by Marin Thomas
“Probably a pinched nerve. Conway suffered one in his neck last year and was a bear to live with until the pain went away.”
Thanks to the army the words suck it up had been drilled into Gavin’s brain and he rarely complained. What would it be like to come home at the end of the day to a woman who listened to his grumbles and offered a sympathetic hug? Gavin guided Dixie past a group of chattering teens.
“Here we are.” He led Dixie through the row until they located their seat numbers. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“How about a drink?”
“A water would be nice,” she said.
“Comin’ right up.” Gavin headed for the concession stand, but halfway there Veronica Patriot stepped into his path.
“Hello, Gavin.” Her gaze traveled over his body, her eyes widening when she saw his dress boots. “You’re not competing today?”
“Nope.” He attempted to move past her but Veronica slid sideways and he bumped into her triple D’s.
“Why in such a hurry?” Her mouth curved in invitation.
Frustrated, Gavin swallowed a cuss word. “I’m here with Dixie.”
Veronica’s mouth curled in a snarl. “Your fiancée?”
He considered telling the pesky tramp to go screw a fence post and leave him alone but instead walked off without a word.
As Gavin stood in the concession line, he reflected on the past few nights in which he’d drifted off to sleep with his thoughts on Dixie. He’d learned that as long as he focused on her, the nightmares that had haunted him since leaving Afghanistan lost their razor-sharp edges.
He’d gotten so caught up in his plans for Dixie this past week that he had to remind himself that what he’d done had been for the baby, too—not just for Dixie, although pleasing her made him feel good. And worthy.
Dixie affected Gavin in a way no one had since he’d left the army. He didn’t understand the spell she’d cast over him, but he was beginning to believe that tying himself to one person for the rest of his life might not be as scary as he’d once thought.
Chapter Eight
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Bullhead City’s sixty-first annual Cowboy Festival and Rodeo.” The JumboTron flashed still photos of the cowboys competing in the day’s events. Dixie ignored the pomp and pageantry and wiggled in her bleacher seat. Gavin took up his space and part of hers, making it impossible to prevent their legs from touching. The heat radiating from his thigh was distracting and downright arousing.
“They wrote about Shannon.” Gavin pointed to the article in the brochure he’d purchased from a program hawker.
“What does it say?” Using the write-up as an excuse to lean against Gavin’s arm, Dixie closed her eyes and breathed in the clean masculine scent of his woodsy cologne.
“A spokesperson from Wrangler says... ‘Shannon Douglas is the first female rodeo athlete to come along who has the skill, determination and stamina to compete with the men.’” Gavin straightened in his seat. “I hope she can back that statement with a winning ride.”
“She will.” Like Dixie, Shannon had grown up with brothers—no sisters. In order to survive the physical roughhousing and teasing among their siblings, they had both developed a mental and physical toughness.
“Folks, we have a special event this afternoon sponsored by Wrangler.” The fans applauded. When the noise died down the announcer continued. “For those of you who aren’t familiar with the name Shannon Douglas—” a chuckle followed “—you will be in a few minutes. Shannon and Wrangler have teamed up to promote women’s rough stock events. We all know cowgirls are tough inside and out but only the toughest gals ride bulls.”
Music and action photos of Shannon’s summer rodeos flashed across the JumboTron. “Shannon Douglas is a native of Stagecoach, Arizona, and one of the few women in the United States who’ll take on fifteen-hundred pounds of buckin’ rage.” The fans stomped their boots on the bleachers and Dixie winced at the ear-splitting din.
“Shannon’s gonna kick off the men’s bull ridin’ event by showin’ us she can compete with the best cowboys on the circuit. Turn your attention to gate number five. Looks like C. J. Rodriguez is placin’ a bet with Shannon right now.”
Dixie spotted Shannon seated on the bull in the chute and C.J. perched on the rails next to her. Money exchanged hands and the audience cheered.
