Once a Champion

by Jeannie Watt

  As the practice continued, there was lots of yelling, but none of it, she realized, malicious. Just loud attempts to get her back on course before she creamed someone—again—which wouldn’t have happened if they were trotting.

  “Well done,” Linda said as she rode up next to Beckett.

  “Really?” Liv asked flatly. “I almost killed Becca.”

  Linda waved a dismissive hand as if killing Becca was not a major concern. “But you didn’t. And you catch on fast. You did good for the first time.”

  “You didn’t do that good,” Andie said as Linda rode away, making Liv smile.

  “Thanks for the reality check.” But actually, now that it was over, Liv did feel a sense of accomplishment. She and Beckett could do this and Beckett seemed to enjoy it more than the slow parade drills—probably because he was born to run. Charging after a calf wasn’t all that different than charging after a teammate who was opening up a gap in the pattern.

  “Anytime, my friend. But you know what?”

  “Mmm?”

  “It’s good to see you stepping out of your comfort zone.”

  “You like to watch me suffer?” Andie might be her closest friend, but she had no idea just how much time Liv had spent out of her comfort zone over the past year. Some things Liv just didn’t talk about.

  “If I wanted to watch you suffer,” Andie said as they joined the group riding out of the arena, “I’d come along on the shopping trip tomorrow and watch you try to hold your own against Hurricane Shae.”

  “Hey,” Susie Barnes said, catching up to Liv and Andie. “Isn’t that Matt Montoya’s horse?”

  “My horse,” Liv said automatically.

  Susie’s forehead creased. “But...he used to be Matt’s, right? I recognize that spot on his belly, but it took me a while to remember why I knew him.”

  “Matt once owned him,” Liv admitted.

  Susie smiled. “I knew it. He and Pete rope together sometimes when Matt’s home.” She frowned. “Isn’t this the horse that disappeared?”

  Tread lightly. Liv did not want to alienate a team member with a snarky reply. Thankfully she had years of experience repressing true thoughts.

  “You know, I don’t really know the history,” she said pleasantly. “He was for sale last year and I bought him.”

  “Oh,” Susie said. “I see.” Although she didn’t. “Well, the two of you did great for the first drill.”

  “Thanks,” Liv said. “Can’t wait for the next practice.” She might be a little sore and mentally exhausted, but it was going to be a lot more fun than shopping with Shae.

  * * *

  DINNER AT MATT’S parents’ ranch was canceled on Friday due to an unexpected storm that delayed his mother’s flight home from Las Vegas, where she’d been visiting her best friend from college. Matt was beyond grateful.

  Not only was he avoiding an uncomfortable family dinner, but Craig also wouldn’t have to watch Matt and his father stiffly interact. Craig was an astute kid, and Matt was certain he’d key in on the dynamic between him and his dad—and he’d also ask questions. Questions Matt didn’t feel like hearing or dealing with.

  “So what are we going to eat?” Craig asked upon receiving word that they would be staying home for supper.

  Craig might be a fourteen-year-old cleaning wonder, but he wasn’t much of a cook. Unfortunately, neither was Matt, but one of them had to put food on the table. When he was alone, Matt usually grazed or ate out. When he did cook for himself, he fried up steaks or burgers, dumped some lettuce out of a bag and called it a salad. On special occasions he might bake a potato.

  Right now, though, he was out of steak, burgers and potatoes.

  “I think we should go out for a pizza,” Craig announced. “I’ll buy.”

  Matt didn’t think that was a bad idea—the pizza part, not Craig buying.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “We’re going out for pizza?” Craig asked, springing up off the sofa. Matt remembered when he used to be able to move like that. Hell, he’d give just about anything to be able to move like that again. Almost thirty-one years old and he felt like he was sixty-one. Or older.

  But he’d get it back. Soon.

  “We’re going to the grocery store. We’ll stock up on some frozen pizza and whatever else you like to eat.”

  “Mom gave you money, right?”

  Matt grunted and hoped it sounded like an affirmative. He was in a lot better shape financially than Willa. “Can I drive?” Craig asked as they walked to the truck.

  “Sure. In about a year and a half.”

  “Mom lets me drive all the time.”

  “I’m sure she does.”

  “Once I was the designated driver when her designated driver failed in his designated task.”

  Matt smiled without looking at the kid. Craig’s use of vocabulary slayed him.

  “So what shall we get?” he asked a half hour later as Craig pulled a cart out of the line.

  “We start with some real cereal.”

  “Wheaties aren’t real?”

  Craig shook his head and grabbed a box of Cap’n Crunch.

  “Would your mother approve?”

  “She practically has stock in the company. Check her purse. You’ll find a plastic bag full of the Cap’n.” Craig looked over his glasses. “For emergencies, of course.”

  “Of course,” Matt said, adding a box of Wheaties to the cart. “What else?”

