Tougher in Texas

by Kari Lynn Dell

  They argued about scores, and whether a former world champion had been gifted a few points because the shine off that gold buckle got in the judges’ eyes. Lately, Cole had started paying attention to the team roping, asking Shawnee’s opinion of the contestants, their horses, how the headers handled the steers to give their heeler the best shot. His obvious effort to learn her event was touching…and scary.

  She tried to tell herself this was just his compulsive side rearing its head. She’d thrown out a challenge and he was incapable of letting it go until he had mastered it to his satisfaction. Hell, maybe she had created a monster. He might be hooked on team roping for life.

  Or he might be hooked on her.

  Her heart gave a sharp little blip, an annoying habit it had developed lately. Probably lack of sleep and some kind of hormonal imbalance from excess sexual stimulation.

  Cole paused in the midst of contemplating watermelons to glance over at her, a thoughtful pleat between his brows. “Is that why you cook your own meals? Because it’s healthier?”

  “We’re having fried chicken,” she pointed out.

  “In olive oil. With greens. You eat a lot of vegetables and drink those smoothie things. Is it because of the cancer?”

  Leave it to Cole to stomp right to the point, no dancing around. She picked through the cartons of strawberries. “If I make it myself, I know what’s in my food.”

  And she did try to keep the processed crap to a minimum—as if she could reconstruct her DNA by avoiding Twinkies. But she liked to cook, and who knew? Maybe she could stall the inevitable with a few extra antioxidants.

  “That’s what Aunt Iris says, too.” Cole thumped a melon with his knuckle, weighed it in his hands, then hefted it into the cart. “At least you’re not on some crazy diet.”

  “For my health…or my weight?” she asked dangerously.

  Cole went still, holding four ears of corn in each big hand. After a long, pregnant pause, he sighed. “Nothing I say right now is going to save me, is it?”

  “Depends. What are you thinking?”

  He clasped the corn to his chest like a shield. “That starving yourself would be dumb. Skinny wouldn’t suit you. Or me.”

  The practiced, scathing retort congealed into a lump in her throat. “It wasn’t my best look,” she quipped, without thinking.

  “You used to be…” Then comprehension dawned. “When you were sick?”

  She forced a mocking smile. “I was practically a supermodel. Not an ounce of fat on me.”

  The chubby thighs and round face she’d cursed since she’d been old enough to be teased had melted away, leaving nothing but bone and pasty skin. And now, for her, thin would never be beautiful or sexy. In her mind, knobby wrists and razor-sharp hip bones would always equal sickness. Other people might look at her now and see a fat girl. She saw every meal that hadn’t tasted like copper going down, then turned around and come right back up. Healthy flesh that covered the grotesque skeleton she had become as a result—and probably would be again.

  Until then, she was damn well gonna eat.

  She thought she’d kept the morbid thoughts off her face, but Cole stepped over and wrapped his arms around her, still holding the stupid corn. She considered resisting on principle, but he felt too damn good. He made her feel good. Quiet. Not weaker, or pitiful, just less…raw. She couldn’t help rubbing her cheek against his chest, that killer combination of baby-soft cotton and hard muscle. “You may be the only cowboy in Texas who isn’t a starch addict.”

  His voice rumbled under her ear. “It chafes. Anything that rubs or scratches drives me nuts. When I buy new clothes, the first thing I do is cut off all the tags and run them through the washing machine a dozen times to soften them up.”

  That explained why the Jacobs Livestock shirts were silky, instead of the usual stiffly pressed cotton. She mustered her willpower and pushed him away. “Unless you’re planning to do me right here on the apple cart, we should keep moving.”

  He grinned as he handed her the corn, and she lost her breath for a moment while her heart did that blipping thing again. Definitely dangerous, playing house with this man. It made her mind wander down garden paths and past picket fences. Made her wish…

  Her phone rang. Her mother. Again. When they’d just talked a couple of days ago. And that had been a weird conversation, peppered with more than the usual uncomfortable pauses. Alarms jangled in Shawnee’s head. She shoved the grocery list at Cole and gestured for him to go on without her.

