by Marin Thomas
“Like I said, folks, Back Bender’s tough to ride and his brother, Bushwhacker is nastier. Turn your attention to chute number three for the final bull ride of the day.”
Beau scaled the rails for a better view of the brown-and-red bull. Bushwhacker kicked the chute, warning those around him that he meant business.
“Bushwhacker also hails from Thunder Ranch and this bull loves to ambush cowboys. He lulls a rider into thinking he’ll make it to eight then tosses him into the dirt. Bushwhacker is undefeated this season. Let’s see if Rusty McLean from Spokane, Washington, can outsmart this bull.”
McLean adjusted the bull rope, his movements jerky and uneven. The boastful cowboy was nervous—he should be. He had a fifty-fifty chance of being the star of the day or going home the biggest loser.
C’mon, Bushwhacker. Show everyone why you’re the best.
McLean signaled the gateman and Bushwhacker exploded into the arena. The bull’s first buck was brutal—his signature move. He kicked both back legs out while twisting his hindquarters. Too bad for McLean. Bushwhacker’s raw power unseated him, and the cowboy catapulted over the bull’s head. McLean stumbled to his feet as the bullfighters intercepted Bushwhacker and escorted him from the arena. Staggering into the cowboy-ready area, McLean flung his bull rope and cussed.
“Better luck next time,” Beau taunted.
The cowboy spit at the ground and stomped off.
“Beau Adams from Roundup, Montana, is the winner of today’s bull-riding competition. Congratulations, Adams!”
Excited he’d taken first place, Beau collected his gear and the winning check, then found a seat in the stands to watch Tuf compete.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our final event of the day is the bareback competition. Those of you who don’t know…a bareback horse is leaner, quicker and more agile than a saddle bronc. Bareback riding is rough, explosive, and the cowboys will tell ya that this event is the most physically demanding in rodeo.” The crowd heckled the announcer, several fans shouting that bull riders were the toughest cowboys in the sport.
“Sit tight folks, you’ll see what I’m talkin’ about.”
The announcer was right—a bareback cowboy’s arm, neck and spine took a brutal beating and Beau worried about Tuf. If his cousin was just returning to competition, then he might not be in the best physical shape and the ride could end in disaster.
“First out of the gate is Tuf Hart, another cowboy from Roundup, Montana.”
While Tuf settled onto the bronc and fiddled with his grip, the announcer continued. “Hart’s gonna try to tame Cool Moon, a three-year-old gelding from the Circle T Ranch in New Mexico. Cool Moon is a spinner, folks.”
Seconds later, the chute opened and Cool Moon went to work. The bronc twirled in tight, quick circles while bucking his back legs almost past vertical, the movement defying logic.
Hold on, Tuf. Hold on.
The moment Beau voiced the thought in his head, Tuf flew off Cool Moon. As soon as he hit the dirt, he got to his feet quickly. Beau watched him shuffle to the rails—no limp. His cousin hadn’t won but more importantly he’d escaped injury.
After the final bareback rider competed, Beau made his way to the stock pens. Bushwhacker and Back Bender had rested for over an hour and it was time to load them into the trailer. First, he wanted to wish his cousin well and tell him to hurry home. He weaved through the maze of cowboys and rodeo fans, stopping once to autograph a program for a kid. Finally, he made it to the cowboy-ready area. “Hey, McLean,” Beau called.
“Don’t rub it in, Adams.”
No need. Bushwhacker had had the final word. “Have you seen my cousin?”
“He left after his ride.”
Miffed that Tuf hadn’t cared enough to say goodbye, Beau sprinted to the parking lot then stopped. He didn’t even know what vehicle Tuf drove. Disgusted, he retrieved the Thunder Ranch truck and livestock trailer.
With the help of two rodeo workers, Beau loaded Bushwhacker and Back Bender into the trailer. When he pulled out of the Sweetwater Events Complex, he drove north, intent on arriving home by the ten-thirty news. He made a pit stop for gas outside Rock Springs then purchased a large coffee and a Big Mac from the McDonald’s restaurant inside the station. Back in his truck he popped three ibuprofen tablets to help with the swelling in his ankle—already his boot felt tight.
