He took the box. It weighed a ton. After checking out the contents, he hauled it into his aunt’s kitchen, where she and Lily were scrubbing pots and pans while his uncle, Delon, and Joe cleaned up the backyard with Beni’s assistance—which consisted mostly of balling up stray napkins and tossing them basketball-style at the trash can. When Cole plunked the box on the table, Iris turned to give him a searching look. He shook his head. She sighed and went back to scraping leftover chili from a slow-cooker into a plastic tub.
“What are you going to do?” Lily asked.
Cole thought about it for a moment. “Chores,” he said, then carefully folded his emotions up, stuffed them back into their boxes, and walked down to the barn.
That was the best thing about lists and routines. You always knew what to do next. One step after another. Didn’t matter if your mind and heart shut down, your body would just keep on moving out of habit. By the time he tossed hay to the saddle horses, he had retreated so far into himself he barely noticed the odd, buzzing sensation in his chest.
He pulled the phone out of his shirt pocket. His pulse jumped, hard and fast, as he answered. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.
Shawnee made a choked sound. “Well. That’s just perfect. You see my number and immediately think disaster.”
“Habit,” he said. “Where are you?”
“Texhoma. I can’t…” She took an audible gulp of air. “I had to pull over. My pickup won’t go.”
“It just quit?”
“Yeah. Sort of.”
He was already headed for his own pickup. “I’m on my way. Forty-five minutes, max.”
As he passed the shop, he grabbed a toolbox. He was almost to Earnest before his phone rang and he realized he hadn’t told anyone where he was going or why. He let it go to voice mail. He didn’t talk or text while he was driving and he refused to stop, even for a minute.
Shawnee wasn’t hurt. Wasn’t sick. But there’d been something in her voice that made his muscles jump and his hands clench around the steering wheel. He wasn’t operating on autopilot anymore. Every one of his senses was wide open and so hyperalert he could swear he heard the whoompf-whoompf-whoompf of the giant blades as he roared past a row of windmills. Felt it in his chest.
He spotted her rig before he even reached the city limits of what little there was of Texhoma. She’d limped to a stop alongside the only patch of grass in a mostly empty lot directly across from a row of huge grain silos, fifty yards short of the Oklahoma border. Both horses were contentedly munching hay inside the portable pen that attached to the side of her trailer. She’d also unloaded her roping dummy. As Cole pulled up, she took two swings, laid her loop under its belly, and scooped up the hind feet. Then she stepped forward, pulled the rope off, rebuilt the loop, and did it again. And again.
Without even glancing his direction.
Cole had watched her rope that dummy almost every day they’d been on the road. Usually, every throw was different. Five swings. Then one. Then three. Throw from a couple of steps farther back. Off to the right. Or the left. She changed it up every time, practicing for every possible situation.
This was not that kind of practice. This was rhythmic, almost robotic, the same exact steps, swings, and throws, one after another after another.
It made him think of folding gum wrappers.
She didn’t pause as he parked and stepped out into the soft evening air. Her hair was loose, a wild cloud of curls she’d made no attempt to tame with goop or a barrette, and she’d traded jeans and a dusty T-shirt for shorts, rhinestone-studded flip-flops, and a sleeveless black polo shirt.
He ached to touch her. Bury his hands in all that baby-soft hair, slide them down her bare arms…
And if he tried, he’d get whacked by the rope she was still swinging. Whish, whish, crack! The loop sucked tight around the wooden legs. She still hadn’t acknowledged his presence.
“Are the keys in the pickup?” he asked.
“Yep.” Whish, whish, crack! Retrieve her rope. Build a new loop.
“I’ll just…” He gestured toward the pickup.
She nodded without missing a beat. Whish, whish, crack!
The tailgate was down. As he walked to the driver’s door, he glanced into the bed and saw that she’d unhitched the trailer. Before climbing behind the wheel, he slid the seat all the way back to accommodate his height. When he pushed in the clutch and turned the key, the engine fired right up and ran smooth as butter. He revved it a couple of times. Not a tick or a rattle.
