Dusty, the man who should be making phone calls, who should be working, stood laughing at Josh’s attempts to mutton bust.
Josh fell off and Max gasped.
Dear God, what if Josh hurt himself? He was just a boy—what if something happened to him? He was all she had.
What if he cracked his noggin? Or broke an arm? And how would Max pay for that?
How would she cover the medical bills?
Who would nurse him while she ran the ranch? Who would run the ranch while she nursed him?
The guilt that ate away at her like acid when she depended on Marvin too much to give her son the attention she should be showering on him spurted through her.
Hot and damaging, it felt like shame and, again, failure.
It was all too much. She went off like a rocket on the Fourth of July.
“What the heck is going on here?”
* * *
Dusty watched Max jump over the fence, easily he noticed, and pick up her son. Big mistake. The boy was getting too old for coddling.
Josh glanced at Dusty and his cheeks turned red. Having once been a kid his age with a doting mother, Dusty understood his embarrassment. He didn’t like being manhandled by his mom in front of a man.
“He was enjoying it,” Dusty said. He’d never met a woman who could dampen a person’s enthusiasm like Max could.
She rounded on him. “I didn’t give you permission to teach my son how to ride a sheep.”
“No, you didn’t, but he wanted to. I didn’t think it would cause harm.”
“He isn’t wearing a helmet.”
Dusty leaned back against the fence and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“When you were his age and learning mutton busting, did you wear a helmet?”
Her mouth opened. Her mouth closed. “We weren’t fully aware of the dangers in those days.”
“In other words, no. Neither did I, even though my mother tried to overprotect me, too.”
“Over—” Her mouth clamped shut, lips disappearing into a thin line. Only then did Dusty realize how full her lips usually were.
“Get out of this corral right now,” she said through clamped teeth. “This isn’t part of your job. It isn’t what I’m paying you to do.”
Dusty straightened away from the fence. Never in his life had he met a more disagreeable woman. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll head back into the office to do my duties.”
“Good.”
“You do understand it’s usual for employees to be allowed breaks?” He hopped the corral fence while Josh complained to his mom.
“Mo-om, it was fun. I really liked it. We weren’t hurting Doris. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I’m paying Dusty to organize the rodeo, not to teach you how to participate. We have only limited time until that happens.”
That didn’t ring true to Dusty. This wasn’t about the rodeo. Her reaction had been big-time emotional. He strode across the yard.
“That’s not the only problem, Mom, and you know it. You don’t want me to have any fun.” Smart kid.
“Josh, come back here. Josh!”
The boy must have run away. Good for him. Max needed to learn how to let Josh grow.
Inside the office, Dusty threw his cowboy hat onto a chair and huffed out a heavy breath. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Didn’t even the most junior employee in any company get to take a break?
Cripes, what was her problem?
With an effort he brought himself under control. She had a right to raise her child in any way she wanted, even to coddle him. It was none of his business.
So maybe he should have asked her first if he could show the kid how to rodeo, but he honestly didn’t think he’d need to.
Every kid on every ranch learned how to rodeo.
He pulled out his list of rodeo riders to continue the most frustrating phone calls he’d ever made in his life.
“That woman needs to lighten up,” he muttered while he put the phone on Speaker, punched in a number, leaned back in the chair and rubbed the tight tendons in his neck. It took only a couple of rings for Chase Coburn to answer his call.
“Hiya.”
“Chase, my man, how’s it going? Dusty Lincoln here. How’re you doing?”
“Been doing okay, ’cept for that win I gave up to you on the weekend. You ready to retire yet?”
Dusty picked up a small rubber stress-relieving ball from the desk, one of those useless gifts people were forever giving to others. At mention of the R-word, he squeezed the daylights out of it.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’ll do that and leave the next bull-riding contest for you to win. Not.”
They both laughed. As if Dusty would ever give up a win to anyone.
“Listen, I’m here in Rodeo, Montana.” Dusty got to the point. “I’m organizing their revived rodeo. We’re pretty excited about it. I want you to come.”
Of course Chase would agree to compete—he sounded enthusiastic—until Dusty gave him all of the details, including about the polo match.
“Are you out of your mind?”
Dusty winced. Chase’s voice had risen an octave.
“You’re not only having a polo match at a rodeo,” Chase said, “but you’re also canceling the bull riding? Did I get that right?”
It sounded as stupid as Dusty had thought it would.
“Yeah,” he said. A frustrated sigh gusted out of him.
“You sound like you don’t like the idea any better than I do, Lincoln. So why are you pushing it?”
“It’s what the rodeo organizer wants. Not me.”
“Okay, you got to tell that guy something from me. No way in hell is any competitor going to come to that rodeo if there’s no bull riding.”
Chase had a spotless, well-earned reputation on the circuit. The guy could ride. He had a big, bold personality that drew crowds...and Dusty was losing him.
