He grinned. “I look that good, huh?”
“Oh yeah, cowboy. If I could move in this dress, I’d straddle you right now.”
“Don’t let that stand in your way, sugar,” Ty said. “Dresses are real easy to work around.”
“But I thought you said we had some kind of schedule to keep?”
“We do, so I guess I’ll have to ask you to save that item for later. I think we can manage to work it into the agenda. I’ll prioritize it.”
“The agenda?” she repeated. “That sounds awfully businesslike.”
“It’s meant to be, Ms. Brandt. This is, in fact, a business meeting.”
“At the LINQ?” She’d passed by it a number of times but had never checked it out.
A few minutes later the limo pulled up in front of the High Roller observation wheel. “Is this it?” she asked in surprise. “You’re taking me on an amusement ride?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” he replied evasively.
Instead of waiting in the ticket line, they were escorted by a uniformed security guard through the back entrance and directly to the loading area, where they boarded one of the glass-enclosed observation pods.
“The wheel completes a full rotation every thirty minutes, but this pod is ours alone for the rest of the night,” Ty said.
“Really? We have it all to ourselves?”
“Yes,” he said. “They’ve flagged us as ‘Do not disturb.’ ”
Monica noticed the table set with crystal and fine china. “A catered dinner too? No expense spared, I see. I’m doubly impressed.” She walked slowly across the floor to stare out at The Strip as they began the slow ascent. It was a moonless night, but the bright city lights seemed to stretch their fingers clear up to the heavens. “It’s an incredible view,” she murmured.
“Just wait until we get to the top,” he said. “This thing rises five hundred fifty feet above the city.”
“It’s beautiful, but why was it so important to show me?” She turned to face him. “I don’t understand, Ty. I thought you were going to explain to me why you want to keep the hotel.”
“I didn’t bring you up here to talk about the hotel,” he said. “I brought you for something far more important than that.”
He came from behind to wrap both big arms around her, pulling her in against his body as he gazed over her shoulder out at the Las Vegas Strip. “I came out here eight years ago at rock bottom. I was a blank slate with no plans, no dreams, and very little hope for my future, other than getting through another drink-less day. I’d just come out of rehab and was in the middle of a nasty divorce. I don’t have a clue what Tom saw in me at that point, but he was somehow moved to help me start over.” He turned her around to face him, his green-and-gold-flecked eyes seeking hers.
“Vegas saved me, Monica. I fell in love with this place the very first time I saw it at night—the lights, the sounds, the excitement. It brought me back to life, filled me with possibilities of what could still be. Just look out there right now. Look at those explosions of light and bursts of color. Every night here is like the damn Fourth of July. And that’s us, Monica. That’s what it feels like whenever we’re together. We’re Las Vegas.”
“Fireworks,” she whispered. “But fireworks don’t last, Ty. They always fizzle and burn out.”
“But Vegas doesn’t,” he insisted. “Night after night it comes alive, dazzling the barren desert with all of its garish glory. For eight years I’ve had this vision of building my own legacy down there, of making my own lasting mark in this desert. Vegas symbolizes all my hopes and dreams. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
“I don’t know, Ty. I thought I did. Just yesterday I felt like I finally understood, but then . . .” His rejections of her ideas after looking at the sketches had hurt deeply.
“I wasn’t ready,” he said. “I wasn’t secure enough to share it.”
“And now suddenly you are?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “I am. That’s why I brought you up here. I needed you to see this. I thought that if you understood my vision, maybe you could also share my dream.”
“But you don’t really need me, Ty.” Her throat tightened as she reached into her purse and pulled out the check. “You can do it all without me.”
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Fifty million. The money’s yours. Interest free. I want you to build your dream, Ty.”
Making no move to take the money, he let out an exasperated snort. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
“No,” she said, confused by his reaction. “I’m not so sure I do.”
She gasped as he took the check from her hand and tore it in half. “What the hell did you do that for?” she shrieked. “That was fifty million, Ty! Are you freaking crazy?”