He put it in first gear and eased out the clutch. The transmission engaged and the pickup rolled forward. When he was clear of the trailer, he sped up a little. Still nothing out of the ordinary. He shifted into second, checked for traffic, and pulled out onto the street. The pickup accelerated easily. Third gear, on through the tiny town, then fourth as he cleared the other side and hit open highway. Fifth gear, sixth, steadily gaining speed until he hit sixty.
Two miles out of town he turned around and went back. Shawnee was still roping the dummy. He parked the pickup beside his own, turned it off, and got out. “It seems to be fine.”
“Yep.” Whish, whish, crack!
“You said it quit.”
“Nope.” She built another loop with those precise, mechanical movements. “I said it wouldn’t go.”
“It ran just fine for me.”
Whish, whish, crack! “Probably ’cuz you were pushing on the gas pedal.”
Cole gawked at her. “And you weren’t?”
“Nope.” She paused in the act of retrieving her loop to point at a sign that said Welcome to Oklahoma. “I saw that and I just sort of…vapor-locked. I couldn’t make myself cross that line.” She braced her fists on her hips, loop clenched in one hand and the coils of her rope in the other, gaze fixed on the sign. “I’ve never left Texas. Not indefinitely. I just…couldn’t.”
She seemed confused, and more than a little angry. As if someone had thrown up a roadblock at the Texas border and refused to let her pass.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said.
“There’s a shock.” She rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. “I have to go to New York. I promised. And you’re gonna have to figure out how to get me there, since this is your fault.”
“Mine?”
“You and Tori.” She kept staring at the sign, her scowl deepening. “You win, okay? I’m tired of letting this cancer bullshit push me around. And I’m really tired of going it alone. So if you’re crazy enough to want to take this on…” She spread her arms wide in a check it out gesture. “It’s all yours. Just don’t come whinin’ to me when you realize you got a sucker deal.”
His? Cole felt as if the earth had bucked beneath him, taking out his knees and slamming him into the dirt. He actually saw stars. Moons. A whole damn galaxy whirling through his head. It was a surprise to realize he was still standing.
His.
“So, uh, yeah,” she said, eyes still fixed and slightly glazed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m sort of freaking out here. It would help if you would—I don’t know—speak? Shoot me with a tranquilizer dart? Knock me in the head and put me out of my misery?”
He closed his hands over hers instead, prying the rope out of her fingers and hanging it on the roping dummy. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated, as he threaded his fingers into her hair. He lowered his cheek to the top of her head, bracing against the storm of emotions that raged through him.
After a few moments, Shawnee sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I suppose it was too much to expect that you’d actually say something.”
He nodded, savoring the rub of his cheek against her hair. When he did eventually speak, it was to ask, “Do you have to leave right now?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Good.” He slid his hands down to her hips and began backing
toward the door to the trailer’s living quarters, tugging her along.
She dragged her feet, but it was a token resistance. “What are you doing?”
“We’re in shock. We need to lie down.”
Her eyebrows quirked, the sass already making a comeback. “Oh, really?” she drawled. “For how long?”
“At least eight hours. Maybe twelve. Depends on whether you have any food in there.”
He opened the door, pulled her inside, and closed it behind them before planting his mouth on hers. A long, deep kiss that was the equivalent of that first drink of water at the end of a dry, dusty trail. His entire being gave a huge ahhhh. Her hair tickled across the backs of his hands as he molded her close against him. He could spend at least two hours just running his fingers through that hair. Another three or four kissing her.
She drew back, her mouth soft and slick from his kisses, her expression still not entirely certain. “What happens when you’ve recovered from this terrible shock?”
“I doubt I ever will.”
“Even while I’m halfway across the country for the next year or so?”
“Even if you were halfway around the world.”
