Rodeo Romance, Book 2
A Sweet Contemporary Holiday Western Romance
by
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
SHANNA HATFIELD
Wrestlin’ Christmas
Copyright © 2014 by Shanna Hatfield
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of "permission request” at the email address below or through her website.
Shanna Hatfield
[email protected]
shannahatfield.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Pumpkin Cake Roll
Books by Shanna Hatfield
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Praise for Wrestlin’ Christmas
“This is a really sweet, very well written romance that will appeal to fans of this genre. Cort is sexy and stubborn, broken and sad because of his loss. K.C. is also suffering a huge loss and the two can help each other so much if they would just get out of their own way and see how beautiful their healing could be. I love the idea that a young boy could be the eyes that these characters need, bringing together a couple that is desperate for love, even if they are too stubborn to see it for themselves.”
Janelle Fila for Readers' Favorite
“Neither character is perfect, but they complement one another and the romantic tension sings across the pages. …the romance develops over the chapters gradually to the point where the reader could see it happen in real life and Cort is the kind of guy that would make any female take a second look.
Overall, a sweet read for any cowboy fan!”
Sarah E. Bradley for InD’Tale Magazine
“After reading The Christmas Cowboy (Tate and Kenzie) and loving it, I wished the author would write another book and bring to life another wonderful character to live in their own book and she didn't disappoint. Loved Cort's story! Hurting mentally and physically, he meets Kaley, a lovely, lonely woman with her own set of hurts from the past, who along with her beautiful son, struggles to hold onto her ranch. I love the romance and the humor that kept it light and I especially love little Jacob. The book has a wonderful message about what Christmas and love is all about. A clean but yummy romance.”
Amazon Reviewer
“This novel could very easily become a Christmas classic novel. What a wonderful heartbreaking - heartwarming family love story. There so much more here than the chemistry between Cort and KC. Cort has his own faults and KC has secrets that she wants no one to learn and little Jacob has a broken heart that needs healing at the tender age of five. This is so much more than just a love story between the broken rodeo hero and the widow of a broken down ranch - it is a love story that includes the family and how a little boy finds a hero in the broken rodeo hero.”
Amazon Reviewer
“Another wonderful feel-good Holiday romance from Shanna. This story recognizes that we have struggles and trials that we go through as humans. That is shown in Cort and Kaley’s story. When we encounter unexpected changes in life, some of us react in different ways. It takes love from family and friends to help us heal and move in the right direction.”
Amazon Reviewer
To those who grab their struggles
by the horns
and wrestle ‘em into submission…
Chapter One
The raspy, slobber-laden tongue scraping across his cheek combined with the malodorous scent of dog breath rousted Cort McGraw from his drunken stupor.
“Down, boy. Get down.” Blindly, he reached out to Frito, the family dog. His hand connected with the back of the animal and he nudged the friendly beast away then struggled to sit upright.
Cort grasped his head between his hands in a feeble attempt to keep it from pounding and sucked in a gulp of morning air. Unwillingly opening one eye, the other gradually followed.
The effort required to gain his bearings from his sprawled location on the sidewalk, steps away from his parents’ front door, made him groan.
Frito lapped his face again, accelerating the queasy roiling in his belly.
He clamped his lips together and lumbered to his feet. If he lost the contents of his stomach in his mother’s pot of geraniums, the pain ripping through his head now would be nothing compared to what she’d deliver later.
Frantically grabbing the crushed Stetson that served as his pillow, he staggered around the house, rushed through the back door, and into the small bathroom located near the kitchen.
The hat landed on the counter as he splashed cold water on his flushed face and drew in several deep breaths.
Once his stomach settled, he glanced in the mirror and grimaced at the bloodshot gray eyes and haggard appearance reflected in the glass. Bright streaks of blood-red lipstick blazed along his jaw, across the dimple in his chin, and encircled his mouth, marring his face as if creative inspiration struck a macabre artist.
Warily wading through his fuzzy memories, he tried to remember which girl he’d been flirting with at the bar the previous evening before he had one too many drinks.
Disgusted with himself, Cort rubbed a hand over his cropped black hair in frustration. He’d promised his dad he wouldn’t do this again, yet he started the day with a hangover and no idea where he’d been last night.
Quietly opening the bathroom door, he snagged his hat off the counter and started down the hall, hoping to make it to his room undetected.
“Cort? Is that you?” his mother’s voice called to him as he sidled past the kitchen doorway to the back stairs. His boot stopped mid-air above the first step.
Busted.
Turning back to the kitchen, he stuck his head around the doorway.
