by Marin Thomas
Friends. A social life. Kat had wanted those things for her son for so long. And now that he was finally happy—another disappointment loomed on the horizon. Life sure wasn’t fair.
“I’ll take you up on your offer to clean the barn.” She forced the words past her lips. “Brody left.”
Finished with his toast, Ricky dug into his scrambled eggs. “When’s he coming back?”
“He’s not. Brody decided to return to rodeoing.”
“Like for a week or something?”
Heart aching, Kat shook her head. “For good.”
Ricky shoved his plate aside and left the table. He opened the cabin door and stared at the gravel parking area as if sheer will would force Brody’s truck to magically appear.
“Honey, I’m sorry he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, but he wanted me to tell—”
“Did he leave because of me?” Ricky slammed the door, his face white.
Kat popped out of her chair and hugged her son. That he didn’t resist proved how Brody’s absence upset him. “No, honey.” He left because of me. Guilt flooded Kat. If only she hadn’t gone to the trailer last night Brody might have stayed. “Why would you think Brody left because of you?”
“Because I asked him if he’d marry you, so we could stay in Bandera and I could go to school with Stevie next year.”
Kat gasped.
“I saw you go to the trailer late one night and I thought you guys were…” Ricky’s gaze skidded away.
Dear Lord. Ricky guessed she and Brody had… Kat returned to the table and gulped her coffee, wincing when the hot liquid stung her throat. “What else did you and Brody discuss?”
“He told me about Angel. That she died of pneumonia.”
Kat was surprised Brody had confided in Ricky about his daughter. And why hadn’t Brody mentioned the conversation to Kat? “When did you and Brody have this talk?”
“Last night.” Ricky must have paid a visit to Brody when she’d been busy paying bills in her bedroom. No wonder Ricky had gone to bed earlier than usual—he’d been upset.
“What did Brody say—” Don’t. “—when you asked him to marry me?”
“He said he couldn’t raise another kid. I told him he didn’t have to raise me, that you would, but I don’t think Brody wants another family.” Ricky’s lips quivered and his eyes welled with tears.
Oh, honey, no…
“Brody’s nice, Mom. I thought he liked us.” Her son’s voice cracked.
“Brody cares about us, but—” He’s so sad inside that he can’t let himself be happy. “—rodeo is important to him, too.”
Already in Ricky’s short life four men had let him down. Dwayne barley acknowledged his responsibility to his son. Ricky’s great-grandfather—the man who’d shown him the most love and affection had died. Then Seth had picked a job on an oil rig over her and Ricky. Now Brody, another man Ricky had grown to admire, chose to run from the demons chasing him rather than hold his ground and fight them. How much disappointment could a thirteen-year-old boy take before he became bitter and hardened inside?
“He’ll come back after he’s done riding bulls, won’t he?”
“I don’t know.” Kat had her doubts that Brody would ever allow himself to accept forgiveness for the part he played in Angel’s death.
Ricky wiped his damp cheeks. “Can we still live in Bandera, so I can go to the school in town?”
“Not if the Bakers don’t want me to work for them.”
“But you’re good with the horses. And it wasn’t your fault those guys quit. The Bakers should let you keep your job.”
Kat smiled sadly. “Thanks for your vote of confidence, but too many things have gone wrong while the Bakers have been away.”
“You mean the fire in the hay field and the horses getting loose?”
“Don’t forget the debris jam in the stream.”
“The Bakers can’t blame you for that stuff.”
“I was in charge, Ricky. I have to take responsibility for what happened.” A tough lesson both she and Ricky would have to learn from.
“If the Bakers are going to fire you, I bet it’s because you’re a girl.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Stevie’s mom says it’s cool that you’re a farrier, but she’d never want to do what you do, because men don’t respect women for working a man’s job.”
Thank you, Stevie’s mom. “There are a lot of ranchers who respect me, honey, but I admit that I have to work harder to prove I’m as qualified as a man to do my job. Just because things might not work out at the Wild Rose doesn’t mean I’m throwing in the towel. Another opportunity for full-time work will come up.”
