Her Rodeo Man

by Cathy McDavid

  Old wounds. When the Becketts weren’t hiding them, they were poking them with sharp sticks.

  “Why don’t we start with a tour of the place?” Ryder suggested, depositing his empty coffee cup into the wastebasket near Tatum’s desk. That put him in close proximity to Cassidy, and she noticeably tensed. “If you’re free,” he added.

  He must have visited the Dawn to Dusk Coffee shop on his way in this morning. Cassidy wouldn’t have gone despite her penchant for caramel lattes. “I shouldn’t leave the office unattended,” Tatum said. Lunch yesterday had been an exception. Usually Sunny relieved her.

  “It’s okay,” Cassidy volunteered. “I’ll watch the phones.”

  “Are you sure?” Tatum was about to suggest that Cassidy give her brother the tour when he cut her short.

  “Come on.” He motioned toward the door.

  “Let me put my things away first.”

  “Meet you in the barn.” The next instant, he was gone.

  Wow. Whatever had happened between him and his sister must have been worse than Tatum thought. She stowed her lunch in the small countertop refrigerator and her purse in the desk drawer.

  “You okay?” she asked Cassidy in a whisper, though Ryder was well beyond earshot.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have mentioned the kiss.”

  “We were kids.” Tatum straightened, her previous anger at her friend dissipating.

  “Yeah, but it was a big deal for you. At the time.”

  “Forget about it, okay?” On impulse, Tatum gave her friend’s shoulders a quick squeeze.

  “What was that for?”

  “Do I need a reason?”

  “I guess not.” Cassidy’s face relaxed. “Go on, get out of here. I need my daily dose of Facebook.”

  Tatum laughed. It was a joke the two frequently shared. Both were borderline workaholics and wouldn’t ever wile away the hours surfing the net.

  In the barn, she met up with Ryder. “Where do you want to start?”

  “How’s Cupcake?”

  They strolled the long aisle. “I haven’t had a chance to check on her this morning.”

  “Let’s start there.”

  “She’s better,” Tatum had to admit after they took the pony on a short walk around the wash bays.

  “When’s the farrier due next?”

  “Unless there’s an emergency, he’s here every Thursday.”

  “She’ll be okay until then. If you do take her out for a ride, put a hoof boot on her.”

  “Thank you. I probably shouldn’t have doubted you.”

  “It was the clothes.” He smiled.

  Tatum had to stop herself from ogling. Today he wore jeans, a Western-cut shirt that molded nicely to his broad shoulders and a cowboy hat that was scuffed in all the right places. He looked as if he’d never left the ranch.

  “What made you give up rodeoing?” She recalled Sunny bragging on her son, who’d won several junior rodeo championships before abandoning a promising pro career.

  “College.”

  “Not enough time to do both?”

  “Not enough money. Finances were tight. I had to make a choice.”

  Tatum was familiar with that dilemma. She lived it on a daily basis.

  They returned Cupcake to her stall, hung the halter on a nearby peg and continued their tour of the grounds. He was careful to take her arm when they walked over a hole or navigated an obstacle. Tatum didn’t need the assistance. She liked it, nonetheless.

  “I always figured I’d wind up like my dad and make rodeo my life,” he said.

  “You’re more like your mother than you realize. She’s really savvy when it comes to business.”

  Lines appeared on Ryder’s brow. “I hadn’t thought of that before.”

  “It’s not a bad thing.”

  He avoided commenting by asking, “Besides the bulls, what else is new?”

  “Not much. Tom Pratt gives monthly roping clinics.”

  They wandered toward the bull pens, which were located on the other side of the arena, far from the horses. The two didn’t always mix, and it was best to maintain a healthy distance between them.

  “He was smart to do that. Nothing will grow the arena faster than good bucking stock.”

  “We can hardly keep up with the requests.”

  In addition to providing bucking stock for their four annual rodeos, the Easy Money leased horses and now bulls to other rodeos. It was their single highest source of revenue. Tatum had felt guilty when the Becketts first hired her, thinking they were giving her a job solely because she was a close family friend. That opinion soon changed. With the increase in business, she was earning her keep and then some.

  What more could Ryder do to grow the business than Mercer already had? It seemed to Tatum they were at their capacity for bucking stock contracts. Unless the Becketts purchased more bulls. Or Ryder assumed even more of Tatum’s duties. Then she really would be a charity case.

  A pair of lone riders were making use of the arena. Tatum and Ryder stopped at the fence to observe them.

  “Dad mentioned the after-school program,” he said.

  “That’s going well. So well, your dad’s considering building a second practice ring just for the students.”

  “But rodeo events are where the real money is.”

  “Lessons and horse boarding more than pay for themselves.”

  “I wasn’t insinuating Mom and my sisters’ contribution weren’t an important part of the arena. There’s room for both.”

  As they started for the office, Liberty passed them, riding one horse and leading a second. She stopped to say good morning and to remind Ryder of their dinner plans that evening.

  “What are you up to?” Ryder asked her.

