He didn’t let go of her hand until he’d pulled her down on the grass with him. She expected it to be damp and cold. Instead it was warm from the sun.
“See that one there?” Bullet pointed to a cloud. “Looks a lot like the filly when she reared up on me a bit ago.”
Tristan put her hand across her brow to shade the sun’s glare. “It does.”
“Reminded me of you.”
“What?” Tristan started to sit up, but saw Bullet’s grin and lay back down.
“Dada!” Grey came running across the lawn and jumped on Bullet’s stomach.
“Sorry,” said Liv, chasing after him. “He saw you out here and was through the front door before I could stop him.”
Bullet lifted the little boy up in the air and spun him around until he giggled. “How’s my big boy?”
Tristan couldn’t understand any of what Grey said in response, but it seemed as though Bullet did. Watching him with his son made her think again that she had misjudged him. Perhaps she should invite him to the sponsorship meeting. If they could sponsor twenty, they could certainly sponsor twenty-one.
Bullet set Grey on his bottom on the grass and pulled his ringing phone out of his pocket.
“Yeah,” he answered. “’Bout damn time.” Pause. “Sure, I can meet ya. Just give me a couple of days to make arrangements.”
When he hung up he picked Grey up again. “You ready to see sissy?”
Grey squealed and let forth another slew of unintelligible words.
“Sissy?” Tristan asked.
“My daughter. Her mama finally agreed to let her come visit. Been too damn long, hasn’t it, Grey?” He set Grey down again, and the little boy lay down in the grass next to Tristan.
Her head was spinning with questions. Daughter? Mama? Bullet had another child? Had he been married before? Why hadn’t Lyric told her that part of the story?
“Pearl just turned three,” he said, as though that was all the explanation necessary.
“Time for my meeting.” She stood and walked toward the house.
“Tristan?” he asked after her.
“What, Bullet?”
He was on his feet, striding toward her. “What’s goin’ through your head?”
“Nothing, why?”
He reached out and rubbed her shoulders. “You were relaxed for a minute. Now you’re all tensed up again. What happened?”
“Break’s over. Back to business.” She turned away from him and was almost up the porch steps when he caught up to her again.
“You got somethin’ against kids?”
She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Kids? As in your two children? Or as in you, Bullet? I have no problem with the former; it’s the latter that makes me shake my head.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. None of my business. See you later.” Tristan closed the front door behind her, leaving him standing on the porch.
Bullet kicked at the dirt. “Shit.” Between last night and just now, he’d felt Tristan easing up on him. When he took her hand, she’d come along willingly. She was smiling when they lay in the grass. And when he rested his hand close enough that his pinky touched hers, she hadn’t moved it away. Even when Grey barreled on top of him, she hadn’t tensed up. It wasn’t until his phone call that she moved away from him.
It hadn’t occurred to him that she didn’t know he had a daughter too. Was it really so bad that he did?
“Damn judgmental woman,” he mumbled.
“Damn, damn, damn,” Grey sang as he ran around Bullet’s legs.
“If I said a hundred words, you’d pick out the only curse word and make that your song, wouldn’t you, Grey?”
His little boy smiled when Bullet picked him up. “Voom, voom?”
“Yep, that sounds good. Time for you and me to go for a ride.”
Bullet strapped Grey into the buddy seat. “I gotta get away from here for a bit.”
“Where’s he goin’?” Lyric asked Tristan.
“No idea. He got a phone call about meeting someone. Something about picking up his daughter.”
“Finally. I called Pearl’s mother this morning and gave her a piece of my mind. He hasn’t seen his daughter in almost two months. That wasn’t the agreement. Not even close. But that isn’t where he’s headed now. She lives in Texas. It’ll take a bit more plannin’ for that meetup.”
Tristan shook her head. She didn’t care. She’d given too much thought to Bullet as it was. She didn’t want to know any other details about his life. Her first impression had been spot on. What you saw with Bullet was what you got. Twenty new riders were plenty for her to sponsor this year. Adding one more wouldn’t be happening.
