To Tame a Wild Cowboy

by Lori Wilde

  Fresh tears tracked down Tara’s face. She was grateful. So very grateful for her family. What on earth would she ever do without them?

  That’s when she knew, no matter what happened, she would not be going back to El Paso.

  When Rhett came to again he was in a hospital room.

  He blinked and stared at the clock on the wall opposite his bed: 12:00. Was that noon or midnight? The blinds were drawn, but he could see sunlight pushing through the slats. So, noon.

  And damn, but he had a mother bear of a headache. It felt as if a wire band was twisted tight across his entire scalp. His left shoulder, which he’d dislocated more than once, was in a sling and it throbbed like a sonofabitch. He had an IV in the back of his hand, and there were electrodes hooked to his chest. Somewhere, a heart monitor beeped.

  “Rhett?” His name was a soft whisper coming from his right side.

  He turned his head, saw Tara, and his heart filled with joy. “Are you real?” he croaked.

  She reached for his hand, squeezed it, nodded past a misting of tears in her eyes. “I am.”

  “How . . .” He swallowed, his throat parched. “How did you get here?”

  “Ridge flew me in.”

  “My brother is here too?”

  “He’s down in the cafeteria getting some lunch.”

  He met her gaze. Her smile filled with fear and sorrow. “Hey, hey,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Don’t cry.”

  “I thought you’d—” She broke off, shook her head.

  “I am okay.” This time, he squeezed her hand.

  “You dislocated your shoulder.”

  “Not the first time. It pops right back in.” He smiled, but it made his head hurt worse, and he dropped it.

  “You also had a concussion that knocked you out for hours.”

  “How’s Widow Maker?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The bull. Is he all right?”

  Tara looked exasperated. “The bull is perfectly fine. He almost killed you.”

  “Wasn’t his fault. Nature of the beast.”

  “And nature of the beast who was dumb enough to crawl on him.”

  “It was my fault. I lost my lucky charm.”

  “Seriously? You believe not having an animal cracker in your pocket is what caused you to get tossed by a bull?”

  “Not per se,” he said. “But when I have the animal cracker in my pocket I think of you and Julie, and when I think of you two I remember why I’m doing this. Not having it in my pocket shifted my energy from happy and confident to anxious. Widow Maker picked up on that.”

  “Sounds like superstition to me.”

  “You have your way of controlling life, I have mine.” He grinned at her, but she wasn’t buying it.

  She glowered at him.

  “Are you mad at me?” he asked.

  “Yes!” she said.

  “Why? I was only doing my job.”

  “Because you’re crazy enough to think bull riding is still a good idea.”

  “Tara,” he said. “I know you’re upset, but bull riding is all I know.”

  “Well, it’s time you learned something else. You’re a father now. Julie is counting on you to be there to see her graduate high school. To dance at her wedding.”

  “There’s no guarantees in life. My mother didn’t see me graduate.”

  “You didn’t graduate,” she said.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Not to mention, the review hearing is coming up in three weeks. You’re supposed to have another line of work.”

  “I can always work on the Silver Feather as a ranch hand.”

  “Don’t you think the universe is trying to tell you something?”

  “I’ll quit after November,” he said. “I promise.”

  “You sound like an addict.”

  Her words hurt. Rhett bit the inside of his cheek. She cared about his well-being, he needed to remember that.

  “I think you’re addicted to the adrenaline rush,” she said, dropping his hand and standing up. “I don’t think you can stop.”

  “I can quit anytime.” God, he did sound like an addict.

  “Prove it. Let this be your wake-up call. Walk away from the PBR.”

  “The world championship is less than two months away,” he wheedled. “I promise you, I’ll quit after that.”

  In that moment, she looked so sad, as if her heart was breaking. “The doctor said you’ll need three weeks of rest before you can return to the circuit. You’ll be so behind by then you can’t catch up. It’s time to let it go, Rhett. Not just for me and Julie, but for your own sake.”

