by Norah Wilson
Death by Misadventure. The phrase popped into her brain. Beside her, Cal and Spider continued to talk as though there were nothing wrong, but their voices, too, faded in and out.
“He’ll go to the left out of the chute…remember Calgary that time…he looked left, but went right…getting a little stout these days…still got that nasty belly roll…”
“No!” Lauren found her voice at last. “You can’t do this.”
Both men turned to look at her. From their expressions, you’d think she’d shouted an obscenity. Spider’s eyebrows were lost somewhere under his hat and Cal looked mildly astonished.
“Oh, but I think I can.”
Lauren’s pulse kicked again. “You don’t have to do this, Cal. The barrel races, the calf roping, the roping clinics—”
“Will hold their attention for a full day, maybe a day and a half. And what do I do then, when people get restless?” He made an impatient noise. “This stuff…”—he gestured to the barrel racing course—“is about speed and skill, but rodeo is more than that. It’s about risk. We can’t give them steer wrestling or roping, so it has to be bullriding.” He gave her his deadliest smile. “Besides, I happen to be pretty good at this, you know.”
Fear and anger gnawed at her gut. She wanted to smack that smile off his face. Hands fisted at her sides, she forced her emotions down. She had to be clearheaded, appeal to his reason.
She took a breath. “I know you’re good at it, but you’ve been retired a long time. What’s it been? Four years? Five?”
“So has the bull,” he countered. “Spider says he’s gotten fat and lazy eating Alberta grass. It’ll be a cakewalk.”
His gray eyes blazed with an excitement he couldn’t hide, and her heart sank. There’d be no changing his mind, she realized. He wanted to do this. “I wish I could believe that.”
“Of course you can believe it. Hey, why do you think he’s retired?” He tipped her chin up with a gloved hand. “Hey, it’ll be just like riding a rocking horse. You’ll see.”
He spoke with kindness, the way an adult might reassure a terrified child. She knew then that he saw just how scared-to-the-bone she was. Oh Jesus, God, why not just announce to him and Spider and whoever else cared to listen that she lov…
Lauren tried to jam the brakes on that thought, but it was too late. Awareness exploded in her mind, jolting her to her fingertips and driving out even her fear for Cal.
Heaven help her, it wasn’t just a case of raging lust. She’d gone and fallen in love with him. Her mind went numb.
“Hey, Lauren, you all right?”
“Yeah, sure, I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “And you know what? You’re right. You know exactly what you’re doing. It’ll be all right.” With a vague wave of her hand, she turned and headed for the house before she could embarrass herself further.
Cal watched her go.
“You’re welcome,” Spider said.
“Huh?”
“For not laughing my ass off when you said ‘fat and lazy’ in the same breath as Misadventure.”
“You did say he was stockier.” Cal’s gaze still followed Lauren.
Spider snorted. “He is that, but you and I both know why that devil was pulled off the circuit.”
Cal resisted the urge to finger the ridge of scar tissue that rode his ribcage. “Yeah, we know, but she doesn’t have to.”
“See? I know when to keep my mouth shut.”
“Aw, hell.”
“Well, strictly speakin’, I guess I coulda stayed mum about Misadventure being the one that sliced and diced you, but…”
“No, not that. McLeod’s here.”
Harvey McLeod had intersected Lauren. She lifted a finger to point to where he and Spider stood, then continued in the direction of the house. Harvey started toward them. Behind Cal, another rider burst onto the barrel course, but he ignored the commotion.
“Great, just what I need,” he muttered under his breath, but when the older man drew within earshot, he called a greeting. “Afternoon, Harvey. What brings you to Foothills?”
“Heard you had a little shindig going on over here and I thought I’d come take a look. You don’t mind, do you?”
Cal minded, all right, but he couldn’t afford to show any weakness in front of the man who would have his ranch.
“Of course not,” he said, pasting on a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spider slip away. At least he wouldn’t have to lay on the false hospitality in front of his cowhand. “You’re welcome to watch, but it’s pretty small-time stuff.”
