“She was a freshman. I was a senior. What was the point of getting involved?”
“So your big answer to the problem was to tell her to fuck off?”
The Mossbachers’ dog barked wildly, mock-charging them from the safety of its lawn. Mason silently defied it to bite him. “Okay, so it was driving me crazy being around her,” he said. “All I thought about was getting her naked. But her dad would’ve killed me if I’d slept with her and left town. So I went with the sure thing, which was Kayla.”
“Classy,” Jasper said. “You’re a real prince of a guy.”
Without breaking stride, Mason punched him in the ribs.
“You ever date a woman with a kid, Hannigan?” Jasper asked him.
“Sure. That Brazilian actress, the one last year? You remember.”
“The one with the—?” Jasper crooked his arms in front of his chest to indicate a sizable pair of boobs.
“Is that all you notice about women?”
“Not everything. But you never met her kid, did you?”
Mason shook his head.
“Then you ain’t never dated a woman with kids before, fool. And having a kid changes the way a woman does things.” Jasper blew out a breath as he tried to talk and run at the same time. He may not have been able to write a book report on Shakespeare’s sonnets, but he had more heart smarts than anyone Mason knew. He trusted Jasper’s opinion on women as much as he trusted Jasper to hold the offensive line. So he gave some careful thought to what Jasper was telling him.
“I get that,” Mason said. “But you got to admit Lexie’s a sweet kid. She’s dyslexic, you know, like you.”
Jasper did a solidarity fist punch in the air. “Atta girl. Team D!”
Mason waved to Mrs. Gonzalez, whose husband Paul used to be the band director at Cuervo High. She waved back, cigarette dangling, while prying what looked like a week’s worth of mail out of her mailbox. And there was Artie Van der Kamp in the yard next door, knee-deep in mulch, tending to his prize rose bushes. A rotating sprinkler head chugged water on the other side of his lawn.
“You gotta know what you want,” Jasper said, “What you’re looking for, before you date a woman with kids. Especially a woman you dicked over before. Don’t waste her time. And don’t mess with her head.”
Mason knew exactly what he wanted. The truth was, he’d never slept around as much as he could have—or maybe even as much as he would have. A revolving turnstile of women became its own addiction. It ruined you for having a long-term relationship later on. He firmly believed that. He’d seen plenty of examples in the NFL, players who just couldn’t do the whole monogamy thing and then derailed good relationships because all their energy went into hunting new tail. What he wanted was somebody real and trustworthy and solid, somebody he could count on whether he’d been sidelined for half a season with a torn hamstring, traded to a franchise halfway across the country, or riding the crest of a money wave.
“Hello?” Jasper said. “Did I lose you? Gotta keep up here, Hannigan. This is serious shit.”
“Look, all I know is me and Cassidy and Lexie are going to the rodeo tonight,” Mason said. “And it’s going to be epic. I hear what you’re saying, but how will I know if Cassidy’s as great as I think she is if I don’t date her?”
All at once, everyone’s cell phone chimed, a kind of pre-programmed bat signal from Coach Lemery at the Dallas Lone Stars. It almost always meant an end to whatever fun a guy might be having—an emergency meeting or a last-minute practice to go over changes made to the playbook.
Mason stopped to read the text. Brian, Temple, and Jasper, jogging in place, waited for him to report. No one looked happy.
“Ah, shit,” Mason said. “Mandatory meeting tomorrow, Sunday. Seven-thirty sharp.”
Jasper threw his hands in the air. “I knew it! Coach Lemery, you suck.”
Brian said, frowning, “It’s a three hour drive back to Dallas. That means we’re going to have to leave here pretty soon.”
“Soon, my ass.” Temple stopped jogging to stretch his back and then, one at a time, his triceps. “We’d better head back to the Cattle Rancher and start packing up now.”
Leave? Mason’s heart sank. He reached up to rub the back of his neck, sick with disappointment.
What the hell was he going to tell Cassidy?
