by Anne Carrole
It was true that negotiations on future contracts had been hampered by the rumors, since the rodeo circuit was a small community. But in just two more months, it would be over, and Prescott would be hers, free and clear. She could endure until she could announce with certainty that Prescott was not for sale, was off the block, was staying in the family for good.
Surprisingly, Ty had thrown himself into running Prescott like it would always be his, and it had been weeks since he’d brought up the prospect of selling. He’d worked every rodeo, like he promised, and he actually seemed to enjoy it. While they both worked on contract negotiations, she had become the front person, building up the relationships with the rodeo committees and managing the crew at the site, while Ty did the backroom stuff, such as drawing up the contracts, working out the logistics, developing the budgets, and setting up the schedule, freeing Harold to concentrate on the breeding program and the quality of the stock for each event. Once the responsibilities had been sorted, Mandy was surprised at how well they worked together. When Ty left, she would miss his contribution. Who was she kidding? She’d miss him.
That knowledge had been creeping up on her for weeks now.
A fly buzzed around her head, and she swatted at the air, hoping the insect would move on.
She liked being married. She liked having someone to share the day with, having someone who cared about her, someone who noticed.
She liked being married to Ty. The fringe benefits were amazing. But he also understood the business, more than she expected from a mere lawyer. She could talk to him about everything and anything, and he was interested, knowledgeable, and helpful. And the crew seemed more accepting of him. He’d even been invited to one of their poker games.
It was all too easy to imagine they were really married. Really running Prescott Rodeo Company together.
He acted married. He’d take her out to dinner on a whim, just to give her a lift after a particularly hard day. When they weren’t on the road, he’d make coffee for them in the evening, and they’d sit together sipping their coffee in the library as they watched some silly show on TV. And almost always, he’d find some excuse to lean over and give her a sweet kiss. That kiss would lead to more kisses, and before the next commercial she’d be gathered in his arms and they’d be helping each other unwind.
A smile crept across her face as she ambled along the gravel path, past the small arena they used for exhibitions, to the horse paddocks and corrals where the bulls were kept. She waved away the horseflies in a vain attempt to keep them from biting her bare arms, since she had on a sleeveless top. There was a mild breeze today, a reprieve from the recent heat that made denims cling to clammy legs.
Life was surprisingly good. And she wanted it to continue, but how was that going to happen? Ty hadn’t said anything about the future. He hadn’t talked about his job, whether his condo had sold or even if it was still on the market.
And she hadn’t asked. She was too afraid of the answers.
Rounding the corner of one of the barns, she shaded her eyes against the sun and focused on the pens holding some of Prescott’s prize bulls. Standing at the corral gate was Ty with a man she didn’t recognize.
Why would a strange man be looking over her premier bull stock? Rodeo committeemen didn’t routinely visit rodeo suppliers. Her stomach did a somersault. What if Ty hadn’t given up on selling Prescott?
She marched toward the two. Watching them appraise her bulls caused an ache deep within her, as if someone had driven a blade into her stomach and was pushing on the heel of the knife, making sure it went in deep.
Engrossed in conversation, neither man noticed her until she was within a yard of them. Then they turned.
The stranger was probably midforties, if the lines on his face were an indicator, handsome in a boy-next-door kind of way, and wearing the denims and plaid shirt that marked him as a rancher—or rodeo supplier.
“Mandy? What are you doing here?” Ty asked. He sounded like she had just caught him up to no good. Her heart sank. Ty wore a black Prescott Rodeo Company T-shirt and a pair of leather chaps over dusty denims, with a cowboy hat covering his thick head of hair. The chaps were something new.
He might look the part of a PRC cowboy, but that was just an illusion. Just like their marriage. Ty was no more part of PRC than the stranger. Not if Ty could sell the company.
“I could ask you the same,” she said. “Hi, I’m Mandy Prescott…Martin.” She thrust out her hand. She still hadn’t gotten used to her full name.
