by Jeannie Watt
“Good to see you, Mom.” He reached out to hug her, then awkwardly clapped his father’s shoulder.
“And this must be Crag,” she said as Craig stepped out of the house to stand next to Matt.
“Craig, ma’am.” Craig extended his hand for a formal handshake, but his mother was having none of that.
“Crag, Craig, all the same,” she said as she hugged him.
“Not if your name is Crag,” the kid said. Nina laughed. Matt had always loved his mom’s laugh. It came from the heart, because his mom was a genuinely happy person and he was going to do his best to keep her that way.
“We’re just here for a minute or two, dear,” she said to Matt. “Your father said you were going to call and when you didn’t, well, you know the saying about Mohammed and the mountain.”
“Yeah.” Matt shoved his hands into his back pockets. Nina glanced up at her husband then back at Craig. “I’d love to have a glass of something. What have you got?”
“Mountain Dew,” Craig said promptly.
“Sounds lovely.” She smiled at Matt and followed Craig into the house, leaving Matt where he didn’t want to be. Alone with his father.
“Word had it your horse got injured,” Charles said.
“Scraped up. He’s getting better fast.” Just not fast enough.
“Maybe this is some kind of a sign,” his father said.
“And since when are you a big believer in signs?”
“Since I decided I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
Matt scowled. What the hell? “Not get hurt or not compete?”
“Same thing, really.”
“I’ve never seen you get all concerned before. I’ve had other injuries.”
“You’re getting older.”
“Bullshit, Dad. This is about something else.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that sometimes I think you want Ryan Madison to walk away with the Bitterroot Challenge purse.” His heart did a quick thud against his ribs as the words he’d kept from saying for so long came out.
Charles turned red, but his voice was only slightly strained when he said, “Why? You’re my son.”
All Matt did was hold his gaze, but there must have been something in his face that clued in the old man to what Matt knew. Charles Montoya clamped his jaw tighter, to the point that his lips began to show white against his reddened skin.
“I’m competing, Dad.”
“I hope you win,” Charles said. “And that you come out whole.”
“And I hope that my mother continues to be a very happy woman.” He gave his father the dead eye. “Do we understand one another?”
“Hey, Matt,” Craig yelled out the door. “The Mountain Dew is poured.”
“Thanks,” he said, instantly turning toward the house, leaving his father to do whatever the hell he wanted.
By the time his parents left, his head was aching from stress. His dad had actually done an excellent job of appearing normal, so he hoped his mother didn’t catch on that something was wrong between the two of them—or something more wrong than usual.
“You okay?” Craig asked after loading the dishwasher.
“Fine. Just tired.”
“You want to get some practice in?”
They worked out a system where Matt roped and turned back alone and Craig moved the animals through the chute, then released him. It took time, but Clancy got practice, as did Matt.
“Not tonight. I think I’ll do some work on the computer, then call it a night.”
* * *
TWO DAYS AFTER the encounter with his father, Matt ended up with a temporary horse. He had no idea if his dad was involved, if it was some kind of peace offering, but Alvie Maynard, one of Matt’s early roping mentors and an old friend of his father’s, called and offered a mare for lease with an option to buy. Matt jumped on the deal, asking no questions that he didn’t want the answers to.
His new mount, Snigs, was in good shape and fast. Not as fast as Ready or Beckett, but definitely competitive and she had good calf sense. She was also rough as hell on the stops. On the second catch, Matt jumped off early and almost went down. He limped to the calf and threw the animal, pain tearing through his joint.
“You okay?” Craig hollered across the arena.
“Stitch in my side,” Matt yelled back.
Something had to give.
That night he fell asleep while checking standings with an ice bag on his swollen knee. He woke up with a Ziploc bag of water on the floor next to his feet and his laptop about to slide down to join it. Matt caught the computer and dragged it back into position and then reached down to cautiously touch the ruined joint, gritting his teeth at the pain.
He needed stronger anti-inflammatory medication and he needed something for pain. He was tired of piddling around, practicing less intensely than he should.
It was time to do something about it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I HAVE GOSSIP,” Etta said.
Liv was not surprised. Etta not only had acute hearing, but she also haunted Facebook and had a huge network of friends. “Is it good gossip?”
Etta shook her head. “Disturbing.”
“Yeah?” Liv had a bad feeling.
“Well, maybe not disturbing, but troubling...”
“Etta?”
“Matt Montoya was calf roping down at the arena with the other ropers.”
“So?” Liv knew he was doing breakaway at home with the help of Craig. She’d learned that from Etta earlier that week.
“He’s throwing calves and tying. And he’s not limping afterward.” Liv stopped going through her files. “Not even a little,” the receptionist added significantly.
