In truth, nothing had been the same since his best friend, Tate Morgan, gave up riding saddle broncs to marry the love of his life. He retired from his career a few years ago as a world champion, happily settling into domestic bliss on his ranch near Kennewick, Washington.
Cort visited Tate and Kenzie, and their baby Gideon, several times, but he missed the days when he and Tate were travel partners, on the road to the next rodeo.
The Big Four Rodeos would kick off in a few weeks in Kennewick. He hated to miss the events and wished his dreams hadn’t ground to an agonizing halt.
The moment his foot hit the dirt on that April night, he knew he wouldn’t walk out of the arena. Instead of scoring, he ended up in the hospital. The doctor assured him he’d never steer wrestle again if he had any hope of being able to walk and move normally for the rest of his days on earth.
On mornings like this, hung-over and maudlin, Cort sometimes thought it would have been better if he’d landed on his head and ended his misery. He hated grappling to get through one day, then another, as a washed-up former rodeo star.
Much to his annoyance, he had to agree with his mother as he removed his clothes. He did stink - like stale beer, cigarette smoke, and tacky perfume. The cloying fragrance most likely belonged to the girl who’d smeared her garish lipstick all over his face.
Cort stepped into the shower in his bathroom and stood with the warm stream spraying over him, wondering what his mom and dad planned to say. It wouldn’t be anything they hadn’t said multiple times in the last few months.
Once he regained the ability to walk without a crutch or cane, Cort had helped his dad farm during the day then ran off at night to drink away his memories.
His behavior appalled his parents, but he couldn’t muster a sufficient amount of shame to care. No one, not even his sister, Celia, seemed to understand the accident had robbed him of his career and destroyed his hopes for the future.
In no hurry to listen to another lecture from his parents, Cort took his time drying off and getting dressed. A quick check of his clothes hamper showed it was empty, so he took the clothes he’d worn last night downstairs to the laundry room. He dropped them into the washer and turned it on before sauntering into the kitchen.
Celia sat at the table with their parents. The look she gave him carried a mixture of sympathy and displeasure that set him on edge.
Regret stung his conscience, but not enough to check his attitude as he poured himself a cup of coffee and sank onto a chair next to her.
“What brings you out here, Miss Fancy Pants?” Cort asked, taking a piece of toast from a plate on the table and buttering it.
Celia tossed back her mane of red hair and narrowed her green eyes his direction. “You, unfortunately.” She sipped from a glass of cold orange juice while continuing to glower at him.
“Me? What are you talking about? Why don’t you mind your own business, Celia, and stay out of mine.” Cort bit into his toast, glaring at her then his mother.
His dad thumped his hand on the table, forcing Cort to turn his glance his direction.
“Look, Cort, things haven’t turned out like you hoped, like you wanted, but you’re thirty-three years old.” Trevor McGraw fought the urge to shake some sense into his son. “You’ve still got a long life ahead of you and we can’t watch you throw it away. We’ve encouraged you, supported you, done everything we can to help you get back on track, but we’re through. We didn’t raise you to be the kind of man you’ve turned into since your accident. We refuse to stand by and watch you destroy yourself because you can’t get over the past and deal with the present.”
Cort tossed the remnants of his toast onto his plate and rose to his feet. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“Sit down!” Trevor stood so fast he knocked his chair over. His firm voice made it clear he expected Cort to obey his command. Every bit as tall and burly as his son, his presence demanded attention and respect. “So help me, if you don’t sit your butt in that chair, wipe that snide sneer off your face, and listen to what we have to say, I will take you outside and pound some sense into your thick skull.”
Shocked by both his father’s words and the look on his face, Cort slowly returned to his chair. His father had never laid a hand on him in anger and he seriously doubted he would now. Nevertheless, the fact he even made the threat gave him a moment of pause.
“Cort, please, try to understand.” Jana reached out and took Cort’s big hand in her small one. “We just want to help you.”