“What are we gonna do until then?”
Her son knew darn well they’d have to go back to living on the move. Did he believe if he asked enough times her answer would change? Kat remained silent, hoping to avoid an argument.
“Whatever,” he said. Although Ricky dropped the subject, Kat knew she hadn’t heard the end of his pleas to remain in the area so he could attend school in Bandera.
“I need to fetch three yearlings from the pasture and shoe them today.” She carried her empty coffee mug to the sink. “You can go to Stevie’s after you muck the barn.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Would you let me live with Stevie and her parents? Her mom and dad like me a lot and they have an extra bedroom in their house. I could do chores for them to earn my keep.”
Although she understood Ricky’s feeling of helplessness over his situation, it hurt that he’d choose to live with his friend’s parents and not her. “Let’s take things one day at a time. Okay?”
Ricky didn’t respond—not that she expected him to. “Catch you later.” She left the cabin and hitched the horse trailer to the truck. Today her plan was to work herself to death. When she went to sleep tonight, she intended to be too exhausted to dream about Brody. To worry over his whereabouts… If he was alone…
If he was thinking of her.
Chapter Thirteen
“Look who finally came back.” Riley Fitzgerald beamed at Brody.
Brody stood outside the men’s restroom at the Palo Pinto County Livestock Association Rodeo Arena and Expo Center in Mineral Wells, Texas. He’d left the Wild Rose three days ago. Seventy-two hours of gut-wrenching misery. Misery loved company—but Brody wasn’t in the mood to chitchat.
“Thought you’d come to your senses and retired from bull riding.” Even though they competed in different events, Fitzgerald never missed an opportunity to encourage Brody to search for a new line of work.
Down in the dumps over leaving Kat and Ricky, Brody wasn’t up for sparring with the cowboy. “Everyone knows I suck. What’s your excuse for being here?”
Fitzgerald was one of the top saddle-bronc riders in the country. He’d won the NFR in Vegas last December when Drew had scratched his ride and handed the title to the black-haired Irish braggart. Since then the newspapers and reporters had had a field day dissecting Fitzgerald—half claimed he’d deserved the title, the other half claimed he didn’t. Since the start of the season, Fitzgerald had yet to make the top five in the standings, which fueled more speculation that the title he’d won the previous year would be his last.
“What are you talking about?” Fitzgerald asked.
“If you’re here instead of chasing the big money, that means you slipped out of the rankings.”
The bronc rider’s cheeks turned ruddy.
Brody could have taunted Fitzgerald, but he didn’t have the energy. As a matter of fact, he didn’t know where he’d find the strength to ride Nitro in less than an hour. “You get hurt?”
Something flashed in Fitzgerald’s eyes then his shoulders slumped. “No.”
“You draw a run of dinks?” On occasion a cowboy was assigned a horse with little bucking ability, which resulted in a low score even if the cowboy rode well and lasted eight seconds.
“Lo
st my timing is all.” Fitzgerald straightened his posture. “I’ll get it back.”
The cowboy had better find his timing soon if he intended to make the finals in Vegas at the end of the year—not that the wealthy bronc rider needed the prize money. A cowboy’s best chance for making money came during Cowboy Christmas, which lasted from January through July. Fitzgerald only had a couple of months to rack up his earnings and climb into the standings.
“I’m looking to get my timing back, too.” Most cowboys broke out of their slump if they continued to compete. Not Brody. His slump was his average ride.
“Where’d you disappear to?” Fitzgerald asked.
No one except Drew Rawlins and now Katarina Sovo knew about Brody’s past. “Had to earn money for entry fees. I hired on at a ranch and mucked stalls. ‘Course you wouldn’t know much about having to work to pay your entry fees.” Fitzgerald’s father bred Kentucky Derby racehorses. The cowboy had a trust fund bigger than the state of Texas and a private jet at his disposal.
Ignoring Brody’s jab, Fitzgerald changed the subject. “You hear from Rawlins much?”