“Did you see him?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. Not only that, I asked him if he had any trouble finding Dr. McElroy. He just smiled.”
That didn’t mean he was using McElroy, but Liv didn’t like the sound of it.
“Was he wearing his brace?”
“Yes, but—” Etta pressed her magenta-tinted lips together “—go see for yourself. You practice tomorrow, right? Just wander over to the roping arena and take a look. I bet he’s there and you’ll see what I mean.”
“It’s Matt’s life,” Liv said as she headed for the PT room. Matt’s life, Matt’s leg, and even if she hated the thought of him shooting himself up with painkillers, it was none of her business.
* * *
MATT WAS LOADING the dishwasher. It was his turn since Craig had put the frozen lasagna into the oven and poured dressing over the lettuce.
“I know your mom doesn’t want you going to your friend Benny’s house,” Matt said as he scraped left over lettuce into the trash, “but maybe he could come over here. Do you think she’d be okay with that?” Matt was becoming concerned about the kid spending all his time either with him or alone.
Craig shook his head from where he sat at the computer. “Benny’s off seeing his real dad for six weeks.”
“Where’s his dad?”
“Dakota oil fields. I guess Benny gets to stay in his dad’s trailer and play video games all day. He doesn’t miss his sisters one bit.”
“Or so he says.”
“I guess, but come on...six little sisters? Pfft.”
“Yeah. That does seem like a lot.”
“And since he’s the only boy and the only stepkid in the family, he feels kind of weird sometimes, you know?”
&n
bsp; “I can imagine.”
Matt wondered if Craig knew who his father was. Willa hadn’t ever told anyone, but there’d been quite a bit of speculation at the Montoya dinner table whenever Matt had mustered up the strength to go to Sunday dinners.
And that in turn made him wonder if Ryan knew that Charles was his father. Surely he would have rubbed it into Matt’s face by now if he did know.
“I thought practice went pretty good tonight,” Craig said. “And I liked the part where Jed almost fell off his horse when he got the phone call.”
Matt laughed. Looking back it’d been comical, but at the time he’d been concerned. Jed hadn’t wanted to rope that night, but Corrie had forced him, telling him that he was driving her crazy. Before he’d made his first catch, she’d called and said she thought the baby was coming. Fast. Less than an hour later Jed had called Matt to tell him that little Eva Corrina had made a safe entrance into the world shortly after he’d raced into the delivery room and mother and child were doing well. The father needed a stiff drink.
“Your times are getting better,” Craig said, studying the list he’d made during practice before entering the numbers into a spreadsheet he’d made. “But Madison is still consistently faster.” Craig was starting to take the Montoya-Madison rivalry personally. “Probably because he has both knees.”
“My knee is getting better,” Matt said automatically. It was definitely hurting less, thanks to the pain injections. He only planned to take them twice a week, so he could practice dismounting, throwing and tying, and Dr. McElroy was happy to comply. And since it was his knee, his future, and he’d researched the possible consequences, Matt didn’t feel one bit guilty. In fact, it felt good to have a few hours without pain.
“Good thing,” Craig said, typing away. “Just don’t push it. You still have a couple weeks before the Bitterroot.”
“Thanks, coach,” Matt said with a smile as he closed the dishwasher. He was going to miss Craig when Willa got that job.
* * *
LIV KNEW BETTER—knew that she didn’t want to face the truth—but in spite of that, she stayed after drill practice to watch the ropers. Matt was there, on a horse she didn’t recognize, which wasn’t surprising because he had so many practice horses.
He flew out of the chute, caught in less than five seconds and was off the horse without any sign of pain or favoring the leg. None of her business. No reason she should feel cold inside.
But she did.
Go home...
She turned on her heel and walked back to the warm-up arena where she spotted Matt dismounting the red roan next to a fancy trailer with living quarters.
“Nice job,” she said coldly. His head whipped around at the sound of her voice.
“Thanks.” He pulled the saddle off the horse and carried it to the tack room with only the barest trace of a limp.
“I thought you weren’t going to see McElroy.”
He didn’t play innocent. She’d give him credit for that.
“It’s really none of your business, Liv.”
Funny. She’d told herself that, but here she was. “What you’re doing is stupid.”
“Still none of your business.”
“I know, but...”
“But what, Liv?”
“Maybe I hate to see you doing this to yourself.”
“Why?”
How to fight the truth? “We’ve known each other a long time. Maybe I’ve come to kind of care what happens to you.” She felt her cheeks go warm at the half-baked admission.
“Kind of care?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Never mind.”
She turned away, but before she took a step one of his hands settled onto her shoulder, stopping her. She could feel the strength in his fingers, even though his touch was light.
Just keep going.
