by Deb Kastner
“No. It’s just as well I know now,” Carol said, straightening her shoulders and offering a weak smile. “I knew it was Slade’s wish for his last ride to be on Night Terror. I pray he bests that bull, for Brody’s sake—and for his own.”
“His own?” Laney repeated.
“Remember, Slade was there the night of Brody’s accident. Maybe riding Night Terror will rid Slade of his own nightmares.” Carol squeezed Laney’s hands reassuringly. “It’s time for all of us to move forward with our lives. That’s what Brody would have wanted.”
Carol gave her a knowing look that Laney didn’t even try to misinterpret. Carol was completely aware that feelings were growing between her and Slade.
She hoped the Becketts wouldn’t be too disappointed to discover Slade was only passing through on his way to greener pastures.
The rodeo started and despite the anxiety hanging over her head, Laney found herself getting caught up in the excitement, the pageantry of roping and riding and barrels and bareback. She was glad she didn’t have to report for her stint as rodeo princess until the very end, after the bull riding.
When Ian announced bull riding as the next event, Carol and Jo each took one of her hands. She was surrounded by love and support, and what woman could ask for more? The Becketts were her family now, and Jo like a beloved aunt.
“He’s been riding bulls since he was knee high to a grasshopper,” Frank assured her in the scratchy voice of an older man. “He’ll be fine, Laney. Mark my words.”
Her heart in her throat, she observed the first three bull riders take their turns. It was crazy scary stuff, with the bulls kicking and turning every which way, a completely different experience than watching the bucking broncs. Two of the three cowboys couldn’t keep their seats for more than a couple of seconds, and getting themselves off the bulls appeared every bit as dangerous as the rides themselves.
And Slade wasn’t riding just any bull. He was riding Night Terror.
She strained to see him over the top of the bullpens and finally spotted him as he crawled over the gate to get situated on Night Terror. Already, the pen was shaking from the unpredictable movements of the animal within.
She couldn’t catch a breath as she watched him, but neither could she look away. Even at a distance she could see the tension rippling over his neck and shoulders and the intensity of his expression. He made a magnificent picture astride the bull, a cowboy among cowboys as he made last minute adjustments to his seat and his grip.
He was all man. All cowboy. No wonder he had women falling at his feet.
Then he nodded and the gate opened.
Laney wanted to cover her eyes but she simply couldn’t look away.
Night Terror lived up to his name. She’d never seen such a ferocious beast. The bull was determined to shake Slade off his back. Night Terror threw his head and his back feet simultaneously, turned first one way and then the other without letting up, planting all four feet at once and then leaping into the air, bucking wildly.
Slade somehow adjusted to every movement like the trained athlete he was. Laney was marking the seconds with the beating of her heart, but still the buzzer failed to ring.
Surely it had been eight seconds. Where was the buzzer?
Suddenly Night Terror turned and charged at the wall.
Time stopped. Laney’s prayers intensified, though she hardly knew she was praying at all. There was only Slade and Night Terror, locked in a deadly dance.
The bull turned at the last second, just before slamming Slade into the wall. Night Terror appeared to recover just a hairbreadth before Slade could completely recover his balance, and shot for the wall a second time. The two bullfighters in the arena were trying to prevent that from happening, but the bull seemed unaware of the horses or the hollering, hat-waving cowboys. His only intent appeared to be getting Slade off his back any way he could.
Laney stood, crying out for Slade. The crowd rose also, screaming their approval of Slade’s ride.
The buzzer.
It had sounded, hadn’t it? Just before Night Terror had charged the wall that second time? Or was Laney just so desperate to have Slade safe that she’d imagined it?
But no. Laney breathed a sigh of relief as Slade accepted the assistance of one of the bullfighters to get himself off the bull, then jogged over to retrieve his hat, which he’d lost during the first jarring second of the ride.
He waved his hat in the air to acknowledge the roaring crowd, then settled it on his head, found Laney’s gaze and tipped his hat to her.
Prince Charming.
His dedication reminded her of all those stories she’d read of knights winning their jousting matches in order to win their lady’s favor.
He’d just acknowledged her in front of everyone. They’d been seen together enough throughout the past few weeks that she doubted anyone would doubt his intentions.
His princess.
Princess. She’d completely forgotten that she was supposed to meet the production team behind the stable so they could parade her around the arena in the back of a pickup truck.
Serendipity’s rodeo princess.
Slade’s princess.
No matter how much she denied it, that was what really mattered.
She scrambled down from the bleachers as fast as she could in her condition, with more excuse me’s and pardon me’s than she cared to count.
She rounded the end of the bleachers at a full-out jog and ran smack-dab into the middle of a broad chest. The heartening scent of leather and cowboy assaulted her. The arms that snaked around her waist were familiar and reassuring.
Slade.
