Luckiest Cowboy of All--Two full books for the price of one

by Carolyn Brown

  “Maybe.” He gave her a smile even though he had no intention of following up.

  After he’d left her behind, he worked his way across the room, saying hello to some of the guys he’d competed against over the years and avoiding eye contact with every woman who seemed to be there to snag herself a stag. Finally, he saw Luis sitting at the end of the bar alone, which was exactly where he wanted to be. Head down, he elbowed his way through the lively crowd and plopped down on the stool next to Luis.

  His father looked him over. “You look as miserable as a hog who’s had his tail straightened,” he said, taking a pull on his beer.

  “I am,” he admitted, signaling to the bartender to bring him whatever Luis was drinking.

  “What’re you doing here, son?”

  He knew Luis didn’t mean at the party. He meant why was he here when things weren’t resolved with Jessa. Lance inhaled deeply. “Actually…I have no idea.” For months he’d had this clear vision, this laser focus on Worlds. Like the closer he got to losing his career, the tighter he’d held on. Except now he couldn’t for the life of him think why. It suddenly seemed a hell of a lot less important.

  “This world…it doesn’t give back to you.” Luis looked at him square in the face, wearing the same expression he had when Lance was a teenage delinquent. “You sacrifice your body—hell, your whole life—and in the end you don’t have much to show for it.”

  “So I guess the joke’s on us, huh?” Funny. The only guarantee when you were a professional athlete was that you’d have to retire early. You had to be prepared to walk away and start something new. Walk into a whole new life. No one told you that when you were starting out, though.

  “If I hadn’t had you boys when I retired, I would’ve lost myself.” Luis turned the stool to face him. “I did for a while. Took some time to get myself straightened out. I don’t want that to happen to you. You’re a lot like me. The most like me out of all you boys.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Even though that wasn’t how Luis meant it. And he understood. He hid behind his career. Used it as an excuse to block out everything else. He’d learned from watching his old man. He studied his father, still saw that spark of a young cowboy in his eyes, even with all of the lines the years had carved into his skin. “Why couldn’t you stop Mom from leaving?” He’d never asked, but now seemed like as good a time as any, seeing as how he was going to have to deal with his issues if he ever wanted to get Jessa back.

  Instead of deflecting the question with a gruff shrug of his shoulders like he usually did when Lance brought up something he didn’t want to talk about, Luis set down his beer. It clanked against the bar top with the tremor in his hand. “Maybe I could’ve. Truth is, I didn’t try.” His solemn eyes lifted and found Lance’s. “We got married young, and your mom…she worried an awful lot.”

  “I know. I remember.” She was always fussing over the three of them. Though as they’d gotten older she seemed to detach herself more and more.

  “It wasn’t normal worry. It consumed her, made her sick.” His father’s cheeks hollowed. “They’d call it anxiety now. And it was constant.”

  “I guess I didn’t realize it was so bad.” But now that he thought about it, she stayed home as often as she could. Didn’t have many friends. Tended to keep them home, too. She never hung around the corral, never went to any of their competitions.

  “They didn’t have medication for it then,” Luis said. “No help. And I didn’t know what to do for her.”

  “That’s why she left?” Because of anxiety? It seemed like such a simple thing…

  “She couldn’t handle it. The fact that all you boys were following in my footsteps. Riding bulls. She wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. She was so afraid something would happen to you.”

  Something did happen to them. All three of them. The day she left, she broke them. God, just look at them. All around thirty years old and not one healthy positive relationship among them…

  “She didn’t leave because she didn’t love you,” Luis said quietly. “I never wanted you to think that.”

  Remnants of the familiar anger stirred. “She could’ve chosen to stay.” She could’ve tried to get help. She could’ve gone to counseling or something.

  Luis shook his head. “Anxiety’s a hard thing to understand if you’ve never had it. It’s not just in your head. It’s physical. I saw it in her. It was killing her.” For the first time, Lance noticed a tremor in his father’s head. It ticked, making Lance look away. He couldn’t stand to see it, the evidence of a disease.

