by Evie Nichole
“It was just weird.” Met shook his head. “You have to understand what the family was like. And then you have to understand how adding Jesse shook stuff up. I had always been my mother’s favorite.” He frowned. He really didn’t like talking about this. It made him feel ashamed. “Suddenly my mom had a girl around and I went from being her constant favorite to being just another one of those rowdy Hernandez boys.”
“That would suck.” She sighed and reached over gently to pat his hand. The gentle touch seared him so deeply that he almost missed her next comment. “I was an only child. And let me tell you, that was far worse.”
“I can’t even imagine it.” In fact, the idea was a complete blank to Met. He’d had brothers around since he was born. “Although it might have been nice to be compared to nobody but myself.”
“Trust me,” Daphne grumbled. “My mother compared me to just about anyone and anything she thought her daughter should have been like. She wanted a ballet dancing, cartwheel turning, tumbling, gymnastic beauty queen.”
“Shit,” Met grunted. “There’s nobody who could measure up to that!”
“No doubt.” She was bobbing her head. “I played softball, volleyball, and even went to college on a soccer scholarship, and it’s still not enough for her. She calls me now just to tell me how successful her friends’ daughters are and to ask me when I’m going to hurry up with this ridiculous career nonsense and settle down to raise a family.”
“That’s harsh!” Met pulled his truck up in front of the bunkhouse. He shut off the engine and wondered when her magazine crew was going to get here, or if Cal had already murdered them and buried them on the property somewhere.
“That’s okay,” she murmured. “My mother probably would have liked Justin. So, that tells you what I think of her and her opinions.”
Met wasn’t buying it for one second. If she truly didn’t care, she wouldn’t have brought it up to begin with. It would have been dead and gone and long buried. Nope. She cared. She wanted validation, just like he did. They were peas in a pod on that subject at least.
“Okay.” Met nodded his head at Daphne. “Let me get out first. Then you get out nice and slow.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m pretty sure my brother Cal is around here somewhere.” Met got out of the truck. “It’s been years, but he’ll at least recognize me.”
He heard Daphne climb out of the vehicle, and then he finally heard the sound of boots on a wood front porch. There was a click. Cal was apparently not in a good mood because the first thing Met noticed was the shotgun his brother was cradling in his arms.
“How’s it going, Calvin?” Met called out.
Cal clomped down the three stairs leading from the bunkhouse to the gravel parking lot. The rowels of his spurs were dragging on the ground as though he hadn’t had a chance to take them off yet. “I’m pretty good, and yourself?”
“Oh, you know. Just another day. And this is Ms. Daphne Evans. She works for that PR firm Dad hired a few years back.” Met waved his hand in the air. “Apparently we’re having a photo shoot out here. Dad wants us to improve the image of the ranch and the company so we get that contract.”
Cal shook his head. “Dad is a moron. What good does he think it’ll do to have you pose with a few horses? Will that somehow wipe out the fact that Paul Weatherby is painting us to be some old-time horse and cattle thieves?”
“You know how it goes.” Met shrugged. He could see a plume of dirt billowing into the air as Daphne’s writer and photographer arrived on the scene. “I just do what I’m told.”
“Funny thing is that I don’t recall you ever being very good at that, Met,” Cal drawled.
“Can you just pull a few horses out and maybe stick a bull in the pen?” Met growled. “Please? Just help me out for once, big brother. All right?”
“Fine.” Cal flipped the shotgun end over end and then set it up against the porch railing. “I’ll meet you in the yard in ten.”
Daphne was edging closer to Met as she watched wide-eyed while Cal stalked off across the yard. “He’s just super warm and fuzzy. Isn’t he?”
“He was abused as a child,” Met said flippantly. “We all were. But now Cal has taken it to a whole new level. He’s a recluse. He doesn’t talk to anyone but Jesse. It’s all very dysfunctional and pretty much insane.”
