Getting Lucky (A Nugget Romance Book 5)

by Stacy Finz

  “Look,” Noah said, getting red in the face. “I’m a sports reporter. I came here to write about a world champion bull rider making a new life for himself after the big hurrah. The drug bust, the shooting on your property . . . that can all be put in the shit-happens column. But having a nine-year-old daughter that your fans didn’t know about can’t just be glossed over. This isn’t football, or even baseball. PBR riders have a reputation for being family men—”

  “This is no one’s business,” Lucky cut in. “I’m a hundred-percent part of my daughter’s life now. That’s all people need to know.”

  “What about the cancer . . . the transplant . . . that off the record too?”

  “No,” Tawny said. If neither Lucky nor Cecilia turned out to be a perfect match, an article might help them get donors.

  Lucky glared at her, but Tawny continued anyway. “As long as you’re respectful of Katie.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” Noah said. “I’m not here to make problems. I just want to write an accurate story.”

  Noah stayed a few hours, interviewing Tawny but mostly Cecilia, Pete, and Lucky. When he left, Lucky pulled Tawny aside.

  “Why’d you tell him that bullshit?”

  “I was trying to help you.” And a small part of what she’d told Noah was true. She hadn’t wanted anyone to take her baby from her. “This is my fault and I’m trying to make up for it.”

  “I’m fine, Tawny. I don’t care what he writes and I don’t need any help.”

  “Pete seems to think you do.”

  “Pete’s a pain in the ass. Let him worry about this. That’s what I pay him for—not you.”

  Tawny shrugged. “I have to go home and work.” Boot orders continued to pile up while she got more and more behind. She needed an assistant but couldn’t afford to pay anyone.

  “I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”

  She felt her face heat, remembering how they had burned up the sheets. And afterward, how Lucky had rushed off to meet Raylene. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  Pete found them huddled in the living room and they immediately stopped their conversation.

  “You did great, Tawny. Noah liked you, I could tell. Frankly, I think you saved this guy’s bacon.” Pete did one of those guy things where he punched Lucky in the arm.

  “I did what I could.” But now she was exhausted. Usually quiet and reserved, Tawny felt tapped out from all the reporter’s questions. “I’ve really got to get going.” Tawny called to Katie that it was time to leave.

  Cecilia came into the room. “You’re not staying for lunch?”

  They’d just had breakfast. Tawny gave Lucky’s mother a hug. “I think we’ll hear something from Katie’s doctor tomorrow or Tuesday. If Lucky’s a match, I need to get organized.”

  “I’ll walk you and Katie to your Jeep,” Lucky said. Tawny preferred he didn’t, but protesting would only make a scene.

  Katie came out of Cecilia’s room with her overnight bag, and like usual, Tawny felt her head. Normal. Tawny zipped up Katie’s jacket and they said their goodbyes. Lucky carried Katie’s small suitcase, which had seen more hospital rooms than Tawny cared to remember. In his other arm, he effortlessly lifted Katie, who laid her head on his shoulder. It struck Tawny that it hadn’t taken long for Katie and Lucky to get close. And the guilt jabbed at her.

  Lucky opened the passenger side of the Jeep, fastened Katie in, and moved to Tawny’s side. She tried to close the door, but he held it open.

  “We’re not done talking, Tawny,” he said in a low voice, and looked at Katie pointedly. “I’ll be in touch.”

  The call came at two the next day. Lucky, busy showing Pat Donnelly the ranch and the work that had yet to be finished, excused himself to find a private spot to talk. He strained to concentrate on the doctor’s words, his heart in his mouth. Dr. Laurence threw out a lot of medical jargon that Lucky didn’t understand. He seemed to drone on forever until Lucky finally got his answer. He hung up, took a deep breath, and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

  He needed to tell Tawny. Just as he started to press her number, Pat waved him over.

  “See this,” Pat said. He’d climbed onto the top of one of the outbuildings and splintered off a piece of the shingle. “It’s rotted. We’ll have to replace the whole roof.”

