The Bull Rider's Secret

by Marin Thomas

  “What kind of dog is Spot?”

  “Blue heeler. He was my great-grandpa’s dog.”

  Was? “Something happen to your great-grandfather?”

  “He died a few years ago.”

  “Where’s your grandfather?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”

  The teen’s great-grandpa was dead. His father was a deadbeat dad. And his grandfather had never been in the picture. Brody had better stop with the questions before he learned too much. Getting close to people wasn’t in anyone’s best interest—especially his.

  “Let’s see if one of the other contestants has bagged a pig.” They joined the people gathering near the corral. A cow bell clanged and the crowd quieted.

  “We’ve got two winners today! Brody Murphy and his partner Ricky Sovo. Mike Stern and his partner Bob Benington.”

  Damn. Brody decided some money was better than none.

  He collected the two hundred-fifty dollars and forked over the kid’s share. “Been nice doing business with you, Ricky.” He tipped his hat, then headed for the parking lot.

  Brody drove back through town to gas up and waited five minutes in line before his turn at the pump. He went inside to pay for fifty dollars worth of gas and a Twinkie. While the fuel pumped, he perused the PRCA schedule for the end of March and beginning of April. He might consider one event if he could scratch together the two-hundred-dollar entry fee.

  The pump kicked off and Brody moved the truck to a parking space in front of the convenience store. He ate his Twinkie and people-watched. A pair of past-their-prime biker chicks pulled into the station on Harleys. Decked out from head to toe in leather and chains both women had jet-black hair and more wrinkles than a shar-pei pooch.

  A movement out of the corner of Brody’s eye caught his attention. A little girl, not more than a few feet tall, stood on her tiptoes next to the trash can outside the store and threw away a fast-food bag. She turned and smiled—in that instant Brody was swept back in time. His lungs tightened painfully as he watched the girl’s father scoop her into his arms. His gaze remained glued to the pair as the giggling child hugged her father.

  Eyes burning, Brody recalled the last time his daughter had hugged him—Angel had wound her slim arms around his neck the night he’d carried her to the truck to drive her to the emergency room. They’d arrived at the hospital over an hour later, but Angel hadn’t had the strength to open her eyes. Two years had passed since his five-year-old daughter’s death. When would Brody stop seeing Angel in every blond-haired little girl who crossed his path? How far did he have to run to escape the memories?

  The past few months had been pure hell while he waited for the rodeo season to pick up—too much time between rides and nowhere to go. No one to talk to. No one to distract him from the past.

  Quit feeling sorry for yourself. You made choices. You have to live with the consequences.

  The moment the girl and her father pulled away, Brody started the truck and left the gas station. He’d driven a mile out of town when he observed his hog-catching partner thumbing rides along the side of the road.

  What the heck was Ricky doing hitchhiking? Yeah, Brody had bummed a few rides in his time but this wasn’t rural Montana. Bandera was less than forty miles from San Antonio and there was a lot of traffic along the highway, making it dangerous. Heck, anyone who’d downed one too many beers at the festival might easily swerve out of their lane and hit the kid. Brody drove past Ricky and glanced in the rearview mirror. The kid flashed his middle finger. Chuckling, Brody pulled onto the shoulder and lowered the passenger-side window.

  Ricky caught up and poked his head inside the truck. “Thanks for the—oh, it’s you.”

  “Want a lift or not?”

  Ricky got in and buckled up.

  “Home?” Brody asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Which way?”

  “The Wild Rose.” The kid pointed out the windshield. “’Bout five miles up the road there’s a turnoff.”

  Five miles. The teen had made quite a hike into Bandera. After checking to see that the coast was clear, Brody pulled back onto the highway. “Don’t you have a bicycle?”

  “Nope.”

  “I guess it won’t be long before you earn a driver’s license.”

  “Like that’s gonna matter.” Ricky snorted. “My mom doesn’t make enough money for us to buy a second car.”

  Letting the subject drop, Brody pumped up the radio volume. The miles flew by then he turned down River Ranch Drive.

  “The entrance is up on the left,” Ricky said.