Daphne’s slender hands wound their way around his arm. She rested them in the crook of his elbow. “I’m really sorry I set this up without asking. I had no idea it would be such a big deal.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” For some reason, it was really important to him that she not feel badly about herself. He cupped her cheek and gently ran his thumb along her full lower lip.
She was just so beautiful. There was nothing in her full, bright dark eyes to suggest malice or ill intent. She looked troubled and maybe even sorry. Her cheeks were full, and her nose was adorable. She had those freckles and that outdoor look that made him think of health and happiness. She deserved a dozen or more reasons to smile.
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered. He knew this was probably not the time. No. It was definitely not the time. But it was how he felt, and he was tired of pretending otherwise.
“You could kiss me just a little,” she suggested. The tip of her tongue gently brushed over her full pink lips.
It was an irresistible invitation. He could not even pretend to himself that he did not want this. Leaning down, he captured her lips in the softest kiss he could envision. Self-control. It was all about self-control and trying to remember that this woman was more important than some fling he’d met in a bar.
He cupped her face in his hands. Her cheeks were round and soft. He could hear her little exhaled breaths and knew that she was affected just as much as he was by what was happening. Her lips parted. Her tongue darted out to brush so hesitantly against his. It felt as though she was tasting him, experimenting, and finding him to her liking as she grew bolder and bolder.
She wound her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. The tug of hair at the base of his neck was strangely erotic. She sifted her fingertips through that hair and then scored his scalp with her nails. He groaned and felt her press herself even tighter against him.
He wrapped her in his embrace and held her as close as he dared. She smelled so damn good, like flowers and honey, and something else so feminine that he could only dream of tasting that sweetness in a deeper and more intimate way. He moved his mouth against hers and plunged his tongue deeper inside her. She moaned, and he made love to her in the only way available to him in this moment. For now it was enough. Just the physical contact was enough. The feel of her in his arms, the sound of her breathing, and the taste of her kisses were something perfect he did not want to let go of.
“Well, now. I think I could take a photograph of that if you’re looking to steam up the cover of a magazine.”
The slightly nasally and fully sarcastic words came from a man standing just to their right. Met ended the kiss but did not step away from Daphne’s side. He had apparently missed the approach of a large SUV that now sat parked beside Met’s truck. The black vehicle was covered in a thin layer of dust that appeared to be the only form of dirt that had ever graced that paint job.
Daphne cleared her throat. She was still holding tightly to his side as though she were afraid her knees would give out, but she was trying to make herself look composed. Met wished he could just tell her out loud that she looked perfect and always would no matter what the circumstances.
“Ahem,” Daphne tried again. “Demetrio Hernandez, may I introduce Carson Phillips?” Daphne pointed to the cynical man in the designer cowboy gear. He looked as though he had just stopped by the outfitters store before heading out here.
Met forced himself to give a nod. “Nice to meet you, Carson. Daphne tells me you’re the only chance I have of looking respectable.”
“Oh, honey,” Carson snorted. “I’m not a miracle worker.
But I think we can at least make everyone want you, which should have the desired affect anyway.”
Met heard Cal approach with a horse in tow. Turning to see what animals Cal had chosen for the photo layout, Met nearly choked on his tongue. Widowmaker. Either Cal had no idea what had happened during Met’s last ride, or he had a sick and twisted sense of humor. Met was rather prone to thinking it was the second option of the two.
“Oh my!” Carson gushed. “What a gorgeous horse. Can we saddle him up or something? Saddles make fantastic props.”
Met managed not to snicker as his brother sighed and tied the horse to the split rail hitching post in front of the bunkhouse. “I can go get you a saddle if you want one sitting around, but you’d best not try and put it on this horse.”
“Huh?” Carson looked very confused.
Met started to answer, but Daphne beat him to it. “Carson, they raise rodeo stock. That’s what this article should be about. Met is a former pro rodeo rider. I’m going to guess that this is a bucking horse, not a riding horse.”