“No, I’m not crazy,” he replied with a slow shake of his head. “I finally understand what’s been missing. Dreams are meant to be shared, Monica. I realized that yesterday.”
“Yesterday you totally shut me down when I wanted to be a part of this. What changed?”
“The thought of you leaving again,” he said. “The idea of going it alone just feels empty . . . meaningless.” He nodded to the view below. “It felt as if someone flipped off the power switch and threw that entire scene down there into total blackness. The hotel doesn’t matter anymore, if you aren’t part of it. If you leave here I’m selling it to Evan.”
She gaped. “What did you say?”
“You heard me right. If you leave me, Evan comes out the winner. Isn’t that what you wanted all along? Or is he the only one who would finally get what he wants?”
“I can’t believe this,” she said. “All this time I thought all you really cared about was the hotel and getting the money to rebuild it.”
“Maybe I did in the beginning, but that was before you. Now I realize there’s something I want more. I want you, Monica. If you think you could be happy here, I’d like you to stay in Vegas, even if it means fighting and squabbling our way to a grand reopening. If you want to go, I’d ask you to consider making a life with me on a five-thousand-acre spread in Oklahoma. It’s in the middle of nowhere, but at least we have a plane and lots of privacy if we ever decide we’d like to try our hand at making babies.”
“Tom would have loved that,” she said.
“Yeah,” Ty answered with a soft smile. “He sure would’ve.”
“What if I don’t want to live on a ranch?” she asked. “What if I suddenly got a wild hair and decided I wanted to travel to the French Riviera?”
Ty cocked his head with a frown. “Depends. Do they still have topless beaches over there?”
“I’m serious, Ty. What if I wanted to travel?” Monica asked.
“How long would you want to travel for?” he asked.
“I don’t know. A month or two, maybe.”
“We’re gonna have to shut the hotel down anyway for construction. We could close at any time now that we’re through the bull-riding finals.”
“You’re serious?” she asked.
“Yeah. I figure the demolition part is gonna take a few weeks, but I don’t have to be here for that. I just need to be back for the construction.”
“How long do you figure for that?” she asked.
“I’d say we’re looking at anywhere from twelve to eighteen months, depending on permits and such,” Ty said. “I’m hoping to do it in phases so we don’t put our people completely out of work. I’d like to get started as soon as we get our plans approved, but right now we’re still not even decided on what those plans are gonna be, so I don’t see why I couldn’t take some time off.”
“I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation,” Monica said. “You’d really hop on a plane tomorrow and go traveling with me?”
“I didn’t say tomorrow, sugar, but I think I could go for a few weeks, if that’s what you really want. Maybe you could show me that Spanish bullring?”
“You really mean th
at, Ty?” she asked, her throat choking with tears.
“Don’t give me too much credit,” he replied with a sexy grin, “Maybe I just have fantasies of you and me joining the Mile High Club.”
“Do you now?” Grabbing his shirt collar, she pushed him backward onto the bench seat and then straddled his lap. “If that’s the case, Ty, why wait?”
Don’t miss the next novella in the Hotel Rodeo series
Beauty and the Bull Rider
On sale in March 2016 from Lyrical Shine!
Chapter One
National Bull Riding Championship, Las Vegas, Nevada
Zac McDaniel entered the bull pen cursing his damned bad luck. He didn’t need a doc or X-rays to tell him he’d broken something. The grinding of bones was a sure enough sign, even if the pain hadn’t already clued him in. He was used to pain though. After fifteen years of rodeo, the last ten dedicated strictly to bulls, he’d experienced his fair share of it. Twelve broken bones—thirteen if you counted the currently-broken wrist—three concussions, and numerous sprains and dislocations that didn’t count ’cause he’d ridden through most of ’em still hadn’t knocked any sense into him.
Then again he was a hard-headed sonofabitch.