  Brody whistled low between his teeth as the truck sped past rich, green pastureland. A billboard advertised Organic Hay 4-Sale and a hundred yards later a second sign listed Horses 4-Sale. This was no start-up horse ranch.

  The words Wild Rose Ranch were carved into the twenty-foot iron gate that guarded the entrance. A limestone wall ran a half mile in both directions before giving way to traditional pasture fencing. The gate had been left open, so Brody drove through. “What kinds of horses do they raise here?”

  “Palominos, buckskins and paints.”

  The road cut through fenced-in pastures where horses grazed. Live oak, red oak and bur oak trees dotted the landscape, providing shade from the sun. Brody studied the ranch buildings as he pulled into the yard. Whitewashed paddocks sat between two immense barns—one for the horses and one for equipment. The pristine condition of the structures convinced him that Wild Rose horseflesh went for top dollar.

  A woman stepped from the horse barn, a dog by her side. The lady’s features were hidden by the shadow the late-afternoon sun cast across the front of the building.

  “That’s my mom and Spot. Thanks for the ride.”

  Before Brody had a chance to speak, Ricky jumped out of the truck and hurried toward a small cabin in the distance. The woman called Ricky’s name, but the kid ignored her.

  Truck idling, Brody debated his next move as two wranglers galloped at full speed into the yard. The men hitched their horses to the water trough then cast puzzled looks Brody’s way as they stalked toward Ricky’s mother. Spot’s ears perked and his tail stopped wagging.

  The cowboys’ stiff postures and scowling faces put Brody on alert. He lowered the windows then shut off the truck engine and eavesdropped on the group’s conversation.

  Both men spoke at once—one using wild arm gestures, the other jabbing his finger at Ricky’s mother, forcing her to retreat a step. Without considering the consequences, Brody left the truck.

  This wasn’t his fight he told himself, but his feet kept moving toward the barn. Within a few yards of the trio, he cleared his throat. The bickering ceased and all eyes focused on him.

  Brody flashed his pearly whites. “What seems to be the problem?”

  Chapter Two

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Kat cringed at Roger Buckingham’s rudeness. The redheaded cowpuncher with a pockmarked face spit tobacco juice at the ground, barley missing the stranger’s boot.

  “Brody Murphy.” He held out his hand.

  Brody Murphy… Kat studied the handsome cowboy who’d dropped her son off moments ago. He didn’t look familiar. She’d been shoeing horses in the area for years and the name Brody Murphy had never come up in her conversations with the locals. “I’m Katarina Sovo.” Brody Murphy’s callused fingers squeezed her hand firmly—not gently as if he feared her bones would break. Her respect for the man upped a notch.

  He smiled, only this time with their fingers entwined, Kat felt a jolt of electricity race up her arm. She blamed her reaction on the fact that she was in the middle of a long dry spell when it came to male companionship. The last man she’d been involved with had soured her on the gender and she’d decided she was done with the opposite sex—especially the handsome ones. Brody Murphy released her hand, and automatically Kat curled her fingers into a fist to retain the warmth from his touch.

  “I was passing through to
wn when I met Ricky at the festival in Mansfield Park.”

  Kat hadn’t even realized Ricky had left the ranch until Brody had driven into the yard with her son in the front seat of his truck. Ricky couldn’t have picked a worst time to pull a disappearing stunt. “Thank you for bringing him home.”

  “No problem.”

  “We done chitchattin’?” Roger glared.

  “It appears you three are having a disagreement,” Brody said. “Maybe I can help settle the dispute.”

  “Butt out, mister. This ain’t none of your business.” Clyde Nyman, Roger’s balding, bowlegged sidekick, sneered.

  Kat rocked onto the balls of her feet in an attempt to appear taller—not an easy task when she barely topped five-three. “The Bakers left me in charge and—”

  “That don’t mean you get to call all the shots.” Clyde added his tobacco spit to the puddle forming in front of Brody Murphy’s boot, then leaned forward, crowding Kat.

  Spot growled. “It’s okay, boy.” Kat scratched the dog’s graying head. Arthritis had slowed the twelve-year-old heeler, but his protective instincts were as keen as ever. Spot wouldn’t hesitate to attack Roger or Clyde if they threatened her or Ricky.

