What twenty-four year old longed to go home? Not a single one of her rodeo friends. They were content to live out of suitcases, drive for hours on end to hit another show and win another check. Her? Since Kathleen got married last summer all she could think about was home.
Home and Trick Samuels. The last man she should want because he was so intricately tied to Lockhardt, Texas. One thing Monica was certain of: Lockhardt would kill the identity she was trying to forge. If she returned to Lockhardt for good, Monica would disappear back into the shadows of Kathleen and Vanessa.
Jinx flicked his ears toward the cattle pens and tossed his head.
“Not now, boy,” said Monica with a light tug on his reins. “You can play with the steers later.”
Music filled the arena as the last competitor took her glory lap. Jinx, standing in the middle of the group of barrel racers with Monica, restlessly moved from hoof to hoof. He flicked his ears toward the cattle pen again, and this time pulled his head in the opposite direction. Eager to get going. Just nerves. Monica kept a smile plastered on her face and tugged once more, a little harder this time.
“No, Jinx.” What was wrong with him? In the three years she’d been running barrels with him, he had never once acted on the impulse to herd cattle. After washing out as one of her sister Kathleen’s racers, Jinx had been trained as a cow horse against Monica’s wishes. When she’d decided to go pro, her first investment had needed to be a good horse. She’d tracked down the rancher who’d bought Jinx for his spread in New Mexico, then purchased and retrained him as a barrel racer.
He flicked his ears toward the pen again.
Two more minutes, and whatever was going on in the pen wouldn’t matter. They’d be out of the arena; she would collect her third place check and go home. Not to her little house in Austin, and not to Trick’s hideaway. To the Double Diamond. Her sisters, Kathleen and Vanessa, were pregnant and wanted to bond before their babies were born. After the way their father more or less abandoned them to be raised by their grandfather, Kathleen and Vanessa wanted deep ties connecting all of them. Monica sighed. She was fine with family bonding, as long as Van kept her uptight opinions to herself. When she returned to the Double Diamond the summer before, for Kathleen and Jackson’s wedding, Vanessa had been a pill. Ordering people around, throwing fits. Generally being the spoiled brat Monica remembered from her early teen years.
According to Kathleen, Old Vanessa had been replaced by some kind of combination Earth Mother-Party Planner. The fact she was still with Mat Barnes several months after they started dating seemed proof that she had changed, but Monica was withholding full support of her sister.
And Kathleen. Well, that relationship was a double edged sword. Monica genuinely loved her older sister, but forging a deep bond? When all Kathleen saw still saw was the eight year old who needed a mother? Kathleen loathed Monica’s profession. Poo-pooed her abilities as a horse trainer. Already she was on edge and that was obviously rubbing off on Jinx, who pranced to the side once more. She needed to get him out of the arena, cooled down, and loaded in the trailer.
Jinx tossed his head as the final rider came around, taking her place at the end of the line of barrel racers. Monica tightened the reins, but Jinx ignored her instruction. He whinnied, a warning cry if she’d ever heard one, just as the firecrackers exploded behind the pens.
Sweet God, what was going on back there? The attention of the arena audience, every barrel racer, and announcer was trained on the steer pens where another pop-pop-pop sounded, and then a bright, burst of color filled the air followed by a loud BANG.
What genius was putting on a fireworks display that close to the pens? Jinx pulled his head left and then right, trying to loosen Monica’s grip on the reins, but she held tight. Whatever was going on, the worst thing Jinx could do was run from the pens. It could start a chain reaction.
The steers in the pen began bawling as the firecrackers continued. Several Roman Candles shot into the air followed by another loud bang, and more colors filled the sky.
It would be beautiful as a Fourth of July display, but not in early May. Not when it was unexpected.
Not that close to the steer pens. Bang, BANG, BANG.
The bawling increased, and Monica looked to the top of the stands. The announcers looked as shocked as she did. Along the chutes, cowboys who’d competed in the roping events earlier in the night pushed their hats back on their heads, worried expressions on all their faces. She searched the stands for the rodeo manager, but couldn’t find him. The music ended, and the fireworks display increased.