Whether he was harder-headed than the bull he’d drawn for his final ride was yet to be determined. Super Spin Cycle was one of the rankest bastards on the tour and the most notorious for rearranging cowboy’s faces, but with thirty outs and only two rides, he was also one of the most coveted draws. The more buck in the bull meant the more chance of a payoff—if Zac made it to the whistle.
Swapping riding hands made the likelihood of that payoff a long shot at best, but his left handed grip was too weak from the injury to chance it, and quitting wasn’t an option. This ride was his last big shot: after that, he was done for good. Living on the road had lost its shine a long time ago.
In the beginning he’d loved the freedom and the variety of traveling, all the different places and the new faces, but somewhere along the line, the lack of routine had become more mundane than working a nine-to-five. The roads all looked the same. The rodeo arenas all smelled the same. The motel beds felt the same. The only thing that changed was his bedmates. The only real difference from one event to another was the bull. Any rider who forgot that or became complacent would have a short career—one that usually ended in intensive care.
After fifteen years of riding broncs and bulls, he knew he was pushing his luck. The next injury could be fatal. He didn’t give a shit about the glory anymore. Now all he wanted was enough money to fix his place up and figure out what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life.
He gave a curt nod to Guilherme Alvaro. The three-time champion Brazilian bull rider had a five-hundred-point lead which made him virtually unbeatable, but Zac still hoped to end this night in the money—even riding with a broken wrist. He’d already borrowed a right hand glove, now he just had to tape his busted up wrist.
“Zac.”
He looked up to find his former best buddy, Ty Morgan, standing beside the chutes. They had once been the best of friends but things had gone south when Ty’s marriage broke up. His ex, Delaney, had blamed Zac and tried to force Ty to choose between them. Being none too fond of ultimatums, Ty had walked. Delaney filed for divorce. Ty didn’t fight it but the whole ordeal still soured the friendship. Eight years later, they were all once more on speaking terms, but they’d probably never get back what they’d had.
“Ty? You’re back? Thought you were in Oklahoma.”
“Nope. There wasn’t any reason to linger after putting Tom to rest. I’ve never missed the finals and neither did he. He’d have wanted me to be here. I was glad to hear you made the short round.”
“Only by the skin of my teeth,” Zac replied. “I’m number fifteen. This is my last shot but Alvaro’s so far ahead he doesn’t even have to cover his bull. Damn Brazilians are almost unbeatable. They’ve kicked our American asses in this sport for too damned long.”
“It’s changed a lot since the old days,” Ty said. “Hell, we used to do it just for the rush. Winning a c-spot for making the whistle was only a bonus.”
“Sure has changed,” Zac said. “Now there’s a half million in the pot. I could retire with that kinda money.”
Ty looked surprised. “Are you saying you’re thinking about it?”
“Yup. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Don’t know how much longer I could go on—even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. The joke’s on me though. Ten years ago I wasn’t ready to hunker down to ranching, and now that I am, it’s all gone to shit.”
“You need money?” Ty asked.
Zac snorted. “When does a bull rider not need money? My place is a wreck, but I’m getting too old for this shit and each time the healin’ seems to take a little longer. I can’t fix my place without money and I can’t get the money unless I win. So here I am. Speaking of which, could you give me a hand taping my wrist?”
“Your riding hand? What’s wrong with it?” Ty asked.
“I fucked it up last night. I’m pretty sure it’s broken. I can’t grip worth a shit.”
“How are you going to ride?”
“Gonna have to swap hands.”
“Ever ridden right-handed before?” Ty asked, tearing the tape with his teeth.
“I’ve tried a couple times.” Zac shrugged. “Never made the whistle but there’s always a first time, right? Every bull’s a different story. I need this, Ty. I can’t afford to go home empty-handed.”
Ty grunted acknowledgment and wrapped the wrist, finishing as the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the preshow. “Good luck, Zac. I gotta get back to Monica now.”
“Tom’s daughter?” Zac asked. “She’s here?”
