The Bull Rider's Homecoming

by Jeannie Watt

  He had to realize that on his own and until he did, she wasn’t going to let things get out of hand.

  Which, unfortunately meant not touching or being touched.

  It was killing her.

  “Paint the wheelbarrow tomorrow?” Trace asked, but from the way he was looking at her, she didn’t think wheelbarrows were foremost in his mind.

  “Yeah. We still on for this weekend?”

  He’d promised to help her pick up a large oak table from a nearby ranch—a table she’d found on the want-ad board at the grocery store, which was going to her house, not the boutique.

  “We’re on. I’ll have to get back for practice, though.” He smiled a little. “First ride...if the doctor agrees. I see him Friday.”

  A tiny stone dropped into Annie’s pool of satisfaction. “First ride. Can’t miss that.”

  As a bull rider’s sister, she knew how important that first ride after an injury was. The rider needed to know that he was back where he’d been before getting hurt, and if he wasn’t back, he needed to gauge how far he needed to go to get there—and beyond.

  “You could come watch, you know.”

  Annie shook her head. This was his deal, not hers. The deal that was going to take him away from her. “Maybe another time.”

  He started to reach for her then dropped his hand. “Yeah. Maybe another time.”

  * * *

  ANNIE AND TRACE had just loaded the oak table and covered it with a tarp when the first fat drops of rain hit his denim jacket and he looked up at the charcoal-gray sky. “We better hit the road.”

  If he hadn’t wasted time driving to the Bozeman Clinic for his release yesterday, only to be told that the doctor had been called to an emergency surgery, they could have picked up the table yesterday, when it had been dry. As it was, they were racing the weather and he had to wait another week to get his release. That didn’t sit well with him, but there wasn’t a lot he could do—about the release or the weather.

  “I’d hoped for another hour,” Annie said as she headed for her side of the truck, the rain pattering on the hood and bouncing in the mud before Trace opened his door. Almost as soon as he got inside, the sky opened and the rain poured down.

  Getting the table had been a do-or-die thing. The rancher had sold out and was moving to the far side of the state. He didn’t want to wait for the weather to clear, so Trace and Annie had packed the tarp and hoped for the best.

  The best didn’t happen. The rain kept pounding and Annie kept sending worried looks out the rear window of the truck. They’d set the table legs on planks, just in case they didn’t beat the rain, and the tarp was secured with more bungee cords than they’d really needed. Annie really wanted this table and Trace was going to see that she got it.

  The road they traveled was not well graveled and the rain had made it slick in places, so he drove carefully. The clouds hung low, making it difficult to see even though the wipers were on high, and Trace slowed even further, apparently too slow for the truck that came up behind him. The big diesel was hauling a trailer and it roared past them, splattering mud across the windshield. Trace’s mouth tightened as the wipers smeared the muck into a thin layer before the rain rinsed the windshield clean. Idiot.

  “Do you know that guy?” Trace asked.

  “The rig’s familiar, but I can’t put a name on it,” Annie said.

  “He may not make it home if he continues at that speed.”

  Annie did not disagree with him. She looked at her table again then focused straight ahead while he slowed to negotiate a series of curves. Five more miles and they’d hit the main road, twenty more miles and he’d be able to get Annie’s table out of the rain and she could stop worrying about it.

  He rounded another corner then stood on the brakes. “Son of a—” His teeth gritted as the truck fishtailed then came to a stop inches away from the back of an aluminum trailer that was half-in half-out of the ditch, jackknifed and blocking the road, but still attached to the diesel truck tilted at a crazy angle in the ditch. The same diesel that had passed him five minutes before.

  Trace muttered a curse, then glanced over at Annie who had one hand braced against the dash. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’ll head back to warn traffic.” Annie yanked a raincoat out of her tote bag, but only had one arm in the sleeve when she opened the door and stepped out into the rain.

  Trace pulled his hat down lower as he pushed his door open and got out onto the slippery road. Cattle bawled as he passed the trailer on his way to the truck, and he could hear their feet scrambling for purchase in the drunkenly tilted trailer.

  When he reached the cab, the driver was just righting himself from where he’d been slumped against the steering wheel. He blinked at Trace through the rain-smeared window and Trace yanked the door open.

  “Don’t move.”

  The guy ignored him and tried to shove his way out of the truck, then let out a low moan of pain and slumped back into his seat. Ribs, probably. And he had a giant goose egg on his forehead. Trace wondered briefly why the air bags hadn’t deployed, then realized that the truck was too old to have them.

  “Sit tight.”

  “My cattle.”

  “I’ll get your cattle.”

  Trace heard the sounds of an engine through the rain and turned to see a truck slowly round the curve. Annie must have been able to flag them down and warn them.

  “We need to get this guy to a hospital,” Trace said when the passenger window lowered. “Can you call 911?”

  “No signal here,” the woman said brusquely as she climbed out of the truck and made her way around the front.

  “I don’t need to go to the hospital,” the man in the truck muttered.

  “You’re going to the hospital, Gordon.”