  When he had rounded the end of the aisle, she answered, bracing herself for the latest family disaster. “Hey, Ma. Is something wrong?”

  “No! I just…I hope I’m not bothering you. Is this a bad time?”

  Shawnee glanced over at an old lady who was poking through the bananas. “No. This is fine. What’s up?”

  “I was just wondering…well, hoping…I mean, you’re done with the rodeos this weekend, and I know your schedule is pretty tight, but…”

  Spit it out, Ma. “I have a little extra time.” She glanced around to be sure Cole hadn’t wandered back into earshot, but lowered her voice anyway. “I plan to swing by for a visit on my way to New York.”

  “Oh! That’s great.”

  “And…”

  “Nothing. I’ve missed you, and you’re going so far away.”

  Shawnee fingered the silky tassel of one of the ears of corn, not reassured by her mother’s bright voice. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you and Gran.”

  “Well, good. We’ll have dinner, and you can…um, see all the cousins. And stuff.”

  “Sure. That’ll be great.”

  But Shawnee’s stomach jittered uneasily as they said goodbye. Her mother was wound up. And that rarely meant good news.

  * * *

  As soon as the groceries were stowed in her trailer and Cole had gone off to find Joe and do boss man stuff, Shawnee snatched up her phone and dialed her grandmother’s number.

  “What’s going on with Ma?” she demanded, skipping straight past the how are yous? “She keeps calling me and saying nothing, but I can tell there’s something.”

  Gran laughed. “She’s trying to work up the nerve to tell you that she’s seeing someone.”

  “Seeing…a…man?” Shawnee collapsed onto the couch, taken out at the knees. Her mother. Dating.

  “She wants you to meet him.”

  “Wait. This is serious? Like, bring home to meet the daughter serious?”

  Her grandmother laughed again, the low, musical sound that had carried them all through the worst of everything. She had always found the humor or flat-out ridiculousness in any situation. One of the best lessons she’d ever taught Shawnee. “First she had to bring him home to meet her mother. And I approve. He’s a good person, and he makes her…steadier. You know?”

  Shawnee closed her eyes and thought of that moment in the grocery store, Cole’s arms strong around her. Yes. She knew.

  “That’s…wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Congratulations will suffice.” It was more of an order than a suggestion. “It’s way past time she started living instead of just biding her time, waiting to die. She deserves to have a man who loves her right.” There was a weighty pause. “So do you.”

  “Gran—”

  “I know.” Her tone was the verbal equivalent of throwing up her hands. “I’m not meddling. Just saying.”

  Every one of the uncountable times before, the conversation had ended there. But today the ever-present question would not be muted, even if what came out wasn’t exactly what she wanted to ask. “Are you…happy?”

  “More often than I’m not,” Gran said. “And I figure that’s better than a lot of people. I’m not saying I don’t have sad times. You don’t love a man for forty-seven years without feeling like you’ve lost a part of yourself when he’s g
one, but I’ve got family and friends all around me. I have a daughter who is one of the sweetest souls I’ve ever known, and a granddaughter who kicks ass.”

  Shawnee choked on a laugh. “I get it from you.”

  “We’re a tough bunch, Shawnee girl. If you find a man who’s your match, grab him. They’re thin on the ground.”

  “It’s a big risk, taking me on.”

  “Have you checked the divorce rate lately?” her grandmother asked dryly. “Fifty-fifty, at best.”

  “I’m more like drawing to an inside straight.”

  Gran laughed softly. “Maybe. But you never let anyone stick around long enough to ante up. A man should get to decide for himself if he’s up for it. And the thing about long odds…when you do win, the payoff is huge.”

  After she hung up, Shawnee just sat and stared blankly at the clock on the opposite wall. She’d have to start dinner soon. Fried chicken and all the fixin’s. Cole would wander back this way to shuck corn and slice strawberries for the shortcake. She could count on him. He was the kind of man a woman could always count on. But how could he say the same for her? Next week, next year—the boom could come down at any time. And her precarious health probably wasn’t even the deal breaker.

