Rodeo Ashes

by Vannatter, Shannon Taylor;

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-1-62029-047-7

  Copyright © 2012 by Shannon Taylor Vannatter. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Heartsong Presents, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  one

  “How did I fall for this?” Lacie Gentry squeezed the steering wheel of her parked SUV until her fingers went numb. “Because I’m the biggest idiot in Texas. And to top things off—I’m talking to myself.”

  Movement at the curb in front of her car, and strains of a cry-in-your-beer country song twanged out the open bar door. Please let it be her friends, ready to head home. She looked up into the leer of a man.

  Oh goodness, what if he comes over here? Without taking her eyes off him, she found the lock button. The loud click broke the spell, and he turned away.

  Her breath released in a huff.

  She couldn’t stay here like a sitting duck, waiting for some carjacker. Or worse. She’d never heard of anything good happening inside or outside a bar. Maybe she could go somewhere else and wait. But if she did, how would her friends find her when they got done with whatever they were doing in there?

  She waited until the man drove away, scanned the Fort Worth parking lot three times, unlocked the door, and bolted to the bar. The August night air hadn’t cooled one iota, but a chill moved through her.

  Safer inside or out? At least there were witnesses inside. She scurried into the bar as if wolves waited in the shadows.

  But the wolves were inside.

  A dishwater-blond man swaggered over to her. “Hey beautiful, I lost my phone number. Can I borrow yours?”

  She sidestepped him and searched for a quiet corner.

  One of her friends had plastered herself against a man in a booth. Big-time public display of affection. Lacie averted her eyes and spotted a corner. She hurried to the table.

  No one notice me. No one notice me. No one notice me.

  She scanned the bar for her other friend. There on the dance floor with a man—if you could call that dancing. Lacie’s hand flew to her heart. What had she been thinking, getting in the car with these two? That they were grown women with sense and decency now? Wrong.

  A painfully skinny man stumbled in her direction. She looked down at the table in front of her.

  “Hey baby, I hope you know CPR, ’cause you take my breath away!” He leaned close enough for her to smell the liquor on his breath.

  “Excuse me.” She inched past him, searching frantically for an escape.

  A neon sign proclaimed Gals, and she ran for the safety of the ladies’ room.

  The door swung closed, and she surveyed the dingy bathroom.

  A denim-clad woman swayed to the country music as she stood at the sink applying lipstick. She missed her mouth, giggled, and tried again.

  Lacie found a clean, empty stall. Lord, if You’ll get me out of here safely, I’ll never be so stupid again. She dug her cell phone from her pocket.

  She couldn’t call her sister. Star would tell Mama. And Mama had told her never, ever, ever step foot in a bar. She never had. Until now. Twenty-seven years old and her first time in a bar.

  She grabbed a wad of toilet paper, shut the toilet lid, covered it with three paper liners, and then sat.

  Call Rayna and Clay? Lacie would never hear the end of it. Her friends already thought her too trusting and naive. They didn’t need any more ammo to convince her to move.

  No choice. Just wait it out. Besides, even though Marcy and Geena hadn’t acted as friends, Lacie couldn’t leave them here without a ride home.

  Rayna and Clay would ask questions if she came in really late, but she’d come up with something, and Max was fine with them.

  Half the time she still thought of her son as Little Mel, even though she’d changed his nickname to Max over a year ago.

  The door opened, followed by a moan. High-heel-clad feet stumbled to the stall next to Lacie. Heaving and splashing liquid. A foul odor emanated.

  Lacie’s stomach lurched. Covering her nose and mouth with one hand, she wrenched the door open and bolted for the exit.

  She ran into something solid then stepped back away from the wobbly man. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “That’s all right, darlin’. Can you give me directions?”

  “To where?”

  “To your heart.”

  Lacie rolled her eyes and blew out a big breath. Hmm. . .drunk guy or hurling woman in the bathroom?

  “Here’s your Coke, sweetheart.” A man’s deep voice, over her right shoulder. A calloused hand clamped on her elbow. “I found us a table right over here.”

  She spun around to give him a piece of her mind and met celery-colored eyes from her past. Quinn Remington.

  “Sorry man”—the drunk splayed both hands up in the air—“I didn’t know she was with someone.” Then he slunk away.

  Quinn tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and steered her to an empty booth.

  Sweetheart? They’d gone to high school together but never come close to dating. And she hadn’t seen him since graduation. They definitely weren’t on sweetheart terms, much less touching terms.

  Besides, she was a widow. She pulled her arm away from him.

  “Relax, Lacie. I’m not making any moves, just trying to rescue you. Unless you’re interested in that guy.”

  “Oh. Definitely not.” Heat warmed her face. “Thank you.”

  “I get the feeling you’re not exactly comfortable here.”

  She scrambled to the safety of the booth he’d found for her. “I’ve never. . .never been in a bar before.”

  Quinn slid in on the vinyl seat across from her. His black coffee-colored hair contrasted with his pale eyes.

  His eyebrows rose. “Never?”

  “Well I’ve been to restaurants with bars in them, but never to a plain ol’ bar before.”