  “You know him?” Trace asked.

  “Yes,” she said grimly. “I know Lead Foot.”

  A car inched its way around the corner and stopped behind the truck. “Gordon?” the man said when he got out.

  Trace stepped back and let Gordon’s friends load him into the car, which took off for the hospital, despite the man’s weak protests.

  Annie came trotting up then, her hair hanging in wet hanks despite her hood. “I have a person parked on the other side of the corner.” She grimaced as the cows thrashed.

  “Yeah, we got to get them out of there.”

  The woman, who introduced herself as Sadie, followed Trace and Annie to the trailer, where Trace reefed on the door until he managed to get it unlatched. The four steers were wild-eyed as they climbed over one another in their desperation to get out of the tilted trailer. Moments later they were galloping off into the fog.

  “It may be a while until Gordon sees his steers again,” Trace commented. “Kind of amazing that only one of them is limping.”

  “Can’t hurt a Corriente,” Sadie muttered.

  Half an hour later, with the help of Sadie and another passerby, they had the truck dug out and had managed to tow it and the trailer back onto the road. Sadie got behind the wheel once it was determined that the axel was all right and one of the other two guys who’d stopped to help got into Sadie’s truck. They drove away, one after the other, leaving Trace and Annie standing in the rain, watching the taillights disappear.

  “I’m too cold to shiver,” Annie said.

  Trace turned to her and noted that she was completely muddy on one side, despite the rain. “I fell down a while back,” she said in answer to his unspoken question. “And you don’t look much better.”

  Indeed he was muddy.

  Annie pushed the wet hair away from her cheek, but a few stubborn strands clung to her pale skin. “I’ll give you this—you know how to show a girl an interesting time.”

  “It’s a mad skill,” Trace said as they
started slogging their way down the muddy road.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He opened the door for her and she climbed inside. The heater had been running the entire time they’d worked to get the truck and trailer out of the ditch and Annie gave a shudder as the warm air hit her.

  “I feel like taking my wet clothing off and basking in warmth.”

  “I won’t stop you,” Trace said as he reached for his seat belt. He stilled with his hand on the buckle and met her gaze. “Well, I wouldn’t.”

  Annie held his gaze for what seemed like forever, looking tempted and conflicted. Then she eased across the seat, took his face in both her cold palms and brought her mouth to his. The first touch was soft, yet electric. Annie’s hands may have been cold, but her lips were warm and luscious, and Trace was instantly hard. And then the kiss deepened. Trace put his arms around her and hauled her closer, cursing the interference of the steering wheel.

  His hands slid down to span the curve of her waist when a horn honk startled them both. Annie jumped and Trace turned to clear the condensation off the side window with his sleeve. The white crew cab Ford had slowed to a crawl as it passed them. The driver honked again and waved, making a face at Trace. Typical bull rider.

  “Don Maguire,” Annie said putting a little more space between them. “One of Grady’s friends.”

  “I know him from Hennessey’s.” And despite the condensation on the windows, it was pretty obvious what he and Annie had been doing, which was why Donnie was honking and waving like an idiot. Trace slumped back in his seat, telling himself this was probably a good thing because it brought him crashing back to earth. What was he doing here?

  He turned to see Annie studying him, a slight tilt to her luscious mouth as she waited for him to decide the next move. She’d already made her move, kissing him, essentially blowing him away, and now the ball was most decidedly in his court. So, did he answer the invitation in those soft blue eyes? Or did he do what was best for both of them, put this truck in gear and drive on home? His body was giving him one very definitive answer, his brain another. His body was winning...

  “We should go home,” he said.

  “And then?”

  The note of anticipation in her voice almost did him in.

  “I should go home.” Where he would spend the evening frustrated out of his mind.

  Annie tilted up her chin. “That sounds...absolutely sensible.” There was a coolness to her voice that hadn’t been there before, but Trace steeled himself from reaching out and touching her, bringing the warmth back. He was going to remain sensible...even if it killed him. He couldn’t allow himself to hurt this family. As near as he could figure, Annie hadn’t been with anyone for years, which meant she was making an exception for him. An exception that Trace believed she would soon regret.

  “Are you sure?” There was a husky note to her voice that again made him want to reach out and drag her up against him, kiss her deeply, tell her he wasn’t certain at all.

  Instead he said, “I’m not one to rush things.” And one of them had to stay sane here. Annie had outlined very good reasons for them to remain friends only, despite the growing tension between them, and he was going to see to it that they did just that.

  “I understand.” Annie scooted a little farther away from him and directed her gaze forward, toward the muddy road. Her cheeks were flushed, but her expression remained cool and matter-of-fact, telling Trace that she saw the sense in what he was saying. Doing.

  Once they’d reached her house, after a too-silent drive with both of them deep in thought, they unloaded the table and brought it into the shop, where Annie planned to refinish it. Then she walked him to the truck and he gave in to temptation, leaned down and gave her a quick kiss goodbye, raising his head before the heat could build. He wanted to feel those soft lips of hers beneath his one more time, because it would be the last time they kissed.

