The Cowboy Says I Do

by Sinclair Jayne

  “I thought you wanted to be done with all this.” He kept his voice neutral, but he was curious. He’d given notice; he could change his mind, but he didn’t think he would, not with the baby coming.

  “I do. But the rodeo has been a large part of our life. I watched you compete since high school. I did most of your taping over the summers and helped when you were injured. It’s bittersweet.”

  “For me too.” He looked at her bare left hand and wished the ring was already glittering there. “I’ve got this last event today, and then I can sit with you and watch Bowen and Bodhi flop around like raggedly dolls.”

  He bent to kiss her.

  “I don’t flop. Pure ballet moves on the bull and the saddleless bronc,” Bodhi said, pulling up short and grinning when he saw their posture. “Oh, am I interrupting?”

  “You live to interrupt,” Ash said, kissing Beck anyway and then she turned to face Bodhi. “And I was so polite earlier, not interrupting nor mentioning the romantic movie smooch I saw between you and an auburn-haired beauty down by the Marietta River while I was waiting in line at the Melt.”

  “I believe that is what’s called mentioning,” Bodhi said drily. “But what can I say?” He spread his arms wide. “The ladies love me.”

  “Ladies.” Ash rolled her eyes. “You’re losing your touch, Bodhi. I only saw one there today.”

  “A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he shot back. They’d always been like this—verbal duelists. Ash was the only one Beck had seen best him.

  “So that’s why I know so much about your escapades,” she mused.

  Bodhi’s eyes lit with delight at her comeback.

  “Except this week. You’ve been awfully quiet.” She studied him, tapping her finger against her lips.

  Bodhi’s smile fell, and Beck could feel his wall snap into place from here.

  Ash looked at Beck, and her smile was like the sun. “Ride well and hard, cowboy,” she said softly. Then she placed her hand against Bodhi’s chest. He looked at her hand, then her, then at Beck with a WTF expression on his face.

  Ash stood on tiptoe and whispered softly in his cousin’s ear. Then her heels came down, but she was still looking up at him, her eyes searching his, her expression grave.

  “I mean it, Bodhi. For reals.”

  His lips tightened, but he nodded, and Ash walked back down the aisle, like a queen on a red carpet with rose petals and subjects kneeling before her instead of dirt and sawdust and horses watching her with disinterest.

  “What did she say?” Beck asked. Bodhi seemed lost.

  “Didn’t see a ring on her finger yet, cuz.” Bodhi struggled to rally, and maybe because Beck had seen a crack in Bodhi’s armor earlier or maybe because he was looking forward to his life-changing event tonight, Beck answered honestly. “Which means Bowen and I are still in the game.”

  Should he tell Bodhi he was out? No. Let him sweat. See how far he’d go.

  “I’m waiting for a slightly more romantic, less smelly place.”

  “Really?” Bodhi’s face was almost comical as a million expressions danced over it.

  “Really what?” Bowen asked as he joined them.

  “Damn,” Bodhi said and clapped him hard on his shoulder. “Couldn’t do better in…your wildest dreams. Congrats, cuz. Congrats.”

  For a moment, Beck thought he saw tears glitter in Bodhi’s eyes, but Bodhi walked off, red fringe swinging from his very loud, very distinctive chaps. He didn’t even acknowledge Bowen, and Beck figured he must have been mistaken.

  Beck opened his mouth to tell Bowen he was going to propose to Ash tonight, but Bowen, true to form, was there before him.

  “Time to saddle up, cowboy. I’ll help with your gear,” Bowen’s eyes searched his. “Need you in one piece tonight. I promised Ashni.”

  *

  Summer Storm was far too mild a name for the bronc he was about to drop down on.

  “Should be called Class Five Hurricane,” Bowen mused as if reading his mind. The bronc had been resistant since they’d approached. The stock contractor, Taryn Telford, was a Marietta local rancher, and bred some of the best bucking broncs on the Montana and Mountain rodeo circuit. He and his son Boone situated the horse in the chute with only one curse from Boone. Taryn grinned and slapped Beck on his back.