  Cole could be a father, or he could be with her. He couldn’t have both.

  But what if he chose her? Fear and elation and a whole raft of emotions she could barely identify raged in her chest at the prospect. Cole was already close enough to decide whether she was worth what he’d have to give up. Who was she to make that choice for him? And really, how much worse could it be if he walked away, compared to never knowing what he might have done if she’d given him a chance?

  Tonight. After the rodeo. She would tell him everything.

  And then…she’d have to find a way to deal with the consequences, one way or the other.

  Chapter 39

  That night, Cole got choked up during the national anthem.

  He sat in the middle of the arena at the end of a row of horses—dignitaries and personnel introduced during the grand entry—his cowboy hat pressed to his heart, with Shawnee on one side of him and Beni on the other. The soaring notes of the anthem floated up and away, into the azure sky, and as the rodeo queen loped around the end of the arena, the setting sun caught the rippling American flag and set it aglow.

  Cole’s throat knotted so tight it nearly brought tears to his eyes. This. Exactly this. The whole day, beginning to end, had been perfect. An amazing woman, good food, a great kid, and a grandstand full of people here to watch a rodeo produced by his crew.

  And this was the end. Last night. Last rodeo. The season would make its official exit with the last bull that left the arena.

  He glanced over at Shawnee. Instead of the usual smirk, she flashed a quick, tilted smile, then her gaze immediately dropped to her hand on Salty’s reins. Yeah, she felt it, too. The bittersweet tangle of endings and beginnings. This season might be over, but for the two of them there could be another. And another. And another. Anyone who’d grown up with Ace Pickett was bound to be head-shy, but eventually she would realize how much sense they made together.

  He let his gaze slide over to Beni, straight and proud in the saddle, dressed in the Jacobs Livestock uniform right down to miniature blue and white chaps. Cole’s throat tightened another notch. Give it ten years and that could be his little brown-haired girl, her chin in the air as she mouthed the words to “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Lord knows, any child of Shawnee’s would insist on being in the middle of everything.

  Cole grinned at the image, then bowed his head as Tyrell recited the Cowboy’s Prayer in a voice that sounded as if God himself were speaking.

  “…help us to live our lives in such a manner that when we make that last inevitable ride to the country up there, where the grass grows lush, green, and stirrup high and the water runs cool and clear, You will take us by the hand and tell us our entry fees are paid.”

  There was a moment of silence as the final words echoed in the still evening air. Then, with a whoop and a holler, the flag bearers spurred their horses into a gallop and led the riders from the arena. Only Cole and Shawnee stayed put. He no longer had to check that she was in the right position for each horse. She knew them all as well as he did.

  Now he looked over because he liked seeing her there.

  They hadn’t even bucked the first horse and her hair was already a mess, springing free of the barrette to coil in little hooks around her face, and she was jawing with the cowboys on the back of the chutes as they waited for the first bareback rider to wedge his gloved hand into the rigging.

  “Hey, Cody, you gonna spur one to the whistle so I can actually pick you up for a change?”

  The cowboy in question rolled his eyes. “I get bucked off one time…and you’ll probably drop me on my head, anyway.”

  “Just aimin’ for the one body part I know you can’t break,” Shawnee shot back.

  Cole chuckled, then did a double take. Six weeks ago, he would’ve been irritated half to death. Now he just sat back and smiled at how none of them could get the best of her. Damn. There might be hope for his sense of humor yet.

  “You gonna tell her how her butt looks in those chaps, Joe?” one of the cowboys yelled.

  Joe paused in the midst of adjusting a flank strap to grin and shake his head. He’d learned that lesson the hard way with Violet.

  “How ’bout you meet me out back and you can kiss it?” Shawnee yelled in return.

  All of the cowboys and a sizable portion of the crowd busted up laughing. The moment fixed in Cole’s brain, like an image in one of those old Polaroid cameras. Shawnee—defined. Bold, brash, and bigger than life. Around them, the air hummed with potential. Significance. This was one of those nights. A time you’d remember, crystal clear, twenty years from now, when you were tipping back a cold one with a few good friends. Or one special woman.

