The Bull Rider's Bride

by Vickie McDonough

  He held up one hand like he was taking an oath. "I promise. I'm ambitious, not stupid. The doctor's warning was clear what could happen."

  "Thank you." She nibbled her lower lip. "You will be home for the party, won't you?"

  He smiled and leaned into the SUV—into her space. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

  "Good." She lifted her hand and stroked his jawline.

  Dusty closed the remaining inches and kissed her thoroughly. He didn't care if anyone was watching, but he knew she did, so he drew back before he wanted to. "You drive safely. Okay?"

  She nodded. "You too. And call me. Let me know what you find out."

  "Will do." He stared at her for a long moment then smiled and jiggled his keys again. "My new lady is waiting."

  She playfully pushed him. "Well, don't let her wait on my account."

  He held the door so she couldn't shut it. "Just so you know, she's my number two gal."

  Lindsey's wide grin told him she understood. "Be careful—and hurry home."

  Dusty drew an X over his heart. "I promise. Can't miss my favorite gal's birthday."

  He watched her back out and drive off, happier than he'd been in a long while. As he pulled his truck onto the road, he prayed God would help him find the answers he was looking for. He wouldn't ask Lindsey to marry him until he had a plan for making an income. She deserved that much—and far more.

  Chapter Seven

  Excitement spiraled through Dusty at being on the rodeo grounds again. He knew things would be different this time around, but he couldn't help feeling the answer to his future was tied to this place somehow. He parked out far enough that his new truck wouldn't get scratched and walked to the stock pens. The familiar scent of livestock and fresh hay drew him. He searched the bulls and found the one he was looking for—Black Vortex.

  The ornery critter that had sidelined him lazily flicked his tail at a fly. His big head hung down as he dozed in the warm afternoon sun.

  "Dusty! Good to see you again. You thinkin' about giving Vortex another go?" Ben Culpepper, a young bull rider, slapped him on the shoulder. "You're lookin' good."

  "I feel good. And the answer to your question is no. My bull-riding days are over."

  "Sorry to hear that, but it doesn't surprise me after the beating you took."

  "The doc warned me it was too risky after that kick I took to my noggin. He won't clear me to ride again, so I'm in search of a new career."

  "Most bull riders start over at some time in their life. That's why I keep taking college courses on the Internet. You're smarter than the average cowboy, Dusty. I have no doubt you'll find your way."

  "Thanks, Ben. I appreciate that." After Ben walked off, Dusty glanced at Vortex again. Come to think of it, maybe he ought to thank that old bull. If not for his accident, he wouldn't have returned to Gramma's and wouldn't have renewed his relationship with Lindsey. That thought sobered him. Could the accident actually have been God's will for his life, to set him on a new course?

  "Whoa, Chad. Look who's here. If it ain't Dustin Starr."

  Dusty knew he'd run into some of his adversaries sooner or later, but he would have preferred to avoid the Applegate brothers completely. He straightened, turned, and gave a curt nod. "Howdy, Stoney. Chad."

  Chad bumped elbows with Stoney. Both men had yellow-green eyes that reminded Dusty of a lizard's. "Wouldn't you say ol' Dustin's star is lookin' a bit dusty?"

  They burst into laughter, slapping their legs.

  "Ha-ha, very funny." If the comment hadn't come from these two, he might have laughed at it himself. He clenched his jaw to keep from telling them that even though his star was dusty and he was out for good, he was still ahead of both of them in the overall standings. That would probably change down the road as they competed more though. Mentioning he was ahead wouldn't accomplish anything other than massaging his pride. But he was a better man than that.

  Dusty pushed away from the rail and walked past the two men, ignoring them. He saw Jace Kirkland exit the lunchroom. The man looked around then made a beeline for him. As he drew close, he lifted a hand. "Ben said you were back, but I had to see for myself." He stuck out his hand, and Dusty shook it, noticing the Applegate troublemakers were heading toward the parking lot. "Good to see you, Jace. How's the livestock business?"

  "Good. Really good. That's what I'd like to talk to you about if you've got time."

  "I've got all day."

  "Great. Join me in my trailer?"

  "Lead the way."