  They were friends, after all. That was what Annie had asked for and that was what she was going to get. He didn’t see where the other option would do anything but screw up her life when he threw his figurative saddle in the back of his truck and moved on, as he always did.

  Chapter Twelve

  One week after kissing Annie goodbye, Trace walked out of the Bozeman Clinic with a satisfied smile on his face. Released. For the first time ever he’d followed doctors’ orders to the letter, and he had to admit, he felt ready to take on the world. He couldn’t wait to get back to what he did best. Hang with his friends, as much as he hung, anyway. Get back to his life.

  Earn some money.

  Practice rides concerned him because, while Hennessey had some decent young bulls, most of his older stock was adequate at best. Great for training young guys, not so great when a guy needed to get ready for more challenging bulls. He was going to have to shift locales, maybe go back to Oklahoma and train there. He’d already spoken to Grady, who said that Cliff would resume chores if Trace had to leave early.

  He did need to leave early because if he didn’t, he’d drift back toward Annie and that wouldn’t do either of them any good. He’d been foolish to think that they could act as friends, and that he could be near her—because everything in him wanted to be near her—and not take the next logical step.

  Annie had a thin line to walk between meeting her own needs and those of her kids, and to do that properly she needed to hook up with a guy who would be around. A guy she could lean on and count on being there to support her when she needed it. A guy who wasn’t going to end up in the hospital or who needed to leave when that...feeling came over him. Trace wasn’t that guy.

  He’d felt unsettled since the day he’d first arrived in Gavin, and while his attraction to Annie and his involvement with her family had helped dampen the feeling, it was always there, just under the surface. In an odd way he wondered if that was why his shoulder had healed so well and so fast. Because he needed to get back out on the road. Back to where he was comfortable and wouldn’t let anyone down.

  Every now and again, though, in the days that followed that last kiss, as he kicked around the farmhouse, he found himself wishing that things were different...

  They weren’t. He was leaving, Annie was staying. She had responsibilities. He was responsible only for himself. That was why he’d kept his distance after delivering Annie’s oak table, and he was honest enough to admit that he missed the time he’d spent with Annie and the girls. He was also honest enough to admit that he wasn’t cut out for that kind of life.

  Annie had made no contact with him, which told him that she understood where he was coming from, even though they hadn’t discussed the matter.

  Trace told himself he was good with the way things were, too.

  When he reached Gavin, he stopped at the feed store for duck food. He was on his way out the door, a bag of chow under one arm, when his phone rang. A local number, so he answered.

  “This is Katie.”

  “Uh...hi Katie. Is everything all right?”

  “No.” His gut tightened at her plaintive tone.

  “What’s wrong?” He stopped walking and stood holding the bag of duck food a few yards away from his truck.

  “Can you come talk to my school? For career day.”

  Trace frowned down at the ground. Career day?

  “Katie, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Not when he was doing his best to distance himself from Annie.

  “It’s easy,” she assured him. “You stand in front of the class and the teacher and the kids ask you questions and you answer them.”

  “Katie...I don’t talk well in front of strangers.” He started walking again.

  “But we need you! We were supposed to get Mr. Stewart, but he had a ’mergency and the kids want to hear about being a cowboy.”

  “Katie, I’m a bull rider.” He hefted the gra
in over the side of the truck bed with one arm.

  “Same thing.”

  “It’s not the same, Katie. The kids will be disappointed not to have a real cowboy.”

  “But I told everyone you were coming. They ’spect you to be there.”

  “When?”

  “After recess.”

  A bad thought struck him. “Are you at recess now?”

  “I’m at lunch. Recess is when the clock is at two.”

  “Can you bring the phone to your teacher?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s not here right now.”

  And Katie wasn’t offering any more information. Rather than pry it out of her piece by piece, Trace said, “Tell you what. I’ll drop by the school. Talk to the principal.”

  “When?”

  “In just a few minutes.” He was only a couple blocks away and it seemed like the easiest solution.

  “Thank you, Trace,” she said in a very grown-up voice and a second later the phone went dead.

  Trace hung up and dialed Annie’s number. She didn’t answer, so he got in the truck and drove the few blocks to the school. Once there he could talk to an adult, explain that he couldn’t speak to the kids. He hated to disappoint little Katie, but he had no other choice. He couldn’t exactly distance himself from the family and then show up for career day.

  * * *

  “I THINK YOUR daughter-in-law will enjoy the canister set, but the linens are some of my favorites.” Annie took a few steps back, allowing Mrs. Helm, the manager of the bank across the street, some privacy as she considered her gift options.

  “Both.”

  “Both?” Annie was surprised and pleased, since Mrs. Helm was a rather notorious spendthrift.

  “Yes. I’ll let my daughter-in-law choose between them and I’ll keep whichever she doesn’t choose.”

  Annie smiled. “Lovely idea.”

  “I’m remodeling my kitchen. My husband has been complaining about how dark and depressing the room is, and I’ve finally agreed that something needs to be done—even though it’s going to be disruptive.”