  “Where I come from—” Brody joined Kat’s side, providing a united front against the ranch hands “—the person in charge does call the shots.”

  “Mister, nobody cares where you come from,” Clyde said.

  “Montana.”

  The handsome drifter was a long way from home.

  “We do things different-like down here in Texas.” Roger swung his gaze to Kat. “The Bakers hired us to work with their horses not plow fields.”

  The Wild Rose Ranch was well-known for their superb horseflesh and organic hay. Horse owners from all over the state purchased the expensive feed for their prized livestock. Before the Bakers had departed on their European vacation, they’d put Kat in charge. Had she known the two hands would object to taking direction from a woman, she might have refused the temporary promotion.

  No, you wouldn’t have. Kat rubbed her brow and prayed for patience. She had a lot riding on her ability to keep the ranch running smoothly while the owners were away. Only a week into the job and already she had a crisis on her hands. “They’re predicting rain—”

  “The weather isn’t our problem.” Roger removed his hat and smacked it against his thigh, sending dust particles dancing in the air around him.

  “That’s right,” Clyde said. “We’re not raking hay for no stinkin’ female.”

  “Watch your mouth, fella. That’s no way to speak to a lady.”

  “Like my pardner said, this ain’t none of your beeswax.” Roger glared.

  “You threaten Ms. Sovo and I’ll make it my beeswax.”

  Kat wasn’t used to having a man stand up for her, and Brody coming to her defense left her speechless.

  “What’re you gonna do? Horsewhip us?” Clyde taunted.

  “Enough bickering.” Although Brody meant well, Kat refused to allow him to take control of a situation he knew nothing about. “If you won’t bring in the hay, then there’s no reason to remain on the Wild Rose payroll.” She gripped Spot’s collar and prayed the threat of unemployment would end the cowboys’ mutiny.

  Roger stepped forward, but Brody blocked his path. “You were given a choice. Drive a tractor or walk off the job.” Brody might be shorter than Roger, but the cowboy was made of solid muscle. Roger would be wise to think twice about picking a fight with the stranger.

  “You’re gonna regret this.” Roger stomped off, Clyde dogging his heels. The men collected their saddles and gear then tossed them into the bed of a late-model Ford. The truck sped off, spewing bits of gravel across the driveway.

  Oh, Lord. She’d lost her mind. No capable foreman would permit her employees to walk off the job and leave a ranch shorthanded. Aside from a horse with an abscess that needed daily attention, Kat now had fifty acres of hay waiting to be mowed.

  “You’re not going to cry because those guys quit, are you?”

  Men. They were clueless dopes when it came to understanding women. Anger, not self-pity caused Kat’s eyes to water. Irritated with Brody Murphy for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong she spun on her boot heel and retreated to the foreman’s cabin.

  “Wait up.”

  Kat stopped and Brody plowed into her back.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  Hands on her hips, she faced the cowboy. “Roger and Clyde might be idiots, but thanks to you I’m undermanned.”

  “I didn’t fire them. You did.”

  “Only because you opened your big mouth.”

  “Those guys are losers. The ranch owners will be relieved to be rid of them.”

  Not likely. Kat doubted the Bakers would be thrilled when they learned she’d run off their employees and the organic hay sat rotting in the field. Shoot. The Bakers had offered Kat an opportunity to prove she deserved a permanent position at the Wild Rose. Putting her in charge of the ranch while they jet-setted through Europe was a test—one she couldn’t afford to fail.

  She needed the security of a salaried job. As Wild Rose’s farrier she’d no longer be forced to drag her son on the road with her as she traveled from ranch to ranch shoeing horses. Instead of being homeschooled Ricky would have an opportunity to attend the junior high in Bandera and make lasting friendships.

  There was another perk that came with the job—the foreman’s cabin. She and Ricky wouldn’t have to live in the old trailer they’d called home since her grandfather’s death. There were plenty of benefits to putting down roots at the Wild Rose, but Roger and Clyde quitting threatened all her hopes and dreams.