  He came down the ladder. “The good news is, what your old crew did do, they did well. The bad news is, they didn’t do much. It’ll take at least five months to finish this job, and that’s provided we don’t have any debilitating weather.” Which of course they would. It was the Sierra, where a couple of big storms were guaranteed every winter.

  And here it was November and he needed the place done by April. If Pat could pull it off, he’d pay him and his entire crew a bonus. But right now the only thing he could think about was calling Tawny.

  “Pat, I want you to do it. But Katie’s doctor just called and I’ve got to get ahold of Tawny. Can you work up some numbers in the next couple of days?”

  “You got it,” Pat said. “Good news?” That was the thing about Nugget. Everyone knew everyone else’s business.

  “I need to talk to Tawny.”

  “I hear ya. That little girl of yours is in our prayers.” Hearing Pat say that was the very reason Lucky should’ve gone with the local guys in the first place. “I also want to talk to you about building a house. But I want Colin to be part of that.”

  “When you’re ready to talk, we’ll all sit down.”

  “Great,” Lucky said, and started backing away. “Sorry, man, but I’ve gotta run. Take your time looking around and measuring. Whatever you need to do.”

  Lucky decided it would be better to tell Tawny in person. This news she shouldn’t hear over the phone. Katie was at school—scheduled to go to his mom’s afterward—so he and Tawny had time to discuss their next move in private. Then they’d have to tell Cecilia.

  In Lucky’s hurry to get to his truck he nearly collided with Noah. “Can’t talk now, buddy.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “I’ll talk to you about it later,” Lucky said, and clicked his key fob. They’d promised to keep the reporter in the loop about the transplant. Lucky would keep his word. But not now. Not until Tawny had time to digest all that Dr. Laurence had told him.

  He found Tawny in her studio, cutting a large piece of leather while listening to her music. Most of the people around here played classic country and western, but Tawny had what Lucky liked to call college-radio music taste—a lot of stuff he’d never heard of. She hadn’t seen him come in and was swaying her hips to the song blasting from a docking station jury-rigged to some electrical wiring. Apparently there weren’t enough outlets for all her equipment.

  He took the time to watch her and appreciate how pretty she was. Today she had on another pair of those leggings she liked to wear with a form-fitting sweater that hugged her small curves. And boots that went all the way up to her knees. Black snakeskin.

  “Those yours?” His voice made her jump. “Sorry I startled you.”

  She turned down the music. “What?”

  “You make those boots?” He pointed to her legs.

  “No. My mentor made them for me.”

  Lucky thought they were sexy as hell. “Dr. Laurence called.” He heard her take in a breath.

  “What did he say?” She gripped the table.

  Lucky pointed to the try-on bench. “Come over here and sit by me.”

  She crossed the room to the bench and they both sat. Lucky could see her hands shaking and took them both in his. It suddenly felt too warm, like she had the heat cranked up to eighty. Yet her whole body trembled.

  “I’m a perfect match,” he said. “All six antigens.”

  Of all the possible reactions, Lucky didn’t expect her to break down sobbing. But that was exactly what she did.

  “Don’t cry, honey.” Lucky kissed her face, wiping away her salty tears with his lips. “Why are you crying? I thought you w
ould be happy.”

  She buried her face in his neck and shuddered. He wrapped her in his arms and held tight while she wept, her whole body shaking, until she seemed to have exhausted herself and finally went limp.

  “You okay?” he asked her, not letting go, and she started crying all over again. “Tawny, honey. Talk to me.”

  “I’m relieved,” she said, the words hitching like a hiccup. “I’m just so, so relieved.”

  She turned her face until her cheek pressed against his chest and he rubbed her back, trying to get some warmth into her. Even though it was stifling hot in the studio, she seemed cold.

  “They want us to do a conference call so they can explain the procedure. I’ll need to have a physical and start getting injections that’ll help my bone marrow make and release stem cells. Then we’ll go to Stanford and they’ll begin harvesting—that’s what they call it—and transplant my stem cells into Katie.” Lucky knew none of it was a done deal. Katie’s body could still reject him as a donor. But it was something.