Brilliant reds, greens, and blues burst overhead as display after display shot high into the air. Jinx moved restlessly again, not because of the loud noises — he’d been around enough fireworks as a racer — but because of the effect of the fireworks on the cattle. People in the stands oohed and awed over the display, clearly excited by the turn of events. The other horses were sliding side to side, eager to get away from the loud booms echoing around them.
“Monica, what do we do?” Lori, the barrel racer who’d placed second ahead of Monica, asked, fear evident in her voice. Monica heard a creak from the pens as the bawling increased. The cattle were in distress. Whoever was shooting off the fireworks needed to stop. Now.
Another bright shower of lights exploded. In their glow, Monica saw a group of teenage boys behind the pens, whooping it up, punks in hand. Idiots. They should know better than to set off fireworks that close to holding pens. The steers shifted restlessly in unison, trying to get away from the noise. The rail fences around them gave a little as the herd moved left. Another loud boom sounded from behind the pen, and the cattle surged forward. One of the boys pointed and started laughing.
God, they were doing this on purpose.
The barrel racers hadn’t been dismissed, but with the spectators watching the display, it didn’t matter. They needed to get out of the arena. Now.
“Go,” Monica shouted to the other barrel racers. “Exit. Now.” She pointed to the gate marking the beginning of the raceway. A couple of the cowboys must have seen the cattle were ready to bolt, because they opened the gate wide and started yelling at their compatriots.
The cowboys jumped off the chutes and rails and ran toward the back of the arena. Either trailering their horses or jumping on them to help control the animals about to stampede.
Another loud bang, this time sounding like an actual bomb, and the steers shoved forward, breaking through one rail fence and trampling over another. Anything, to get away from the loud bangs behind them. Louder, angry bellows and snorts sounded from the left where the bulls were penned. The calls from the steers and the fireworks angering the massive beasts. Please, God, don’t let them freak out, too.
“Go,” Monica yelled again, and the other racers seemed to come out of a trance. As one, they raced for the exit gate.
She pulled Jinx’s reins to direct him toward the cattle pen. She had to head off those steers before they out of the arena and into the streets, but Jinx shook his head — hard — reared onto his back legs, and began sprinting toward the exit, too. Spectators began screaming from the stands, finally realizing the fireworks display wasn’t part of the show. Monica muscled Jinx around to ride the stand rail, yelling at them all to stay put. They were safer in the stands than on the ground with the cattle. No one listened. Finally, Jinx reverted to his training, put his head down, and Monica nudged him toward the steers pouring into the arena.
Three cowboys, all ropers, came up on Monica’s heels just as the last steer broke through the arena fence. She stayed on point with Jinx, galloping toward the herd; the other cowboys each took a flank, one riding to the left, the other two to the right. Another loud bang sounded, this time from behind the bull pens. A shiver of fear went down Monica’s spine. The bulls.
Lights flooded the arena. Thank God, the herd hadn’t taken
out the power. Yet.
Monica glanced up and saw two big cowboys grab the pranksters behind the obliterated steer pen. Monica turned a few head toward the cowboy on the right, who circled the steers back toward the ruined pens.
Monica gave Jinx his head, and he culled more steers from the main group of forty. Sent a few one way, a few the other. Man and beasts were running, running, as more cowboys joined the group trying to stop the stampede. The angry noises from the bull pens grew louder, but Monica didn’t stop to look. She had to focus on the cattle before her.
More cowboys joined the fray, one taking point. Monica turned Jinx toward a corner where two steers rammed their heads against the fence. She turned the cattle and took a deep breath. Only a few people remained in the stands, all looking stunned. Monica took off her hat and wiped the back of her arm over her forehead.