She hugged him tight and he chuckled. “Good to see you, too. Goin’ somewhere, princess?”
“You did it!” She hugged him even harder, not wanting to let him go even for a moment. Never mind that earlier she’d completely written him off—or at least thought he was done with her. “You rode Night Terror.”
“Of course I did,” he responded with that confident, jaunty smile that made her insides melt. It was so—Slade. “Was there ever any doubt?”
“No. Yes. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“That makes two of us,” he agreed, then slid his hands up to her shoulders and pointed her in the direction of the arena’s entrance. “Now if I don’t miss my guess, there are some folks waiting for your pretty face and sparkling personality to make your Serendipity debut.”
Instead of letting her go, he slid a familiar, comfortable arm around her shoulders and walked with her, even extending his assistance to sweeping her off her feet and depositing her in the back of the truck.
“Have a care, princess. Don’t fall off.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, then held her hand out to him just as the truck started moving away.
“I’m proud of you,” she whispered as their fingers slid apart. “And so is Brody.”
Chapter Eleven
Laney was proud of him.
The dark, thunderous cloud in his chest that had been with him since Brody’s death had lifted when he’d heard the eight second buzzer, but Laney’s words swirled around his insides like soft ribbons, lighting up the void where previously only the darkness of grief had lurked.
He shook his head and jogged to the corner of the arena where he could watch the crowd’s enthusiastic reception of the woman he loved. He had no doubt that they would feel the same way as he did about her. Just as they would welcome Brody’s baby when the time came. The kid would have more honorary aunts and uncles than the poor little person would be able to count.
Slade was glad he’d made the ride on Night Terror today, but he wasn’t the least bit sorry that it would be his last. The eight seconds—they hadn’t mattered. Not compared to the sweet moments before the ride when he’d held
Laney in his arms.
Now that was when everything had been set right in his world.
Only somehow it had gone all wrong. He couldn’t forget that part of it. He still didn’t know what had happened, only that he’d managed to make a mess out of it and needed to make things right with her.
He would do that—once he figured out exactly what it was he’d done, which would be the second she got finished with this stint as Serendipity’s rodeo princess. He would whisk her away someplace private, apologize right out of the gate, and let her tell him where he’d gone wrong after they’d made up. But first, he wanted her to enjoy every moment of her time in the spotlight. No woman had ever deserved it more, and he was proud of her.
The large red truck slowly circled the arena once, and then twice. Laney had one hand braced on the hood to stabilize her and was waving to the roaring crowd with the other. Her smile said it all.
He grinned, enjoying the sight of her bright eyes and happy face.
The vehicle turned to do one last loop around the arena in an unrehearsed encore in response to her popularity. Slade was opening the gate that would allow the truck to exit the arena when suddenly Laney dropped out of sight inside the bed of the truck.
Slade’s stomach took a leaden plunge at the same moment his heart jammed into his throat as panic struck through him.
Had the truck hit something in the arena? Had she somehow lost her balance and fallen down?
Lord, take care of Laney and the baby.
Slade didn’t wait to see if she’d get back on her feet. He was over the fence so fast he wasn’t even sure whether he’d scaled it or flown over it, but the second his boots hit the dirt he was running toward her with every ounce of power his body possessed.
What if she had fainted? Hit her head?
What if something was wrong with the baby?
He reached the truck and grabbed the side with one hand, flinging his feet over the rim in one smooth move and scrambling toward the woman he loved.
He was supposed to protect her. What if something was seriously wrong with her? He’d never felt so helpless in his life. Not knowing what else to do, he sent another prayer heavenward.
God had this.
He was relieved to see that Laney was conscious, but she was slumped with her back resting against the wall of the truck with her elbows resting on her knees. Her face was hidden in her palms so he couldn’t see her expression.
“Princess?” Slade asked, scrambling to her side, crouching beside her and gently embracing her shoulders, careful not to move her. “What happened, honey? Are you okay? And the baby? Is something wrong with the baby?” He realized he was shooting off questions like a semiautomatic pistol.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Just exactly what she didn’t need right now.
He winced and she raised her head. Her eyes were full of unshed tears, her breath was coming in short gasps followed by short hiccups. Most alarming of all, her face was flushed to a cherry red. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead and her lips were quivering.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was suffering from a high fever. But they’d been together only minutes before and she’d been fine. She hadn’t looked or acted ill—far from it. He brushed a hand across her cheek just to be certain. If anything, her skin felt cold and clammy, completely at odds with the color of her face.
He knocked on the window of the truck and gestured for the driver to leave the arena. As far as he was concerned, Laney’s sudden drop into the truck bed was already a spectacle enough and he wanted to get her out of the public eye so he could find out what was really wrong with her.