“Hey, C.J.!” The announcer’s shout echoed through the arena and C.J.’s head popped up. “You bettin’ Shannon makes it to eight?”
C.J. shook his head no and the crowd roared, half booing C.J. the other half cheering him.
“C.J. that ain’t very supportive,” the announcer teased.
Shannon smacked C.J. in the chest with her hat and he held it while Shannon placed a protective helmet and mask over her head and face. Before she signaled the gateman, she and C.J. fist-bumped, and then the cowboy dropped out of sight and the chute door opened.
“Here comes Shannon Douglas on Boilermaker!”
Dixie clutched Gavin’s rock-hard thigh and held her breath as she counted off the seconds. Boilermaker fell into a pattern of bucking twice then spinning. The bull flung, whipped and jerked Shannon’s body every which way but the cowgirl hung on.
Six...seven...eight! Dixie popped out of her seat, stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled for all she was worth. Amid the thunderous applause the bullfighters helped Shannon free her hand from the rope. As soon as she landed in the dirt she rolled to her feet then scampered toward the rails, Boilermaker hot on her heels.
The bull gained ground on Shannon and a collective gasp echoed through the arena. Boilermaker rammed his horns into the rails inches from Shannon’s boots, but C. J. Rodriguez was there to lift her to safety.
“Congratulations, Shannon Douglas!” the announcer said. “Shannon is the first woman ever to make it to eight on Boilermaker.” The JumboTron cut to the cowboy ready area where C.J. twirled Shannon in his arms. If Dixie didn’t know better she’d guess the pair was a couple, but Shannon was too smart to attach herself to a womanizing cowboy like C.J.
“Let’s see what the judges think of Shannon’s ride.” The fans kept their gazes glued to the JumboTron. “An eighty-two! Not bad for an eight-second day at the office.”
“Shannon was amazing. She deserves better than an eighty-two,” Dixie said.
“I agree.”
“You do?”
“I’m not stupid enough to disagree with a pregnant lady.”
His smile was so innocent and sweet Dixie couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t poke fun at me, Gavin Tucker.”
He slapped a hand over his chest. “I would never tease a preg—”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “Cut it out with the pregnant-lady jokes.”
Gavin nuzzled her ear. “Shannon might be the best female bull rider in Arizona, but no one looks as sexy as you do on the back of a bull.”
Thrilled but embarrassed by the compliment, Dixie buried her face against Gavin’s shirt. “Maybe one day I’ll prove I can make it to eight.”
“You’re not riding any more bulls in this lifetime.”
A red flag waved inside Dixie’s head and she pushed away from Gavin. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Maybe not but I’m half the boss of him.” He placed a hand against her stomach.
The intimate touch rattled Dixie and her words came out in a breathless wheeze. “What if him is a her?”
“All that matters is the baby is healthy.” He sat down and Dixie took her seat. “Just so I understand...you’re not really considering competing after the baby’s born?” he asked.
“No. My bull riding days are over.” Although exciting, the sport was too risky. If anything happened to her who would take care of the baby? God forbid she died
unexpectedly and her brothers had to raise their niece or nephew.
Gavin will raise the baby. Would he? They both knew he’d proposed to her out of duty not love. A man like Gavin didn’t care to be tied down by a family—or a child.
What if you’re wrong?
Dixie ignored the clowns entertaining the crowd and lost herself in thought. What if she did die suddenly and Gavin stepped in to raise their son or daughter? If she and Gavin never married, then he’d be a stranger to his own child. A vision of a sobbing toddler fearful of being left alone with Gavin flashed before her eyes.
Agitated, Dixie twirled the ring on her finger. It had been her bright idea to insist on a trial engagement—mostly because her pride wouldn’t accept that the only reason Gavin had spent the night with her had been to escape the clutches of Veronica Patriot.
Don’t blame Gavin. You were the one who suggested leaving the bar together.