Once he merged onto the highway, he found a country-western station on the radio and settled in for the long drive. Less than five minutes passed before his thoughts turned to Sierra Byrne.
Physically, she was the opposite of the women he’d dated in the past. In heels, Sierra might reach five-seven. Full-figured—not slim or willowy—and red hair. He usually went for blondes.
Ah, but her eyes…Sierra’s eyes had stopped Beau in his tracks the first time he’d gotten up the nerve to begin a conversation with her. Bright blue with a paler blue ring near the pupil. He’d locked gazes with her, mesmerized by the way the blue had brightened when she’d smiled.
And her hair… Sierra wore her hair in a springy bob that ended an inch below her jaw, and her bangs skimmed the corner of her right eye, lending her a playful, sexy look.
Her cuteness aside, there was something stirring…vulnerable in Sierra’s gaze that tugged at him. If only he could get her to agree to a date with him. He’d first asked her out this past June…then in July…then in August…September. Each time she’d made up a lame excuse about the diner keeping her too busy.
She was proving to be a challenge, but Beau wasn’t one to back down when the going got tough. Sierra might have rebuffed his advances, but she wasn’t as clever at hiding her attraction to him. A few weeks ago, she’d run into the edge of a table at the diner and he’d rescued a plate of food from her hand. Their bodies had collided, her lush breasts bumping his arm. Everyone in the booth had heard her quiet gasp, but only Beau’s ears had caught the sexy purr that had followed.
Worrying about his love life wouldn’t get him home any faster. He switched the radio station to a sports talk show and forgot about his crush on Sierra.
Five hours later, as Beau approached Roundup, he noticed a vehicle parked on the side of the road. His truck’s headlights shone through the car’s rear window, illuminating a silhouette in the driver’s seat. He turned on the truck’s flashers then pulled onto the shoulder behind the car. When he approached the vehicle, the driver’s side window lowered several inches.
What the hell?
“Hello, Beau,” Sierra said.
Well…well…well… This surely was his lucky day.
Chapter Two
Drat!
Sierra had the worst luck—go figure Beau Adams would end up rescuing her from her own stupidity.
Beau had set his sights on her early this spring when he’d begun eating at the diner on a regular basis. She found the handsome bull rider’s attention flattering and would have jumped at the chance to date him, but circumstances beyond her control had forced her to keep him at arm’s length.
“Engine trouble?” Beau’s gaze drifted to her lips. The man had the most annoying habit of watching her mouth when they engaged in conversation.
“I’m not sure what the problem is,” she said, ignoring her rising body temperature. There wasn’t a thing wrong with her RAV4, except for the dent in the rear fender from a run-in with a minivan in the parking lot of the diner.
Sierra’s sight had left her marooned on the side of the road.
He swept his hat from his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Beau’s brown locks always looked in need of a trim, but it was his dark brown eyes and chiseled jaw that made her heart pound a little faster.
“I bet I can figure out what’s wrong,” he said.
Typical cowboy—believing he could repair anything and everything. Too bad Beau couldn’t fix her eyes.
“How long have you been sitting here?”
Hours. “A short while.” No way was she confessing that she couldn’t see well enou
gh to drive at night.
If not for a freeway wreck on the outskirts of Billings, she would have made it home, but ten miles from town dusk had turned to darkness. With few vehicles traveling the road, Sierra had decreased her speed and continued driving, but her confidence had been shattered when she’d crossed the center line and almost collided with another car. The near miss scared years off her life and she’d pulled onto the shoulder, resigned to wait until daybreak to drive into Roundup.
She’d phoned her aunt, who’d been visiting her since July, and had informed her that she planned to spend the night with a friend. Silence had followed Sierra’s announcement. Everyone in town was aware of Beau’s frequent visits to the diner and Jordan probably wondered if Sierra’s friend happened to be Beau.
She appreciated that her aunt hadn’t pried—after all, Sierra was thirty-one, old enough to have a sleepover with a man. In truth, she’d love to get to know Beau better, but life wasn’t fair. Too bad he’d happened along tonight. She’d been certain she’d get out of this mess without anyone the wiser.
