by Vicki Tharp
Might have hurt less than watching what he’d never had.
Knowing that there might have been a man out there who could have given that to him, ate at his gut. For the first time since he’d heard about his mother’s infidelity, the anger and resentment grew at the fact that his mother had kept his real father from him.
Perhaps a good, loving one like the man in front of him.
Even before he’d learned that Patrick Murphy wasn’t biologically his father, Ian had long since given up trying to please the bastard. Climbing Mt. Everest in shorts and flip-flops would have been easier.
But Ian couldn’t let loose the idea that maybe, just maybe, he would have made his real father proud.
He would have appreciated the opportunity to try.
Feeling a hand on his back, he turned to find Cora beside him.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
He swiped at his eye. “Dust is bad out here.” He led her to the side of the arena, out of the fray so they could talk without having to worry about getting trampled.
Cora leaned against the wall and eyed him. She hadn’t swallowed the lie. “Dust, huh?”
He cleaned off his lens. Just because he didn’t like how easily she read him didn’t mean he wanted to lie straight to her face, so he didn’t say anything.
She tugged on his camera strap to get his attention. “Have you thought anymore about trying to find out who your father is?”
Hooking up with the rodeo was never supposed to be about him, but he’d learned more about himself in the last few weeks than he had in the last twenty-four years of his life. As difficult as it could be sometimes, he appreciated that Cora didn’t fear asking the hard questions.
He blew a stubborn spec of dirt off the lens and replaced the cover. “Where would I even start? There had to have been four million men running around New York when I was conceived. Any one of them could be my father.”
“You said your step-father didn’t know who your real father was, but were there any other family members that your mother might have confided in? That would be a hard secret for your mother to keep to herself all those years. Surely, she would have told someone. A sister, a cousin, a friend?”
The hint of a smile curled his lips, and Ian ducked his head and went in for a kiss. “You’re a brilliant woman, Cora Hayes.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the arena. She laughed that full laugh that went straight to his heart and said, “Where are we going?”
“The rodeo office. I’ve got a phone call to make.”
It took some wheedling and a touch of his Irish brogue to sweet talk the rodeo secretary into allowing Ian to make a long-distance call on the fairground’s phone.
After the older woman left the cluttered office to give him and Cora some privacy, Cora said to Ian, “You’re a menace with that accent. Whipping it out when it suits, leaving little old ladies powerless to resist your bidding.”
He waggled his brows and gave her a cheesy grin. “I gotta use what I can. No one wants me to bat my lashes or shake my ass to get what I want.”
Cora stepped in close, looped a finger through one of his belt loops, and grinned up at him. “I don’t know about that.”
The open invitation in her eyes almost had him reaching for the lock on the door and taking her right there against the rodeo secretary’s desk. One of the things he loved about Cora was the fact that she probably wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.
Loved?
Loved about her. Not love-love her.
Right?
Ian leaned against the desk and picked up the phone. The initial excitement of calling his aunt and maybe finding out who his real father was, faded as he stared into Cora’s sky-blue eyes. God, how much he’d miss her when he was gone. While in many ways he was still the outsider in this rodeo crowd, he’d already begun to feel like he belonged here with Cora.
A dangerous way to think.
The telephone operator looked up his aunt’s number and connected the call. As the phone rang and rang, his chest got tight, his heart thudded, and blood swooshed in his ears almost as intense as if he’d just come back from a run. Except that a run didn’t leave you feeling unsure and vulnerable. On a run, your world wouldn’t crumble with your next step.
His insecurity, and his inclination to end the call must have shown in his eyes because Cora stopped pacing. Somehow, she knew how much this phone call meant to him. More than he’d been willing to admit to himself.
She said, “Let it ring.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, but he let it ring and ring. Soon the secretary would want her office back. Ian started to lower the receiver when he heard his aunt’s voice.
He closed his eyes and tried to swallow past the sudden stricture in his throat. Aunt Eileen sounded bold and brash...she sounded just like his mother had.
Clearing his throat, he said, “It’s me. It’s Ian.”
Silence. Then he heard her breathing. Or maybe that was him.
For a second, he thought he’d have to identify himself some other way but then his aunt said, “How’s me wee laddie?”
He chuckled. “It’s been a long time since I could be considered little.” But considering his father had only taken him to see her once since his mother had died, he couldn’t fault her.
“Your Da told me—”
“He’s not me Da,” he bit out. Jesus. Get a fucking grip. “Sorry. I’m not angry with you.”
“Don’t be too hard on the man. He loved ye mum, he did. In his own way.”
“Yeah? He had a damn funny way of showing it.”
The conversation had just started, and he already felt drained. Ian sunk into the chair and motioned for Cora to come over. When she did, he guided her to his lap, craving the contact, the closeness. She settled against his chest, one hand massaging the back of his head.
“Ian...It was a different time. He was raising another man’s ba—”
“Bastard. You can say it, Aunt Eileen.”
“Baby. I was gonna say baby, lad.”