Harvey lifted his eyebrows. “If there’s any truth to the rumor I heard, I wouldn’t call it small-time.”
Cal narrowed his eyes. “What’d you hear?”
“That you’d be riding your nemesis.”
Geez, his neighbor must have known about the rematch with Misadventure before Cal himself got the news. Of course, there was no way he’d admit that to Harvey. Cal put on his poker face.
“Well, for once the grapevine’s right,” he confirmed. “Misadventure’s on his way right now.”
“When do you ride him?” Harvey’s eyes gleamed with poorly concealed anticipation.
Cal almost snorted. Did Harvey imagine Misadventure would finish the job this time, leaving the ranch up for grabs?
“The first time, you mean?” The words were out before Cal could stop them, and Harvey’s black eyebrows disappeared clean up into his snow-white hair.
“You’re gonna try to ride that devil more than once?”
Aw, why’d he have to run off at the mouth like that? Well, there was no backing down now. Cal shrugged casually. “Wouldn’t be much of a rodeo if someone didn’t cover three bulls. Since we have only one, I guess I’ll have to cover it three times.”
Harvey fairly licked his lips. “Starting when?”
“Tonight after supper.” Cal sincerely hoped the bull would arrive in time to save him from a lie. “I’ll go twice tomorrow.”
Harvey looked at his watch. “Mind if I hang around for it?”
“Be my guest. Delia lays on a real nice spread for supper. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some preparation to do.”
With that, Cal strode toward the barn. If he was going to get up close and personal with Misadventure, not once but three times, he’d better find his lucky bull rope.
While he was at it, maybe he could find a zip for his lip.
Lauren honest-to-God tried to stay away, but she quickly discovered the only thing worse than watching the idiotic jerk-of-a-man-she-loved risk his neck foolishly was not watching it. Consequently, six o’clock found her corral-side with Brady and Marlena as Cal tried to settle atop the bellowing yellow monster.
“Relax, honey,” Marlena advised, not taking her eyes off Cal. “Cal’s done this a thousand times.”
Lauren shuddered, knowing it was true. No doubt Marlena had watched him with that same avid gleam in her green eyes.
Just then, Misadventure jumped, grinding against the chute.
“Look! Do you see what that bull’s doing? He’s going to crush his leg.” Lauren shoved her hands into the pockets of her skirt to conceal their trembling.
Marlena laughed. “They’re just jockeying. Cal won’t nod for the gate until the bull lets him get a leg down, and the bull knows it. Misadventure wants this contest as much as Cal does.”
Lauren swallowed. No doubt Marlena was right, but it didn’t make her feel any better.
“What’s Spider doing? Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”
Marlena cast her a scathing glance. “I’m guessing you’ve never watched bullriding before?”
Lauren resisted the urge to tell her just what she thought of bullriding and the people who watched it. “You’d be right.”
“No, there’s nothing wrong,” she said, returning her attention to the activity in the chute. “He’s helping Cal get the bull rope on there just right. A rider can only use the one hand to hang on. The other one he has to keep
in the air. If his free hand slaps the bull before the eight seconds is up, the ride’s no good. That rope’ll be the only thing he gets to hold onto once that gate swings open, so it’s got to be secure.”
Secure. Lauren let out a breath. Secure was a good word. And Cal was taking his time. That had to be good, right?
“Only thing is, he doesn’t want to get tied down too good,” Brady said. “If he can’t free his hand when it’s time to bail out, it can get ugly.”
Lauren had a mental picture of Cal tethered to the monstrous animal by his own rope, getting flung around like a rag doll.
“He’s ready!” cried Marlena. “See, he’s nodding his head.”
Lauren saw Cal’s Stetson bob rapidly, almost as rapidly as her heart was beating right now, and the gate swung open.
The monstrous Brahman exploded out of the chute with incredible vertical loft, landed stiff-legged, then started spinning dizzyingly, all the while bucking and rolling.
Lauren’s heart stopped. Beside her, Marlena ran a rapid-fire commentary. “He’s going to the left! Atta boy, Cal. You read him like a book. No, wait! He’s reversing the spin.”