“Pop the hood,” he said.
“There’s no need. I called Davidson Towing. Stan is out on another call but should be here in a little while.” Maybe if she distracted Beau, he’d forget about checking the engine. “Returning from a rodeo?”
“Yep. Hauled a couple of Thunder Ranch bulls down to Rock Springs, Wyoming.”
“Did you compete?”
He rested an arm along the top of the car. “Sure did, and I won.” His cocky grin warmed her better than her down parka.
“Congratulations.” The diner’s patrons kept Sierra up to date on their hometown cowboys’ accomplishments. Since she’d moved to Roundup five years ago, most of the gossip about the Adams twins focused on Duke’s rodeo successes. Lately, Beau was getting his turn in the spotlight.
“Wanna see my buckle?”
She swallowed a laugh. “Sure.” He removed the piece of silver from his coat pocket and passed it through the open window. “It’s beautiful.”
“There’s no need for you to freeze. Stan’ll tow your car to his garage and square the bill with you in the morning.” Beau reached for the door handle.
“No!” Sierra cringed. She hadn’t meant to shout. For a girl who’d lived most of her life in Chicago, small towns were both a blessing and a curse. She handed Beau the buckle. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d prefer to wait with my car.”
Instead of backing away he poked his head through the window, his hair brushing the side of her face. A whiff of faded cologne—sandalwood and musk—swirled beneath her nose. “Just checking to make sure there’s no serial killer in the backseat holding you hostage.”
Oh, brother.
“If you’re determined to wait for Stan, then sit in my truck. I’ve got the heat going and I’ll share the coffee I bought at the rest stop.”
“Thanks, but you should get your bulls back to the ranch.” C’mon, Beau. Give up and go home.
“I don’t like the idea of you waiting out here all alone.”
“This is Roundup, Montana. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“You’re forgetting the break-ins this past summer. This area is no Mayberry, U.S.A.”
Sierra regretted her flippant remark. Although Roundup had been and would continue to be a safe place to live and raise a family, a rash of thefts in the ranching community had put people on edge for a while. Even Beau had been victimized when one of his custom-made saddles had been stolen and sold at a truck stop miles away.
“I’ll be fine. Besides, your cousin caught those thieves.” She switched on the interior light and pointed to her winter coat. “And I’m plenty warm.” A flat tire during her first winter in Big Sky country had taught Sierra to keep a heavy jacket in her vehicle year-round. Unlike Chicago, car trouble in rural Montana could mean waiting an entire day for help to arrive and the state’s weather was anything but predictable—sixty degrees one hour, a blizzard the next.
“How long did you say you’ve been waiting for Stan?”
“Twenty minutes maybe.” When had she become such an accomplished liar?
Beau walked to the front of the car and placed his hand on the hood.
Busted. She’d been parked for over three hours—surely the engine was stone cold. “Thanks again for stopping to check on me,” she called out the window, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“You’re sure you don’t want a ride to the diner?”
“Positive.”
“Okay. Take care.” He retreated to his truck where he took his dang tootin’ time pulling back onto the road. As soon as the livestock trailer disappeared around the bend in the road, Sierra breathed a sigh of relief.
Then the tears fell.
Ah, Beau. Darn the man for being…nice. Handsome. Sexy.
Over a year ago, Sierra had become aware of the subtle changes in her eyesight, but she’d steadfastly ignored the signs and had gone about life as usual. Her resolve to pretend her vision was fine had grown stronger after each encounter with Beau. Then her aunt had arrived unannounced—thanks to the busybodies who’d informed her of Sierra’s recent mishaps around town—determined to persuade Sierra to schedule an appointment with an ophthalmologist. Sadly, she didn’t need an examination to tell her that she’d inherited the gene for the eye disease that had led to her aunt’s blindness.
Why couldn’t Beau have paid attention to her when she’d first arrived in Roundup years ago? Darn life for being unfair. Sierra rested her head on the back of the seat. Maybe she’d see—ha, ha, ha—things in a different light come morning.