Maybe. “Yeah. Sure.” Clicks and pops and static came over the line as his aunt waited for him to speak again. This wasn’t a call to catch up. It was a call for answers. “Do you have a name? For my real father?”
More static, then a sigh. Heavy. Sad. “No. A photographer he was. For the Times. That’s all ye Ma would tell me.”
It had been a long shot. One he hadn’t known was so important to him until he felt the sting at the back of his eyes. He blinked a couple times. He would be hard pressed to blame his watery eyes on wind-swept dust while they were in an office.
“Did Ma tell him he had a son?”
“He never knew.”
Ian didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse. At least he knew that his real father didn’t outright reject him. The man didn’t even know he existed.
The rodeo secretary stuck her head in the door and Ian held a finger up, letting her know he was almost finished. “Look, I have to go. Thank you.”
“Come see me sometime, lad.”
“Sure,” he said, though he had no intentions of returning to New York anytime soon. If ever.
* * *
Cora tacked Panache up for the barrel race, more than a little annoyed. She hadn’t had more than five minutes alone all day and three of those minutes had been when she’d disappeared into the women’s restroom. Even then, Ian had waited outside. If the crowd hadn’t been so heavy that night, he probably would have followed her in if it wouldn’t have gotten him arrested.
Now, Scottie Hines sat on her tack locker in front of her stall, chewing on a piece of Panache’s hay.
“I know you need to be getting some of the stock ready to move. You don’t have to babysit me. There are plenty of people in the barn. I’m not even close to being alone.”
“Josephine asked me to wait with you until she got back from taking her horse to see the rodeo vet. So that’s what I intend ta do.”
; Cora blew out a frustrated breath, and Panache reached around and lipped her arm when she pulled on the cinch too hard. She loosened the leather strap and patted her horse on the neck. “Sorry, boy.” Then to Scottie said, “I think this has been blown all out of proportion. There’s been no direct threat. Just some idiot trying to scare me or mess up my runs.”
“Can’t never be too careful.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m about to tell a certain city slicker where he can shove his—”
Scottie cleared his throat and nodded his head toward a spot over her shoulder. “Murphy.”
Cora glanced over as Scottie gathered up his can of Skoal and slipped by Ian. Ian clapped him on the back. “Thanks, man.”
Scottie didn’t answer, he just tipped his hat as he walked down the aisle toward the indoor chutes and the herd of bawling cattle.
“Talkative fellow. Where’s Josephine?” A hint of accusation crept into his voice. “She was supposed to be with you until your race started.”
Cora gave him the side eye, then had Panache lower his head so she could put his bridle on. “This is a rodeo, not Fort Knox. It’s not like you need to post a guard on me twenty-four/seven.”
He glared back. They’d been through this more than once today. Ian refused to back down, and while their friends had closed ranks and offered to be with her during the times Ian couldn’t, Cora knew he would soon find out that their friends had more important things to do than babysit. They all had their own lives to lead that didn’t involve her and her issue with some crazy-ass secret admirer.
He moved in close and took her hand. “Look at me.” She wanted to refuse, but the concern in his voice had her meeting his eyes. “You’re more precious than a room stacked with gold. If I could put you under lock and key, I’d do it in a heartbeat if I knew it would keep you safe.”
“But you can’t.”
“Unfortunately.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and removed her hat long enough to press a kiss to her forehead. Panache turned his head and nudged his front pocket searching for treats. Ian scrubbed his hand through Panache’s thick, cream-colored forelock. “I’ve got nothing, boy.”
Panache blew out a heavy sigh, his large nostrils flapped, sending a shower of horsey snot in all directions. “Ewh.” Cora backed away and found a towel to wipe her hands on. “He knows how to spoil the mood.”
Then she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Her heart did a crazy flop and her stomach folded in on itself at the thought of handing the list over. She didn’t know if what she’d done was the right thing to do, but she’d had to find a way to help. Hopefully, Ian would see it that way as well.
He’d been quiet since the call to his aunt. He’d told her the basics, that his aunt didn’t have a name. That his real father didn’t know about him, and that he’d been a photographer for the New York Times. Would Ian think she was meddling? That it wasn’t any of her business?
“What’s that?” he asked.
After a moment’s hesitation, she handed over the list she’d obtained. “It’s a list of photographers the New York Times employed around the year you would have been conceived.”
He glanced from her face to the paper and back again. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he took a step back and regarded the paper as if she held a bomb. Then again, in some way that list could have the ability to blow up his life. What the hell had she been thinking?
“Um...I...” Before she could take the paper back, he took it from her hand, but instead of opening it, he stuffed it in his pocket. He had this expression on his face that she couldn’t quite read. “I should have asked before I called the Times and asked for the names. I just thought...you know...”
Ian hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t you need to warm him up?”
Here she was dressed for the arena in her cowgirl shirt with the sparkles, her best jeans, chaps, hat and her horse freshly brushed and saddled with her race the farthest thing from her mind. Even though he’d been deflecting, Ian was right. Time to focus.