“You would be correct,” Met confirmed. And he even managed not to laugh or cry. It was certainly a good beginning for any news story on a rodeo man.
Chapter Thirteen
“So, why did you quit rodeo?” Carson was pestering Met with questions while snapping photos at an alarming rate.
Daphne could not decide what made this so much different than every other photo shoot/interview she had attended or sat in on. For some reason, every single time Carson asked Met a question, Daphne had to stop herself from rushing to either answer or to tell Carson to mind his own business. She was taking this far too seriously.
With that in mind, she turned her back on the whole process and folded her arms over her chest. She was still wearing the black slacks, dark blue blouse, and black-and-white blazer that she had worn to work this morning. For some reason, she felt far more overdressed than the situation merited. Yes. They were on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, but she was still working.
“So, you’re the one my father hired to make us look good, hmm?” Calvin Hernandez appeared beside her quite suddenly. At least he’d left the weapon on the porch of the bunkhouse.
She sighed and tried to find a way to explain all of this to a man like Cal. That was when she realized she didn’t know enough about Cal to determine what kind of man he was or what sort of answer he required.
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Daphne allowed. She didn’t want to be rude to the guy, but he was extremely gruff and kind of scary looking. “Laredo just asked that we smile for the camera and try to make people see that the Hernandez family doesn’t have some hidden agenda to push. You know, eating babies and stealing cows or whatnot from every family in the state.” She used a deliberately blasé tone just to see what he’d say.
It was a bit surprising when he laughed. Somehow when Calvin Hernandez laughed, he looked more like his brothers, specifically Met. Met had that irresistible charm and a certain zest for life that so many people in the world just lacked. Apparently, that sort of charm ran in the family—when it chose to.
“We do seem to have some problems lately,” Cal allowed. Then he rested his back against a porch post and folded his arms over his chest. “It must be pretty damn bad if it got Met to come back out here to the old home place though.”
“Why do you say that?” Daphne decided playing dumb right here was her best bet to find out as much as she could without being obvious about her desire to pry into Met’s past.
“My baby brother hasn’t been back out here since he was seventeen,” Cal mused. He looked thoughtful. His face was more lined and weathered from being outside. It was also obvious that he was older, but the man couldn’t have even been thirty yet. Still, he looked like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. “Met saw something he didn’t like and left out of here like an angry coyote with a thorn in his paw.”
“What did he see?”
Cal’s blue gaze slid over to rest on Daphne. “If he didn’t tell you, then it’s not my place to say.” Cal stared at her for so long that Daphne had to forcibly quell the urge to squirm and look away. Finally, the man sighed and gazed off to where Met was very studiously trying to ignore the horse, who was just as studiously trying to get Met’s attention by nudging him and wanting to be scratched.
“He’s a really beautiful horse,” Daphne said, effectively changing the subject. “Do you ever think about turning your rodeo stock into everyday riding horses?”
“Some of them just don’t want to buck.” Cal jerked his chin toward the horse. “That one happens to enjoy his job. You wouldn’t last a minute in the saddle with old Widowmaker. And I wouldn’t ever trust him as far as I could throw him. He can be an ornery cuss.”
“Widowmaker?”
“Haven’t you ever heard the tall tales of Pecos Bill?” Cal was smiling now. It was more than a little disconcerting. “He rode a horse named Widowmaker.”
“I see.”
“The tale goes that he met a beautiful girl named Sue. And before she would agree to marry him, she wanted to ride his horse. But Widowmaker didn’t like her, and he bucked her off so hard that she went to the moon and was never seen again.” Cal was actually nodding as he spoke, as though he believed this nonsense.
Daphne could not resist. She looked up and pointed at him. “Tell me you don’t believe that nonsense.”
“No ma’am, I don’t.” He laughed. Then he gestured to the horse. “But I do believe that our Widowmaker may actually have a chance of being voted onto the PRCA national rodeo finals stock list this year. That’s why he’s here at home for a few weeks. We’re resting him up. I want him good and sharp for his next gig.”