“Yup. She surprised the hell out of me too. Just wait ’til you get an eyeful of her. She’s rocking the hell out of the cowgirl look.”
Zac eyed his friend appraisingly. “What’s up with you and her, Ty? If I didn’t know better I’d think you had it bad.”
Ty hesitated as if to speak and then turned away with a shake of his head.
The preshow had begun, an elaborate pyrotechnic extravaganza with shooting flames and a pounding hard rock beat. The crowd went wild when the cowboys appeared, all fifteen of them entering through circles of flames like they were some kind of superheroes.
There was a time when he’d lived for this kind of adoration, the cheering crowds, the fans . . . the buckle bunnies, but even all that had grown tiresome. Now he was just plain tired. A few minutes later, as he climbed over his bull’s chute, thirty-four suddenly felt ancient.
The announcer introduced the first bull and rider, a cowboy named Grayson Dunwoody on a bull named X-Treme Vortex. Zac looked on from the next chute as the rider gave his nod and the gate swung free. The bull’s superiority was clear from the start. He exploded from the gate kicking and bucking, his every movement whipping the rider’s body. Barely three seconds in, Dunwoody began to falter. Anticipating, the team of bullfighters moved in. The bull’s next buck tossed him to the ground like a sack of shit.
Zac’s younger brother Kade had interposed himself between the animal and the fallen rider, while two others flanked the bull, one on either side. Waving and yelling, the three men distracted the manically bucking animal while the rider scrambled from the danger zone. The bull spun and charged. Kade narrowly avoided getting a horn in the ass. The bull stared down the arena and snorted a stream of snot, then trotted back into the holding pens.
“No ride for that cowboy,” the announcer said. “Let’s see if Zac McDaniel’s gonna cover his bull tonight.” He elaborated on Zac’s injury from the night before but by now Zac had tuned out everything but the bull beneath him.
Stepping onto his bull, he lowered himself gingerly onto its back. Cursing his clumsiness, he fumbled to make his wrap. He didn’t have time to fuck around, but swapping hands was awkward as hell and Super Spin Cycle was a twitchy sonofabitch in the chute. The bull snor
ted and shifted his impatience. Seconds later, Zac looked up, raised his left hand, and gave his nod to the chute boss.
The gate flew open to the chorus of Chris LeDoux’s “Hooked on an 8 Second Ride.” True to his name, the bull busted out of the gate twisting and turning like a cyclone, but Zac sat tight as a tick, foiling the animal’s every frantic attempt to unseat him.
Zac knew all the lyrics by heart, but the only sounds his brain registered were the crash of the gate, the snorting bull, the jangling of the bell on his rope, and his own pulse pounding in his eardrums as he mentally counted down the seconds.
As the whistle sounded, Zac glanced up in triumph. Even with the wrong hand, he’d made his time. Maybe his champion days were over, but at least he wouldn’t be going home with empty pockets. He moved to dismount, but his taped wrist made it difficult to free his riding hand. As he fumbled with the rope tail, the bull feinted and then threw him into the well of another spin—it was the perfect storm. Zac’s moment of victory instantly transformed into a cataclysm of chaos.
Hanging from the bull’s side, he scrambled for purchase as the animal continued to plunge and kick. Once more, the bullfighters moved in but no one could get close enough to free him from his bull rope. The next few minutes were a blur of pain and agony as he fought like hell to keep from getting dragged under the bull, all the while feeling like his shoulder was getting ripped from the socket. He was vaguely aware that it took several men to shut the bull down. The instant he came free, Zac’s legs gave out. The bull spun as if to have another go at him, but one of the fighters intervened, shouting and waving his hat. Zac realized it was Ty.
Holy shit! What the hell is Ty doing in the arena with no protective gear?
The bull hesitated, staring Ty down, and then charged, but Ty slipped in the dirt. Man and beast collided as the bull plowed straight into Ty’s chest. Zac couldn’t see anything beyond the bull and Ty’s long legs stretched out motionless in the dirt.
Two to Wrangle Page 13