  Craig led him through the aisles. In addition to his usual staples—steak, hamburger, salami, bread, eggs, milk, cheese, Pop-Tarts—Matt bought crackers and peanut butter, chocolate milk, frozen pizzas...lots of frozen pizzas...Hot Pockets, frozen dinners and a watermelon. Willa was allergic and never bought watermelon, so Matt gave in and bought a melon that the two of them would never get eaten. Not alone anyway.

  “Is this everything?” Matt asked before they got to the checkout stand, a bit in awe of the sheer amount of food in the cart—most of it of the snack variety.

  Craig’s expression changed. “Did Mom give you enough money?”

  “More than I need,” Matt said. “I was being literal. I hate shopping and don’t want to come back.”

  “If you let me drive—”

  Matt just shook his head and started for the nearest checkout stand, wishing he’d seen that Dirk Benson, the assistant manager of the store, was behind the register before he’d pushed the cart to the stand.

  “Hey, Dirk,” he said, pulling out the wallet he wouldn’t be needing for a while, what with the amount of food Dirk was going to ring up.

  Dirk called for backup, aka a courtesy clerk, and started sliding items over the scanner. He was almost done when he asked, “So what’s going on with you and Ryan Madison?”

  And just when Matt thought he was going to get out of there without an inquisition. He should have known better. Dirk’s son had rodeoed with Matt and Dirk and took local rodeo very seriously.

  “In what way?” Matt asked, knowing full well in what way, but not wanting to talk about it in front of the kid.

  “In the way that he did a lot better than you did at the NFR last year, what with him qualifying and all.”

  Matt nodded congenially, determined not to let the guy get to him. Dirk had never forgiven Matt for being a better athlete than his own son. Add to that the fact that Dirk’s kid and Ryan had buddied up in college and, yeah, Dirk was no Matt Montoya fan.

  “And now he�
�s pretty close to qualifying again and even though you’ve got a lot more earnings, doesn’t look like you’ll be adding to them.”

  Matt smiled tightly, then swiped his card with a quick motion that he hoped conveyed his feelings, as in...shut up, Dirk.

  “There’s a big purse for the challenge,” Dirk continued. “And Madison will probably win.” He blinked innocently at Matt. “What with you being injured and all.”

  “Don’t write me off.” Matt shoved his wallet deep into his back pocket and rearranged two of the bags that were balanced precariously on top of the load in the cart.

  “You saying you’ll be able to come back in time?”

  “Take it however you want,” Matt said as he loaded the last bag—the one Dirk had missed because he’d been so busy talking. And yes, he’d be back. He had a month and a half.

  “What’s he talking about?” Craig asked as they walked through the automatic doors and he tried to keep up with Matt, who was moving pretty good despite his knee.

  “Nothing.”

  “Sounded like something.”

  “Sounding like something and being something are not the same thing,” Matt muttered.

  “You don’t want to talk about it.”

  Matt hit the unlock button on his keys. “Who’s cooking tonight?”

  “I cooked last night.”

  “Pop-Tarts don’t count.”

  “I can’t cook.”

  “As I see it, you have all day to learn. Maybe a little internet research. We got a lot to work with here.”

  “What are you going to do while I research recipes?”

  “Practice.” He spent hours every day roping a dummy from both the ground and horseback. Next week he’d start roping calves again.

  “For your big comeback?”

  Matt exhaled. “Yeah. For my big comeback.”

  * * *

  “I DIDN’T EXPECT you to get home so late.” Tim slowly got up from his chair as Liv walked through the front door. He was trying hard to look normal, but wasn’t quite succeeding. Pain pinched his features.

  Liv hadn’t had a chance to talk to him before she’d left for practice, since he’d still been on the baler proving himself to be hale and hearty, so she’d made dinner and left it in the warming oven, loaded Beckett and left. It had taken everything she had not to march across the hayfield and rap on the tractor door to tell her father that he’d made his point—he was getting better—and he didn’t need to kill himself to prove it.

  But she hadn’t. Maybe once he got the hay knocked down, he’d set a more reasonable pace. One thing she knew for certain was that if she made a big deal, or continued to make a big deal, then her father’s stubbornness would kick into overdrive.

  “Did you eat?” Liv asked, walking past him and into the kitchen. The dishes were done and the food was put away. She turned back to find her father standing in the doorway, looking pale. “Don’t do the kitchen stuff,” she said sternly. “That’s my job.”

  “I’m used to doing the kitchen stuff.”

  “Well, then there’s no reason we can’t switch off for the day. I’ll handle the hay and you can take care of the cooking.”

  Haying wasn’t rocket science, but Tim had always insisted on doing it himself. When she was younger, Liv had thought Tim did everything around the ranch because he had an old-fashioned notion of men’s and women’s work, but now she suspected it was because he didn’t like to delegate. He was a man who depended on himself and only himself—end of story. He’d let her work by his side, which he had done while she’d stayed with him, finding it a way they could spend time together but not have to talk. But he flat out refused to let her take over operations.

  “I’ll do the field work.”

  Liv leaned back against the counter, folding her arms over her chest as she studied the closed-off man standing near the table.