Ty straightened. “My wife. Mandy, this is Cody Lane, livestock director for the AFBR.”
A rush of relief pulsed through her. The AFBR. Not a rodeo contractor. Someone who contracts for rodeos.
She shook his hand, the man’s grip firm and reassuring. “Pleased to meet you.”
As relief subsided, guilt took over. She’d actually thought Ty would sell her company—after all they’d done together these last four months. Only he wasn’t going to sell it. He was working to strengthen it.
“What brings you to Prescott, Mr. Lane?”
“Cody.” The cowboy smiled, showing a pair of fine white teeth. “Ty asked us to come by and take a look a while back, and since I was in Cheyenne at one of the tour stops, I thought I’d swing by.”
“Ty has rounded up some of our finest.”
“I was just giving Cody the rundown on some of these bulls, Mandy, but you know them as well as anyone.” Ty shot her an encouraging smile. Dusty boots, dusty chaps, dusty hat. Her cowboy husband. Just seconds ago, she’d been ready to believe the worst. Now she felt a warm glow suffuse through her. Was this love she’d been feeling lately? Was she falling in love with him?
The thought sparked along some invisible electric wire.
It took a beat before she could shift her gaze to Cody. Hoping the man hadn’t noticed and wondering if Ty had, she began to fill Cody in on each of the bulls, its pedigree, its bucking prowess, its stats, and its idiosyncrasies. As if cued, a few bulls started prancing around their pens, eager to put on a show.
“I wonder if someone’s around who’d be willing to give me a demonstration of these bulls’ abilities,” Cody asked when she’d finished.
“When you called this morning, I started rounding up some of the hands, just in case,” Ty responded. “We can stroll to the exhibition arena, and I’ll have the bulls moved over.”
Why hadn’t he told her someone from the AFBR was coming if he knew this morning? She supposed the important thing was they had an opportunity to showcase Prescott bulls for the AFBR. The fact Ty still operated, on occasion, like a lone wolf, well, that was a small price to pay.
Because if they got the AFBR contract, there could be no reason they’d have to sell, should sell. The fact Ty had pushed for this warmed her in ways that made her want to run into his arms and kiss him silly. But that would have to wait until after Mr. Lane took his leave. Still, she couldn’t keep her heart from floating.
It didn’t take long for the bulls to be shifted to the chutes in the small arena they used for bucking schools. Several cowhands, having heard about the demonstration, had wandered over to participate and watch. Mandy and Cody Lane hung by the back fence where they could get a good view of the action.
One by one the hands took a turn, and the bulls showed off, landing most cowboys in the dirt. Never one to miss a rodeo opportunity, Tucker was one of the last to ride. A bronc rider by trade, it took four seconds before he was unceremoniously dumped. Gratefully, Tucker had on his helmet, a safety measure insisted on by her mother if and when Tucker rode bulls.
One more bull left to ride, and it was the whirling dervish that had pinned her in the parking lot. Straining her neck to see who was getting set to ride him, her stomach lurched to her throat.
Donning Tucker’s helmet, Ty was taking instructions from the hands as he eased his strong chap-clad legs down and around the snorting bull.
Panicked, Mandy was set to run toward the gate and stop
the craziness, when, with a terse nod from Ty, the chute gate opened and Mandy’s throat closed. Eight seconds was an eternity, as any rough-stock rider could attest.
The bull whirled to the right and then jumped, kicking its back legs out. Ty was still on, barely, as the bull switched direction and bucked hard and high. Ty flew through the air like a missile, landing with a thud on the hard ground. Things seemed to move in slow motion as Mandy tried to scramble up the fence. Any thoughts of the bull and the danger it represented had evaporated as soon as she’d heard the thud of Ty’s body hitting the ground. One of the cowboys distracted the bull as Mandy climbed toward the top rail. Her focus was on the heap that was Ty. But she stalled at the top. She saw a leg bend, then a torso lift, and Ty was on his feet. He unbuckled the helmet and swung it off, a big old grin on his dirt-streaked face.