“Course callin’ her Pearl only made her mad. But I don’t care. She can’t keep his little girl from him.”
Tristan wanted to put her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to be curious about Bullet, or his kids. “Why did calling her Pearl make her mother mad?” Dammit. Why had she asked?
“Her name is Hannah.”
“Then why does he call her Pearl?” Tristan shook her head again. She was getting further into his business rather than out of it. What was wrong with her?
“He wanted to name the baby Pearl. Her mother didn’t agree. That was after he knew for sure the baby was his. I doubt he gave much thought to it before the DNA test.”
He needed a DNA test to know the baby was his? Jeez. It was even worse than she thought. She often wondered if the bull rider who broke her heart had any kids. Probably. He and Bullet were so much alike. Hadn’t she learned her lesson the first time?
“I can’t do this,” she said more to herself than to Lyric. “We’ve got a meeting.” Tristan huffed off in the direction of the lower level of the house, where the meetings were taking place.
Two hours later, the contracts were signed. Liv helped her record the measurements of the barrel racers while Lyric helped Jace record the bronc and bull riders’ sizes.
“Have you shown Lyric your new designs?” Liv asked quietly.
“No, just you so far. I don’t know…” She’d pulled her sketchbook out a half-dozen times to show Lyric, as well as some of the barrel racers, and then put it away moments later. Were her designs as good as Liv said they were, or was her friend being polite?
“Show Lyric, at least.”
“Maybe later.”
“No, now.” Liv walked over to Lyric before Tristan could stop her. “Ask Tristan to show you the new women’s line; the designs are fabulous.” Liv smiled in Tristan’s direction.
“New designs? What? I’m so excited. Where are they?” Lyric looked around as though she was looking for the actual pieces.
“Right here,” Tristan answered, holding up her sketchbook, which Lyric snatched out of her hand.
Ten minutes later, Lyric and Liv were still flipping pages back and forth, trying to decide their favorites. “When does production start?”
“I asked the same thing,” Liv answered Lyric. “And then I told her to make one of each in my size.”
Lyric high-fived Liv. “Right on! For me too.”
“What are you looking at?” asked Bree, walking down the stairs.
“New designs for Lost Cowboy.”
“Let me see.” She took the book out of Lyric’s hand the same way Lyric had taken it from Tristan.
“Hey,” Lyric snipped. “You got a serious entitlement thing goin’ on. You think I won’t smack a pregnant woman? You’re wrong.”
“Give her a turn.” Liv beamed at Tristan. “See? I told you to share them.”
“None of these will look any good on me,” groaned Bree. “Do you have any designs for bigger women?”
“You’re pregnant, not big,” insisted Lyric. “Before you know it, you’ll pop that kid out and be back to a size two.”
Bree cringed. “I’ve never been a size two.”
Liv followed Tristan when she walked in the direction of the patio. “You should
know Lyric well enough to realize she wouldn’t hesitate to tell you her honest opinion. If she didn’t like what she saw, she’d tell you. As I said, your designs are fabulous. Have you thought of a name for the line?”
Tristan had been thinking about it. She wasn’t ready to share it yet. First she needed to present the idea to her father. She didn’t know whether he would sign off on producing a whole new line of clothing. Telling Liv, or anyone else, the name she’d come up with seemed premature, and she didn’t want to jinx it.
Bullet drove to the park in town and let Grey loose on the playground. He sat on the grass, close enough that he could catch him if he climbed too high or got into some other kind of trouble.
Grey was just like him. Gram would say there was never a minute in Bullet’s childhood when he didn’t have a scraped knee or elbow.
“You must take after your father,” she’d tell him. “Your mama could go play in a mud puddle and come out of it clean as when she walked outdoors.”