But tomorrow would come, regardless. He thought about the next day’s schedule. Young bulls to gather. Salt and mineral supplements to haul out to the pastures. Fences to check. The first fall practice session late in the afternoon. Then he looked at Shawnee.
No contest.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. “Hey, Violet.”
He kicked off his boots while she ranted about his disappearance, finishing with, “You even drove off and left Katie sitting in the middle of the driveway!”
Oh. Shit. That was gonna cost him. “Tell her I’m sorry. Give her a steak. And whatever you do, don’t let her in my cabin. Or the tack room. Oh, and let everyone know I won’t be home for a few days.”
“You what?”
“Could be longer. I have to drive to New York,” he said, grinning as he heard Shawnee gasp. “I don’t know how long it will take. We’ll just have to wing it.”
“Wing it?” Violet practically screeched. “Since when do you—”
“Gotta go,” he said, and hung up.
He turned off the ringer before tossing the phone on the table. Shawnee looped her arms around his neck, and as he gazed down into her whiskey-brown eyes, his heart nearly exploded from what he saw there. “I love you,” he said. “And I’m sticking. No matter what.”
“Same here.” She shook her head in disbelief. “And ain’t that just a kick in the ass.”
He laughed. And then he kissed her until neither of them could talk.
Just how he liked it.
Chapter 44
Fifteen months later—National Circuit Finals Rodeo
As the lights dimmed, lasers danced around the coliseum to a pounding rock beat. Shawnee sat in the wide alley leading up to the arena gate with the three most important men in her life. Brady, her team roping partner, on one side. Roy standing patient and calm beneath her. And Cole on the other side, aboard Hammer, all duded up in a white shirt, red silk bandana, and red and white chaps with the National Circuit Finals logo.
It was so damn perfect it made her shiver.
“Nervous?” Brady asked.
“Pumped.” The shiver boogied up and down her spine. “I’ve never roped on television before.”
He angled her a sly grin. “Well, you’ll definitely be the star of the show tonight…especially after you make your grand entrance.”
She kicked him in the shin. He snickered. Not that it mattered. Cole wasn’t paying attention, too busy watching his uncle and Violet on the back of the chutes. They set the flank strap and hovered protectively while a bareback rider prepared to climb down on one of the nine Jacobs horses that had been selected to buck at the second-most prestigious event in professional rodeo.
And Cole had been chosen to be one of the pickup men.
Shawnee had put the bug in Joe’s ear and he’d taken it from there. He knew everyone who mattered, and no one could argue that Cole didn’t deserve to be here. All the publicity he and Shawnee had generated last year hadn’t hurt. Plus, Jacobs Livestock as a whole kept grabbing more and more of the spotlight—most recently with Riata Rose being named Bareback Horse of the Year in all of pro rodeo.
As far as Shawnee was concerned, Violet should be working in the arena, too, but that might be more than the old boys’ club could handle all at once. A black man announcing the National Circuit Finals and a woman competing in the team roping? Their heads were probably already on the verge of exploding.
Well, they’d better brace themselves. When this rodeo was over, Shawnee’s obligation to Brady and New York was done. As of Monday she was officially back on the Jacobs Livestock payroll. Violet was so caught up in wheeling and dealing—not to mention diapers—she was more than happy to hand over her chaps. Since the moment she’d learned to crawl, Rosie Cassidy had kept them all on the run. Even her big brother, who got regular baby-chasing duty.
“She never stops,” Beni complained.
He didn’t find this nearly as amusing as all the adults in his life did. Then Cole would scoop her up with one big hand and she’d cuddle against his chest and bat her eyes at him, sweet as honey. Just like that little girl with Down syndrome at today’s Exceptional Kids Rodeo. She’d been terrified by the commotion, the other rug rats, the horses, and the cowboys with their big hats. Cole took his off, squatted down, spoke to her softly, and offered her his hand. After a few moments, she took it. By the end of the event, he’d had her up on Roy, squealing with delight as he held her in the saddle while Shawnee walked them slowly around a miniature barrel racing pattern.