Dixie refused to argue with herself about who was or wasn’t at fault for her and Gavin’s predicament. Until now she’d only considered doing what was best for her—not what was in the best interest of the baby. Did she dare change her mind and give marriage to Gavin a real shot—for the baby’s sake?
What if she opened her heart to Gavin and after a time fell in love with him—then a few years down the road, he became restless and wanted out of their marriage?
Dixie glanced at Gavin whose attention remained on the cowboys behind the chutes. Waking up every morning and seeing his handsome face resting on the pillow next to her would hardly be torture—not to mention she had none...zero...nada complaints about his lovemaking.
Can you make him happy?
That was the million-dollar question—one she wouldn’t know the answer to until she and Gavin hung around more. The baby wasn’t due for months—plenty of time to decide if marriage was a real option for them. If, after the baby was born, Dixie believed parting ways was best...so be it. Gavin would be none the wiser. Shoving her worries aside, Dixie allowed herself to enjoy the rest of the day in the company of a handsome cowboy.
* * *
“FOLKS, WE’RE TAKIN’ a thirty-minute break before the women’s barrel racin’ event. Check out the live band near the food court and for those of you who haven’t tasted the best churro in Arizona, stop by Rosie’s, she’s givin’ away free samples.”
Gavin chuckled as the stands cleared. Food sampling was a hit at small-town rodeos. “Are you hungry?” he asked Dixie.
“We ate hotdogs less than an hour ago.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Unless you think because I’m pregnant I’m starving all the time.”
“I have no clue how the pregnant female body works.” He grinned. “Give me a heads-up when you’re getting hungry so I can feed you before you become cranky.”
“Ha-ha. Be happy you won’t be making midnight runs to the grocery store to pacify my cravings.”
Gavin marveled at the change in Dixie’s usual stubborn demeanor. He liked the teasing, lighthearted girl. When she shifted in her seat, Gavin asked, “Want to stretch your legs?”
“Let’s see if we can find Shannon.”
They left the stands and headed to the livestock barns. “This is my favorite time of the year,” Dixie said.
A cowboy walking a palomino blocked their path and Gavin pulled Dixie out of the way. After the coast was clear they continued walking. He waited for Dixie to release his hand—she didn’t. He tightened his hold on her fingers as they strolled past the horse stalls and admired the bucking stock. “Why do you like autumn so much?”
“The middle of October kicks off the start of the pecan harvest,” Dixie said.
“How long does the harvest last?”
“Some years up until Christmas. If my grandfather had difficulty hiring seasonal workers, then me and my brothers stayed home from school and picked pecans.”
“Did that happen often...not having enough help during harvest?”
“Johnny said way back in the day when our mother was a baby that my grandfather hired fifty or more pickers each harvest. I guess there were times when he had to turn families away.”
“Your grandfather must have been a good man to work for.”
“When Mexicans searching for agricultural work crossed the border they hiked straight to Stagecoach and Grandpa’s farm.”
“Did your grandfather use illegal immigrants as laborers?”
“I’m sure some of them were. Border security wasn’t the hot topic then that it is today.”
Growing up in Phoenix, Gavin was used to the TV news reporting sting operations to weed out undocumented workers. “I’m still surprised the authorities didn’t stop at the farm to check the workers’ green cards.”
“Grandpa and Grandma treated the migrant workers very well and the families always returned to Mexico after the harvest. I think the sheriff and his deputies focused their attention on real criminals.”
“I didn’t notice any migrant-worker cabins on the farm.” Then again Gavin had only walked through part of the orchard the afternoon he’d come upon Dixie using a tree trunk for target practice.
“The families slept outside in tents. Grandpa rigged up an outdoor latrine and shower and Grandma Ada gave the women her homemade bath soap, which I’m sure they loved.”
The mention of Grandma Ada’s soaps reminded Gavin of the surprise waiting for Dixie in Yuma. “Did you want to stay and watch your brothers compete this afternoon?”