“Your mother and I can’t watch you do this to yourself.” Trevor righted his chair, sat down, and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t drink yourself to death, you’re going to kill yourself or someone else driving home drunk as you do most every night. We’ve told you a hundred times not to drive if you’ve been drinking.” Trevor released a sad, broken sigh. “We’re done with this, Cort. As of today, you are on your own.”
“What?” Cort’s head snapped up, shooting a questioning gaze to his dad.
“You heard me.” Trevor nailed him with a steely glare. “After breakfast, you’re leaving. Celia has graciously agreed to escort you to Tate and Kenzie’s place. Some time away from here will be good for you.”
“Just like that, you decide what’s best for me without considering what I want?” Unable to stop his anger from bubbling over, Cort’s voice increased in volume while his face flushed an angry shade of red.
Celia glared at him, her own temper flaring. “What you want is irrelevant. You’ve become a selfish, self-centered pig and we’re done tiptoeing around you.” She wanted to reach out and smack him. Through the years, she’d gone many rounds with Cort and didn’t shy away from a verbal sparring match. “You’ve had plenty of time to get your act together and instead, you wallow in self-pity. It’s time for you to grow up and start acting like a man instead of a pathetic pile of garbage.”
Jana put a warning hand on Celia’s arm, but the girl paid it no mind as she squared off with her only sibling.
“Is that right?” Cort asked, getting to his feet again and curling his hand into a fist. He desperately wanted to punch something.
Celia stood then climbed onto her chair so she would be taller than Cort. She shook her finger in his face, refusing to back down from the defiant stare filled with hate and loathing he aimed her direction.
“That’s right. If there’s anything you want we didn’t already pack, you better run your lazy, worthless backside upstairs and get it because we’re leaving. Now.” Celia jumped down and stomped out the back door.
After giving his parents one last surly look, Cort thudded up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door for good measure.
Empty hangers and a few remnants of clothing from his high school days were all that hung in his closet.
Although he hadn’t given it a thought when he dressed after showering, he’d found the clothes he wore neatly folded on the counter in his bathroom. A glance in his dresser drawers revealed they stood empty. His family hadn’t left a hat or spare pair of boots in his room.
Heedless to what he broke, his hand swiped across the length of the bathroom counter, dumping his toiletries into a leather travel bag. A fleeting look around his bedroom served to reaffirm he didn’t need to take any reminders of his rodeo days with him.
Livid, he crammed his keys, wallet, and cell phone into his pockets. Yanking on the boots he’d removed before his shower, he tugged on his crushed hat and clomped down the stairs.
Cort returned to the kitchen, leveling a furious stare at his parents. “If you wanted me to leave, you could have said so. You didn’t need to plan this little intervention or whatever it is you want to call it.” He stalked across the room and lingered in the doorway.
“We’ve tried everything possible to get you to snap out of this funk you’ve been in,” Jana said, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Please, Cort, let us help you.”
“I don’t need your help and I don’t need any
of you. Just remember, you’re the ones who kicked me out.” Cort pushed the kitchen’s screen door open so hard it banged against the side of the house.
Footsteps echoed behind him as he strode across the yard to where Celia waited with his pickup and horse trailer. At least they were letting him take his horses.
“Don’t leave like this.” Trevor put a restraining hand on Cort’s shoulder, drawing him to a stop.
“How am I supposed to leave? Get down on my knees and thank you for kicking me out? Or maybe I should be eternally grateful that you went behind my back carrying tales to my supposed best friend.” Cort couldn’t believe his family had betrayed him. He thought they’d always have his back, always support him when he needed it.
Instead, they’d abandoned him.
“That isn’t what happened. We’re worried about you, son. You need to get over this and move on with your life.” Trevor wished he could make Cort comprehend they wanted to help him, not hurt him.
“Whatever, Dad.” Cort jerked away from the hand his father still held on his shoulder and continued toward his truck.