Bullet could see that. His mother didn’t necessarily stand out in their group of friends, not visibly anyway. She looked and dressed the part of a rocker’s wife. There was just something about her, her aura maybe, that set her apart. Gram said she named his mom after Guinevere in the movie, Camelot. “Doesn’t she look just like Vanessa Redgrave?”
Bullet had never seen the movie, and he didn’t know who Vanessa Redgrave was, but when Gram showed Lyric and him the picture of the king and queen in the movie, he had to admit his mom looked a lot like the lady.
He wasn’t sure about taking after his father. If he and Lyric weren’t twins, Bullet might think he was adopted. He didn’t seem to take after anyone in his family.
His father met his mother when he was touring with his first band. They were the opening act for a band that wasn’t much more successful than they were. His dad would say he’d never doubt his wife’s love, because she’d loved him when he was a starving, struggling musician. Unlike some of his bandmates’ girlfriends, she’d loved him before he made it big. She loved him still, and would even if it all ended tomorrow.
Bullet wasn’t sure if he would ever love a woman the way his father loved his mom, who he probably never cheated on. Unlike Bullet. He’d cheated on Callie. While she was pregnant.
When Bullet told Gram he was going to marry Callie, she told him she wouldn’t try to talk him out of it, just like she didn’t try to talk him into marrying Pearl’s mama. “If you’re enough of an adult to make a child, you’re enough of an adult to make a decision.” She hugged him that day and whispered, “Slow down, Bullet. Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up.”
He remembered feeling old that day, old enough to be considered a grown up. Looking back on it, he wasn’t. He was pretending to be mature and responsible. He wasn’t then, and he wasn’t much more so now.
Gram’s friends would say that Lyric got the responsibility gene when the two were in the womb together. They’d say Bullet didn’t have a lick of the sense his sister had. Gram wouldn’t say much in response, but she would look at Bullet and wink. “We know better, don’t we?” she’d say later, when her friends were gone.
She may know, but he sure didn’t. Bullet thought Gram’s friends were right. Lyric was the responsible one. She never got in trouble, had good grades, and was already a successful businesswoman. What did he have? He’d had a lot of fun. And a couple of kids to show for it.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket when he felt it vibrate. He looked at the screen and saw Bill Patterson was calling.
“Hey, Bill. Uh, I’m at the park, with Grey. Everything okay?”
“Just checkin’ on you. It isn’t like you to leave a horse out in the corral when you’re done workin’ it.”
Shit. He’d completely forgotten about the filly. Another example of his lack of responsibility. Tristan probably told Bill, or one of the other partners that he’d left without thinking about the animal he was responsible for.
“I’ll round up Grey and get right back.”
“I took care of the horse, Bullet, but I think we need to talk.”
“Yes, sir.” Great. Now he was going to lose his job too. “I’ll be right there.”
1968
Clancy never told him what happened with his mama. All he’d say was everything had been taken care of, and his mother and sister were fine. Clancy went on two more trips during the last year, and wouldn’t tell Bill where he was going. When Bill asked, all Clancy would say was that he had private business to take care of. And that wasn’t like Clancy.
Tomorrow most of the ranch hands were driving to Gunnison for Cattlemen’s Days. This was the first year Bill was able to join them. He’d been so anxious about going he hadn’t slept too well the last few nights. He wasn’t as nervous about competing as he was about seeing Dottie again.
At the ranch’s cook’s urging, Bill had written Sadie’s niece a letter. He’d fretted a whole week about whether she’d answer. When he and Clancy made their weekly trip to the McCoy post office, there was a letter from Dottie waiting for him. For it to get to him that quickly, she had to have written it the same day she received his letter.
They exchanged letters weekly. Bill didn’t know what to expect when he wrote that he’d be coming to Gunnison. He worried she might have a steady beau, so he came right out and asked. She wrote back she did, and his name was Bill Flynn.
He’d done well that week on bulls and broncs. Tie-down roping too. Dottie was his girl, and he intended to do her proud.