  She was right. He could see how he was hurting her. He was torn right in two pieces. His lifelong dream of proving he was the best bull rider in the world on one side, Tara and Julie on the other.

  He looked into her eyes, and there was only one choice he could make. He loved her. He was doing this for her and his daughter.

  “You win,” he said, regret choking him. “I’ll quit the PBR.”

  It didn’t feel like a win.

  Tara should have been overjoyed that Rhett was leaving the PBR, but she couldn’t help feeling responsible for crushing his dreams.

  Under strict instructions from the doctor to get lots of rest and avoid physical activity, Rhett was down in the dumps. He was an active guy, always on the move, and it was hard for him to relax. He did his best not to show his disappointment. Spending time with her and Julie, helping her around the house, staying home to watch the baby so Tara could put in more volunteer hours at the WIC clinic.

  But he lounged on the couch a lot, watching clips from his old rides, and insomnia kept him awake at night. Several times she woke up in the wee hours of the morning to find him outside in a hammock looking up at the stars.

  Was it unfair of her to ask him to quit when he was so close to achieving his dreams? Wasn’t that why she’d married him in the first place? To help him stay on the circuit and gain custody of his daughter?

  But all that had changed after he’d kissed her, and she’d heard the humming and known to her core that she loved this man with all her heart and soul. And when you love someone, you wanted the best for them, not what was best for you. Who was she to tell Rhett how to live his life?

  They kept things light. Their conversations were pleasant enough, but on the surface. Neither one of them talked about what they were really feeling and thinking. And based on doctor’s orders to wait three weeks to make sure he was fully over the concussion, they didn’t have sex.

  The night before the hearing, Rhett pulled her to him in bed, massaged the furrow between her brow with the pad of his thumb, and said, “Stop worrying. We’ve got this. What could go wrong?”

  He kissed her then, and she rested her head on his chest, listened to the strong lub-dub of his heart.

  His confidence vanquished her fears and they spent the night just snuggling with each other. It was the best night they’d had since his wreck.

  On Thursday morning, September 26, Mom came over to watch Julie and they drove to the review hearing together. Holding hands in the car on the way into Cupid.

  By the time they reached the courthouse, they were both keyed up and edgy. “Did you bring your good luck charm?” Tara whispered.

  Rhett dug a cracker giraffe from his pocket.

  She smiled. “Why the giraffe?”

  “Because it’s got a long, beautiful neck like you,” he murmured, and nuzzled her hair. Hand in hand, they parked the car and started up the courthouse steps.

  To find Lamar prowling restlessly back and forth, and repeatedly running his hand over his hair. Uh-oh. He looked agitated. Did he have bad news?

  Tara’s gut clenched. “What’s wrong?”

  Lamar’s mouth set tight. “Unfortunate news.”

  Rhett slid his arm around Tara’s waist. “What is it?”

  Lamar met Rhett’s eyes first, then Tara’s. “I just learned Rhona White Limon
has petitioned the court for custody.”

  “Limon?” Rhett said, his color blanching despite his tan.

  “She married Claudio Limon,” Lamar said. “They’re here with a lawyer and a therapist that’s ready to vouch for her as a good mother. CPS has already been to the house and checked everything out and gave her the green light. I should have gotten advance warning but somehow things fell through the cracks and the paperwork never hit my desk.”

  “What does this mean?” Tara asked, but deep inside she already knew.

  Lamar winced. “Getting custody of Julie is no longer the slam dunk we thought it was after you two got married.”

  Rhett looked at Tara, and she could see the fear in his eyes. She smiled as genuinely as she could, and squeezed his hand again, trying her best not to let him see that she was terrified.

  Chapter 24

  Head thrower: A bull that tries to hit the cowboy with its head or horns while the contestant is on its back.

  Rhett wished Tara could sit beside him, but Lamar said she couldn’t because she wasn’t the one filing for custody. He glanced over his shoulder. She perched on the edge of her seat in the front row behind him, wringing her hands in her lap.