“He’s married now. Raises quarter horses on his ranch outside San Antonio.”
“Did Rawlins ever say why he gave away the title to me?”
“Nope.” Brody didn’t discuss Drew’s personal life with anyone. A man had a right to his privacy.
“Rawlins would have beaten me.”
“I reckon he would have.”
“Damn fans and the press won’t cut me a break until I win another title.”
“Fans can be finicky.” Brody wasn’t sure how he’d handle the intense pressure Fitzgerald was under.
“I’ve got a legitimate reason to ride, Murphy.” Fitzgerald shook his head. “Damned if I can figure out why you’re still competing. Every time you sit on a bull you put your life at risk.”
“Doesn’t matter if it’s a bull or bronc, every rodeo cowboy risks his life when he competes in his event.”
“Have you ever lasted eight seconds on a bull?”
“Nope. But there’s always a first time.”
“A first time for dying, too.” Fitzgerald tipped his hat. “Don’t get yourself killed today.”
“As if you care whether I bite the dust or not!” Brody hollered at the bronc rider’s retreating back.
Fitzgerald stopped and turned. “I may not care, but there must be someone somewhere who does.”
There was one person who cared whether or not Brody lived to see another day. Kat. A glance at his watch confirmed that he had twenty minutes to prepare for his ride. No time to phone Kat—probably best. He wouldn’t know what to say, even though he desperately wanted to hear her voice one more time…in case…He grabbed his gear bag and headed to the cowboy-ready area.
“Hey, Murphy! Where’ve you been?”
“Miss me, Jenkins?” Brody asked.
“He sure did,” another of Brody’s competitors said. “Now that Hollywood’s back, Jenkins won’t have to settle for last place.” The bull riders chuckled.
“Guess you can’t get enough of losing, eh, Murphy?” Buck Owens said.
Brody ignored the razzing, preferring to save his energy for his ride. He stopped next to chute five and introduced himself to Nitro. As far as bulls went Nitro was a handsome one—pure black with a white patch on his chest.
You going to play nice with me today, Nitro?
The bull stared straight through Brody. So much for trying to bond with the beast.
Brody dug out his bull rope and fiddled with it. His rodeo equipment was standard, nothing special. Nothing high-tech. He couldn’t afford the newest gadgets and he doubted they’d help much anyway. A cowboy had to want to win or the best gear in the world wouldn’t make a bit of difference.
Kat would be pissed if she knew what you’re thinking.
Kat—sweet, pretty, determined Kat. She wanted to save Brody from himself, but the only person who could save Brody was himself. He thought of Ricky’s father and how Dwayne had let Kat down by neglecting his responsibility to their son. If Brody had a son like Ricky he’d count his blessings and do everything in his power to be a good role model. Brody would teach the kid how to avoid the mistakes he’d made in life.
What kind of a role model do you think you are right now—risking your life when the odds are against you?
But Kat and Ricky aren’t mine to care about.
They could be.
You ride bulls because you’re looking for an out. A way to make the pain stop. The guilt to go away.
Kat’s words echoed through Brody’s mind. Until this moment he’d buried her harsh accusations deep in his subconscious.
Damn it, he wasn’t trying to do what Kat had accused him of—he wasn’t on a suicide mission. He pursued a rodeo career because it kept him on the move. Kept him busy. Kept him from having too much time to think. Kept his thoughts of Angel in check to a degree he could cope with. Why settle down in one place if he had no family? No one to come home to at night. No one to be accountable to.
Life on the move was best for him.
Kat calls it running.
Was he running? If so, where to? For how long? Until he got himself killed? Or so badly injured he could no longer climb on the back of a bull? The questions ricocheted off the inside of Brody’s skull until a dull throb pulsed behind his eyeballs.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for tonight’s bull ridin’ competition!” The announcer’s voice startled Brody.
“We got ourselves eight eager cowboys ready to wrestle with eight ornery bulls.” The crowd roared, but Brody ignored the noise, his focus on Nitro. For the life of him he couldn’t come up with one damned piece of advice to offer himself. Unlike his competitors, Brody hadn’t studied the art of the sport. He hadn’t watched videotapes or taken notes on successful bull rides. And he usually disregarded free advice from his competitors because none of it mattered.