It seemed damn selfish to rob some kid of a father like that, even if it meant having Shawnee for a mother. So, yeah, she might be reconsidering her stand on adoption.
Someday.
The fear still flared up. She had so much to lose now. But overall, she was feeling a lot more optimistic about her somedays. It was hard not to, since Tori’s sister Elizabeth and Elizabeth’s wife, Pratimi, had taken charge of Shawnee and everyone they could hunt down who shared her DNA. They were absolutely giddy, finding a large family with a pronounced history of malignancies to include in their study on the genetic roots of cancer. Elizabeth extracted tissue samples and unraveled the DNA while Pratimi drilled them with health history questions, then cross-matched the results in some superpowered computer program that would, they hoped, eventually be able to diagnose cancer before it happened, just from a drop of blood.
They’d already caught an early-stage case of lung cancer in one of her cousins, undoubtedly saving his life.
Shawnee might have to battle the beast again, but she was poked, prodded, and scanned so often it was nearly impossible for it to sneak up on her. And if the time came—she was working hard on if instead of when—she’d have the medical equivalent of the Avengers on her side.
The music reached a crescendo as the alley gate swung open and a pair of flag bearers burst into the arena, galloped a full lap, and skidded to a stop on either side of the far end.
Tyrell’s golden voice boomed from the rafters. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first performance of the National Circuit Finals Rodeo! We begin tonight by introducing you to the men and women from across the nation who’ve qualified to compete, beginning in the Northwest with the Columbia Circuit!”
One by one, the twelve circuits were introduced. The Badlands Circuit of North and South Dakota, the Turquoise Circuit of Arizona and New Mexico, followed by California, Texas, and Montana. Each delegation galloped in and took their places in the two lines that stretched the length of the arena. And finally, “Last but certainly not least, our cowboys and cowgirls from the Northeast, the First Frontier Circuit!”
Shawnee and Brady thundered in beh
ind the rest of the contestants and stopped at the very end of one of the lines.
“Our bullfighters—” Tyrell continued. “Joe Cassidy, Wyatt Darrington, and Shorty Edwards!” The three stepped out and saluted the crowd. “And our pickup men, Brent Sutton and Cole Jacobs.”
Cole and Brent trotted out and took their places, one at the end of each line, which put Cole conveniently—and purposely—right next to Shawnee.
“And now, friends, we’re going to pause for a moment to recognize history in the making. Tonight, Shawnee Pickett will be the first woman to ever compete in the team roping at the National Circuit Finals.” Tyrell paused until the round of applause died down. “I am proud to call this woman a friend, and honored to turn the spotlight over to her for a special presentation.”
Shawnee froze when an actual spotlight trained on her. Oh God. So many people. And cameras. Her heart started scrabbling around in her chest like a frantic rat. What had possessed her…
Brady reached over and tugged the reins away out of her fist. Everyone was staring. Waiting. She had no choice. She got off her horse. Then she turned to Cole and said, “Come down here.”
He frowned at her, suspicious. “Why?”
“Get off your damn horse, Cole.”
He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind—which was a fairly accurate assessment—huffed out an exasperated breath, and stepped off his horse. Shawnee grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding Hammer’s reins, sank down on one knee, and tilted her head back to look way, way up at him as a murmur rippled through the crowd, slowly swelling to a roar. Above the bucking chutes, the massive video screen flashed: Marry me, Cole.
Cole looked as if he’d swallowed a thistle. “Did you have to?”
“Hey, if I wait around for you to calculate the exact right time and place, we’ll be honeymooning in a nursing home.” She pushed her mouth into a smile that felt like it might crack down the middle. “So? What’s it gonna be? Do I get to spend the rest of my life being your for worse?”
Tougher in Texas Page 32