  Remember? That was the night…

  Then the bareback rider scooted up on his rigging, cocked his free arm and nodded, and there was no more time to think. Thunder Bay took two long, lunging jumps, then swooped left so hard his hooves skidded in the dirt. Cole sucked in a breath as the horse dropped onto his left shoulder, jacking the cowboy up and over the rigging. The horse slid, flailed, then regained his balance. The cowboy wasn’t so lucky. The stumble had thrown him off the left side of the horse, his weight clamping his hand around the rigging. He fought to keep his feet under him while the bronc lunged and kicked.

  “Go!” Cole shouted.

  Shawnee was already two strides ahead of him, her loop sailing through the air to settle neatly around Thunder Bay’s neck. She dallied up short, leaving only a few feet of rope between Salty and the bronc, and reined in hard. The bronc grunted and threw its head, but Shawnee turned in a tight circle to stay out of range of his lashing front hooves as Cole tripped the flank strap. Then he leaned across and grabbed the cowboy by the back of his protective vest, hauling him up high enough to release the bind on his glove. His hand came free and he dropped to his knees in the dirt.

  Shawnee kicked up and herded the bronc safely away, toward the catch pen. Cole followed. Behind them, Cruz and Joe had sprinted out to help the cowboy. They hoisted him up with a hand under each elbow, then he waved them off and stumbled to the chutes under his own steam.

  The crowd roared. Drama over. No casualties.

  As Thunder Bay ducked into the exit gate, Shawnee tossed the tail of her rope in the air and let the bronc take it with him to the stripping chute. She swung close to the chutes to grab a replacement from one of the Leses, then took up her position for the next ride. No big deal. Just a day in the life. Cruz slapped her thigh as he passed. Joe offered a fist bump.

  Cole gave her a brisk, approving nod.

  But as they rode side-by-side out of the arena and around the back of the chutes to Cole’s t
railer, he leaned over, snagged an arm around her shoulders, and planted a big, smacking kiss on her cheek. “You are amazing.”

  “Ew,” Beni said, as he passed going the other direction, to chase team roping and steer wrestling stock out of the arena.

  Shawnee…blushed? “Stop sexually harassing the help. People are gonna talk.”

  “Let ’em,” Cole said, and kissed her again.

  The rest of the performance was a highlight reel filmed in high definition—image after image etched into Cole’s brain—until that final, inevitable eight-second whistle blew. Cole wasn’t ready for it to be over. Not quite yet. Instead of making a beeline for his trailer, he crossed his arms over the saddle horn and took it all in.

  Fans jostled toward the exits, clutching the hands of sticky, tired children. The bright-yellow running lights of the pickups and horse trailers shone as they rolled out of the parking lot and away, one more year of hopes and dreams either achieved or dashed on the cold, hard rocks of the rodeo trail. Behind the chutes, cowboys hitched bronc saddles or gear bags over shoulders thrown back in triumph or slumped in defeat.

  Shawnee reined her horse up next to his and mimicked his posture. “Well. I guess that’s that. But don’t expect me to sing about it.”

  Cole gave her a blank look, his brain too busy screaming, Now! Ask her now, when she gave you the perfect opening.

  “It isn’t over ’til…” She made a gesture toward herself.

  “I don’t…”

  She rolled her eyes. “Forget it. You already killed the punch line.”

  Oh. Now he got it. He frowned. “You’re not fat.”

  “Bless your heart.” She patted his arm. “At least you didn’t say, ‘You’re no lady.’”

  “I would never—oh, you’re joking again.” Geezus. This was bad. Even for him. It was the nerves, tying him into knots. And now he’d started doubting himself. Wondering why a funny, sarcastic woman like Shawnee would ever choose a man who literally couldn’t take a joke.

  Before he could fight off the attack of insecurity, Beni trotted over to join them. “Thank you for letting me ride your horse. He’s awesome.”