  Once again, excitement raced through Dusty. Jace owned Kirkland Cattle Company, which was the largest stock contractor working with the PBR. Jace consistently had several bulls finish in the top ten of the top-ranking bulls, and he was well known for his integrity.

  Jace opened the door of his fancy travel trailer but stood back to let Dusty enter first. The place was much nicer than the old trailer he'd shared with Daniel—and neater. But then Jace had a wife.

  "Loretta's not here?"

  "Nah. She went grocery shopping—and if I'm not mistaken—she'll probably come back with a new pair of shoes or two."

  Dusty grinned. "You don't say."

  "I do—and she will. Don't know how many pairs of shoes it takes to please a woman." Jace shook his head as he pulled out a chair at the table. "Have a seat. Care for a drink?"

  "Sure. A Coke would taste great—or anything close to it."

  Pictures of Jace's prize bulls hung on the walls, and the place smelled like someone had been baking something sweet recently.

  Jace slid an opened Coke bottle toward him, then took a seat and swigged his own. They talked about Dusty's accident and recovery for about ten minutes.

  Jace pursed his lips. "I sure hated to see you get hurt like you did. You probably would have won another buckle if you hadn't."

  How many times had he thought the same thing? But it happened, and there was no going back.

  "You know I live up in Wyoming, right?"

  Dusty nodded. "That's a long way from here. I imagine you spend more than half the year gone from your ranch."

  "That's a fact." He leaned back and stared at Dusty. "Is it true that you've got some land?"

  "My Gramma owns one-hundred and sixty-eight acres, but I can use it if I have need of it."

  Jace tapped the table with his finger. "That's not as much as I thought. Where's it located?"

  "Not far from Texarkana."

  "So it's grassy land? Would support a good size herd?"

  Dusty nodded again, still not sure what Jace was thinking about. "My girlfriend lives next door to us and owns a hundred acres. I imagine I could lease it if I had a good reason to."

  Jace's blue-gray eyes lit up. His fuzzy eyebrows and wiry gray hair reminded Dusty of a mad professor he'd seen in a cartoon. Leaning back in his chair, Jace studied him for a long moment. "Here's what I'm thinkin'," he finally said. "I'm ready to retire—at least from traveling so much. I'm lookin' for someone in this neck of the woods to partner with. So many of the rodeos are around these parts that I thought it would be good to have a base here. Are you interested?"

  "I'm not exactly sure what you're askin'."

  "I want a place in northeastern Texas to raise livestock for the rodeos. This is good country for cattle. I'm willing to supply you with a prize-winning bull and starter stock for breeding. 'Course, you'd need to buy other quality stock to bring in a new bloodline. I know several contractors with good rodeo stock that'd be willing to sell you some."

  Dusty's heart bucked, and he tried not to let his excitement show. "In exchange for what?"

  Jace thumped the table again. "A share of the proceeds of anything you sell and a cut of the winnings, should any of the bulls end up in the top rankings."

  "How big a percentage?"

  "Half."

  Dusty shook his head. "I'll have to provide feed for all the cattle, as well as cover any vet fees. Rent the land from my grandma and Lindsey. I'll give you one-fifth of the profits
."

  "Thirty-five percent."

  The man was being far more than fair. Dusty didn't want to take advantage of him, but he would have to make a profit, or there was no point in the venture. "Twenty-five."

  Jace stared at him hard for a long moment. Dusty thought maybe he'd pushed the man too far.

  A grin slowly lifted Jace's lips, and he nodded. "I like working with a man who knows how to dicker well." He stuck out his hand.

  Dusty grinned and shook hands, sealing the deal. "I can't thank you enough, Jace. This is just the opportunity I've been hoping for." And praying for.

  "Always happy to help another cowboy." He swigged the last of his Coke then rose. "We'll need to talk about the details some more, then I'll have the papers drawn up and sent to you. Let me know when you're ready for the cattle. Oh, and if you can stick around for a few days, I can work with you on the rodeo end and make sure you meet the men you'll be dealing with. Of course, by the time you have stock ready to sell, there may be other people in charge."