Jinx’s ears flicked, and he tossed his head. Dread filled Monica when a loud growl sounded. She turned and saw one of the bulls, a huge, hairy thing that had to weigh over two thousand pounds, staring at her. She tried to remain still, but Jinx was antsy and moved. The brilliant lights in the arena sparkled off the rhinestones in her top. The bull lowered his head to charge and Monica slammed her heels into Jinx’s hindquarters.
Jinx lunged forward, but wasn’t quite fast enough. Monica felt the impact on her horse’s hindquarters, and then she was falling, and everything went black.
Chapter Two
Five Days Later
Trickett Samuels leaned against the rail fence separating Kathleen Witte-Jackson’s race horses from her rescues, snapped a piece of alfalfa from its stem, and put it between his teeth. In the distance, he heard cattle lowing. He hated waiting. Hated it, especially, when Monica Witte was behind the waiting.
Mat Barnes, the Double Diamond foreman, and Kathleen walked down from the barn. Kathleen had a cell phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. Her nine-months-pregnant belly led the way. Her hair was auburn where Monica’s was dark blonde, but each sister had the same wide grin, the same green eyes. They even walked the same, something he’d never noticed until the night of the bull sale and the first kiss he shared with Monica. A smile split Kathleen’s face, and she grabbed Mat’s arm to lead him over to the fence. Seeing Trick, she pointed toward the lane.
“We’ll see you in a second, then,” she said and slipped the phone into her pocket. Trick’s body went on point before she said her next words. “That was Monica. I’m sorry we’ve held you up, Trick, but she’s moving slow because of Jinx.”
Trick shrugged as if it didn’t matter he’d been already spent more than an hour waiting. Seemed like he was always waiting for Monica. Not that her family needed to know that. Hell, they hadn’t even been on a real date. Their relationship, if anyone would call it that, was casual. Casual as in Monica casually showed up on his doorstep when she was bored with the rodeo circuit, usually with bogus paperwork from the ranch. And then they casually wound up in bed and she was gone by morning.
Trick patted the old stallion who made his way to the fence and propped his muzzle on the old rails. Yeah, he knew just how the old stud felt. Used, ignored, used again.
So why did he keep allowing it to happen? Any other woman he’d have set straight by now. At twenty-nine, Trick was done with casual sex and throw-away relationships. When Doc Vaughn retired next year, he planned to buy the vet practice. Put down real roots. It was time to get serious about his life.
“It’s a light day at the office, nothing Doc can’t handle on his own, and I’d rather be here to see just what shape Jinx is in. Hey, Mat.” He addressed his friend, who’d been wrangled by the middle Witte sister, Vanessa, just a few short months ago. They were currently living together on a property Mat had purchased on the other side of the Diamond. Trick had a feeling wedding bells weren’t far away for his friend. Just his luck. His best friend was head over heels in love with Trick’s secret-girlfriend’s sister, which meant Trick couldn’t bitch about his own woman problems. Namely that the woman was so damned hard to keep around.
This had all the makings of a really bad Junior High moment.
Damn Monica, anyway, for insisting they keep their fling a secret.
Damn himself for going along with her. He knew all about the rough upbringing the girls had faced. How, after Kathleen’s mother passed away during childbirth, their father Nathanial dove nose-deep into a bottle of whiskey. He sobered up long enough to marry two more women — Vanessa’s socialite mother and Monica’s mother, a waitress from the local bar. She never said as much, but he knew she was scared spitless of turning into her father, so he didn’t pressure her about their relationship. But the less pressure he gave the more distant Monica seemed to become. Damned if Trick knew how to fix the situation now. He was neck-deep in lust with the woman, cared more about her than anyone outside his immediate family. Somehow he had to show her she could depend on him without giving up her independence. Every time he tried, she ran scared.
The Utah rodeo was a prime example. Two weeks before the event, he mildly suggested, since she was off for a week, they take a weekend trip to the Gulf. Monica flipped a switch. Grabbed her go-bag filled with rodeo gear and jumped in her truck as if the hounds of hell were after her.
He didn’t hear from her until she called the day before, about Jinx. Telling him she wanted Dr. Vaughn to lead Jinx’s recovery.