  “When do they want to do the call?” Tawny asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  She took in a couple of deep breaths and exhaled. “Your mom wants us to stay with her during the recovery. I think I’ll take her up on it.”

  “It’ll be good,” he said. “She’ll take care of you.”

  Tawny pulled back slightly. Lucky tugged her back in.

  “Me? I’m not having the procedure.”

  No, but Lucky knew that she, maybe more than anyone, needed TLC. “We’ll all need some R & R, Tawny.”

  For once she didn’t argue, and stayed cocooned in his arms. “We’ll have to talk to Katie. She’s a good patient, but hospitals and treatments make her anxious. The poor girl has had so many.”

  “We can do it here or at my mom’s. Whatever you want.”

  “Lucky?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thank you.” She was quiet for a long time and he felt his shirt get damp. “It’s just a relief not to have to do this all on my own.”

  A part of him wanted to say that she’d made that choice, but he left it alone. He was here now and that’s all that mattered. “What would you think if we went out for dinner tonight—you, me, Katie, and my mom?”

  “I guess word would get out that way and we wouldn’t have to tell everyone,” she said.

  That’s sort of what he was thinking. And they deserved a celebration, even if they weren’t out of the woods yet.

  “Call Cecilia,” she said. “I’ll go wash my face.”

  She needed a bathroom in the studio, he thought as he dug his cell out of his jacket pocket and hit speed dial, perusing the shelves while he waited for his mother to pick up. There was an empty space where the boots with the bull riders used to be. He still wanted those boots with a vengeance. On Tawny’s drawing board sat the design for Brady’s boots. A knife and fork. Lucky rolled his eyes.

  Looking at one of the clocks on the wall, he wondered why Cecilia didn’t answer. He suspected that she’d gone early to pick Katie up from school and had left her phone behind. Tawny and he would go over to the house together and tell them the news.

  He continued to snoop around her studio. Clay’s boots appeared to be almost done. Nice looking. Lucky wouldn’t mind having a pair of those too. His phone pinged with a text. He checked the display, hoping for Cecilia. Instead it was Raylene.

  I thought we could go somewhere for dinner. Talk about what you said in the truck. It’s been less than twenty-four hours and I already miss you. Call me. Please. I love you.

  Raylene

  “What did your mom say?” Tawny came up alongside him and Lucky quickly stuffed the phone in his jacket.

  “I couldn’t reach her.”

  “Jake could be over there,” she said.

  “Yeah. Or she went over to the school.”

  Tawny looked at one of her dad’s old clocks on the wall. “It’s about that time.”

  “Yep,” he said, and noticed that besides washing her tearstained face, she’d put on mascara. “You’ve got the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  The compliment seemed to unsettle her because she just stood there, not saying anything. That’s when he moved in and kissed her. At first she let him, returning the kiss with the same fervor she had yesterday. And then suddenly she stopped and used both hands to push him away.

  “We’re not doing this again.”

  He decided not to push it. They’d had emotional news today and Tawny seemed more fragile than usual. But whether she wanted to admit it or not, she liked his kisses and they’d definitely be doing it again. In fact, as often as possible.

  Chapter 19

  Tawny spent the next several days working in her studio, desperately trying to finish as many outstanding projects as possible. They were having Thanksgiving early because they’d be in the hospital for the real holiday. She, Lucky, Katie, Cecilia, and even Jake would soon be heading to Palo Alto for the procedure. In the meantime, Lucky had passed his physical and had been trudging to a small clinic in Glory Junction to continue getting the daily injections that helped him grow stem cells. The side effects included bone pain and headaches, which made it difficult for him to train for the finals.