“Hey, Mom.” He pasted on a cheerful smile while holding his breath. The normally inviting aroma of the bacon she fried for breakfast made his stomach resume its disgruntled churning. He swallowed twice, doing his best to ignore the nauseous feeling threatening to swamp him.
“Are you just getting in? Again?” Jana McGraw glared at her only son and oldest child.
Cort didn’t need to see the scowl on her face to recognize her disappointment in him. His parents hadn’t raised him to be a drunken, womanizing loser although the last few months that seemed an apt description.
“Yeah. I’m gonna go grab a shower.” He hoped she’d let the matter of his nocturnal act
ivities drop without commentary.
“You just do that.” Jana pointed her fork his direction. “But when you no longer stink like…” She wrinkled her nose as she got another whiff of him. “When you’re clean, get yourself back down here. Your father and I want to talk to you.”
“Mom, just leave it alone,” Cort said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.
“We’ve left it alone far too long as it is.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Deliberately ignoring her summons to return to the kitchen, he hurried up the stairs.
Angry and despondent, he tromped into his room, shut the door, and sat on his bed staring at the photos and trophy buckles lining his walls.
For three years running, he’d been a world champion steer wrestler. On track to make it to the finals again, a freak injury in April blew out his knee and left him unable to compete. More than one doctor assured him if he tried to bulldog a steer again, odds were high he’d end up permanently crippled.
After spending the last dozen years competing in pro rodeos, Cort didn’t have a clue what to do with his life. Between rodeos, he always returned to his parents’ farm where they raised hay, sugar beets, and beef cattle in the small community of Star, Idaho, near the state capital of Boise.
He assumed someday, when he was ready to retire from the rodeo, he’d buy his own place nearby or work full-time with his dad. Now, he rebelled against the prospect of farming the rest of his life.
Cort wanted to be back on the rodeo circuit, bulldogging and raking in the prize money like he had the last several years.
In truth, nothing had been the same since his best friend, Tate Morgan, gave up riding saddle broncs to marry the love of his life. He retired from his career a few years ago as a world champion, happily settling into domestic bliss on his ranch near Kennewick, Washington.
Cort visited Tate and Kenzie, and their baby Gideon, several times, but he missed the days when he and Tate were travel partners, on the road to the next rodeo.
The Big Four Rodeos would kick off in a few weeks in Kennewick. He hated to miss the events and wished his dreams hadn’t ground to an agonizing halt.
The moment his foot hit the dirt on that April night, he knew he wouldn’t walk out of the arena. Instead of scoring, he ended up in the hospital. The doctor assured him he’d never steer wrestle again if he had any hope of being able to walk and move normally for the rest of his days on earth.
On mornings like this, hung-over and maudlin, Cort sometimes thought it would have been better if he’d landed on his head and ended his misery. He hated grappling to get through one day, then another, as a washed-up former rodeo star.
Much to his annoyance, he had to agree with his mother as he removed his clothes. He did stink - like stale beer, cigarette smoke, and tacky perfume. The cloying fragrance most likely belonged to the girl who’d smeared her garish lipstick all over his face.
Cort stepped into the shower in his bathroom and stood with the warm stream spraying over him, wondering what his mom and dad planned to say. It wouldn’t be anything they hadn’t said multiple times in the last few months.
Once he regained the ability to walk without a crutch or cane, Cort had helped his dad farm during the day then ran off at night to drink away his memories.
His behavior appalled his parents, but he couldn’t muster a sufficient amount of shame to care. No one, not even his sister, Celia, seemed to understand the accident had robbed him of his career and destroyed his hopes for the future.
In no hurry to listen to another lecture from his parents, Cort took his time drying off and getting dressed. A quick check of his clothes hamper showed it was empty, so he took the clothes he’d worn last night downstairs to the laundry room. He dropped them into the washer and turned it on before sauntering into the kitchen.
Celia sat at the table with their parents. The look she gave him carried a mixture of sympathy and displeasure that set him on edge.
Regret stung his conscience, but not enough to check his attitude as he poured himself a cup of coffee and sank onto a chair next to her.
“What brings you out here, Miss Fancy Pants?” Cort asked, taking a piece of toast from a plate on the table and buttering it.
Celia tossed back her mane of red hair and narrowed her green eyes his direction. “You, unfortunately.” She sipped from a glass of cold orange juice while continuing to glower at him.
“Me? What are you talking about? Why don’t you mind your own business, Celia, and stay out of mine.” Cort bit into his toast, glaring at her then his mother.
His dad thumped his hand on the table, forcing Cort to turn his glance his direction.