Lauren knew nothing about bullriding, but it was obvious even to her the bull’s move had thrown Cal off balance. He was leaning too far left. One more twist and he’d come flying off.
It didn’t happen.
Somehow Cal pulled himself back to center, leaning dangerously far out over the bull’s head. For the last few seconds, he looked in complete control, if a 180-pound man could be said to control a ton of enraged bovine.
When the whistle sounded, it took Cal a second to free his hand, long enough for Lauren to think, He’s stuck! But the next instant she saw daylight between bull and rider. Cal landed in a crouch, stumbled a few steps, then scrambled up on the fence. The crowd inhaled as Misadventure roared after him, but the rodeo clown, or bullfighter, as Marlena called him, successfully distracted the beast. Within seconds the bull, still raking the air furiously with its single horn, was herded into a chute. Lauren released a shaky breath along with the rest of the crowd.
“There you have it, folks.” Jim Mallory’s voice crackled over the PA. “Cowboy one, bull zero.”
The small crowd went wild. Grinning, Cal retrieved his bull rope and his hat, which had come off in the unceremonious dismount. Dusting his hat off, he scanned the thin crowd of spectators, his gaze stopping on Lauren. He jammed the hat back on, stopped to shake hands with his bullfighter, whom Lauren now recognized under the frizzy clown hair as one of Cal’s hands, then came straight toward her.
Lauren caught her breath again, this time for an entirely different reason. As he strode toward her, his tanned forearms caught the sun. The protective vest he wore hugged his torso, emphasizing the way his broad shoulders tapered to a trim waist. And man, oh man, the chaps. Worn over his faded Wranglers, they seemed designed for the sole purpose of framing his masculinity.
Suddenly, as she stood there with desire unfurling in her belly, she had a clear picture what it must have been like for Cal all those years. Conquering the bulls, then having his pick of beautiful women, all eager to share his bed. A surge of raw jealousy singed her already ragged nerves. She stepped back from the fence as though to distance herself from the intensity of it all, but Marlena and Brady crowded closer.
Seth, who’d just come up to join them, reached through the fence to take the bull rope from Cal. “Pretty ride, Boss.”
“Yeah, hella nice ride,” Brady said.
“Thanks.” Cal scaled the fence and dropped lightly to the ground.
Marlena caught him around the neck and laid a kiss on his mouth.
“Oh Lord, that was just like old times,” she said when she let him breathe. “I don’t know how you stuck on there. He had you bucked off for sure. I swear there was nothing holding you on but willpower.”
To Lauren’s relief—and to Brady’s too, no doubt—Cal pried Marlena’s hands from around his neck and put her firmly away.
A layer of dust clung to him, but his eyes shone like burnished silver when he finally turned to Lauren. Lord, he was so beautiful. And such a reckless fool. She wanted to throw herself at him, kiss him so hard, claw him. Instead she smiled tightly, turned on her heel, and left.
“Whoops, guess the lady doesn’t have the stomach for rodeo.”
Cal ignored Marlena’s comment. Stripping his riding glove off, he handed it to Seth. “Stash that for me, would you?”
Without waiting for a reply, he strode off after Lauren. It took some doing to catch up to her long-legged stride without breaking into a jog.
“I guess I don’t have to ask what you thought of the show,” he said when he finally fell in beside her.
“We’ve been over this.” Lauren stopped as a couple of kids raced across her path, then continued toward the house. “I just hate to see you risk your neck needlessly.”
He bit back a sigh. “I had to do something to hold their interest. Look how soon they tired of the barrel races.” He placed a hand on her arm to slow her. “I had no choice.”
“Don’t even!” She stopped abruptly, fixing him with a glare. “You loved every minute of it, Cal Taggart. Don’t you dare deny it. I saw it in your eyes back there.”
He looked away for a moment, watching Jim and three other hands transfer a pissed-off Misadventure back into his trailer.
He turned back to her. “Okay, I enjoyed it,” he admitted. “It’s what I did for a good part of my life. I’m good at it.”