“Oh.” Daphne looked at the horse. He was beautiful, but she didn’t really know anything about horses, so she was just judging him based on his pretty black color and his thick, luxurious mane and tail. “What makes him good at his job?”
“Look at how solid he is.” Cal’s tone was admiring but also very patient and almost teacher like. “He’s got a big deep chest for a huge pair of lungs. His body is nice and square. His back isn’t too long. He’s got powerful haunches, and his muscle tone pretty much all over his body is prime. He’s only seven, so he’s in his prime as a working horse. His legs are nice and thick with hooves plenty large enough to carry around his weight. Plus, he’s built uphill. That means the front end sits just a tad higher than the back end. It means he can get his haunches underneath him for a really powerful kick out.”
“Kick out?” She was confused. “What is the kicking about?”
“You ever seen a horse buck?”
“Not really.” In fact, the only horses that Daphne had ever really been around had been at those rental places where you certainly didn’t want them to be bucking at all. And of course, the animals were less than motivated to walk, much less to buck.
“Once the animal gets into a good rhythm, he pretty much propels himself into the air with his front feet so that he can kick out with his hind feet. The straighter the hind legs when they kick out, the better the rhythm and the better the score,” Cal explained patiently. “But where my Widowmaker there can do a sweet rhythm that will get a cowboy a big score, that means that they have to get past his explosion out of the gate.” Cal gave a low whistle. “Let me tell you, I’ve never seen a horse bust out of a chute like that one. He jumps up on his hind legs, waves his front legs around, and dances for a few steps before those front legs hit the ground like a pile driver.”
Daphne was trying to imagine this huge creature on its hind legs like a giant-sized dancer and could not begin to picture it. “That has to hurt.”
Cal snorted. “Ask Met. That’s where Widowmaker got him.”
“This horse bucked Met off?” Daphne swung around to gape at Cal. “He put Met in the dirt and stomped on him, and you just walked him out of the pen like nothing had happened?”
For just a moment, she considered Cal one of the
meanest, most small-minded people she’d ever come across. And then she really looked into his expression. There was compassion and worry in his eyes. It was there on his face for her to see.
Cal’s deep sigh seemed to have the weight of the world behind it. “My brother has to get over Widowmaker, Daphne. It’s just a horse. He’s built that gelding up in his mind to be some specter or some kind of Godzilla-like monster. It’s just a horse. And yes. It was a very bad fall. That horse put his foot right in the middle of Met’s back. It doesn’t happen often, but when Met fell off, he yanked the horse’s face sideways with the rope. Widowmaker had to step somewhere to avoid planting his face in the arena fence.”
“That’s awful,” Daphne whispered. “I don’t know what to think about this sport and these animals and what they do and what people do and—people are just insane, you know?”
Cal chuckled. “You don’t see me out there riding broncs in competition.”
“Do you ride them here at home?” Daphne was suddenly very curious about this older brother that nobody saw or talked to anymore.
“I used to,” Cal admitted. “I hire a whole slew of younger guys for that now because the point is for them to hit the dirt.”
“The point?” Daphne thought that was the stupidest thing ever. “Why would you want a horse to buck someone off?”
“To give him confidence.” Cal shrugged. “It’s the same as hoping a cowboy will stay in the saddle. The more times you stay in the saddle and ride out those bucks, the more confidence you get and the more that horse knows he can’t get rid of you so why try.”
“Oh!” Daphne covered her hands with her mouth. “It’s just different sides of the same coin. They’re both athletes who have to be confident that they can win.”
“Exactly.” Cal chuckled. “You’re not bad at this stuff, you know, reasoning it out? You’d be surprised how many people feel too sorry for the poor little horsies that they forget these animals enjoy throwing people sky high and listening to them hit the dirt.”