  "Thanks, Jace." Dusty stood and shook his friend's hand again. "I've gotta be home by next Saturday, but I can stick around until then. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this chance. I'll do my best, and hopefully, we'll both make money."

  "That's what I'm countin' on."

  Outside, Dusty gazed up at the sky. God had come through quickly and surprisingly. He had barely considered being a stock contractor, but the idea sat well with him. Without a contract with the rodeo, he'd face years of building a herd and hoping for good bucking stock, but by partnering with Jace, he already had an open door and high quality livestock. Only God could have worked out such an arrangement.

  #

  That evening, Dusty sat atop the railing of Chute Four, which wasn't being used. He watched several of his friends compete, most getting bucked off, but a few making it to the buzzer. All manner of thoughts churned through him, but the one that surprised him most was relief that he never had to sit on the back of a cantankerous bull again and get his teeth jarred and bones rattled.

  "Well, well, folks, have I got a surprise for you," the announcer's voice echoed across the arena. "I've just been told that former PBR champion Dustin Starr is in attendance tonight. We're mighty glad to have Dusty back after his close encounter with Black Vortex. Look over at Chute Four, folks. Give a wave, Dusty."

  He lifted his hat to the audience, and the crowd roared. Okay, he had to be honest, he would miss this, but he was ready to move on. In fact, he was excited about it. He nodded his thanks to everyone and put his hat on.

  He watched the next rider make it to six seconds before losing his grip and sailing off the side of the bull. But his hand got hung up, and the bull continued bucking, shaking the man like a flag in a windstorm. One of the bullfighters raced toward the bull's head, jumped in the air and onto the far side of the animal in his effort to gain the animal's attention. Another rodeo clown did his best to assist the hung-up rider. The crowd remained deathly quiet, watching the ordeal play out. Dusty clenched his jaw, almost feeling the pain from the man's hard landing each time he hit. The last time Dusty had hit the ground like that, he'd busted his collarbone.

  Suddenly, the rider got free and lifted one arm to indicate he was okay. The crowd cheered. The bullfighters chased the bull out of the arena as the disqualified rider limped to the gate. Dusty realized he'd been clutching the top of the steel chute so hard that he had indentations in his palms. He rubbed the red marks.

  The sensation of being watched sent a sudden snake of awareness slithering down Dusty's spine. It was a silly notion considering he was sitting up front in the chute area, where all eyes were turned on Clint Blackwell, the next rider, preparing to take his seat on Bushwhacker. Still, Dusty couldn't resist the urge to look to his left and scan the audience. He recognized several people on the first row, PBR officials, but no one was looking at him, not that he could tell.

  He pulled his gaze back to the stairway closest to him. Two cute gals in shorts trotted up to their seats and sat. At the top of the arena stairs, a man stood in the aisle—staring at him. Dusty stared back, and suddenly, a zing of awareness rippled through him. What was he doing here?

  #

  Lindsey's excitement soared higher with each sentence Dusty uttered over the phone. "Wasn't Jace Kirkland Stock Contractor of the Year last year?"

  "Yep, and he's won that honor four times in the past ten years."

  "Wow! What an opportunity it is to work with him." She stretched out her legs on the couch, trying to get comfortable.

  "Yeah, I can hardly believe my good fortune."

  "You know it's not luck, but God's favor. This is an answer to our prayers."

  "You're right, Linds. It is. A big answer."

  "So what else happened? Did you see lots of people you know?"

  "Quite a few. Most everyone seemed happy to see me."

  Lindsey scratched an itch behind her left ear, almost afraid to voice her next few questions, but she had to know. "How did it feel to be back? Did you wish you were riding?"

  He was quiet for a long moment. "Surprisingly—no. I was actually glad I didn't have to go through it all. I felt free of the pull. I'm ready for the next step in my life."

  She held her breath, hoping he'd say more about that. Was he thinking that she belonged in his future? A faint beep sounded through the phone. "Do you have another call?"

  "No, my phone's about dead. I forgot to bring my charger. If I can find one, I'll buy another, but if you don't hear from me again before Saturday, don't worry." He was quiet for a long moment, and she thought maybe the connection had been severed. "Linds, you won't believe who I ran into today."