  Tawny worried that he’d overtax himself. But in typical Lucky fashion he’d simply said, “I’ll deal.” They hadn’t talked once about their hookup—although Tawny couldn’t stop thinking about it—the Sports Illustrated story, or Raylene. That last part suited her fine. The thought of Lucky and Raylene together always made Tawny feel sick to her stomach.

  On a good note, Pat Donnelly had agreed to take over construction at Lucky’s ranch. The crew would have to work double time to complete what was left of refurbishing the outbuildings, dormitories, and the lodge in time for Lucky’s first event—a spring barn wedding organized by the Lumber Baron, which included three days of cowboy camp activities. They also had more corrals to build for Lucky’s livestock.

  So far the weather had held. But around here that could change in the blink of an eye. Katie continued to go to school while Tawny and Cecilia monitored her regularly for fevers.

  Tawny spent the next hour putting the finishing touches on Clay’s boots. If she worked a few extra hours tonight there was a chance she could finish them before they left for the Bay Area. In her free time— like she had any—she tried to work on Brady’s pair. Those were just for fun and she enjoyed executing a design that was 100 percent her own. No input from the customer.

  Since Lucky had come into the picture, money hadn’t been an issue. The man paid her an enormous amount of child support and had given her nine years of back pay, which Tawny had immediately deposited into a fund for Katie’s college education.

  Tawny wanted her daughter to have every educational opportunity. If Tawny had her way, Katie would be the first Wade or Rodriguez to go to college.

  As she found her rhythm, letting her work take her away, she didn’t hear Noah’s approach until he banged on the door.

  “Hi,” she said, surprised to see him. They’d never discussed him coming over and Tawny had never given him her address. Although it wouldn’t have been difficult for a reporter to find her. “I wanted to see your boots,” he said. “People said you have seconds and samples for sale.”

  “Sure.” Tawny waved at the shelves. “You looking for anything in particular?”

  “No.” He looked down at the boots he wore. “I guess something like these.”

  They were your typical store-bought variety. When he got a load of the price of hers, he was bound to have sticker shock. She got his size and directed him to a few shelves.

  “Feel free to play and try on anything you want.” She pointed to the try-on bench.

  Instead, he walked around her studio, taking in her equipment and some of her works in progress.

  “What is this?” He examined her sketches for Brady’s boots.

  “That’s just something I’m working on for fun.”

  �
��Fork and knife, huh?”

  “They’re for a chef friend of mine . . . Brady at the Lumber Baron.”

  “I know Brady.” Of course he did. Noah had become a full-time resident at the bed and breakfast. He must have a hefty expense account. “Nice. You make boots for Lucky?”

  “Nope. Ariat is one of his sponsors,” Tawny said.

  “Still, I would imagine that a champion bull rider would have at least one custom pair in his closet.”

  “Ariat might do his custom. I don’t know.”

  “Lucky says you’ve made boots for all kinds of famous people.” Noah continued to wander around, poking into everything. He seemed genuinely interested, so she didn’t mind.

  “Some,” she said. “A lot for people who have trouble fitting into conventional boots.”

  “I never thought of that. What? Are their feet too big?”

  “Not necessarily too big, but they have a misshapen toe or an odd arch or larger calves than the typical boot will accommodate. A lot of ranchers around here do it for comfort. They want a boot they can literally sleep in.”

  “You sound like a good story yourself.” Noah laughed.

  “The Nugget Tribune did a nice piece on me, but I’m friends with the reporter.”

  He perused the shelves with boots his size and pulled a few pairs down. “What’s wrong with these?” He pointed to a chocolate-brown pair made of kangaroo leather.

  “They’re not seconds, if that’s what you mean.” She cruised the shelves until she found a boot with an S drawn in the inside of the shaft and showed it to him so he could distinguish the seconds from the rest. “These”—Tawny picked up the kangaroo pair—“were a custom job for a man who got into some financial trouble and couldn’t afford to pay for them.”

  “In other words, you got stiffed.”

  She laughed. “I got a nice deposit, but yeah, I got stiffed.”

  He flashed her a grin. “You’re very different from Raylene Rosser.”