  “I should’ve tried harder. I wish I would’ve done more. I wish I would’ve at least taken time off to try and help her before it got so bad.”

  For the first time, Lance let himself consider the possibility she hadn’t wanted to leave. Maybe she didn’t feel she had a choice. “You think it would’ve made a difference?”

  “Maybe.” Luis sighed. “If I’d fought for her. If she would’ve had more support.” He gave Lance a long, steady glare, the same one he’d used when Lance would mouth off as an angry teen. “I know it cut you deep when she left. But it might be time to stop blaming her, son. As a parent you try to do your best with what you’ve got. In her way that’s what she did. That fear she had…it lied to her. Told her you’d be better off without her. I know it’s hard to understand, but that’s the truth of it.”

  “Guess I don’t have to understand it.” All these years, he’d tried. And even knowing what he knew now, he couldn’t understand. Luis was right. He hadn’t stood where she stood. He had no idea what she struggled with. But he did know one thing. He couldn’t let fear rob him of loving someone, of letting her love him. He wanted to do better than his mother had. All these years, he hadn’t. When he’d lashed out at Jessa, it wasn’t because he was pissed. It was because he was afraid. For his father, sure, but also for himself. “You regret it?” he asked his father. “Sticking with your career instead of walking away to be what she needed?”

  A deep inhale seemed to steady Luis’s tremors. “More than I can say. I was too busy collecting a whole lot of shiny shit that doesn’t mean much.” He looked around the party surrounding them. “Thing is, that’s not my legacy. That room of buckles and trophies and news clippings. No one here gives a rat’s ass who I am now.”

  “I do,” Lance argued. His father had done his best for them. In his imperfect way. But it was enough. He’d earned their loyalty, their love, even if he didn’t feel he deserved it.

  Hope sparked inside of him, filling that empty coldness that’d hounded him since Jessa had sent him away. Maybe his pathetic, imperfect offering could be enough for her, too.

  His father reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “You can leave your mark on this world only in the people you love. Not in the stuff you accomplish. You remember that, son.”

  If Luis had said that to him six months ago, he would’ve laughed. But now he was starting to understand.

  * * *

  “It’s gotta be perfect, Cortez,” Tucker said, pacing on the outside of the chute. “I mean, one hundred percent flawless. You gotta get your leg off him. You need the extra points.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Lance tightened the chinstrap on his helmet. He eyed the bull that snorted on the other side of the fence. Loco Motive made Ball Buster and Wild Willy look like kittens. The damn bull had already taken eight riders out of the competition and had sent two to the hospital.

  Adrenaline boiled in his gut, shooting his body temperature up about a hundred degrees. Damn all the gear they made ’em wear these days. When he’d started out, he hadn’t had to bear half his weight in body armor.

  “Stay loose up there,” Tucker instructed.

  How was that possible when he felt this tense? He glanced around at the television cameras, all starting to swing his way. The announcers were no doubt detailing his story, his last title from six years ago to now, when he’d barely qualified to be here.

&
nbsp; Was Jessa watching? Would she be cheering him on? God, he wanted to call her right now, tell her everything he’d wanted to say to her. But she hadn’t returned any of his messages. Five days. It had been only five days since he’d seen her and yet it felt like five months.

  All week, he’d held on to her words. You can win. They’d kept him going. Jessa thought he could do this, so he’d ride perfect. Not for the cheering fans. Not for Luis or Tucker. Not even for himself. For her. From this moment on, he wanted everything to be about her.

  The manager gave him the signal to climb up and get into position.

  Here we go. He tried to clear his head the way he’d always been able to do. Took some deep breaths, inhaling that manure-tinged scent of the bull. Took about five guys to hold Loco Motive in place while Lance climbed the fence.

  Tucker gave him a final pat on the arm, looking a hell of a lot more nervous than him. He couldn’t blame him. Lance hadn’t exactly had a stellar ride this week. Solid, but nothing that could put him on top. Not yet at least.