Not a freaking chance he would let that happen. If she wanted to end their fling, so be it. But he was Jinx’s best chance to get back into the arena. Trick wouldn’t jeopardize the horse’s future because Monica was afraid of a little intimacy.
The sound of a diesel’s high-powered engine split the air. Around the corner came Monica’s white-and-silver Dodge and matching horse trailer. The Witte brand was emblazoned on the doors of the truck and Jinx’s name painted in swirls down the sides of the trailer, along with the years Monica had won the All Around Cowgirl title. A sense of pride filled him, not because he had a stitch to do with Monica’s success. That was all her. She did it alone, without the help of anyone.
She pulled up beside them and parked before getting out of the truck. Monica turned her face away from her sister, her straw cowboy hat doing a good job of hiding the bandage at her hairline and the black eye. Trick clenched his fists. Damn that bull, anyway. Her tawny hair was gathered in elastic at her neck. Her jeans were ripped at the knee, the tee shirt she wore faded to the point the green looked almost blue. If Trick hadn’t woken her up a time or three when she wore only that shirt, he might not have known. Her brown Ropers were scarred and dusty, like the rest of her.
She shouldn’t look so sexy. She should look tired, bedraggled. Not like she’d just rolled out of bed.
Kathleen rushed to her side, but Monica pushed her away. “Not a big deal,” she insisted, but Trick saw the flinch as Kathleen’s arms pulled Monica into a hug. Whether she flinched because of the hug or the unseen bruises on her body, Trick wasn’t sure.
Hell, Monica probably didn’t know herself.
He’d seen the video from the stampede. Seen the bull take a run at Jinx. Seen Monica try to get her horse out of harm’s way and then fall between the stands and Jinx. She’d been damn lucky one of the cowboys had seen the bull and distracted it before more damage was done. Trick hadn’t competed in rodeo since high school, but falls like that weren’t easy to recover from. For the rider or for the horse.
Monica limped to the back of the trailer. So her knee was messed up along with the bruising.
Trick hurried to the trailer and reached for the latch just as Monica did. A spark of heat traveled from the tips of his fingers straight to his groin. Her hand curled into a fist. So she felt it, too. Damn. He’d hoped some of the spark would have died by the time Monica arrived.
“I’ve got it,” she said between clenched teeth.
“I’m just here for the horse.” Trick said, th
e lie easily dropping from his mouth.
Monica looked up at him, hurt in her green eyes. Hell.
He stepped a little closer. “I didn’t mean that, Mon.”
“You don’t say things you don’t mean.” She pulled on the lever and opened the trailer gate before stepping inside the metal box.
Jinx twisted his head around to see who had opened the gate and then pushed his muzzle back into the hay at the head of the trailer. He stood on three legs, with his back left bent at the knee. He looked exhausted, Trick thought. A thick, white wrap covered his left hindquarter from the hip through the knee.
Monica unsnapped the lead from his halter and pressed her hands against his chest, showing him it was time to get out of the trailer. Trick moved to the side of the trailer, watching how Jinx favored the injured leg as he backed out of the compartment. Mat had the paddock opened and Kathleen stood to the side as Monica led her horse inside the fence.
“I’d like to see him walk a bit, before the exam,” Trick said, and Monica started him off again. “Alone. Not being led.” She huffed out a breath, but followed his direction.
The horse took a few steps and then dropped his head to the grass for a snack. Monica whistled at him, a sign for him to go farther, but Jinx ignored her.
“Monica.” Her name was a warning, but she ignored him.
“He’s just tired. Jinxie,” she called to him and the horse flicked his ears in her direction, but didn’t budge. Too tired or too sore to worry about his training. Maybe a little of both. Trick watched for another long moment. Jinx stood on all fours for less than two minutes before he bent the back leg at the knee, taking the pressure off.
Not a great sign. Not the worst, either, though, which is what he’d expected after seeing the video from the rodeo.
Texas Wishes: The Complete Series Page 34