Incensed, he opened the driver’s side door and grabbed Celia’s arm to pull her out. She swung her foot around and kicked him soundly on the thigh before wrenching the door shut and locking it.
“You don’t seriously think I’m leaving here with her driving?” Cort inquired of his mother as she stood beside his dad at the edge of the yard.
“Cort, honey, just get in. No need to make this any worse.” Jana closed her eyes against the pain radiating from her son’s.
“I’ll never, ever forgive you for doing this.” He slid into the truck and slammed the door.
“We love you, baby,” Jana called as Celia put the truck in gear and started out the driveway. She turned to Trevor and buried her head against his chest as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Will he ever speak to us again? Will he forgive us?”
“Someday.” Trevor blinked at the tears stinging the backs of his eyes. “We’re doing what’s best for him, honey. He’ll realize it eventually.”
“Pull over. I’ll let you out and Mom can come get you.” Cort jerked his thumb toward the side of the highway.
Celia kept her attention focused on the road.
“At least let me drive.” Cort growled at his sister, putting his hand over hers on the steering wheel. She shoved it away and ignored him, entering the freeway heading west toward the Oregon border. In about four and a half hours, they’d be at the Morgan Ranch where, she hoped, Tate and Kenzie could work a miracle and help Cort find himself again.
“The first time you stop, I swear I’m kicking you out and taking over the wheel.” Cort speared her with a cold, threatening glare across the cab of the truck.
“You try anything, buster, and you’re going to rue the day you were ever born.” Celia shot him a warning look.
Cort remained silent for a few miles then gave her a sidelong glance. “What are your plans, exactly?”
Celia shook her head, turned up the radio, and kept driving.
Three hours into the trip, Cort desperately needed to find a rest stop and thought he might die of thirst.
“How about you stop in Pendleton for a break?” he suggested as they drove out of the Blue Mountains. “Don’t you need to stretch your legs? Find a restroom?”
“Nope. I’m good.” Celia watched as Cort moved restlessly in his seat. Served him right. If he’d behave himself, she’d gladly pull over at the next rest area. Despite her assurances she didn’t need to stop, she drank one too many cups of coffee before they left and desperately needed a break. After his threats, though, there was no way she’d give him the opportunity to escape until she arrived at Tate and Kenzie’s. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Right.” Cort stared out the window, trying to think of anything other than his full bladder, empty stomach, and boiling anger at his sister and parents.
“Here, chew on this.” Celia handed him a package of bubble gum.
He took a piece and tossed the pack onto the seat between them. It didn’t take long before he began loudly snapping the gum. Each time the earsplitting pop echoed through the truck’s cab, Celia’s shoulders inched closer to her ears. The more it bothered her, the more enthusiastically he blew and popped bubbles.
After several more miles of him smacking the gum and her cringing, she rolled down his window and jabbed a finger his direction. “Enough! Stop acting like a spoiled brat!”
Cort spit out the gum and frowned at her as she pushed the button and the window closed. The weather outside was unbearably hot and stifling for mid-August. It made him grateful to be inside the cool air-conditioned cab of his truck even if he didn’t want to be in it with Celia.
He removed a cinnamon-infused toothpick from a box in his console, stuck it between his lips, and returned his gaze to the passing scenery.
Celia followed the freeway around the outskirts of Pendleton while Cort recalled all the years that he participated in the Pendleton Round-Up. The first thirteen years of his life, he faithfully attended the Pendleton rodeo as a spectator, and it remained one of his favorites. He’d won the steer wrestling event half a dozen times over the years he participated as a contestant.
As memories flooded through him, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat.
“I’m sorry, Cort. I truly am, but this is for the best.” Celia voice carried a hint of empathy, aware of his memories and internal struggle to come to terms with the loss of his career.
“Best for whom? Mom and Dad? You? It certainly isn’t best for me, not that any of you care.” He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to see the compassion or concern on his sister’s face, although it filled her voice.