She took Panache’s reins and started down the aisle. She turned to Ian and said, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want. There are plenty of people around the warm up arena and Josephine should be back any minute.”
“I’m coming.” Though he didn’t look happy about it. Or maybe he just wasn’t happy with her.
On the way to the warm up arena, he trailed a couple horse lengths behind her and Panache. She tried to shift her attention from him to her job ahead. Josephine had loaned her a few bucks that morning, and if Cora didn’t win a check tonight, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do for money.
She swung into the saddle, and she and Panache walked into the arena. After a few trips along the rail, she lost herself in the gentle rocking of Panache’s canter, of the hollow drum of hooves in the dirt, on the buzz of conversations punctuated by laughter.
Taking a deep breath, she rolled her shoulders, letting the tension fall away. She forgot about the stupid secret admirer and about her man who’d been wronged.
Yes. Her man.
Even if he was only hers for now.
12
After a night at the local bar celebrating Cora and Panache’s win, Ian, Cora, and Josephine pulled into the parking lot at the Santa Fe rodeo grounds. Being the good friend that she was, Josephine drove Ian’s truck, with Cora smashed between Josephine and Ian. With her winnings, Cora and Ian had gotten more than a little drunk. Now Ian looked forward to climbing into a warm bed and passing out for the night.
Ian grabbed his hat off the dash and climbed out of the truck to walk Josephine to her trailer. In the glow of the headlights, Ian glanced back through the windshield. Cora’s eyes lay at half-mast as the alcohol and the stress and the excitement began to drag her under. Ian glanced back at the trailer and drew up short.
Cora must have noticed because she hauled herself out of the truck using the steering wheel and the open door for balance. “What’s wrong?”
From where she stood, she couldn’t see the step of the trailer, but Ian bent and picked up another dead rose and newspaper clipping.
Josephine glanced over at Cora, Josephine’s face pale in the shine from the headlights. “Who the hell is doing this?”
“I don’t know,” Ian said. “But if I get my hands on the bastard, he’s going to wish he hadn’t.”
Cora stepped between Josephine and Ian. “Let me see.”
Ian wanted to hide the clipping from Cora, it would only scare her more, but Cora wasn’t the type of woman to run from her problems. She was the type of woman who faced them head on.
“More of the same,” he said. “Only worse. I don’t know what you did to piss this person off, but this is getting worse not better.”
Cora stared down at the dead rose. Instead of just the clipped picture from the newspaper of her dancing on the table at The Wheel, someone had taken the time to cut around the picture of Cora and pasted it on a sheet of paper. At the top it said, “I only have eyes for you.”
“I guess this means we can rule out a jealous barrel racer,” Josephine said.
“And rule in a jealous lover?” Ian added. He tried to keep his voice level, but a hint of accusation must have slipped out because Cora and Josephine both slid him a look that hit like a one-two punch.
Speaking of jealous lovers... Ian leveled his gaze at Cora. “You never did give me that list of boyfriends.”
Her chin went up. “This mean I get a list of all the girls you’ve had sex with?”
“That isn’t what this is about, you know that.” Ian fisted his hands on his hips.
Josephine took a step back, her hands raised. “I’m going to bed. You two can slug this out.”
“Were not fighting.” Ian and Josephine said at the same time.
Josephine unlocked the trailer door, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she directed her comment to Cora, “Sure you’
re not. Who’s the jealous lover now?”
Cora huffed out a breath as Josephine disappeared inside the trailer. “I’m not jealous.”
Ian glanced up and met her eye, man enough to admit what he was feeling, even if he didn’t want to feel it. “I sure as hell am.”
Josephine stuck her head outside the trailer door. “You guys care to take this somewhere else? A girl’s gotta get her beauty sleep.”
“Yeah,” Ian said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Presumptuous of you to assume I’m staying with you tonight.”
He took a moment to count backwards from three. “Cora,” he said dropping his voice and taking a step toward her. “Let’s not do this.”
“Fine.” The word came low and throaty like a growl. Ian took Cora’s elbow, grabbed his keys from his ignition, and led her to his trailer.
Ian followed her in, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. Reaching beside him into the small drawer of the kitchen cabinet, he pulled out a pen and a pad of paper and slid it over to her. “We need a list. This isn’t about who you slept with. This is about finding out who is a threat. This isn’t going away.”
“Maybe he’s just trying to get attention.” Cora looked hopeful, but not too hopeful.
“He’s got our attention. If we ignore this, if we ignore him, what’s to keep this lunatic from going after Panache, or you?”
Cora uncapped the pen, and started doodling in the corner of the pad, short, slashing, hard lines that dug into the paper. “I just want all this to go away.”
Ian reached across the table and took her hand; her fingers cool to the touch. “Me, too, baby. Me, too.”
While Cora worked on her list, Ian gave her some space and prepared his entry for mailing the next day. When he’d finished, she still hadn’t completed the list, so he started going through some of his negatives to find other photos he’d promised some of the riders he’d print.
Word had gotten out, and he was doing enough of a side business selling prints to the rodeo crowd to keep him in grub and gas if nothing else.