“Look, Cort, things haven’t turned out like you hoped, like you wanted, but you’re thirty-three years old.” Trevor McGraw fought the urge to shake some sense into his son. “You’ve still got a long life ahead of you and we can’t watch you throw it away. We’ve encouraged you, supported you, done everything we can to help you get back on track, but we’re through. We didn’t raise you to be the kind of man you’ve turned into since your accident. We refuse to stand by and watch you destroy yourself because you can’t get over the past and deal with the present.”
Cort tossed the remnants of his toast onto his plate and rose to his feet. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“Sit down!” Trevor stood so fast he knocked his chair over. His firm voice made it clear he expected Cort to obey his command. Every bit as tall and burly as his son, his presence demanded attention and respect. “So help me, if you don’t sit your butt in that chair, wipe that snide sneer off your face, and listen to what we have to say, I will take you outside and pound some sense into your thick skull.”
Shocked by both his father’s words and the look on his face, Cort slowly returned to his chair. His father had never laid a hand on him in anger and he seriously doubted he would now. Nevertheless, the fact he even made the threat gave him a moment of pause.
“Cort, please, try to understand.” Jana reached out and took Cort’s big hand in her small one. “We just want to help you.”
“Your mother and I can’t watch you do this to yourself.” Trevor righted his chair, sat down, and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t drink yourself to death, you’re going to kill yourself or someone else driving home drunk as you do most every night. We’ve told you a hundred times not to drive if you’ve been drinking.” Trevor released a sad, broken sigh. “We’re done with this, Cort. As of today, you are on your own.”
“What?” Cort’s head snapped up, shooting a questioning gaze to his dad.
“You heard me.” Trevor nailed him with a steely glare. “After breakfast, you’re leaving. Celia has graciously agreed to escort you to Tate and Kenzie’s place. Some time away from here will be good for you.”
“Just like that, you decide what’s best for me without considering what I want?” Unable to stop his anger from bubbling over, Cort’s voice increased in volume while his face flushed an angry shade of red.
Celia glared at him, her own temper flaring. “What you want is irrelevant. You’ve become a selfish, self-centered pig and we’re done tiptoeing around you.” She wanted to reach out and smack him. Through the years, she’d gone many rounds with Cort and didn’t shy away from a verbal sparring match. “You’ve had plenty of time to get your act together and instead, you wallow in self-pity. It’s time for you to grow up and start acting like a man instead of a pathetic pile of garbage.”
Jana put a warning hand on Celia’s arm, but the girl paid it no mind as she squared off with her only sibling.
“Is that right?” Cort asked, getting to his feet again and curling his hand into a fist. He desperately wanted to punch something.
Celia stood then climbed onto her chair so she would be taller than Cort. She shook her finger in his face, refusing to back down from the defiant stare filled with hate and loathing he aimed her direction.
“That’s right. If there’s
anything you want we didn’t already pack, you better run your lazy, worthless backside upstairs and get it because we’re leaving. Now.” Celia jumped down and stomped out the back door.
After giving his parents one last surly look, Cort thudded up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door for good measure.
Empty hangers and a few remnants of clothing from his high school days were all that hung in his closet.
Although he hadn’t given it a thought when he dressed after showering, he’d found the clothes he wore neatly folded on the counter in his bathroom. A glance in his dresser drawers revealed they stood empty. His family hadn’t left a hat or spare pair of boots in his room.
Heedless to what he broke, his hand swiped across the length of the bathroom counter, dumping his toiletries into a leather travel bag. A fleeting look around his bedroom served to reaffirm he didn’t need to take any reminders of his rodeo days with him.
Livid, he crammed his keys, wallet, and cell phone into his pockets. Yanking on the boots he’d removed before his shower, he tugged on his crushed hat and clomped down the stairs.
Cort returned to the kitchen, leveling a furious stare at his parents. “If you wanted me to leave, you could have said so. You didn’t need to plan this little intervention or whatever it is you want to call it.” He stalked across the room and lingered in the doorway.
“We’ve tried everything possible to get you to snap out of this funk you’ve been in,” Jana said, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Please, Cort, let us help you.”
“I don’t need your help and I don’t need any of you. Just remember, you’re the ones who kicked me out.” Cort pushed the kitchen’s screen door open so hard it banged against the side of the house.
Footsteps echoed behind him as he strode across the yard to where Celia waited with his pickup and horse trailer. At least they were letting him take his horses.
Wrestlin' Christmas: (Sweet Western Holiday Romance) (Rodeo Romance Book 2) Page 1