  “You’re on,” the director said.

  Lance swung his leg over the fence and slid onto the bull.

  Instantly agitated, the son of a bitch snorted and bucked.

  Lance got his right hand gripped onto the rope and kept his left hand up. Had to keep his left arm raised, no matter what happened. If it came down, if it so much as grazed the bull, he’d lose points.

  The chute opened.

  Loco Motive shot straight into the corral, bucking and kicking. Pissed off as all hell.

  But Lance kept his form. Left arm waving, right hand fisting that rope so damn hard it felt like his knuckles would break. The arena flashed around him, fragmented glimpses of the crowd, the judges, the scoreboard.

  One…

  The bull’s body jackknifed, but he saw it coming. His body whipped forward and he clenched his legs tight around the bull’s wide girth, waving his left arm over his head.

  Two…

  The loud roar of the crowd muted Loco Motive’s angry snorts. The bull reared up again launching them both.

  Three…

  Fuck! Could this get any longer? He curved his back, let his upper body jolt freely with the bull’s enraged kicks.

  Four…

  His right hand burned like someone had stuck it in a fire. Another hard jerk sent a shot straight to his back, the muscles threatening to cave in.

  Five…

  Loco Motive spun in a rage, kicking up the dirt, tossing his head back like he’d had it. Lance’s body thrashed, ribs separating, whiplash starting to weaken his neck.

  Six…

  Every muscle in Lance’s body pinched, sending rivers of pain all through him. Not enough. This ride was not enough.

  Seven…

  He saw lights. Blurred faces. His leg. He had to get his leg up. Straining his back, he raised his left arm higher over his head and shifted his balance. His back spasmed as he lifted his right leg away from the bull, holding his posture, fighting like hell to keep his grip. The crowd’s praise droned in his ears.

  Eight!

  His grip loosened. The right wrist was giving out. He hugged his knees into the bull’s sides and flung his left arm high into the air with a whoop. Loco Motive gave one last bucking kick as though he’d taken personal offense to that, and flung Lance toward the corral fence.

  A collective gasp hushed the crowd, but elation drowned out the pain in his body. That was the ride of his life. He knew it, felt it. While the bullfighter lured away Loco Motive, Lance lay flat on his back in the dirt, staring up at the scoreboard. Two medics rushed over but he waved them away. He’d be fine. As soon as he saw the score, he’d be fine. It seemed to take forever while the crowd murmured. He lay there under the lights, taking it all in, wishing he would see Jessa’s face in the stands.

  “Ninety-four point eight,” the announcer called with an excitement that reignited the arena.

  He had to blink, had to squint his eyes to make sure that was right.

  Sure enough, the red numbers lit up the screen: 94.8. There were three riders left, but no one would beat that. No one could beat that. His eyes closed and he breathed out, now feeling every aching muscle, every sore bone.

  He flattened his hands against the ground, ready to get up, but Tucker catapulted in and landed right on top of him. “Hell yeah!” his friend yelled. “Hell! Yeah!” He slapped him square in the chest. “You nailed it!”

  Wincing, Lance rolled out from underneath Tucker and pushed to his feet. The crowd noise deafened him. He waved and started to limp toward the gate, trying to keep a rowdy smile intact for the cameras. But it wasn’t real.

  There were thousands of people here. The one person he wanted, though, the one who mattered, wasn’t. He looked around, at the crowd, all watching the replay on the Jumbotron in an awed silence. And he felt no different. No better than he had twenty minutes ago. He’d just taken the world title he’d been striving for, and he didn’t even feel like celebrating.

  The crowd, the fanfare, the cheering…none of it even came close to giving him the same rush he got when he made Jessa smile.

  Tucker launched himself into another man hug. “I can’t believe it, you son of a bitch! You did it.”

  Lance pushed him off and backed away. He couldn’t stay. All he could think about was pulling Jessa into his arms. He didn’t care what she said, she belonged with him. And he belonged with her. “I have to get out of here. Now.”