  “Good luck, son. Hope to see you tonight at the steak dinner with only your pride injured.”

  “Oh, you’ll see me in the winner’s circle tomorrow,” Beck shot back cheerfully.

  “Keep the cocky, you’ll need it.” Taryn, who’d been an outstanding bull and bronc rider in his day, stepped down from the chute.

  “He’s not lying.” Bowen tried for the second time with the hook to get the saddle firmly cinched on. “Summer Storm is fierce and pissed and gearing to toss you head over boots into the dirt.”

  “Not going to happen.” Beck checked his saddle. It was good and tight—not going to budge no matter what dance moves the bronc thought he had. He climbed up and over the top rung and breathed in deeply. He loved this part—the adrenaline, the smells of dirt and animal and leather, the feel of the crowd’s anticipation, his cousins close, the rhythm of the rodeo and all the moving pieces—competitors, staff, fans, rodeo queens and his place in it all. He loved pitting his skills against the other cowboys and the animals.

  How am I going to give this up?

  The question wasn’t surprising. He’d been asking himself that for the past couple of years. Maybe no cowboy was ever really ready. Maybe it was time that decided. Or a bad buck of fate, or maybe it was as simple as the cowboy standing at the top of a chute and telling himself that this would be the last time he dropped down on a bucking bronc or bull. And that the last time he climbed the fence after a ride to wave to the crowd acknowledging a solid performance or picked himself out of the dirt would be the first time he was stepping into a new future.

  “You okay?” Bowen asked, his voice betraying a little worry.

  Beck was not given to many moments of self-reflection. Usually he was eager to drop down and get a feel for the animal and let the animal get a feel for the cocky fool of a stranger who thought he could cage a ride.

  He was better than good. His answer was to drop down, and as the bronc shifted uneasily under him, he set his feet in the stirrups, instinctively preparing to mark out. He wrapped his grip and tested it. Took one last breath, savoring the scents, the anticipation, the nerves, and the hope. He recentered himself high of the saddle, every muscle coiled and ready to go.

  This was when he felt most alive.

  But today, he finally accepted that there were so many ways to feel alive and thrive. So much more waited for him. Being a husband. A father. Building a life with Ash and their child. Discovering a new career and a new life and building it, brick by brick or with a hammer and nails.

  Left hand high in the air, he gave the nod and was launched out into the arena to the cheers of what he considered his hometown crowd and the raucous blast of “Ridin’ Dirty.”

  *

  “That was fire!” Kane Wilder, once one of the top bull riders in the world, fist-bumped him and made room for Beck in the bleachers to watch the last event of the afternoon. “I never liked the saddle bronc. Too many things can go wrong. Too many rules.”

  “Like nothing can go wrong barebacking a top-tier bull,” Beck answered.

  “Not a thing,” Kane said seriously, but his pale blue eyes that looked almost silver gleamed.

  “That was a really good ride, Beck.” Sky peered around her husband’s body and that of her six-year-old daughter, Montana. “You did good in the roping too,” she said somberly.

  Beck choked.

  “Good.” Kane shook his head. “Way to knock a man off his horse, baby.”

  Sky smiled impishly, and Beck could see why she and Ashni had bonded so quickly. They had art in common, and she was fun and a bit irreverent. Plus, she was a mom, so Sky would be a good friend for her to have if they did move to Marietta pe
rmanently.

  Sky sat with Ashni. They both wore sunglasses and straw hats and looked glamorous—almost like celebrities. He’d wanted to sit next to his girl, but he hadn’t been sure he’d make it to the stands. Bodhi and Bowen were entered in bull riding, and usually Beck worked the chute with them, but because they rode on the pro tour, many of the local cowboys, who competed in the Montana circuit rodeo, had been eager to help out.

  His granddad was deep in conversation with Sam Wilder—Beck didn’t want to interrupt that. He wondered how all the Wilders were taking it—their grandfather finally acknowledging them after several years of trying to break the ice. How could a man throw out his own teen daughter when she’d been expecting? His own granddad had been such a constant in his life, a larger-than-life presence on what it meant to be a man, far more than his dad or his parade of stepdads. He didn’t know who he’d be without his granddad’s steady influence.