  He took the animal cracker from his pocket, held it up for her to see.

  She smiled, and that lifted his spirits. Things had been a little bumpy since his wreck, but they’d make it through this. He felt certain of their love.

  Directly across the aisle from Tara sat Claudio Limon. The Brazilian shot him a smug, screw-you smirk. The same self-satisfied smirk he wore every time he scored more points than Rhett staying on the back of a bull.

  This was his life in a nutshell. His adversary on one side, but his rock-solid woman on the other. He shifted his gaze back to Tara, caught her in a worried frown. The minute she saw that he was watching her, she dragged out that tepid smile again.

  Ah shit, his rock was looking like sandstone. That was okay. He’d be her rock today.

  He mouthed, I love you, realized it was the first time he’d actually said those words to her since he’d come home. He needed to do better. Tara worked tirelessly to help others; she deserved a million I love yous a day.

  Her eyes rounded and her smile cracked open, and she mouthed back, I love you too.

  Reluctantly, he let go of her gaze, craned his neck to see Rhona from around the back of her lawyer.

  Their eyes had met when he’d first walked in, and he’d seen fiery determination lurking there. Rhona was dressed in a matronly outfit, looking nothing like the buckle bunny who had shown up at his trailer door over a year ago. She wore a stiff white blouse with a high collar, an ankle-length skirt, and modest lace-up boots. Playing the part of reformed party girl.

  Rhett wasn’t buying it, but would the judge?

  You changed, a thought balloon popped into his head. She can too. Great, just what he needed. Empathy for the woman trying to take his daughter away.

  “All rise,” bellowed the bailiff.

  The people assembled got to their feet as Judge Brando swept into the room in her black robe, reading glasses on a gold chain around her neck.

  Rhett gulped and pulled at his tie, suddenly swamped with sweat.

  He was playing a part too. Really no different from Rhona. The only reason he deserved custody of Julie was because of Tara. Because of her, he’d become a better man. Because of her, he’d learned how to be a father. Because of her, for the first time in his life, he felt grounded and anchored and balanced.

  All these years, he’d believed that being solid, committed, dependable meant boring. That if he allowed himself to settle down, it meant he’d be settling for a common life. He’d thought a wife and kids meant the end of fun and happiness.

  Because of Tara, he’d learned the exact opposite was true. Now he had to convince Judge Brando that he was a changed man.

  Across the aisle, Rhona and her legal team would be arguing the same thing. Both of them clamoring to the court, a court naturally inclined toward giving a child back to its mother, Pick me, pick me, pick me.

  “Mr. Lockhart,” Judge Brando said once the fanfare of opening a courtroom session was over.

  He looked into the judge’s face, and in that instant when her eyes met his, Rhett knew the truth. He didn’t have to wait to hear her decision. He saw it in her face. His goose was cooked. He’d lost Julie.

  His hopes dropped, shattered. From behind him, he felt Tara rest a hand on his shoulder. Warm and reassuring. She had his back. His heart swelled, and he picked up his hopes. He couldn’t give up. For Tara’s sake.

  “Mrs. Limon.” Judge Brando peered at Rhona.

  Rhona stood straighter.

  “Please have a seat,” Judge Brando invited the courtroom.

  The congregation lowered in unison.

  Time seemed to warp and stretch, simultaneously elongating and compressing. A tick of the courtroom clock and ten minutes had passed. A heartfelt plea from Rhona’s attorney dragged on into eternity. He spoke of how his client was deeply ashamed of leaving her baby. How she’d made amends. How she learned that she was bipolar but knew that was not an excuse for abandoning her child. How she was now on medication and under the treatment of a psychiatrist who was there to vouch for her ability to care for her daughter. How she’d married Claudio and they could provide a stable home for the child.