His hand slid down to her upper arm, and gently, he turned her to face him.
“You’re making a mistake with your knees,” she said stubbornly.
“A lot of other guys have made this mistake and lived to tell the tale.”
“Why is roping so damned—” The rest of the sentence was lost as he pulled her closer, startling her, and his mouth settled over hers.
Liv stiffened at the unexpected contact, her hands automatically coming up to flatten against the front of his shirt, putting up a barrier even as a small part of her whispered, About time.
His lips were warm, his chest hard as his heart beat steadily beneath her palms, and Liv found herself leaning into the kiss, breathing in the scent of man and arena dust and thinking it was one heady combination. The familiar and the unfamiliar. The unfamiliar was definitely the better of the two.
Matt ended the kiss seconds later, his point—whatever that may be—made, and Liv simply stared up at him, stunned at what had just happened. Really? He thought he could just kiss her?
Apparently so, because he gave her an odd look, as if surprised at the heat that had flared between them, then lowered his head to kiss her again. This time, though, Liv was ready and when his lips touched hers, she took the sides of his face in her hands and kissed him back. Kissed him deeply, touching her tongue to his, tentatively at first, then more boldly, to show him just who could kiss whom...and to see once and for all if what she’d wanted so desperately in high school had been worth all the sleepless nights.
Oh, yes. Worth every one.
Matt wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him as he kissed her back, setting her senses ablaze, and then, while she could still think straight—or relatively straight—Liv pulled away, out of his embrace, touching her fingertips to her swollen lips.
This time it was Matt who looked stunned as his hands dropped back to his sides and through an onslaught of conflicting emotions, Liv felt a distinct sense of satisfaction. And a need to escape. Too much to process in a short period of time.
“I have to go,” she said.
Matt shoved his hands into his pockets and it was all she could do not to follow the motion with her eyes. She wanted to look at what she’d felt pressing against her during that last kiss, but decided it might not be the best move.
“Because...”
“Because this is not what I want.”
“You seemed to want it a few seconds ago.”
“Changed my mind,” Liv said as she started toward her trailer.
“You seek me out, claim to ‘kind of’ care, then this. What the hell, Liv?”
She rounded on him, found him only a few feet away from her. How had he managed to get so close? “What the hell? I’ll tell you what the hell. Don’t kiss me, okay? Don’t touch me.”
Matt raised his hands, very much as he did when he’d finished tying a calf’s legs together. Only this was a gesture of surrender, not victory. “Whatever,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and walked back to his horse, leaving Liv staring after him before she stalked to her truck and trailer, where she unlocked the door with shaking fingers.
She hated confrontation. Hated being tongue-tied. Hated being kissed when she wasn’t ready.
You are no longer that tongue-tied, confrontation-hating person. You are able stand up for yourself.
That might be so, but Liv also wished she didn’t know that kissing Matt was every bit as good as she’d once thought it would be.
“Liv!”
Her head snapped up and she saw Matt heading back toward her, a serious expression on his fac
e.
Why couldn’t he have just let her drive away? Be done with him? “What?” she asked.
“You’re right.” He stopped a few feet away from her, allowing her some much-needed distance. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Yeah” was all she could come up with. An uncomfortable silence followed as she studied the dusty ground near his scuffed-up boots.
“Liv?” She slowly raised her gaze to his, telling herself she couldn’t pretend this wasn’t happening. “What’s going on?”
More than she was comfortable with, that was for sure, which was why she was in high retreat mode. She cleared her throat, which suddenly seemed to be closing on her. Panic perhaps. “I don’t know,” she said softly.
“Bull.” The word was equally soft, surprisingly gentle. Not what she expected from him after...well, after.
“This is not the place to discuss it,” she said as a couple of ropers rode by, nodding at Matt who gave an unsmiling nod to each in return.
“If not here, then where? When?” he asked once the riders had passed.
“Is there anything to discuss?” Discussing meant acknowledging and Liv felt much more comfortable in denial right now. If she denied and kept her distance, then she wasn’t going to have to deal with Matt. Matt, who kissed so well. Matt, who was standing in front of her right now, waiting for a response she didn’t want to give.
Matt, who took a slow step forward, as if afraid of spooking her. Liv’s breath caught. Truthfully, she had no clue how to handle her attraction to him. It just didn’t fit into her master plan—the one where she controlled her own destiny.
If she hooked up with a strong-willed guy like Matt, a guy who had one hell of a time taking no for an answer, then she was basically digging the grave for her independence.
And she would not do that.
So she took the coward’s way out. “I need to go, Matt.”
“When?”
She pressed her lips together briefly. Take control. Do what you want to do. “I’m not seeing any time clear in the near future.”