10
What the hell was he going to do now? If Bill fired him from the Black Forest operation, he doubted if any of the Flying R partners would offer to let him work at one of the other ranches.
Bullet needed to pull his head out of his ass, again, and pay attention to what was in front of him. His kids. His job. And forget about women for a while. A long while. Especially one woman. Tristan. The more he tried to impress her, the more he did the opposite. Why did it matter what she thought of him?
Last night, as he held her in his arms when they danced, he imagined himself holding her all the time. She felt so good. Unlike Callie, who was more than a foot shorter than he was, Tristan was tall. Her head rested easily on his shoulder, and her body fit against his, as though it was made to.
When he closed his eyes, he could remember how she felt, her scent, his body’s reaction to her. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, but it was more than that. It was her. There were plenty of other pretty women at the bar last night. None of them did it for him. He’d danced with a couple. They didn’t fit. Not like Tristan.
Maybe if he could seduce her, sleep with her, get a taste of her, he could get her out of his head. He was sure that was her allure, that he couldn’t have her. When had he ever given up on the challenge of a woman he wanted? Never.
Bullet only hoped he was right, that once he had her, she’d be out of his head and he’d be able to pay attention to his responsibilities. He needed to get laid. It was that simple.
But in the back of his mind lingered the feeling that he was wrong, that getting Tristan McCullough out of his head wasn’t going to be simple at all.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving already,” pouted Liv.
“You’re the one who told me to hurry up and produce this line. In order for me to do so, I have to get back and talk to my father.”
“I know, I just like having you here.”
Tristan understood. Her friendship with Liv meant more to her every day. She was easy to talk to. And fun. She loved her father and grandfather, but she missed being around another woman. Biologically, Liv was old enough to be her mother, but their friendship wasn’t based on that. She had more in common with Liv than she did with Lyric, or Liv’s daughter, Renie, who were both her age.
“Damn stubborn,” they overheard Bill say to Dottie.
“Yes, he is. Now go right back out the door you came in, and apologize.”
“Apologize? Over my dead bod
y.”
Dottie laughed. “I can arrange that.”
They heard the front door open and close, and Dottie came into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” Liv asked.
“Bill and Bullet had an argument. Somehow, Bullet got it into his head that Bill was going to fire him. I can’t figure that out myself, but Bill told him he wouldn’t accept his resignation. Bullet said something about not resigning, that Bill was firing him. Anyway, the two of them are arguing on the same side, and neither one of them can set their stubbornness aside long enough to realize it.”
Tristan felt as though there was a rock in her stomach. If Bill fired Bullet, would she ever see him again? Would he go back to Oklahoma? “Why would Bill fire him?”
“He wouldn’t. That’s the point.” Dottie turned and looked at Tristan, smiling when she saw the worry on her face. “Uh oh. You’ve got it bad for the cowboy. My, oh my.”
“What? No. I don’t. That isn’t it. Bullet has a child to raise, that’s all. I’m just worried…”
Tristan stopped trying to explain when she realized Liv and Dottie were grinning at her.
“Stop it,” she barked at them. “It isn’t like that.”
Dottie patted Liv’s hand. “We’ve seen that look before, haven’t we, Livvie?”
“We sure have.”
“Stop it. I’m telling you it isn’t like that.”
“What isn’t like what?” Lyric shouted from the other room. Tristan hadn’t realized she was within earshot.
“Tristan and Bullet.”
“Oh, yeah, I know it. She’s in love with him.”
“Lyric!” gasped Tristan. “I am not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“And what’s better, my brother is in love with her too.”
“That’s absurd—”
“Oh, stop it,” Lyric added, walking into the room. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Besides, twins know these things. Can’t argue with a twin.”
Tristan looked to Liv to defend her, but saw immediately that it was pointless. Liv, Dottie, and Lyric were grinning at her in a way that told her she shouldn’t bother protesting.
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