  In his head, the voices were coming out deep and distorted as if a recording was being played at a slow rate of speed under water. It felt as if someone had inserted a giant screwdriver into his chest and had twisted it to the right. Righty tighty, he thought inanely.

  Was it lingering effects from the concussion? Or raw fear?

  He understood what was being said, but it was as if he couldn’t absorb it. Lamar pointing out how Rhett changed from a rambling rodeo cowboy into a father and husband. Lamar was some kind of spin doctor, laying it on thick how Rhett was a valuable member of his community, how Tara was a NICU nurse with the requisite skills to care for a preemie.

  But Rhona’s lawyer was just as adept. She’d learned the error of her ways, she was repentant, yada, yada. She had a husband now who desperately wanted her and the baby she’d fathered with another man. Claudio did not care that she’d strayed; he loved her that much. Claudio came from a culture that was all about family. He would love and raise Julie as if she were his own daughter.

  At that, Rhett glanced at Claudio again. His rival’s handsome face mocked him. Eyes narrowed, chin hardened. He mouthed a silent obscenity.

  Anger blasted through him. Not so much at Claudio’s cockiness, but at the thought of his daughter being raised by him. Claudio did not love Julie. He might not even love Rhona, although the brawl he’d had with Rhett suggested that maybe he did. Either way, his love for Rhona was not his primary motivation.

  Claudio was all about winning. He lived it, breathed it, thought about nothing but winning. On the back of a bull, in bed with a woman, in the courtroom trying to steal another man’s daughter.

  Rhett knew because once upon a time winning had been his end-all, be-all. But right now, he’d give every trophy, every accolade, every penny he would make in prize money to Claudio, if he and Tara could just get custody of Julie.

  Finally, after what felt like hours, but was really only about twenty minutes, Lamar and Rhona’s lawyer concluded their arguments.

  Judge Brando sat stone-faced, unmoved and unmoving. The courtroom was pin-drop silent. She steepled her fingers, turned her cold stare first at Rhett and then at Rhona. “We’ll recess for lunch,” she said in a sharp clip. “I’ll give you my ruling upon our return.” She picked up her gavel, smashed it down hard enough to make everyone jump. “Court dismissed. We’ll resume at two p.m.”

  Pacing the marble hallway outside the courtroom, Rhett ripped off his tie, wadded it in his fist. Tried not to make eye contact with Claudio and Rhona as they scurried toward the exit with their attorney.

  He ground his teeth, struggling to get a handl
e on his fear. Recalled something Tara had told him once. You can choose courage, or you can choose comfortable, but you can’t have both. It hadn’t made sense at the time she’d said it to him, but now he totally got where she was coming from.

  She was right. He’d chosen courage, going all in on fatherhood, and he had not been comfortable since. On any other day, he would have been proud of his choice. But today, on the day he’d come to fight for his daughter, he could feel her slipping away from him. And he realized he wasn’t merely uncomfortable; he was steeped in raw, aching pain.

  Tara touched his arm. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

  He jerked back from her, saw hurt flit across her face, but she quickly schooled her features to a calm, neutral position. “I’m not hungry. You go ahead.”

  “You skipped breakfast. You need to eat.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” he snarled, and the second the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Tara was only trying to help the only way she knew how, through nurturing. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m just upset.”

  “I know.” She hovered a hand over him. She wanted to touch him, but she was giving him his space.

  “I . . . you . . .” He looked her in the eyes. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

  Her dark eyes lit with alarm. “You sound like you’re giving up.”

  He shook his head. “Judge Brando is going to give Julie to Rhona.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do.”

  “So you’re a mind reader now?”

  “I don’t know what’s in her heart and mind. All I know is that I’ve got that same feeling I did on the back of Widow Marker just before he went vertical and I knew I wasn’t going to stick.”

  “Gut instinct?”

  He nodded, pressed a fist to his belly.

  She moved to touch his back but stopped herself before she did. “Try not to project.”

  “Now you’re sounding like a therapist.”