  “Endurance training. This is a client’s horse.” She indicated the tall gelding behind her prancing nervously in place. Pulling on the lead rope, she groaned in frustration. “He’s raring to go. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Ryder stared after her. “I wouldn’t have guessed she’d be the one to take after Dad. Then again, none of us knew she was related to him.”

  Tatum and Cassidy had shared many a long discussion about her parents. Tatum understood Sunny’s motives for lying to Liberty—she didn’t want to give a raging alcoholic any reason to remain part of their lives. But Tatum wasn’t sure she’d do the same thing in Sunny’s shoes, if only because of the wedge it had driven between Sunny and Ryder. Losing her children for a mere four months had been unbearable. Sunny lost Ryder for twenty-two years, and she still didn’t have him back.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Where to now?”

  “The outdoor stalls and back pastures,” she suggested.

  They went in the same direction as Liberty. Ryder, Tatum noticed, slowed his steps to keep pace with her shorter strides. He was tall. Her chin barely reached his shoulder. He must have grown six inches after he left. If he kissed her now, he’d have to dip his head considerably further.

  Stop it!

  The mental reprimand was useless. How could she not think of Ryder when he walked beside her, near enough to touch if she extended her hand a mere three inches to the right?

  What had they been talking about? Oh, yeah, lessons and boarding.

  “Liberty’s also in charge of the trail rides,” Tatum said. “There’s usually one every weekend when we don’t have a rodeo.”

  “Just one?”

  “We don’t have enough requests for more than that on weekends.”

  “Are they profitable?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “What’s the margin?”

  “I’d say about the same as riding lessons.”

  “Ho
w do we advertise the rides? And don’t tell me on the website and posters in town.”

  “Okay, I won’t. But that’s what we do.”

  He muttered under his breath.

  “There are tourists in town,” she protested. “They see the posters.”

  “What about the marina at Roosevelt Lake? Do we have a poster in their window?”

  “No.”

  “We should.”

  Did he notice he was talking in the plural? “Is that more of your reciprocal advertising?”

  “You catch on fast.”

  “I’ll call them and ask if we can deliver a poster.”

  “I’ll do it. In fact, I’ll just take one over this afternoon. That way, I can bring back one of theirs.”

  “Good idea.” She supposed a face-to-face meeting was better than a phone call. Harder to say no.

  Twenty minutes later they were through with the tour. Approaching the office from the outside entrance rather than the barn, they climbed the three steps to the awning-covered porch. Cassidy still sat at Tatum’s desk. Sunny wasn’t there. Tatum could see her empty office through the open connecting door.

  Was she avoiding Ryder? Had Cassidy told her mother about her fight, or whatever it was, with Ryder?

  “You’re back.” Cassidy quickly closed the webpage she had open on the computer and stood.

  “Stay longer if you aren’t done,” Tatum offered.

  “It’s all right. I have to make a run into Globe for supplies.”

  “Didn’t Liberty do that yesterday?” Ryder asked.

  “She bought lumber. I’m getting vet supplies. Dewormer and penicillin. There’s been three cases of strangles reported this month in the Mesa area. We don’t want to be caught with a low supply if it should move to Reckless.”

  “That’s serious.”

  Tatum concurred. She’d seen a strangles epidemic before. The highly contagious infection attacked the lymph nodes between a horse’s jaw or in its throat and caused flu-like symptoms lasting weeks, if not months. Should the Becketts’ bucking stock or boarded horses succumb, their entire business would be in jeopardy.

  “It is serious,” Cassidy said. “So, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “We can order penicillin online, and for a lot cheaper, with a prescription.”

  “I’ve already thought of that.” Cassidy lifted her chin. “Doctor Spence is coming tomorrow.”

  Ryder softened his voice. “I wasn’t questioning your abilities.”

  “See you later.”

  “That went well,” he said after Cassidy left.

  Tatum ignored him and sat at her desk.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Look.” She leveled her stare at him. “If you weren’t questioning her abilities, you were questioning something.”

  “You’re right.” He dropped down into the visitor chair. “I’m sorry to involve you in our squabble.”

  “Squabble?” That hardly described their longstanding clash.

  “This big reconciliation Liberty and Dad are hoping for may not happen.”

  “It definitely won’t happen if you don’t try and get along.”

  “We argued about Mom. And,” he admitted, “the way I’ve acted in recent years.”

  Big surprise. Not. “How about we institute a new rule? No discussion regarding family at work, unless it relates to work. I’ll tell Cassidy and Sunny. You tell Liberty and Mercer.” She felt as if she was refereeing a fight between her children.

  He considered for a moment, then relented with a shrug. “All right.”

  “That’s what I like to see. Progress.” She rolled her chair over to the lateral file cabinet by her desk, deciding they should start the office part of Ryder’s orientation with the current bucking stock contracts. She opened the drawer and removed a dozen manila folders. “I probably shouldn’t point this out...”

  “But you will.”

  “Your resentment toward your mother. It mirrors Cassidy’s toward your father.”

  “Are you saying we’ll never find a common ground?”