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  As far as she knew, he’d never done the party scene in high school and hadn’t been a drinker. She’d never pegged him as the type to hang out in a bar. But his eyes were different than she remembered. Haunted, as if pain dwelt there. “If you don’t like bars, then why are you here?”

  “Looking for one of my ranch hands.”

  Her parched lips longed to taste her cola, but what else was in it? Not that she didn’t trust Quinn, but he might think mixed drinks were the norm. “Is he here?”

  “Not so far.” He scanned the crowd. “He’s a great guy, a hard worker, but an alcoholic who hasn’t admitted he has a problem yet. He told me he went to one AA meeting, and I agreed to be his accountability partner.”

  “That’s sad, but it’s good of you to try to help him. Any-body else would’ve probably fired him.”

  “The other hands probably wish I would. When he doesn’t show, it makes their load tougher. Everyone else has given up on him—his wife, his folks. But I know he’s better than this. I keep hoping my support will somehow see him through. ” His gaze landed on her. “Why’d you pick tonight to hit your first bar?”

  She rolled her eyes. “A couple of old high school friends are in town for a wedding. I thought we were going
to the steakhouse down the street, but they piled out of my car and came here.”

  “I saw you come in a while after Geena Woods and Marcy Smithson.”

  She nodded. “I was afraid to sit in the car by myself. I think I got tricked into being their designated driver for the night.”

  “You never did fit in with them.” Quinn’s gaze cut to the PDA in the booth across the bar. He winced.

  A slow song urged more couples to the dance floor. Cowboy boots scuffed and shuffled. A few of the dancers could barely stand, much less keep their rhythm.

  “They were always wilder than me, tried to get me to go to parties. I thought surely they’d settled down and it was safe to go to dinner with them. Not.” She sighed. “My whole family always ribs me about being gullible.” She bit her lip. “If you see any of them, could you not mention this?”

  “I don’t go home much these days.” He sipped his drink. “How is Star?”

  “Married a jerk. She’s divorced and lives in Denton now.” Moved there to be closer to me and wants me to move in with her. Like everybody else. “So where is your ranch?”

  “In a little town called Aubrey.”

  “You’re kidding. I live in Aubrey.”

  The music sped to a faster beat, and the less-lit couples formed into a synchronized line dance.

  “Small world. What have you been up to for the last ten years?” He scanned her left hand. “I know you got married. Any kids?”

  Something sharp jabbed her heart, like it always did when people asked. She twisted her wedding rings. “I’m a widow.”

  “I’m sorry.” His features pinched, as if he felt her pain. His hand moved toward hers but stopped a few inches away.

  “Yeah. Me, too. But I have a little boy.” That part always warmed her heart. Her life’s joy. “How about you?”

  “No kids. Never married. I guess I’ve been working too hard to take the time.”

  “What keeps you so busy?”

  He cleared his throat. “Raising quarter horses. What do you say we get out of this place and get that bite to eat?”

  “I can’t leave them here—much as I’d like to. They deserve it, but I can’t.”

  “Just to the steakhouse on the next block. You can tell them where we’re going, and then I’ll escort you safely back.”

  She glanced around the bar and located her two friends. Since Geena and Marcy were still occupied, why not? “Sounds great.”

  ❧

  “From the looks of things back there, I don’t think your friends will miss you.” Quinn pulled a chair for her in the restaurant.

  Lacie visibly relaxed, obviously more comfortable with her surroundings, as he claimed the seat across from her. She propped her elbow on the table, chin in her hand, and concentrated on the menu.

  Country music twanged. Loud conversation and the clink of silverware surrounded them. He’d like to take her somewhere quiet, someplace with a dance floor. What he wouldn’t give to Texas Two Step with Lacie Maxwell.

  “What can I get you to drink?” The waitress shot him a flirty smile and never even looked at Lacie.

  Lacie didn’t seem to notice. “Unsweet tea, please.”

  “That’s downright un-Texan. I’ll take sweet.”

  Jaw-dropping gorgeous packed in a tiny stick of dynamite. He’d always admired her pint-sized beauty from afar. Miss popularity—from homecoming queen to rodeo queen. Practically engaged to someone else when they met, she’d barely known he existed. He’d wished many a time he’d met her first.

  Time had only added to her beauty. Her blond hair was straighter, softer, not as big as it used to be. But she still loved rhinestones. They lined her jacket and jean pockets, adding to her natural sparkle.

  Her menu lowered.

  Caught red-handed staring at her. Busted. “How’d you end up in Aubrey?”

  A sigh bigger than her huffed out. “Mel was from Wichita, Kansas, and always wanted to live in the country, so we found something ‘small town’ in the middle.”

  Mel? The name twisted in his gut.

  “Now I’m at a crossroads. My landlord sold my house. I have to be out by the end of next month.”

  But he’d just found her again. “You going home?”

  “I don’t know.” Her menu rose and he couldn’t see her anymore. “My parents think my little boy needs to be closer to family, and Star wants me to move in with her. My friend owns a dude ranch in Aubrey and wants me to move into the suite at his ranch house.”