Then what’s got you feeling different about this ride? Kat’s insistence that Brody was trying to do himself in. Her belief that the only way he thought to snuff out the pain, guilt and sadness of Angel’s death was to end his own life.
How the heck had Kat figured him out? Not even Drew knew Brody’s greatest fear was living.
“We’re startin’ at the bottom of the barrel, folks. Brody Murphy’s gonna give Nitro a run for his money. This cowboy’s a character. He’s got the worst record of any bull rider on the circuit and has never finished an eight-second ride. Don’t know what keeps Murphy coming back for more punishment.”
Something inside Brody shifted and a light switch went on. Suddenly he was tired of being the brunt of jokes. Yeah, he stunk at bull riding but he had his pride and he was determined that Nitro would not best him. This one time, damn it, he wasn’t going to go through the motions.
He was going to care about winning.
Care about his ride.
Care about his own ass.
He climbed the chute and swung a leg over the top rail. Nitro didn’t twitch a muscle as Brody settled onto his back. That was more worrisome to a cowboy than a bull who thrashed in the chute. Sweat broke out across his brow and dripped down his temple as he positioned the bull rope and tweaked his grip. Never before had he perspired out of fear—exertion yes, but fear, no.
This is the ride of your life.
Heat radiated off the animal’s back and Brody’s inner thighs burned. A drop of sweat slid into the corner of his eye, blurring his vision. His heartbeat accelerated, which added to Brody’s stress. The numbness that usually seeped into his brain and body was nowhere to be found.
Maybe he should have attended Cowboy Church with the other guys who’d gathered in an empty stock pen an hour ago. He wouldn’t have said a prayer for himself, but he’d have asked God to keep Kat and Ricky safe. To make sure Kat got a permanent job at the Wild Rose. To see that Ricky enrolled in the junior high next fall. He would have asked Him to give Kat and Ricky a real home.
Y
ou think God would listen to a sinner like you? He nodded to shake off the voice in his head then signaled to the gate man that he was ready to ride. The chute door opened and Nitro bolted from his prison. Brody slid sideways, fear and sheer guts keeping his backside glued to the bull.
The stands blurred before Brody’s eyes as images of Kat—smiling, laughing, frowning—filled his head. He saw her standing at the kitchen sink. Examining Tiger’s hoof. Sitting behind the wheel of her truck. Facing off with Ricky over homework.
Wrapped in a bedsheet, her eyes begging him to stay.
A surge of adrenaline pumped through Brody, lending him the strength to hold on when Nitro spun viciously and followed the move with a buck that threatened to snap Brody’s spine.
He never heard the buzzer—his mind was consumed with Kat—her scent, her big brown eyes, her smile… Time passed in a blur as Brody clung to the bull. Finally the bucking stopped and Nitro stood motionless in the middle of the arena. Silence echoed through the stands as the crowd came to their feet.
Brody blinked the images of Kat from his mind. Slowly he became aware of his surroundings and noticed the cowboys straddling the arena rails with their mouths hanging open.
Hot damn! He’d made it to eight. He leaped off Nitro and slapped the bull’s rump, which sent the animal into a bucking frenzy. Brody made a dash for the rails amid thunderous applause.
“Well, folks. That was a first. In all my years announcin’, I ain’t never seen a cowboy ride a bull to a standstill. Looks like Brody Murphy not only lasted eight seconds, he’s earned his highest score ever—a respectable ninety-one!”
After back-slapping and teasing from the other cowboys, Brody found his gear bag and stuffed his bull rope inside. He turned to leave and came face-to-face with Fitzgerald.
“Got to hand it to you, Hollywood, you sure do know how to put on a performance.”
“You ride long enough you’re bound to have good luck every now and then,” Brody said.
Fitzgerald shook his head. “Luck had nothing to do with it. I think you finally found something worth riding for.”