“Well, I didn’t enjoy it,” she snapped. “It’s worse than stupid auto racing.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You think they’re hoping to see a wreck?”
“Don’t you?”
“Hell, no. I mean, sure, the risk factor plays into it, but they watch for the same reason I ride—they enjoy the contest.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you enjoy it so much, why’d you quit?”
“I already told you. Because I’m not a kid anymore. It was time to start thinking about something other than having fun.”
She gave him a hard stare.
“And I was slowing down a little, I guess,” he conceded. “I couldn’t ride at the level I needed to ride to keep winning.”
“Precisely! Which is why you have no business riding that…monster. Your reaction time—”
“My reactions are plenty fast enough for a retired bull.”
“Retired bull! Don’t humor me, Cal.”
“I’m not—”
“I talked to Jim about that bull. He told me it was pulled off the circuit because it was just too dangerous.”
Great. Thank you, Jim. “That was years ago. He’s mellowed a lot since.”
She grasped Cal’s arm with surprising strength. “Don’t ride him again. You beat him once, the crowd got its thrill. Please, Cal, let that be enough.”
Cal looked down into blue eyes gone dark with worry and wished with surprising vehemence that he could oblige her plea. No one had ever asked him not to ride a bull before. Well, except his father maybe, but his father’s distaste for the sport had nothing to do with concern for Cal’s well-being. He’d just wanted his son to stop fooling around and settle to ranching.
But he’d already committed himself. An image of Harvey McLeod, a knowing smirk on his lips, sprang to mind. No, he couldn’t back down. Not now.
“Sorry, that’s the drill. Cowboy has to cover three bulls.”
“Yeah, but Misadventure is a third-round bull. In real competition, the first two bulls would be a lot easier.”
Cripes, he supposed he had Jim to thank too for her newly acquired rodeo savvy. “I wouldn’t call any of them easy.”
“But they get progressively harder with each round, right?”
“Right,” he clipped.
“So why put yourself in the position of riding three third-round bulls? You’d never do that in competition.”
He drew breath to protest that it wasn’t the same, that Misadventure would be bea
ten down each time he was ridden, but he never got his answer out. A voice cut him off.
“Cal, there you are.”
He glanced up to see a flushed Delia hurrying across the grass. Oh hell. What could possibly have gone wrong now?
“Trouble in the kitchen?”
“No, nothing like that.” She aimed a quick “Hi” at Lauren, then turned back to Cal. “I just wanted to warn you we’ve got an unexpected visitor and I’m not sure what to do with him.”
“Oh, you mean Harvey McLeod?” Relief flooded his nerve endings, making him aware how tense he was. “He’s been here since four. I told him he could stay and take in the show.”
“No, I’m not talking about Harvey Freakin’ McLeod!”
Cal looked at Delia then, really looked at her. The unflappable, indispensable Delia was practically wringing her hands. His anxiety leapt like a brush fire in May. “Who then?”
Before Delia could reply, a voice boomed from Cal’s left.
“Hello, Callum.”
That voice from his past reached right inside, twisting his guts up in an iron fist.
Of course. This was just exactly what he needed. Because anthrax and Mis-Goddamned-Adventure weren’t enough to fill his plate.
Slowly, keeping his face carefully blank, Cal turned to face the speaker.
“Hello, Dad.”
Beside him he heard Lauren draw a sharp breath, but Cal didn’t take his eyes off his father.
Zane Taggart had aged shockingly. Somehow, when Cal had thought of his father over the years, he’d pictured the same man he’d left standing in the driveway—a blond-haired, vigorous man of less than forty years. He hadn’t counted on time robbing the color from the old man’s hair or adding height to that forehead, which back then seemed permanently furrowed with disapproval. Nor had he mentally etched in the crow’s feet that now surrounded Zane Taggart’s eyes or deepened the grooves around his mouth. Time had also lent his face a kind of softness, he noticed.
“Still riding bulls, I see. Thought you’d grown out of that.”
Cal felt his face burn under his father’s words. Softness? The old man might look different, but he hadn’t changed.