The thin crowd of cowboys hooted and whistled. And that, Mandy realized, was the reason Ty had done it. To show the men he was one of them, that he had the true grit of a cowboy and wasn’t just some interfering suit. It was a lot to risk just to prove a point.
Mandy jumped back off the fence, no longer needing to enter the arena. Instead, she headed for the gate without waiting for Cody. The thump of footsteps behind her said he was following. In seconds she was within arm’s reach of Ty, who was getting congratulatory slaps on the back, while from behind her, Cody heartily declared the bull a contender and the rider not.
“I hung on as long as I could,” Ty said, shaking his head now covered by his Stetson. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t all that long.” The dirt on his clothes couldn’t take the shine off his smile. Damn if she wasn’t proud of him, crazy as he had been for getting on a bull.
“No, but all you thrown riders showcased just how well those bulls move. I’d like to see at least three of those bulls at our next Touring Division event being held in Casper in another two weeks. If they show well in the Touring Division, they’ll eventually graduate to the top AFBR series. That’s serious money,” he said, turning to look directly at Mandy.
She knew just how serious that money was. A good bull team could earn out six figures in the AFBR, even with the steep entry fees. She’d been trying to get on the AFBR’s radar for the last three years. Ty apparently did it with a phone call. And she thought he was selling her out.
It didn’t take long to sort out what bulls Lane wanted. After Cody refused an offer for lunch, saying he had to get on the road, Mandy hung back as Ty walked him to his truck. There was so much she wanted to say to Ty, and little of it she would say. No matter what she was feeling, in two months Ty would be leaving. As they’d agreed. As she had insisted. Baby or no baby.
She took a deep breath as she watched him amble back. He had a slight hitch to his gate.
“You all right?” she asked as he drew near.
He smiled, more of a grimace, as dust kicked up behind him from the departing truck. “Other than being sore as hell?”
She gave a laugh to cover up her relief. “That wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done, or your finest hour, cowboy.”
He stared at her, looking at once sheepish and pleased. “I know. I’ve been practicing on that mechanical bull we have for classes. Thought it was an opportunity to give the real thing a try.”
She took in that news, rolled it around in her mind. This man was full of surprises and contradictions. “But why?”
“I wanted to prove something.”
“To those cowboys?” she asked, startled he would care about anyone else’s opinion.
“No. To myself.” He tipped his hat back, revealing a serious set of dark eyes. “That I’m good enough.”
“For what?”
He shrugged and looked over the fences to the mountains in the distance.
She was touched by the fact that a man like Ty, who always seemed so confident, so in control, would be insecure about anything. She walked to him, sliding her hand down his face in a caress.
His attention was on her now, those dark eyes drilling into her, asking her some silent question she couldn’t quite decipher, but which she knew was important to him.
“I’ve never felt like I’m good enough.”
Mandy touched his arm. “Believe me, you’re good enough, cowboy. You don’t have to prove it to anyone.” And she meant it. Ty had worked each rodeo alongside the men, alongside her. He pulled long hours in the saddle during an event and even longer hours before and after to assure that Prescott presented the best rodeo for the money.
“Neither do you, Mrs. Martin.”
She kissed him. She meant it to be a sweet, comforting kiss, but the moment their lips touched, it took on a fire-fueled passion. Her arms wrapped around his neck, his hand cupped her chin, and their tongues did a sensual dance, deeper and deeper, more and more until there was no one else, nothing else in the whole universe but the two of them, body pressed to body, mouth devouring mouth.
When they finally broke, he stared at her as if he was searching for the answer to his silent question from before.
“I want to take you back home, strip you naked, and make love to you, Mandy Martin. Make that baby.”
“It will have to wait until tonight. We’ve work to do.”
“Later then. That’s a promise.” He kissed the tip of her nose. She felt like she could dance on air.