  “Ricky!” she hollered toward the open window at the front of the cabin. No answer. She yelled louder. “Get your backside out here right now, young man!”

  Almost a minute passed before the front door opened. Her sullen son shuffled down the porch steps. “I need your…” Her eyes rounded. “Why is your lip swollen?”

  Ricky pointed to Brody, reminding Kat that the cowboy hadn’t left. “You hit my son?”

  “No!” Brody scowled at Ricky. “He bumped into me during the hog-catching contest.”

  “Hog contest?” Kat swung her gaze between the two males.

  “She’s gonna get mad at me,” Ricky warned Brody.

  “Bandera’s Wild Hog Explosion,” Brody said.

  “I can’t believe you walked all the way into Bandera.” Kat glared at her son.

  “Some dude on a Harley gave me a ride into town and Brody brought me back.” Ricky shrugged. “No big deal.”

  Clenching her teeth, Kat counted to ten. She ought to tan the rascal’s hide for hitchhiking, but she didn’t have the heart because she suspected Ricky had sneaked off hoping to find his father. Dwayne had promised to take him to the festival this past Valentine’s Day when he’d stopped by the trailer for an unannounced visit. Kat wished Ricky would wake up and realize his father couldn’t be counted on for anything.

  “I would have driven you into town. All you had to do was ask, young man.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’re always too busy.”

  At moments like this, Kat really missed her grandfather. Ricky had respected and obeyed his great-grandfather in all things. “Next time you decide to leave the ranch, you check with me first.”

  “Your mother’s right. Thumbing rides is dangerous and so is talking to strangers.”

  Ricky gaped at Brody. “You talked to me first.”

  “You’re lucky I meant you no harm.” Brody raised an eyebrow. “Not everyone is as cordial as me.”

  When Brody turned his smile in Kat’s direction, she swore the day’s mild temperature spiked ten degrees. “I don’t have time to stand here and argue. We’ll talk about this during supper, Ricky. Right now I need you to clean the stalls.”

  “Why?”

  “Two of the hands quit. Instead of working with the horses tomorrow I’ll be mowing hay.”


  “This sucks.”

  It sure does.

  “Why don’t you hire him?” Ricky nodded to Brody.

  “Hold up, kid. I’m not looking for work.” Brody stared at his watch. “As a matter of fact I’m on my way to Lubbock.”

  “What for?” Ricky asked.

  “A rodeo.”

  “Brody’s a bull rider,” Ricky explained to Kat.

  She’d been correct in assuming Brody was a drifter. Rodeo cowboys—the serious contenders—traveled the circuit most of the year. Kat clasped her son’s shoulder. “The wheelbarrow is parked by the compost pile.” She waited until he rounded the corner of the barn, then spoke. “Thank you for looking out for my son today and good luck in Lubbock.”

  Brody caught Kat’s arm before she’d taken a step. “I guess I could help—”

  “Don’t.” She yanked her arm free.

  “Don’t what?”

  Kat was used to men equating her small stature with weakness. “Don’t assume I’m some helpless woman who needs a knight in shining armor to rescue her.”

  “That wasn’t—”

  “I’ve been on my own a long time and I don’t need a man’s help.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Brody tipped his hat. “I’ll leave you to your business.” He returned to his truck and drove away.

  Brody backing off so easily reaffirmed Kat’s belief that handsome cowboys were a waste of time. She ought to know—Ricky’s father had used his good looks and charm to take her for a ride, then had tucked tail and run after she’d turned up pregnant.

  Cowboys. Who needed them?

  BRODY COULDN’T GET away from the Wild Rose fast enough. He turned right onto River Ranch Road and hit the accelerator. What had gotten into him—offering to help Ricky muck the barn?

  The road came to a T and Brody stopped. He stared through the windshield at the limestone rock formation across the highway. What a weird day this had been. He’d begun with the best of intentions—accepting Drew’s offer to work at Dry Creek Acres. Instead, he’d found himself in Bandera teaming up with a teenager in a hog-catching contest. Then to top it off he’d stuck his nose in Katarina Sovo’s business.