The truck driver took it slow and easy, and Slade held Laney tight against any unexpected bumps along the way. He knew Delia was somewhere in the crowd, as well as Serendipity’s paramedics Ben and Zach. He had every expectation that at least one of them, hopefully all three, would have seen Laney’s fall and would even now be on their way to assist her.
Until then, there was no one to help her but Slade, who had very little medical training other than the first aid certification he’d had to have to become a small-town policeman. He regretted that he hadn’t paid much attention in that class, only enough to pass the test and get by with. He desperately wished he’d taken it seriously—but back then, he hadn’t taken much of anything seriously.
“Do you want to lie down?” he asked gently grasping her hand in his. She was quivering and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure Delia is on her way, but in the meantime, won’t you tell me how I can make you more comfortable. Are you having contractions?”
That seemed like the most likely scenario so he was surprised when she shook her head. The color in her cheeks darkened even further.
“Princess, talk to me.”
He ticked down the probabilities in his mind. She didn’t want to lie down. She wasn’t having contractions. She was flushed but not feverish. Yet something was clearly wrong, something that had caused her to collapse.
“Did you lose your balance?” he guessed, racking his brain for any other possible explanations. “Did the truck hit a rut and send you sprawling?”
He wanted to kick himself. He’d been the one to suggest the whole “back of the truck” idea. He should have known that in her condition it would be difficult for her to maintain her balance. He should have considered something safer, like riding inside the truck, or rigging up a seat for her to safely sit in. Or even better, personally escorting her while she walked.
Anything, except what he’d done.
A single tear escaped her eyes and trailed down her cheek and Slade brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. He regarded her closely for a moment, his gaze briefly catching hers, but she quickly turned her head away.
He continued to consider and then discard one possible scenario after the other. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and yet she didn’t appear to be in any kind of physical pain. No contractions, and he mentally drew a line through twisting an ankle when she nixed his idea that she might have lost her balance.
He had nothing.
“Princess, talk to me,” he begged again.
She groaned and still refused to look at him. “I have never been so embarrassed in all my life!”
Embarrassed?
Here he was thinking she was injured or that something was wrong with Baby Beckett and she was embarrassed?
“Of what? I don’t understand. Because you were the center of attention for a cheering crowd of spectators? Surely you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to be the rodeo princess. The last rodeo you did was bigger than this one.” He was rambling, spitting out all the thoughts that were tumbling through him, and he pressed his lips together to stem the flow of words.
“Is Delia on her way, do you think?” She flashed him a furtive glance before returning her gaze to—anyplace except for his face.
“I thought you said you weren’t injured,” he said, his concern for her flaring once again in his chest. Her voice did sound a little weak.
She made an indecipherable sound from deep in her throat.
“I’m not injured, Slade. I—my—”
“What?” His emotions had been stretched as far as they could go. He couldn’t help her if he didn’t know what was wrong. He knew there was much to work out between them, but did she not trust him enough to tell him what had happened to her?
She scrubbed her palms down her red-stained cheeks. “My water broke.”
“Your—your what?” He barely resisted the urge to scramble backward to see if there was indeed a puddle of fluid around her, but he restrained himself, knowing such an action would further humiliate her.
“Okay,” he said, giving her shoulder an awkward pat. This was so far out of his comfort zone it wasn’t even funny. What did a man sa
y to a statement like that? “Um—well, that’s normal, isn’t it?”
Where was Delia?
He’d even take Zach or Ben right now, although he suspected Laney would much prefer the woman doctor to either of the two male paramedics.
“Normal, maybe, but not in front an entire stadium full of people.” She groaned deeply. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
He wanted to reassure her in some way. It was happening. It was happening. She was about to have Brody’s baby, and sooner rather than later.
Where was Delia?
And what was he supposed to do with Laney? He now understood why she didn’t want to move, and especially why she didn’t want to lie down, but somehow he had to get her out of here, transport her to the hospital where she’d planned on giving birth.
“Hey, Laney,” said Delia, climbing over the tailgate. “Sorry it took me so long. I was clear at the top of one of the bleachers and it took me a moment to make my way through the crowd. What’s happening, hon?”
Slade almost slumped in relief. The reinforcements had finally arrived—or rather, the main troops, since he was less than useless in this situation. Definitely more of a hamper than a help.
Or worse.
His gut twisted as a new thought entered his mind. Laney had been just fine before the rodeo—before he’d ridden Night Terror.
What if he was responsible for her water breaking? What if she was in labor because of the stress he’d put on her by having to watch him ride the bull that had killed Brody?
He squeezed her hand tightly in a silent apology. If he could go back and do it again, he’d—
What? Pay more attention to the signs? Were there signs? If there were, he’d completely missed them.
Laney and Delia were speaking to each other in low tones, but Slade picked up the words labor and hospital out of the conversation.
“Does she need an ambulance?” he asked, anxiety piercing every nerve ending in his body. “Can I ride with her?”