Chapter Seven
Mason stood looking at his car. Even though the sun was setting, he could see his own mournful reflection in the gleaming blue paint. After all, it was fifty-to-one he would ever see the car again in one piece.
Jasper, Brian and Temple stood looking at it, too.
“Bro,” Jasper said. “Tell me you’re not actually worried about me driving your car back to Dallas.”
Mason surrendered the keys into Jasper’s outstretched hand. “Just try to keep all four tires on the road, okay?”
“Fuck, yeah.” With a smile of diabolical glee, Jasper opened the driver’s side door, dropped into the seat and then stabbed the ignition with the key. The car roared to life like the gorgeous piece of German engineering that it was, and Mason hastened to remind himself that he was heavily insured.
“Coach Winston is going to drive me to Victoria Regional so I can catch the redeye back to Dallas,” Mason said. “I’ll see you assholes tomorrow morning, bright and early.”
“On no sleep,” Temple reminded him. “All I can say is that must be some prime pussy you’re—”
Almost-married Brian shoved Temple into the car. “Guy’s got a big mouth,” he said. “Listen, go have fun with your girl. And don’t worry. We’ve got this handled.”
“Thanks, man.” Mason tapped the hood twice by way of saying goodbye. There were some first-rate body shops in Dallas. If Jasper didn’t wreck the suspension or fry the wiring harness, Mason figured that maybe all it would cost him was a rate hike on his insurance and a new set of tires.
Jasper floored it right up to Cuervo’s first stoplight and then revved the BMW’s engine as though waiting for the starting flag at the Indy 500. When the light turned green, Mason watched him lay down two shrieking rubber tire tracks and bullet toward the far distant highway. As many tickets as Jasper had, it was a wonder they still let him drive.
Feeling weird and naked without his car, Mason started walking the six blocks to the rodeo fairgrounds. Despite his concerns, he knew he’d made the right call. He still had fifteen minutes before meeting Cassidy and Lexie at the ticket booth, so he paced himself, enjoying his trip down memory lane.
There was Connie’s Consignments run by old Mrs. Harris, who always had a bottle of “cough syrup” behind the counter. Was it Tommy Paduski or his brother Jimmy Paduski who’d snuck in there one afternoon while Mrs. Harris helped a nervous bride on with her wedding gown, and swiped it? Mason put his face to the window and cupped one hand over his eyes. Past the expressionless display mannequins, he could see the dingy old register and a thing that looked like a cloth tomato stuck with pins. Same store, same stuff. He pictured Connie Harris, tipsy by noon, blinking owlishly through her glasses.
He paused again in front of the next storefront. “Sweet Dreams” it said in old-fashioned gilt lettering. Was this Maggie’s bakery? With keener interest, he peered inside. The glass display case didn’t have a smudge on it. Pies and frosted cakes and trays full of cookies and brownies made his mouth water. So did the lingering smell of baked bread. There were about six café-style tables, each with a cut-glass vase that held a pink daisy. An Italian-style espresso machine gleamed on a back counter. Impressive, Mason thought before moving on.
This was the land that had bred him and Cassidy, he reflected. To some people, it was a hick burg they couldn’t wait to put in their rearview mirror. To others, it was the taproot of a tree that went deep. But Mason knew what he drew from it. And he couldn’t help but wonder if his parents’ relationship might have lasted if the
y’d stayed here instead of following him to Dallas. If only he’d been paying closer attention when his dad’s new business folded and his mom started staying out late. But he’d been consumed back then with becoming a starting quarterback. It was all late nights and early mornings. No time to staunch the hemorrhage that had been happening inside his own family.
Mason pushed those thoughts aside. What point was there dwelling on the past? There were regrets, sure. But as his sister, Shari, always said, “When you know better, do better.” He had to believe that was possible, especially with Cassidy.