An idea shot through him with the force of one of Cyclone’s twirls; the bull was a mean son of a gun with a whole lot of rage inside of him.
Dusty loved to ride him.
“Chase, I agree with you wholeheartedly. Give me a sec to set something up. Don’t disconnect, okay?”
Dusty scrambled for his cell phone and set it up to record. “Okay, now tell me everything you just said about pulling bull riding from the rodeo. Feel free to be every bit as colorful as you want to be.”
Chase let loose for a good three, four minutes.
Dusty grinned and said, “Thanks, Chase. You’ve been a big help.”
He broke the connection and added Chase’s name to the beginning of the recording.
After doing that, Dusty went back and called every cowboy who’d told him earlier that polo at the rodeo would be a losing venture and they needed to add bull riding. He put them all on speakerphone while he asked them if he could record their opinions.
Every one of them agreed to do it.
Once he had a host of negative feedback, he shut off his phone and considered how to present the evidence to his mulish employer.
He sensed Max in the doorway before he heard her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I might have overreacted.” She didn’t meet his eye.
“Yeah. You might have.” He tried to make eye contact, but she refused to look at him. “I should apologize, too. I guess I should have asked, but I’m not used to so—” he hated to use the word rigid when it sounded judgmental “—structured an approach to kids on a ranch.”
“You should have, but I guess I understand why you didn’t. You wanted to teach him and he wanted to learn.”
She tucked her hands into her front pockets and stared at her boots. In her earnestness, she looked downright cute, which was an odd obser
vation to make about Maxine Porter.
“I need you to understand where I’m coming from.” She met his eye finally, and he noted vulnerability among the pretty mix of colors. “I loved the rodeo when I used to participate. I love this ranch. I can’t imagine another way of life. I love Marvin.”
She shifted her weight to the other hip.
“Above all else, I love my little boy. He’s really all I have. He’s the only blood relative I have left.”
Dusty, laden with dozens and dozens of them, couldn’t imagine that particular life circumstance, but as much as he needed space from them, he loved every last one of them with all of his heart.
What if he had no one to call his own?
He nodded. “Thanks for telling me that. I understand.”
“I do a good job with my son.” Her tone had softened and Dusty knew he was seeing a side of her she didn’t usually share, all because she wanted him to understand why she protected her son so rigidly. It mattered that she cared about his opinion. He was a stranger, after all.
“He has a good home here and a good life,” she continued. “Please don’t meddle again. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her life was her own. She had nothing to do with him. He was just an employee.
Max looked a little lost, as though she wanted to say more, but didn’t know what. She leaned against the doorjamb and picked at a hangnail.
Dusty didn’t want the conversation to end, either, which was about as strange as strange got, and he blurted, “Marvin told me about Josh’s father. It must have been tough to lose him like that, but—”
She straightened abruptly, probably realizing where he was heading with an argument about the canceled bull riding. Her expression hardened. Touchy subject. “Listen, we aren’t going to become friends. You work for me. That’s it. No soul baring. No cozy conversations. Your only role here is to make the rodeo work.”
She left abruptly, her moment of remorse short-lived.
So much for softening attitudes.
A second later, she appeared in the doorway again. “And don’t go talking to Josh about his dad. I take care of those conversations.”
Dusty bristled. “As if I would. What kind of guy do you take me for?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard enough raising a son on my own without having to face down tough questions. Keep your curiosity to yourself. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it, boss.”
She rushed outside, leaving Dusty without a clue as to what had just happened or why.
A friendly guy, he made conversation wherever he went, but making nice with Max was nearly impossible. Fine. He’d keep all his comments to the rodeo. Nothing else.
He thought of Marvin’s observations about Max. She’s smart and tough. She’s also emotional and sentimental. Worst of all, she’s stubborn.
Max in a nutshell, all right.
At that moment, a tow truck showed up in the yard. Dusty watched through the window while Max talked to the driver, who looked under the hood of her truck and shook his head.
Max slammed her hand on the driver’s door.
Uh-oh. Car trouble. A bad thing for a rancher who needed a functioning vehicle.
Not his problem.
He might have more sympathy if she hadn’t just taken his head off.
His phone rang. “Single Ladies.” He listened as Beyoncé blared.
Mom.
Still angry, he answered with a brusque “Yeah?”
After a moment’s silence, his mother said, “That’s not how I expect to be spoken to.”
A sigh gusted out of him. “Sorry, Mom.”
“You don’t sound like your normal self. What’s going on?”
“It’s just this new job. My boss is really tough.”
“What’s his problem?”
“Her.”
“Pardon?”
“What’s her problem? She’s headstrong, that’s what. Willful. Highly emotional. Nonsensical.”
“You’re having trouble with a woman?”
“Why do you sound shocked?”
“I’ve never heard of your having trouble with a woman.”