Morning arrived at 6:25 a.m., when a semi truck whizzed by her car and woke her. She wiggled her cold toes and fingers until the feeling returned to the numb digits. If she hurried, she’d have time to mix a batch of biscuits before the diner doors opened for breakfast at seven.
She snapped on her seat belt then checked the rearview mirror. Oh. My. God. Beau’s pickup, minus the livestock trailer, sat a hundred yards behind her. Embarrassed and humiliated that he’d caught her red-handed in a lie, she shoved the key into the ignition and the SUV engine fired to life. After checking for cars in both directions she hit the gas. The back tires spewed gravel as she pulled onto the highway. Keeping a death grip on the steering wheel she glanced at the side mirror—Beau remained fast asleep, slouched against the driver’s-side window.
Don’t you dare cry.
Her eyesight was blurry in the mornings, and if she gave into the tears that threatened to fall she’d be forced to pull off the road again—and then what excuse would she give Beau?
* * *
BEAU WOKE IN time to catch the taillights of Sierra’s SUV driving off. The least she could have done was thank him for watching over her through the night.
Sierra mystified him. After finding her stranded on the side of the road he’d been puzzled by her insistence that he not wait with her for a tow. Then, when he’d placed his hand on the hood of the car and discovered the engine was cold, his suspicions had grown. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what she’d been up to, but she’d made it clear she didn’t want his help, so he’d moseyed along. When he’d reached Roundup, he’d driven past Davidson Towing. Stan’s tow truck had sat parked in the lot, the lights turned off in the service garage.
For a split second, Beau had wondered if Sierra had intended to rendezvous with a man, but he’d nixed that idea. Before he’d begun his campaign to convince her to go out on a date with him he’d asked his cousin Dinah, the town’s sheriff, to find out if Sierra was involved with another man. According to Dinah’s sources Sierra wasn’t. Boyfriend or not, Beau hadn’t been about to leave Sierra alone in the dark.
He’d delivered Bushwhacker and Back Bender to Thunder Ranch, then had hollered at his father through the door that he was meeting up with friends at the Open Range Saloon. Alibi taken care of, he’d high-tailed it back to the highway.
When he’d passed her SUV, the truck’s head
lights had shown her asleep in the front seat. Alone. Relieved he’d been wrong about a clandestine meeting, he’d parked behind the car, resigned to wait until morning for answers. Those answers were right now fleeing down the highway.
Although tempted to stalk Sierra until she offered an explanation for the crazy stunt she’d pulled last night, he started his truck and turned onto the county road that bypassed Roundup and brought him to the back side of Thunder Ranch, where the Adams men were in charge of the bucking bulls and the cattle that grazed this section of the property. He pulled up to the small house his father had raised him and his brother in after their mother had died in a car accident thirty years ago. He shut off the engine then tapped a finger against the steering wheel. Was he coming on too strong with Sierra?
When he’d first begun pursuing her, his brother had pointed out that folks might mistake his actions as those of a man on the rebound. He’d discarded Duke’s words. Beau and his former girlfriend Melanie had given their long-distance relationship a shot but they’d grown apart months before their official breakup last December. Now that Duke and all their cousins, except Tuf, had married, Beau was feeling left out of the holy-matrimony club. He wanted for himself the same happiness his brother and cousins had found with their significant others, and something about Sierra made Beau believe she could be the one.
He hopped out of the truck and used the side door to enter the house. He found his father sitting at the kitchen table, eating donuts—usually by this time in the morning he was checking the water tanks and feed bins in the bull pasture. Beau hung his sheepskin jacket on the hook by the door. “Skipping your oatmeal and English muffin today?”
“Jordan sent the donuts home with me last night. Leftovers from the diner.”
Jordan Peterson was Sierra’s aunt and his father’s…friend…girlfriend? The moment Jordan had stepped off the bus with her seeing-eye dog in July, his father had been hot on her heels. Beau had no idea where the older couple’s relationship was headed, but he was ticked off that his father spent most of his time with Jordan and neglected his responsibilities around the ranch.