“I guess so, why?”
“I was hoping to leave early. There’s something I want to show you.”
“That’s fine. My brothers won’t care if I’m cheering them on or not.”
“Okay, then. Let’s say goodbye to Shannon and be on our way.”
Gavin and Dixie left the barn and returned to the cowboy ready area behind the chutes. They weaved through the throng of rodeo personnel until they found Shannon talking to a reporter. They hung back, waiting for the cowgirl to finish the interview. When the reporter left, Dixie caught Shannon’s attention.
“Congratulations, Shannon,” Dixie said.
The women hugged and then Shannon glanced at Gavin. “Thanks for bringing Dixie today.”
“Sure thing. That was a hell of a ride.”
“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” Shannon’s smile widened.
“What’s up with the little show you and C. J. Rodriguez put on for the audience?” Dixie asked.
“Wrangler wants us to travel together for the next year and compete in the same rodeos.”
“Why?”
“The production managers want the fans to believe there’s a romance between me and C.J. because they think it will increase ticket sales.” Shannon lowered her voice. “I’m not complaining. What girl wouldn’t want to travel the circuit with C.J.?”
Dixie ignored Gavin’s grin and said, “C.J.’s a player.”
“I know what they say about cowboys—”
“What’s that?” Gavin interrupted Shannon.
“You can’t trust ’em to stick around longer than the time it takes their horse to drink from a water trough,” Dixie answered for her friend.
“No worries. Things between me and C.J. are friendly but not too friendly. He just broke up with a barrel racer from California. He won’t admit it, but he’s nursing a broken heart.”
“Be careful, Shannon.”
“I will.” The women hugged and Shannon strolled off.
Gavin took Dixie’s hand and they left the building. Once they reached his truck, he said, “What I want to show you is in Yuma. Mind if we grab supper there instead of stopping on the way?”
“Sounds good.” Dixie hopped into the front seat and fastened her belt then yawned. Five minutes later, she was fast asleep.
* * *
GAVIN PARKED IN FRO
NT of a cinder-block single story home at the end of Main Street in Yuma. A banner reading Sold had been slapped across the For Sale sign in the window. Heart pumping with excitement he gently shook Dixie awake. “We’re here.”
Dixie’s eyelashes fluttered up and she straightened in the seat. “Where’s here?” She glanced out her window.
“Dixie’s Desert Delights.”
Her brow scrunched. “What are you talking about?”
He nodded to the vacant house.
“I don’t get it. We’re parked in front of an ugly, rundown home that’s...” Dixie looked at Gavin with wide eyes—like a child who’d caught a glimpse of Santa Claus sneaking up the chimney. “You bought this property?”
Gavin grinned. “Yep.” He hopped out of the truck, skirted the hood, then opened her door and helped her out. They stood on the sidewalk and studied the cracked window at the front of the house.
“It’s not in great shape, but with your brothers’ help, we’ll give it a face-lift. You’ll have to decide on a paint color for the outside.” He walked to the front door and inserted the key then flipped on the lights and stood back.
In a trancelike state Dixie stepped inside and spun in a slow circle.
Gavin crossed the room and stood before a crumbling adobe fireplace. “The Realtor said you might have to do some extra advertising to draw people down here to the end of the block.” Dixie’s mouth hung open as she wandered about the room.
“There’s a bathroom and a small kitchen that will come in handy for making your soaps.” When Dixie remained silent, Gavin became nervous. “The original owners sold the house in the late fifties when the property was zoned for business. Through the years it’s functioned as a coffee shop, an antiques store and a lawyer’s office, but the past four years it sat empty.”
Dixie’s face remained a blank slate and the excitement Gavin had felt all day fizzled. “What’s the matter? You don’t like the place?”
“I don’t understand, Gavin.” Her voice broke, his name escaping her mouth in three syllables.
What did she not understand? He crossed the room and stood before her. “This is where you’re going to sell your soaps.”