  Was the friend trying to worm his way into her heart? Or had he already? How long since her husband’s death?

  “I’ll admit Aubrey hasn’t been the same since—” Raw pain cut off her words.

  Gently, Quinn pushed her menu down until he could see her face. “What do you want?”

  Her eyes got shinier. “Nobody’s asked me that in a while. I want. . .my life to be the way it used to be.” She blinked several times. “But it’s not going to happen, so I want to do what’s best for my son. Trouble is, I’m not sure what that is. I’ve been praying about it.”

  The waitress brought the teas and waited to take their orders. He made a point not to look at her—courteous, but not interested in anyone other than Lacie.

  Lacie added two yellow packets and downed nearly her whole glass. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I am.”

  “I can see that.” He grinned. “Why didn’t you drink the Coke I got you at the bar?”

  Pink tinged her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure what else was in it, and I don’t drink. Period.”

  “Me neither. I can assure you, it was just Coke.”

  “Oh well, Coke isn’t as thirst-quenching anyway. It burns all the way down.”

  “True. But bars don’t generally have tea.” He took a long drink, letting the sweet coldness bathe his dry throat.

  His gaze settled on Lacie, and he fell under the spell she’d cast on him almost ten years ago.

  After all these years, he’d caught up with her again. But she’d probably be moving soon. Unless. . .was her friend the new man in her picture? Her reason for staying in Aubrey? Or maybe a career? He liked that thought better. “Do you work?”

  Her pretty blue eyes squeezed shut. “No, Mel left me in pretty good shape with life insurance. And we had a nest egg.”

  Something twisted in his belly. “You shouldn’t tell just anybody that. There are losers all over the place looking for widows with funds to take advantage of.”

  “But you’re not just anybody. You’re Quinn Remington. Good ol’ boy from San Antone.”

  Bile coated the back of his throat as a familiar wave washed over him. He used to be. Until he’d killed a man. He swallowed hard, pushing the guilt down, and forced a smile. “Did you work before your son was born?”

  “I taught kids how to ride horses at my friend’s ranch.”

  “I bet you were great.”

  “It was fun.” Her eyes sparkled. “How did you get into raising quarter horses? Didn’t you want to raise rodeo stock and such?”

  His heart withered inside him. That dream took a wreck of a u-turn. “I decided on something tamer.”

  “If you just came to Aubrey and you haven’t been home in a while, what about in-between?”

  If only he could redo the in-between. “I had a ranch in the Southlake area.”

  “Wow, that’s an expensive area. You’ve done well for yourself.”

  He couldn’t get into his past. Had to steer her away. “Do you still barrel race?”

  “Not for about five years.”

  “But you were so good, and you loved it. The prettiest rodeo queen of ’em all.”

  Her face reddened. “Mel’s career required a lot of travel. For the last few years, I supported him—didn’t have time for barrels. And since my son came, I have even less time.”

  “What kind of career did your husband have?”

  Her throat convulsed. “Rodeo. At the pro level.”

  Wished he hadn’t asked. “If y
ou decide to stay in Aubrey, I could use a horse trainer at my ranch. I’ve got a guy who teaches adults to ride, but he’s kind of gruff with kids. You could teach our future barrel racers.”

  Her eyes lit up. “I don’t know. I’d love to get back into teaching kids. But I don’t want to take time away from my son.”

  “Maybe part time?”

  “Maybe.”

  “How old is your son?”

  “He turned two in April.” She sparkled. The boy was obviously her reason to live. “He’s with my friends tonight.” She checked her watch. “Hopefully in bed by now.”

  “How long since your husband. . . ? Never mind. Shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Almost two and half years.” Her voice, barely a whisper.

  If her boy turned two four months ago, she’d been pregnant when her husband died. Bore their son alone. Raising him alone. “I’m really sorry. Must’ve been a hard row to hoe.”

  “I got Max to remember him by.” She smiled. Genuine. “And he’s so much like his daddy. We gave him my maiden name, Maxwell. I used to call him Little Mel, but a sensible friend sat me down and said, ‘Now Lacie’ ”—she deepened her voice—“ ‘He won’t always be little. I know it’s your way of honoring Mel, naming his boy after him, but the boy needs his own name.’ So Little Mel became Max.”

  Her sensible friend was a man. The friend who wanted her to move into his ranch house? How good of a friend?

  The server brought their food on a huge tray. Her steak was almost as big as his. Where would she put it?

  Quinn unrolled his silverware from the cloth napkin.

  “Ahem.”

  He met her gaze.

  “Aren’t you going to pray?”

  He swallowed hard. Hadn’t done that in a few years. “You go ahead.”

  “Thank You, Lord, for this food. For all the blessings You heap on us.”

  Blessings? Lacie’s husband died, leaving her to raise her son alone. Where was the blessing in that?

  “Help Geena and Marcy to realize they’re not really living and to make better decisions in the future. Help them see something in me that leads them to You. Be with Quinn’s ranch hand, too. Give him strength to stop drinking. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  A dull ache hollowed out in his chest. He used to pray like that. Quinn cut his steak in silence, while she tore into hers. Big appetite for such a little thing.