  “I’m saying there’s more common ground than you think.” She slapped the folders on to the desk, the impact making a loud noise. “Let’s start on these.”

  * * *

  RYDER STOPPED TO refuel his truck on the way into Reckless. Based on the number of things he’d accomplished, it had been a productive day. He’d spent the morning with Tatum, interfering with her work but also gaining an understanding of how the office ran, including an overview of the accounting system and record keeping. He and his father had had lunch at the Flat Iron Restaurant with one of the arena’s oldest clients.

  After that, Ryder had headed to the marina at Roosevelt Lake, posters and flyers on the seat beside him. The marina manager, a crusty old guy who could have played an extra in a Pirates of the Caribbean movie, was agreeable to Ryder’s suggestion that they help each other out.

  On impulse, he’d driven to the outskirts of Globe and the mining company offices. After being passed from one person to the next, he’d finally been granted a meeting with the personnel manager’s secretary. The middle-aged woman had listened patiently to his pitch—the Easy Money Rodeo Arena would be a great place for employee parties or retreats. She’d agreed to give the material Ryder left with her to her boss and thanked him for his time.

  Productive day. No question about it. But nothing a trained monkey couldn’t do. Ryder had been a senior marketing executive in charge of several multimillion-dollar accounts. And here he was, delivering posters and flyers and trolling for business. Something he could have done in high school.

  Running errands. Sleeping on the trundle bed in his dad’s spare room. Fighting with his sister. He might as well be in high school again.

  “Ryder Beckett,” someone shouted. “Buddy, is that you?”

  He glanced up to see a hefty young man approaching, a friendly grin splitting his full face.

  “It is you. Son of a gun!”

  “Guilty as charged.” Ryder hoped the man’s name would come to him without having to ask. “How are you...?” At the last second, his brain kicked in. “Tank.”

  “Dandy as a pig with slop.” They shook hands. “I heard you were back and working for the family.”

  He’d said for the family, not with the family. To Ryder, there was a large distinction. Did everyone in town think like Tank, that Ryder had been given a job as opposed to being made a part of the business?

  Then again, did he care? He was leaving soon.

  Once more, Ryder questioned his motives for returning. He could have chosen somewhere else to lay low. Eventually found temporary employment. But he’d allowed loyalty to his father and Liberty’s heartfelt pleas to sway him.

  “What happened to that fancy job you had in Phoenix?” Tank asked. “Your mom was always telling everyone what a big shot you were and how much money you made. This must be a step down.”

  Damned if Tank could hit below the belt.

  “Dad asked for my help, and here I am. Family comes first.”

  “Sure. Course.” Tank may or may not have believed Ryder, but he didn’t dispute him. “Got me a family of my own now. A wife and little boy.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Heard about your divorce. Sorry, man.” Tank didn’t sound particularly remorseful or sympathetic.

  “It was a long time ago.”

  Ryder did the math. Thirteen years.

  He’d met Sasha, a woman eight years his senior, right out of college, and she was like no one he’d ever known. Confident, sexy and adventurous, in and out of bed. Unfortunately, they fell out of love as quickly as they’d fallen in and spent the next year making each other miserable before coming to their senses.

 
The only good part about the marriage had been Sasha’s little girls. Ryder had liked them and frequently spent more time with them than their own mother did, especially near the end. They, in turn, adored him. Leaving them behind had hurt.

  One short-lived relationship after another had him swearing off any commitments for the foreseeable future. This last debacle with his coworker had only reinforced it.

  “One of these days, you’ll meet the right person,” Tank said.

  “I guess.”

  Beside him, the gas nozzle clicked loudly. Ryder reached for it. “Nice seeing you, Tank. You ever bring your family around the Easy Money?”

  “We’re coming to the Wild West Days Rodeo. Already bought our tickets.”

  “Good. Looking forward to seeing you there.”

  They shook hands again, and Ryder climbed into his truck. Starting the engine, he heard Tank’s words again—working for your family—then slammed the heels of both hands on the steering wheel. He wasn’t mad at Tank; he was mad at himself.

  Enough was enough. He’d let this happen, he thought, and he could remedy it. Pulling out his smartphone, he went through his saved emails. There! He found it. The one from a friend giving Ryder the name of a headhunter. He dialed the number and set the phone down. The next second, his Bluetooth kicked in, and he could hear ringing through the speaker on his dash. When the receptionist answered, he asked to be put through to Myra Solomon.

  “This is Myra.”

  Ryder introduced himself, giving the name of his friend. “He suggested I give you a call.”

  “I’m glad you did. Tell me a little about yourself and what kind of job you’re looking for.”

  Ryder talked as he drove, casting his termination in the best possible light. When he finished, Myra groaned tiredly.

  “Cut the B.S., Ryder. If we’re going to work together, you have to be straight with me. Save the sugarcoated version for prospective employers.”

  “I quit.”

  “I know that. I’m interested in why.”

  “My boss and I didn’t share the same visions.”

  “Whatever happened, we’ll work around it,” Myra said. “But in order to help you, I have to know what really went down. If not, you’re wasting both our time.”