Now he was close enough to breathe in the familiar rodeo smells—the sticky sweetness of cotton candy and fried Oreos, of doughy, cinnamon-scented funnel cakes that were pure nostalgia to his nose. He could smell the danker odor of livestock and hay and maybe something that could have been tanned leather. Top 40 country music boomed from outdoor speakers. When he turned the corner, he was momentarily daunted by the moving sea of cowboy hats, but as he searched for Cassidy, his heart picked up speed.
He zeroed in on her and Lexie standing next to a patrol horse. There was a tingling in his chest he’d never felt before, and for a moment he gave himself over to the pleasure of looking at her. Cassidy had her hands on the horse’s muzzle, stroking it, while Lexie gave it a few timid pats of her own. She seemed so unaware of him, so in her own world, despite the noisy, jostling crowd. He took a savoring breath and made his way toward her, appreciating the way those jeans cupped her ass, the fit of her tight white T-shirt, the country-girl sexiness of her suede cowboy hat. Christ, what I would give just to kiss her, he thought as the tingling in his chest grew warmer.
“Hey, Mr. Mason!” Lexie said.
Cassidy’s hand froze on the horse’s muzzle. When she looked up at him, it felt as though the noise from the midway receded. All he could see was the expression in her blue eyes, equal parts shyness and boldness, and it damn near knocked him off his feet.
“Hi,” she said softly.
Mason ran one hand through his hair. “You look amazing.”
She smiled up at him archly. “Better than my Artie’s uniform?”
“I like that, too, actually. It’s the skates, I think.”
They lapsed into silence. It might have been awkward if he’d actually noticed they weren’t talking, but all he could think was how beautiful she was. An image flashed through Mason’s mind of Jasper howling like a coyote while throwing the car into fifth gear. That’s how he felt right now, the speedometer ticking steadily upward, every system hurtling toward one thing: her.
“Hello?”
Mason blinked. The midway rushed back and brought Lexie with it. She stood, tapping her foot in nine-year-old scowling disapproval.
“Mom!” she said. “Are you going to act gross like that all night? I need to know so I can try not to look.”
* * * *
Cassidy palmed the baseball and considered her target: a pyramid of milk bottles that must have been made out of lead, because so far she hadn’t been able to drop a single one.
The concessionaire, who stood off to one side surrounded by Sponge Bobs, plush bunnies and stuffed Minions, kept up a steady patter, inviting people to try their luck. He either hadn’t recognized Mason or didn’t care, which made her feel more at ease. There’d been no mob scenes at all, in fact. Stares, sure, but no out-of-towners slinking by in sequined cocktail dresses.
Mason leaned in to help her, but she was all too aware of how her body responded to his nearness, to the smell of his aftershave, to the muscles that rippled in the arm he raised to show her where to aim. She wasn’t even sure what he was telling her anymore because the words slid over her like water off a hot skillet. How on earth was she supposed to concentrate when the most gorgeous man in the known universe spoke softly into her ear, so close that she could feel his warm breath?
“You gotta hit it hard, dead center,” he said. “Otherwise, there won’t be enough force to knock the other ones down.”
“But why wouldn’t you go for the ones on the bottom?” Lexie asked, both hands pressed to the counter, clearly eager to learn.
“They expect you to do that,” Mason replied, grinning. “Common sense tells you that the bottom row is your best bet. But if they weight those things the way I think they do, the only way to topple them is to strike it hard in the middle.”
“You can’t argue with a quarterback.” Cassidy felt his breath on her cheek again and shivered. After Lexie’s remark about how she and Mason were embarrassing her, she’d tried being more discreet, but the sheer novelty of going to the rodeo with a date was enough to make her feel as though she’d woken up in somebody else’s life. Cassidy Roby didn’t date, and when she didn’t date, she most definitely didn’t date men like Mason Hannigan. Plus, the midway, with its million lights and booming music and fried dough smells, just made everything seem even more unreal.
Yet here he was, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. His black T-shirt skimmed the muscles of his chest and arms and the six-pack abs she’d only gotten a glimpse of. Who knew that a plain cotton T-shirt, worn by the right man, could throw her internal compass into such a tailspin?