  “Heard you’re a woodworker.”

  “Beck Ballantyne,” he introduced himself to one of Kane’s other brothers who sat beside him, still, large and sculpted as hard as Copper Mountain’s granite peak.

  “Colt Wilder.” His lips quirked as if something were funny, but then he went back to stone-faced. “I am not a part of the ranch or bull-breeding business except when they rope me in to help knock up cows. I do construction.”

  Beck waited for more, but Colt was silent after that. Colt’s wife, Talon, introduced herself along with their son, Parker. She was also expecting—just starting to show. Her fingers lightly stroked the back of her husband’s neck.

  “Ashni came for dinner the other night and brought the guitar you’d made,” Talon said.

  Beck felt a burst of pleasure. Ashni had not been talking to him much at the time.

  “Colt was impressed by the workmanship. He works with a team at Big Z’s on construction projects during the late spring, summer and early fall, but the building season here is short so he does woodworking and builds tiny houses and modifies those Sprinter vans for people who want to live light or travel. He has a pretty massive shop he’s built on the property.” Her eyes shone with pride.

  Colt looked down at his wife, and the tenderness that fleeted across his face was as sweet as it was surprising, since Colt seemed to take stoic to a whole different level.

  “I would love to see your shop and one of your conversions. Finding ways to increase storage sounds like a fun puzzle.” Beck had loved to work with his hands since high school but had never had much opportunity as his mother hadn’t allowed him to use their garage growing up and all of his traveling didn’t allow him to buy or store too many tools. He only had a chance to work when he was at Three Tree Ranch.

  “Been thinking about taking on a partner.” Colt jolted Beck out of his reverie. “Not in a rush. But if you’re interested, we can talk when you retire from the tour. Every man must eventually.”

  They exchanged phone numbers. Beck’s heart ticked over with a combined sense of excitement and dread. He was really going to do it. Quit the tour. And having some work lined up would make the transition easier. Ashni might need some time to find a different job or she might want to volunteer at Harry’s House, and he could build her an art studio on the ranch—if there was a ranch. Either way, he needed to be able to support them all.

  Granddad was in his element in the family section surrounded by friends he’d known for decades.

  Would he like Beck coming home for good, helping to take on more of the work, Ashni with him as his wife, a baby on the way? Would it be enough to sway him to stay, or was that hope selfish?

  His granddad had batted away his attempts for a heart-to-heart all week by giving him lists of chores and generally being unavailable. After the rodeo—or after the Ballantyne Bash—he was definitely going to pin his granddad down. It was the best he could do for now so Beck settled in to watch the last event—and root his cousins on to get a spot in the finals tomorrow.

  *

  Bowen’s ride was clean. Bodhi’s was even better, but something went wrong in his dismount. Timing was always critical in rodeo—a tenth of a second mattered. Bodhi timed his jump and would have cleared the bull’s massive head, but as he jumped, the bull, as if sensing the freedom both from the flank strap dropping and the bull rider launching, turned and reared so that its head clipped Bodhi’s arm, which was not tucked in tight toward his body as usual.

  Bodhi hit the dirt on both feet and ran. He cleared the arena and clamored up the railing even as the rodeo clowns surged forward to distract the bull. Bodhi, always a bit of a show-off, didn’t wave to the crowd, which made Beck uneasy that his cousin had been injured. Bodhi dropped down on the other side.

  “I’m going to go check on him.” Beck was on his feet. Adrenaline could often get you up and out even with terrible injuries, but the grace period where pain didn’t register didn’t last long.

  “You want me to come?” Ashni asked, starting to rise up still holding Sky’s infant son in her arms.

  “No, I’ll text to let you know,” he told her and lightly gripped his granddad’s shoulder. He handed Ashni the keys to his truck. “Take Granddad home. I’ll catch a ride with Bowen.”

  “So Ashni will be my date to the steak dinner.” His granddad winked. “I’m claiming first dance. Make sure he gets an X-ray,” he added, “even if he refuses.”

  Bodhi would definitely refuse.