  “How’re you feeling?” she asked flatly. Liv was not a fan of direct confrontation, thanks to all those years of training from her mother, but she’d just spent an entire evening out of her comfort zone, so a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

  “How am I feeling?” Tim asked stonily. Liv couldn’t say his barriers went up, because with her father they were never truly down, but he wasn’t in any hurry to answer. It was as if he hoped that if he stared her down long enough, she’d say, “Oh, never mind.” She didn’t, even though it was tempting, and he finally said, “Tired, after a day on the tractor. I think that’s understandable.”

  Liv sighed, but before she could clarify that she meant overall, not just today, Tim said, “What did Matt want yesterday?”

  The sudden change of topic had the exact effect that Tim had no doubt been hoping for. “How’d you know he stopped by?” she asked. She certainly hadn’t told him.

  “Walter told me when he came to borrow the auger.”

  Walter lived directly across the county road from the Bailey Ranch and filled his hours watching the coming and goings of his neighbors—when he wasn’t borrowing stuff from them or doing odd jobs.

  Liv gave a small shrug. “He wanted the same thing as last time and I think he got the point this time.”

  “Well, if he didn’t—”

  Liv pushed off from the counter. “I can handle Matt. It isn’t like he can do much about the Beckett situation.”

  “I don’t want him harassing you, like that other guy that you didn’t want to tell me about.”

  “Two visits are not exactly harassment.” And she wished Tim didn’t know about “that other guy.” The only reason he did know was because Greg had the chutzpah to call Tim looking for her after she’d stopped answering his calls.

  Her father raised one eyebrow and she took his point. After Matt’s first visit, during which she’d taken a firm stand, there was little call for a second. At least not in person. Phoning would have done just as well, but Matt had probably figured he’d be more persuasive in person. And he was, but Liv was not falling for it.

  “If he starts harassing me, I’ll let you know.” She didn’t like lying to her father, but she wasn’t going to let him fight her battles, either. “By the way, I’m going to Missoula tomorrow to shop with Mom and Shae.”

  “All that way to shop? Why doesn’t your mother meet you in a more central locale, like Butte? Surely you could shop there.”

  Tim and Vivian had been divorced for almost twenty years and there was no lingering bitterness between them. In fact, Liv had never noticed any bitterness whatsoever. Even her mother, who clung to people with a death grip, changing as necessary to please them, had come to realize that she couldn’t change enough to stay married to Tim. He was a man who had difficulty allaying fears, reaffirming his commitment, saying the words “I love you,” and Vivian was a woman who needed those reassurances. Often. It hadn’t hurt that she’d married David McArthur within a year of divorcing Tim.

  “The wedding, Dad. We’re shopping for bridesmaid dresses and Shae wants to shop in Missoula.”

  “Right. The wedding. I forgot about that.” The words were barely out when a yawn seemed to catch him by surprise. Liv pretended not to notice, folding a dish towel before hanging it. He’d had a long day proving he was on the mend. She only hoped it didn’t send him into a relapse.

  “Shae has promised to keep it a small affair.” Tim cocked his head as if waiting for the punch line. “Reed, her fiancé, is the sensible type.” Liv read her father’s face and smiled. “Yeah. I know. What’s he doing with Shae?
Opposites attract, I guess.”

  Silence hung between them for a second and Liv had a strong feeling that they were both thinking the same thing. That opposite thing hadn’t worked out so well with him and her mother.

  “Reed is a good guy and smart. He knows what he’s doing.” Liv pushed a few strands of hair away from her face, grimacing at how stiff it was from arena dust.

  “Let’s hope” was all Tim said. He seemed to be growing paler before her eyes, reminding her of how far she’d been sidetracked from the issue of his health. Even though she wanted to take him by the front of his shirt and shake him, demand that he tell her what was going on with him, she figured right now a full frontal assault would do more harm than good.

  She was going to have to wait. Wait and worry. Then maybe in another couple of days try again if he was still doing his impression of the walking dead.

  “I’m going to bed, Dad,” she finally said, well aware of the relief that flickered across his stern features, there then gone. “Why don’t you do the same?”

  “I will.”

  Of course he would. Just as soon as she did.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LIV PULLED OFF her ball cap as she walked into the bathroom and then released her hair from the elastic band. It barely moved. Her former drill team had never stirred up so much dust during a practice, but then her old drill team hadn’t ridden hell-bent for election during practice, either.

  She waited a moment at the sink, studying her dusty reflection, wondering how long Tim was going to stay up to make his point. A long time, apparently.

  Finally, after she’d shucked off her dirty clothing and was about to crank on the shower, she heard her father walk down the hall toward his room at the far end of the house. His door closed and the house fell silent.

  Thank goodness.

  Liv turned on the water and a few minutes later stepped under the spray, letting it beat on her, washing dust out of her hair and, hopefully, working tension out of her shoulders. Murky water swirled around her feet before going down the drain, but the stiffness in her shoulders barely abated.