* * *
Ty wanted to urge Paddy into a full-out run, but he held back. He could use the time to work out what he was going to say, and riding in companionable silence next to Mandy mounted on Willow would give him that time. It was a bright fall afternoon in Wyoming, and the breeze was cool, the air mild, and the grasses lush.
He had convinced Mandy to take a horseback ride and have a picnic dinner. He had things to discuss. They hadn’t had many chances to ride during the hectic summer season, but now that the circuit had calmed down as fall arrived, they didn’t have a rodeo every weekend.
Which meant they had time to start planning for next year—when he would no longer be with Prescott Rodeo, with Mandy. Unless…
He’d been trying for days to figure out what to say and how to say it and if he should say it. This would be the biggest commitment of his life. And if she said yes, he’d be taking on the responsibility of someone else’s happiness, and that sacred the crap out of him. Of the few people whose life had once intersected with his, he hadn’t made any of them happy. And he wondered if he could make her happy.
Didn’t look like they would have to sell Prescott, given they were only six weeks from the six-month finish line and he hadn’t had any offers except for Stan’s early lowball bid. It was a relief knowing he had done his best, but he would be leaving Prescott in Mandy’s hands, and with the AFBR potential, PRC would be in better shape for her. That would make her happy.
Maybe she’d want him to move on so she could run PRC all by herself. She didn’t need him. She was fully capable of handling it herself. And so what was the value to her of being married to him?
Nothing.
So far, he hadn’t even been able to give her a child. That had been surprisingly disappointing. The doctor had said everything was working, and he was relieved he wasn’t shooting blanks, but shouldn’t she be pregnant by now? Because it wasn’t for lack of trying.
Yeah, the only thing he could offer her was sex. And he knew from experience that wasn’t enough.
Up ahead the creek was coming into view. He wondered how she’d feel about the spot he’d chosen. He wanted her to know that he was willing to make a fresh start and put the past, their past, behind them.
He glanced over at Mandy, her horse keeping pace with his. He loved the easy way she sat a horse, her cute butt glued to the saddle like the horsewoman she was.
She had twined the reins around her long, elegant fingers. Those slender fingers were at odds with the type of work she often did. He’d told her to let the hired help clean out the barn or curry the horses, but he’d often find her working side by side with one of the hands just to get the j
ob done. She always comported herself like a lady, but she didn’t think twice about doing tasks most “ladies” would never touch.
He still didn’t know what he would say to her or if he would have the courage to ask her. Maybe he should just get to the creek and wing it. He padded his breast pocket to assure himself the rings were still there and then checked behind him to make sure the picnic basket was securely strapped to the back of his saddle, giving the basket a firm tug for reassurance.
“Race you,” he called out, and gave Paddy a gentle kick. The sorrel lurched into action, apparently happy to be given rein to run. Air whipped across his face as he urged Paddy forward. A quick glance behind confirmed that Mandy had followed at a pounding pace.
Ty headed for the copse of trees in the distance, the beating of hooves in time with the rapid beating of his heart. Anything was possible, he reminded himself, and nothing was certain.
Mandy pulled Willow up at the edge of the bank that gently sloped into the creek. The familiar rock she’d once hidden behind loomed over the water. She’d lost the race. Willow had given it her all, but the prized cutting horse from Texas was too much for her. Mandy could relate, but she wondered why Ty had chosen this spot for their picnic.
He’d already tied Paddy to a tree limb and was unbuckling the straps that secured the picnic basket and blanket, his large fingers working the knots.
She’d been surprised when he’d suggested a picnic dinner and even more surprised that Mrs. Jenkins had apparently known about it since, when they arrived home, fried chicken, biscuits, and corn on the cob were already packed in a hamper. Ty had pulled out a bottle of wine from the fridge, and they had set off.
It had seemed romantic of Ty and out of character. But this place, of all places?
Ty lost no time in setting up while Mandy secured Willow to one of the trees. The sun was low in the sky but still above the mountain peaks in the distance, flooding the bank with afternoon light. Ty was laying the Navajo-style blanket under a tree opposite to where the horses were secured.