  “It’s not that big of a deal, girls,” Bodhi smirked at both Bowen and Beck.

  “Girls?” Nico eyed him, her arms crossed and one boot kicked back against the wall of the backstage area. “You got an issue with girls or women?”

  “Just one at the moment, darling.” Bodhi smiled at her, but Beck could see pain edging over the cocky in his eyes. “I don’t need an X-ray. It was just a friendly tap.”

  “Friendly, my ass,” Bowen said. “I heard the crack.”

  “That was my brace.” Bodhi held his left hand up.

  “Why are you wearing a brace?” Bowen demanded. “What happened?”

  “Stop acting like a mom—if any of us had moms like that,” Bodhi said, his gaze quickly darting to Nico. She stared back at him, both challenge and an unspoken agreement in her steady gaze.

  It was weird to see him so in sync with a woman. He and Ash had always been close—inside jokes between them and a love of science and weird medical trivia—but normally Bodhi’s open, friendly charm with everyone only let people in skin-deep. He was private, even with his cousins.

  “What happened?” Beck asked Nico. “Why’s he wearing a brace?”

  “I’ll make sure he gets an X-ray today.”

  “How are you going to do that, darlin’?” Bodhi asked, his flirt back on, but a warning threaded his voice.

  Nico wasn’t intimidated.

  “You taught me to rope.” She winked. “Looks like I’ll be roping me a cowboy instead of a fence post this time, darlin’.”

  Bodhi’s eyes flared with shock, and Beck didn’t bother to hide his laugh. Bowen coughed and choked.

  “We’ll take care of Cash,” Beck said.

  Bowen went one step further and reached into his duffel where he kept his supplies and a fairly extensive medical kit and pulled out a rope that, by the smell of it, he’d recently rosined.

  “Have fun,” Bowen said, handing Nico the rope. “The medical tent will likely have a portable machine, but the hospital’s a stone’s throw away.”

  “I am fine,” Bodhi said.

  “Don’t be a baby.” Nico walked right up to him, rope dangling from her fingers. “You taught me how to make a lasso, hotshot. Don’t think I won’t use it, and let’s get a move on because you promised me a steak dinner and dancing under the stars.”

  “That I did.”

  “And I know promises aren’t our thing this week, but I will hold you to that one.”

  “Two weeks.”

  “You’d better keep in tip-top shape then if you’re going to try to persuade me to stay for
two weeks.”

  “Our work here is done,” Beck said heading out to take care of Cash.

  “Hey, Beck, you get a date yet?” Bodhi called out.

  “You’ll just have to wait and see.” Beck felt relieved by the back-and-forth between them, and he was especially pleased to see a woman stand up to Bodhi and flip him some manure that he definitely needed to keep his wild nature slightly in check.

  “I got one,” Bowen said. “Looks like it’s game on.”

  “You boys are in trouble with this game.” Nico laughed. “You know that, right?”

  “Where’s the fun in playing it safe?” Bodhi demanded. Then he took the rope out of her hand, draped it over her shoulders and reeled her in for a kiss.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ashni laid her cheek against Beck’s chest, her arms around his waist. She’d danced with Beck so many times in so many places, but the steak dinner in Marietta had always been her favorite. Tonight felt perfect. Blissful. Maybe it was cutting Beck loose that had made her realize how critical he was in her life. She knew they still had things to discuss—her job in Marietta, how and when they would see each other. But tonight she just wanted to have this moment with her man.

  He’d made finals in all his events and oozed a warm, attentive playfulness that soothed her after such an emotionally tumultuous week. Bodhi was not too badly injured. And tomorrow morning, instead of helping out with last-minute preparations for the Ballantyne Bash, she was heading over to Sky’s studio early before the pancake breakfast to discuss future volunteer teaching opportunities at Harry’s House—including some science classes along with art.

  Ashni was finally going to be able to build a home and a life she wanted. She still didn’t know how Beck would fit in it, but she was optimistic they could make this work.

  She let the music drift her away, feeling as if she and Beck were in their own magical world. Although his heart seemed to be beating quicker than normal.