“We care. More than you can imagine. If you weren’t out drinking and carousing every night, you’d know that Mom spends her evenings praying you’ll come home in one piece. Dad paces the floor, frantic with worry. How can you not see what you’ve put this family through?” Celia asked, both her tone and temper on the rise. “You aren’t the first person to have to give up something you love and find a new path. You certainly won’t be the last. However, you are, quite possibly, the most pitiful. It wasn’t like you could be a steer wrestler forever, anyway. Why is your forced retirement throwing you for such a loop?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then enlighten me. Help me understand so I can explain it to Mom and Dad.”
Cort mumbled something and shook his head.
“What did you say?” Celia kept one eye on the road and the other on her brother.
“I said if I knew maybe I could explain it to you.”
“Well, be sure and share the details when you figure it out.” She snapped her mouth closed before she said something further to irritate Cort.
They rode in silence until she turned off the freeway onto the road that would take them to the Morgan Ranch. Cort flicked his toothpick out the window and studied his friend’s well-tended fields.
“Looks like they’re done with wheat harvest,” Celia observed, nodding toward the vast acres of harvested wheat fields.
“Yeah. Tate said they had a bumper crop this year.” Cort had always liked the look of the rolling hills covered in golden wheat. He missed them when his family moved to the Boise area. While the ground there was fertile, it was flat where his parents farmed.
“I’m glad for the farmers around here, then. Dad isn’t sure how the sugar beets are going to turn out this year since water has been so scarce. Good thing the hay and beef market is strong.” Celia turned down the driveway to Tate and Kenzie’s house.
“Dad’s worried about the beets? Why didn’t he say something to me?” His dad never mentioned any concerns over the crops or a lack of water. Then again, he’d tuned out most of what his father said, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care.
“Maybe you weren’t listening,” Celia suggested as she waved at Kenzie and braked to a stop in front of the big farmhouse.
Before she could get out of the truck, Tate opened her door and lifted her out into a big hug. He’d always been like another older brother. When he wed Kenzie a few years ago, Celia felt like she’d gained a much-loved sister.
“Hey, stranger, great to see you.” Tate set her on her feet then they walked around the truck to where Kenzie hugged Cort. “Can you stay long?”
“No. I have to leave this afternoon, if someone can give me a ride to the airport. As much as I’d like to leave him stranded, Cort’s truck stays here.” Celia smiled at Tate’s handsome face.
Dimples danced in his tan cheeks while his sapphire blue eyes twinkled in the early afternoon light. Nearly as tall as Cort, it was no wonder his beautiful wife was head-over-heels in love with him. He was good-looking, good-hearted, and a great father to their young son.
She hoped some of his maturity and kindness would rub off on her brother.
“Where’s Gideon?” Celia asked, expecting to see the baby in his mother’s arms when they pulled up at the house.
“It’s nap time.” Kenzie smiled as she hugged Celia then looped their arms together as they walked into the house. She glanced over her shoulder at the two men standing at the end of the walk. “I’ll pour the iced tea while you two take the horses to the barn.”
“We’ll be in soon.” Tate nodded to his wife before slapping Cort on the back. “Let’s get them unloaded.”
Cort climbed behind the wheel of his truck, wanting to pull out on the road and keep driving. Instead, he drove up by Tate’s massive barn and unloaded his horses into an empty corral. Tate tossed hay over the fence and checked the water tank while Cort ran into the barn to use the bathroom.
He returned to the corral as Tate gave Stoney, his favorite horse, a good scratching on his neck.
“Surprised he remembers me,” Tate said as the horse bumped his head against his chest. “I haven’t seen him for a while.”
“How could he forget you after all those miles we traveled together?” Cort’s memories tugged uncomfortably at his thoughts. He quelled them before they overwhelmed him again and plastered on a fake smile.
The Christmas Cowboy: (Sweet Western Holiday Romance) (Rodeo Romance Book 1) Page 28