signal to Randy, communicating that the rider was green. Randy signaled back that he’d move in close and distract the bull.

  Damn it, Rachel. Her inexperience put Clint and Randy at greater risk once Rachel was thrown. Clint ran out of time to worry when the chute door opened and Sweet Water lurched into the arena.

  The bull flung Rachel’s body around like a rag doll—how the woman managed to keep her seat more than a second amazed Clint. While Randy waved his arms in front of Sweet Water’s face, Clint watched Rachel twist her hand and loosen her hold on the rope. A moment later she flew through the air. As if viewing a slow-motion picture, her body floated past Clint, arms extended, legs tangled. She twisted at the last second, her shoulder slamming against the ground, absorbing the brunt of her fall. Rachel rolled twice before gaining control of her body.

  Clint rushed into action, stepping between her and the bull. Get up! Get up!

  In the extra seconds it took Rachel to stagger to her feet, Sweet Water turned on her. Randy shouted a warning but Clint had already inched closer to the bull, swatting its butt. Sweet Water changed direction and charged at Clint. He didn’t have a chance to think—only react. He dove sideways, his thigh catching the tip of the bull’s horn.

  Jumping into the fray, Randy caught the bull’s attention, enabling Clint to get to his feet. He checked over his shoulder, relieved to see Rachel had made it to safety.

  After coaxing Sweet Water into the bull pen, Randy trotted over to Clint. “You okay?” He pointed to the wet stain on Clint’s shorts.

  “Just a scratch. I’ll have it checked after the last ride.”

  “Close call,” Randy said. “We earned our money on that one.”

  No kidding. Rachel was lucky to be alive.

  While the announcer droned on about the history of women’s bull riding, Clint retreated behind the chutes and wrapped his leg with gauze. He willed his blood pressure to return to normal—fat chance when Rachel’s ride played over and over in his mind. What if she’d been seriously injured? How would he have explained to P.T. that he’d failed to keep Rachel safe? Had she considered how her actions today might affect her father? P.T. had enough on his plate, fighting cancer. If Rachel had been hurt, P.T. would never forgive himself for asking her to come to Stagecoach for the summer.

  And you would never forgive yourself, either.

  “WHERE IS SHE?”

  Rachel flinched when she heard the angry sound of Clint’s voice outside the first-aid tent. Dan, the paramedic, had left her alone to check on a boy suffering from heat exhaustion. Seated on a cot with her left hand immersed in a bucket of ice water, she braced herself as the tent flap opened and Clint entered. Avoiding eye contact, she fastened her gaze to his chest. She’d put on a brave front for Lauren and the other women, but the bull ride had shaken Rachel to the core and she was an emotional mess.

  “What happened?” He gestured to the bucket of ice water.

  “I broke two fingers when I landed on the ground.” She waited for Clint to speak but his mouth remained clamped shut. She dropped her gaze and her eyes widened at the sight of the red-stained bandage showing beneath his athletic shorts. “You got hurt.”

  “A nick.” His tortured eyes bore into her for endless seconds, then he lowered his head and rubbed his brow. “Damn it, Rachel.”

  Was he scared because he cared about her and she could have been seriously injured or was he worried what P.T. would say if he got wind of her stunt?

  “What the hell were you thinking, riding a bull?”

  His anger fueled hers. “What were you thinking, canceling the women’s event without my consent?”

  The muscle in Clint’s jaw pulsed with anger.

  “I made a promise to my father and I will do everything in my power to keep that promise,” she said.

  “Even if it kills you?”

  She sidestepped the question. “If I didn’t know better I’d believe you were trying to sabotage my efforts to make the rodeos a success this summer.”

  “That’s crazy.” Clint avoided eye contact.

  “I misjudged you,” she said. “I assumed if my father trusted you to help him I could, too.”

  Face red, Clint’s didn’t defend himself.

  A sharp pain shot through her hand and Rachel decided now wasn’t the time to go head-to-head with Clint. She motioned to his leg. “What happened?”

  “Caught the tip of Sweet Water’s horn when I jumped in front of you.”

  Oh, God. Her crazy actions today had not only put her life at risk but Clint’s and his partner’s, also. “I’m sorry. I never meant for—”

  He moved closer, reached into the bucket and lifted her hand from the water. He gently touched her swollen fingers. “Did they give you something for pain?”

  “Ibuprofen.”

  “Any news on Skylar’s dad?” Clint returned her hand to the ice w
ater.

  “Not yet.”

  “Skylar will be back for the final rodeo.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “How did the rest of the women do?”

  “Shannon’s the only one who made it to eight. No one got hurt, except you.”

  And Clint.

  “The girls are talking to the press right now and Lauren’s checking with a local TV station about doing an interview with Shannon.”

  Rachel smiled. “Her pink hair intrigues the reporters.”

  “Yeah, well, I think her pink hair is ugly, but what do I know? I’m her dad.”

  “Have you talked with Mayor Ross?” As soon as she asked the question the tent flap opened and the mayor strolled in.

  “By golly, Clint, we topped the Canyon City Rodeo attendance record.” The mayor beamed. “Just as you promised, the women’s bull-riding event played a big role in ticket sales.”

  Rachel wanted to protest that she deserved credit for today’s success but kept her mouth shut.

  Mayor Ross nudged Clint. “P.T. ought to have you running the show all the time.”

  What would the mayor think if he learned Clint had tried to cancel the women’s event? Rachel silently fumed.

  “How bad did you get hurt, missy?” Mayor Ross asked.

  “Sprained a couple of fingers,” Rachel lied.

  “Glad it wasn’t worse.” The mayor tipped his hat and left, bumping into the paramedic on the way out of the tent.

  “Dan, would you check Clint’s thigh?” Ignoring Clint’s evil-eyed glare, Rachel lifted the ice bucket with her good hand and trailed after the mayor.

  “Did you need stitches?” she asked ten minutes later when Clint stepped from the tent.

  “No.”

  They stood in silence, Rachel’s brain screaming for answers. Why were she and Clint always at odds? As she struggled to make sense out of his actions today, he walked off, leaving her feeling hollow and very much alone.

  “RACHEL WAS REALLY brave today,” Lauren said.

  Brave? More like insane. He glanced at the kitchen clock in the cabin. Eleven-thirty. The day couldn’t end fast enough for him. “Rachel was foolish to ride that bull. She could have been killed.”