“I know. It’s ridiculous.”
“And you can’t charm her.”
“I’m not trying to charm her.”
“You never have to try. You just do.”
“Well, this one is immune to my charms.” Dusty picked up a pen and balanced the tip on one of his fingers.
“Why?”
“How should I know, Mom?” The pen fell onto the desk with a clatter.
“I can’t wrap my head around this, son. Since you were two months old you’ve had the sweetest temperament. Every woman you’ve ever met has liked you.”
“Not this one.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that mean? Are you laughing?”
“Maybe. Sorry. I’ve always thought you had it too easy with women.”
“Not this time.”
“No, and I find that interesting.”
“It’s not interesting. It’s frustrating.”
“Yes, I can hear that.”
Dusty hated when his mother sounded reasonable. He wanted her to be indignant on his part.
“She won’t do a normal rodeo. She won’t let me play with her son. She has rules for everything.”
“Rules that you can’t charm your way around. She’s really shaken you up, hasn’t she?”
“I don’t like the way this conversation is going. I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait!” she said. “What about the picnic on the weekend?”
“I already told you I can’t make it. I’ll be working. There’s a lot to do in very little time.”
“Why don’t you bring that woman down with you? Bring her son, too. I assume she doesn’t have a husband or significant other, or she wouldn’t be getting under your skin so much.”
“What?” Dusty knocked his empty mug off the desktop. Thank God for the carpet. He bent down to retrieve it.
“Bring her on the weekend,” his mom said, sending a surge of horror through Dusty.
“Mom, I’m not coming on the weekend and I sure as heck am not bringing that screwball woman with me.”
He disconnected and tossed his phone onto the desk.
A movement in the doorway caught his attention.
Max.
He groaned.
“I came back for my checkbook. This screwball woman is going to have lunch and then get back to work.”
She reached past him to retrieve something from a drawer and then turned to leave, but halted. “At six o’clock this evening, I’ll expect a report on the phone calls you’ve made today.”
She walked away.
Damn.
Why had he been so honest with his mother? Rather than calling Max names and listing all of her negative qualities, he could have told his mother how much trouble her offbeat ideas for the rodeo were causing him.
Instead, he’d insulted his employer in her own home.
Not smart, Dusty. Not smart at all.
* * *
Dusty sat in the blue-gray twilight in his favorite moment of the day, when daytime dissolved into nightfall. An untroubled time of day.
He’d decided to leave the conversation about bull riding, and presenting the evidence of the recorded phone conversations, until the morning when both he and Max were fresh.
Far as he could tell, Max hadn’t been having a good day. Piling one more thing on her might have caused the cracks in her composure to give way to an explosion.
He was just as happy to let it go until another day.
Sitting on the front porch, he let the peace of dusk wash over him, sitting as still and as quiet as a hunter, with his prey being the serenity that often eluded him in h
is life.
The rodeo circuit was a hectic one in the spring, summer and fall, with extended periods of travel between rodeos.
He endured long stretches of boredom cut with short spurts of the world’s toughest, most terrifying and most exciting moments.
Sure, he lived a great life, but sometimes he wanted... He didn’t know what. Damned if he could name what that something was. Maybe he should—
An argument shattered the stillness.
Sound traveled far when all around lay quiet and still.
Max’s husky voice floated from an open doorway, not raised, but firm.
Josh’s young squeak of a voice answered. The boy didn’t sound the least bit happy.
“But I’m eight years old. Why can’t I stay up late to watch the movie?”
“Last time I checked the calendar, today wasn’t Saturday. Your late night is Saturday night.”
“How come I can only have one late night a week?”
“Because kids flourish best with set routines.”
“But I don’t like my routine.”
“Sorry, kid. House rules.”
“I hate house rules and I hate you!”
Dusty hissed in a breath. If he’d ever been that mouthy with his mom, his dad would have smacked his backside, miracle baby or not.
“That’s unfortunate, honey, but it doesn’t change the rules.” Max sounded as calm as a granny at a knitting festival. Her son’s pronouncement hadn’t affected her.
“I’m running away!” Josh shouted.
“Fine. You know where to find me when you’re ready to apologize.”
“I’m never gonna apologize!”
Dusty held his breath, but no response came until a slamming door disturbed the ranch’s bats, sending them off in a flurry of black-winged skeletons against the fast-approaching night sky.
A second later, a small figure marched across the yard with a knapsack on his back, trailing a blanket or sleeping bag.
He entered the dark stable. Dusty waited. A light went on inside.
What on earth?
Was the boy going to saddle a horse and steal away? No one followed him from the house to make sure he didn’t.
In the short time since Dusty had arrived on the ranch, he’d watched Max with her son. She might not be effusive in her hugs and kisses, but she sure did love that boy.
Home on the Ranch: Montana Rodeo Star Page 7