  “You can’t go!” Tucker tried to block him. “You just won the world title, jackass! They’re not gonna let you cut out. You’ve gotta stay for the hoopla!”

  He couldn’t. Not without Jessa here. He never would’ve been able to do this if it hadn’t been for her.

  And she was all he needed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  OhmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyGod!” Jessa sprinted down some steps in the dark arena, trying to find her way out so she could get to him. That image of him flying toward the fence replayed again and again, sending her stomach into a downward spiral. When he’d hit the ground, Lance hadn’t moved. And before she knew what she was doing, she’d jumped up in a panic, stepping on toes and purses and drinks until she’d made her way to the end of the row. But where was she now? And where was Lance?

  Was he dead?

  Finally, she saw a door and charged it, jogging out into the concessions area. But the place was so big—so many stairs and food stands and doors…

  “How can I get down there?” she asked some poor older man pushing a trash can. “I have to find Lance Cortez! I have to get to him.”

  He looked down as though embarrassed for her.

  “I’m not a groupie!” she shrieked. “He gave me this pass!” She tugged at the lanyard hanging around her neck. “Where’s the staging area? Where do they take injured riders?”

  He pointed at an escalator and got the hell out of there.

  Gripping the handrail, she stumble-jogged down the escalator to the main floor and tore down a corridor, searching for a door that would get her back there.

  There! Official-looking steel double doors. She bolted for them, but before she got there, they flew open.

  Lance ran out. Ran! He was running!

  “What’re you doing?” she yelled, floating to him in a stupefied jog. “Oh my God, Lance! I thought you were hurt!”

  He caught her in his arms, looking her over, touching her like he had to make sure she was really standing there. “What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly. “I thought you didn’t come…”

  Seeing him whole, strong and upright, brought a fast rush of relief that made her dizzy. “I came.” She cupped her hand on his uninjured cheek. “Of course I came.” A happy sigh pushed her closer to him and she felt his heartbeat against her chest. “I couldn’t get a flight out until this morning. Everything was booked.” And she’d had to get coverage at the shelter, and find someone to watch Ilsa, and then Naomi and Darla and Cassidy had all wanted to come, so they’d
had to find flights, too…

  “But you weren’t in your seat,” he said, smoothing his hand down her hair. “I looked for you…”

  “I got here late, so I just sat in an empty seat.” Who knew how long it would’ve taken her to find the right section?

  She ran her hands down his arms, searching for damage. “And when the bull threw you, I got up and ran.” She peered up at him, all teary and pathetic. “I couldn’t stand it. I thought—”

  “I’m fine. Hardly felt it.” He hugged her close, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her lips. “When I won, all I could think about was you. You weren’t there…”

  “You won?” She gasped. She’d been so panicked she hadn’t even realized. She pushed him away. “If you won you have to go back in there!” What the hell was he doing standing out here talking to her?

  He gazed down at her and his eyes had the power to kill her and revive her all at once.

  “I had to find you so I just…ran out.”

  “You shouldn’t have.” She never would’ve asked him to do that. “This was your dream. You should enjoy all of it. Everything the experience will offer you.”

  “I guess you could say I have a new dream.” He lifted his hand to her face, trailing his fingers down her cheek. “One that matters more.”

  Jessa pressed her hand against her chest, tears welling. His nearness stirred a craving, a tingling rush that covered her skin and while the rest of her felt weak, her heart beat strongly.

  “Fact is, I’m pretty messed up,” he said, pressing his hand against hers, stroking her fingers. “What I said about you not being part of the family…” His head shook. “It wasn’t you I was mad at. I’ve blamed my mom for everything. Every bad thing that’s happened since she left, I put it on her.”

  “I can understand that,” Jessa whispered.

  “But I’m ready to let it go. Get past it. I have to or I’ll never have anything that matters.” His fingertips brushed hers but he didn’t hold on. “You didn’t betray me. You’ve only been good to me. And to my family. I’m sorry I hurt you.”