  Her mind raced, trying to think of any of their old school friends who'd moved to Dallas.

  "It was your dad."

  Her heart leapt into her throat. Dad? She didn't know which of the questions bombarding her mind to ask first. "What—how?"

  "He was at the rodeo. He's changed. He even apologized to me for chasing me off right after Sean died."

  Her heart thundered. She realized that her anger from the past was gone, and she wanted to know all about her father now. "How did he look?"

  "Older but good. And he said he'd like to see you—if you're willing."

  She searched for the hint of anger that had been there before, but it was gone. "Did you tell him to call me?"

  "No, but he did give me his phone number. Do you want it?"

  The thought of seeing Dad again after so long made her limbs tingle. She longed to be wrapped in his arms once again—to experience family again. In spite of how he'd walked out of her life, he was all she had left, and she wanted to see him. The phone beeped again. "Yes. Please."

  Dusty rattled off the number, and she wrote it down. After so many years, could she simply call him? If she wanted to reconnect, it looked like it was up to her to make the first step. But right now, she wanted to talk to Dusty before his phone died. "Remember, you promised you'd be here for my party."

  "And that's a promise I intend—"

  The line went dead. "To keep." She hoped that's what he'd meant to say. She laid her phone on the table then leaned back against the sofa pillows, glancing up at the ceiling. "Thanks so much, Lord, for letting Dusty run into Dad. Give me the courage to call him…and please let him want to talk to me. And thank you so much for the job offer for Dusty."

  He had a lot to learn from Mr. Kirkland between now and the weekend. Would he get caught up in all of it and forget about her? Forget about her party? She nibbled her lip. The thought of calling her dad made her feel vulnerable too. What if things didn't go like she hoped? Her emotions would be crushed all over again. She'd already allowed Dusty back into her heart. How could she bear it if her dad refused to talk to her and abandoned her again? And what if Dusty did the same?

  She shook her head and clutched a pillow to her chest. Her thoughts were unreasonable, given how things had been going with Dusty, but they assailed her anyway. S
he knew her enemy, Satan, would like nothing more than to steal her joy and peace, but she couldn't allow that. She bowed her head. "Help me, Lord. Give me the strength to talk to my dad again, even if he still doesn't want to be part of my life—and the faith to believe that Dusty is a man of his word."

  Chapter Eight

  Saturday evening, Lindsey stared out Shirley's kitchen window. She pulled her gaze from the brilliant sunset of neon oranges and pinks to check the road again. Where was Dusty? He'd promised he'd be here for her party. She'd struggled the past few days, worrying about him when he hadn't called again. He should have been home yesterday or Thursday. Was he sick? Did he get in a wreck? Or had he gotten caught up with Mr. Kirkland and merely forgot?

  "Staring out the window won't make Dusty get here any faster, dear." Shirley turned a chicken leg in her cast iron skillet, sending tummy-tingling aromas wafting through the air.

  "I know." Lindsey smiled. "I can't tell you how good that smells."

  "It tastes even better. That's why I wanted to fix it for you. Did you talk to your dad again? I can't tell you how happy I was to hear that you and he had reconnected."

  "No. Just the one time, but we had a good, long talk. I'm encouraged and hope to see him soon."

  "Too bad he wasn't able to be here tonight." Amy scooped steaming mashed potatoes into an old, green Pyrex bowl.

  "Yeah. That would have been really special." She tried not to think of how disappointed she'd been that her dad hadn't even mentioned her birthday and instead focused on seeing her again once he tied up his business in Dallas.

  Daniel knocked on the table with his fist. "I tried calling that knuckleheaded brother of mine again, but he's not answering."

  "Maybe that's because he forgot his charger, like Lindsey told you." Amy glanced across the room at her, offering a sympathetic smile.

  Lindsey's heart pinched. Dusty had done it again—abandoned her. She'd tried not to get her hopes up about the party, but it had been so long since anyone had thought to celebrate it. Not since her grandmother died had someone made her a cake or given her a gift, and now she had four presents sitting on the end of the table, wrapped in colorful paper with pretty bows on top. But no Dustin.