Focus, she told herself. Your daughter’s watching.
“Here comes the cannonball.” She wound up for the pitch, put her hip into it, and bam! All six bottles came tumbling down.
“You did it!” Lexie gave her a high-five and then bounced over to the concessionaire to collect her prize.
“Nice shot,” Mason said. “Gun like that, you should take out a license.”
“I thought you said these games were rigged.”
“They are.” Mason’s dark eyes were on her. She could feel the heat of them all the way down to her toes. “But this time, the odds were in your favor.”
“The odds aren’t usually that kind to me,” she confessed.
“Maybe that’s fixin’ to change.”
He said it lightly, but there was a tone to his voice that made her look up. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the lazy, dangerous look in his eyes or the way he angled his body toward her, as though it was everything he could do to keep from kissing her. The thought made her lips tingle. She felt a little drunk. How was it possible to keep walking around acting normal when all she could think about was touching his smooth hard chest, his warm lips, his soft hair? Maybe it was wrong—sinful, even—to want someone so badly, but not even people’s curious stares had the power to shame her. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from him.
“I was a fool not to come back sooner,” he said. “I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Maybe you were busy being a national hero,” she said.
“I like winning, don’t get me wrong. But there are other things I like, too. Things that are worth waiting for.” His gaze deepened and she went dizzy again, feeling as though this were a different game of chance she played—not with him, but with life. Was life finally ready to deal her a high card or two?
“I picked the unicorn,” Lexie said, sauntering over to present it. “I remember you saying that Aunt April’s birthday was coming up, and you know she loves unicorns.”
Cassidy inspected the stuffed unicorn with its glittery horn and look of perpetual surprise. “We’d better give it a name.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Mason asked Lexie.
“A girl,” Lexie said. “I’m gonna name her Nora.”
Mason frowned, considering, and Cassidy loved him for playing along. “Okay,” he said, “But why not Lexie? That’s a good name, too.”
Lexie wrinkled her freckled nose. “No, it isn’t. People call you ‘Dyslexia,’ especially when you’re me and you can’t read very fast.”
An icy hand closed around Cassidy’s heart the way it always did when someone was cruel to her daughter. “Who calls you that?”
Lexie shrugged. “
I dunno. People.”
“Who?”
“Mom, please don’t make a big deal about it.”
Cassidy studied her daughter’s face, especially the downturned mouth that was clearly at odds with the brave front. But she also forced herself to shut up, knowing she would find a way to get Lexie to tell her later. It was hard not to hate kids who said things like that. If it had been up to her, she would have put them all in detention for a year.
Lexie roamed a few feet ahead while she and Mason trailed behind her, taking in the blinking lights on the Tilt-A-Whirl and the big swinging pendulums of the Hammer. Mason stopped to watch as the gondola paused upside down at the top before hurtling down again, its passengers shrieking in terrified delight.
“I’m too scared to go on the Hammer,” Lexie said, gazing at it raptly.
“Wanna know a secret?” Mason replied. “So am I.”
“No, you’re not.” Lexie grinned up at him. “You’re not scared of anything. Right, Mom?”
“Don’t look at me,” Cassidy said. “I hate those things.”
Mason tugged playfully on Lexie’s braid. “Tell you what. Let’s you and me go ride that thing, just to show everybody that we did it. Deal?”
Cassidy saw Lexie’s eyes practically bug out with excitement, and her heart ached a little to think what her daughter had been missing all these years. Fathers did fun things with daughters that were completely different from what moms considered fun. They had adventures with you and taught you how to hunt for mushrooms and how to throw a baseball so that years later when you were a grown woman at the midway with a man you’d been in love with for most of your life, you could knock down a few unfairly weighted milk bottles and impress everyone, including your own daughter. Lexie didn’t have any of that.
“What if I barf?” Lexie asked Mason excitedly.
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