The Bull Rider's Son

by Cathy McDavid

  Then, last summer, Liberty had accidentally discovered Mercer Beckett was her biological father and tracked him down. He used a reconciliation with her to worm his way back into the lives of his ex-wife and daughters.

  One good thing had happened in the wake of Mercer’s return. Cassidy’s brother, Ryder, also came home. They still didn’t agree on their father—Ryder trusted their father’s sobriety and she didn’t—but otherwise the two of them had grown close during the last few months.

  How could they not? Ryder was engaged to Cassidy’s best friend, Tatum Mayweather, after all. Cassidy hadn’t seen that one coming, but she was pleased for both her brother and best friend. They proved differences were superficial when it came to love.

  Theirs was actually the second of two upcoming Beckett weddings. Liberty was also engaged. To Deacon McCrea, a former employee of the arena and now their legal counsel. Cassidy, conversely, remained single and planned to stay that way.

  She’d been asked to be maid of honor at both affairs, the dates of which had recently been set for this summer and fall respectively. She would be pretty busy during the coming months, assisting with the thousand and one details, hosting bridal showers and making short day trips to pick out dresses.

  Thank goodness she didn’t need to worry about her parents. Since his return, her father had made it clear he was still in love with her mother and intended to remarry her. So far, her mother was resisting. One of her parents, at least, was behaving sensibly.

  “Well, I have no regrets.” Cassidy powered off the ten-key calculator and tore loose the paper tape.

  “Hoyt has a right to know he’s a father,” her mother said.

  “And Dad didn’t?”

  “You deserve child support.”

  “I don’t see the big deal. You didn’t get any from Dad for Liberty and managed just fine.”

  Her mother compressed her lips in a show of impatience. “That’s not entirely true and you know it. He didn’t take any money for his share of the arena all those years—which is basically the same as paying child support.”

  “He stole Ryder from us.”

  “Ryder went to live with him when he was old enough to legally choose.”

  Cassidy’s chest grew tight making it hard to breathe. “I won’t lose Benjie.”

  And there it was. The crux of the matter. Cassidy’s greatest fear. What would happen if she told Hoyt about Benjie? Even if he didn’t come after her for some sort of custody, Benjie could one day decide he’d rather live with his father and leave her just like Ryder.

  “Shane’s not stupid.” Her mother’s manner was less judgmental and more sympathetic. “He’s bound to put two and two together.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “You can’t keep Benjie hidden from him forever. They’ll meet eventually. What if Shane tells Hoyt?”

  “I’ll lie if I have to.” Leave Reckless if necessary.

  “You’ve been lucky so far. One day Benjie’s going to ask about his father, and you won’t be able to put him off like you have in the past.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Cassidy—”

  “Believe me, Mom, I’ve weighed the pros and cons. I’m not ready to tell Benjie or Hoyt.”

  Her mother sighed. “You didn’t always feel that way.”

  No, she hadn’t. When she was eight months pregnant Cassidy had gone so far as to locate Hoyt and drive to where he was living, only to learn he was engaged to Cheryl, a young widow who’d lost her first husband unexpectedly. Putting herself in Cheryl’s shoes, Cassidy had turned around and driven back to Reckless. She wouldn’t be a home wrecker. Been there, done that, and she refused to compound the guilt she already bore.

  “I came to my senses.”

  As if reading Cassidy’s thoughts, her mother said, “You weren’t the reason I divorced your father.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you? Really?”

  “He was a drunk. If you hadn’t divorced him, he’d have driven the arena into bankruptcy. I may have been ten, but I remember. Everything.”

  The smell of alcohol clinging to him like a layer of heavy sweat. Finding him passed out in the back of his pickup truck behind the barn. Or on the living room couch if he managed to stagger inside. Once in the middle of the kitchen floor. Twice in the chaise lounge on the back patio when her mother had banished him from the house.

  Worst of all were the outbursts, which, to this day, still rang in her ears. The yelling. The fights. The breaking down into gut-wrenching sobs, his and her mother’s. The constant apologies.

  “He regrets the accident.”

  Cassidy wheeled on her mother. “He could have killed me. And himself.”

  “I’m not defending him.”

  “Sounds like you are.” She wiped at the tears springing to her eyes, angry at herself for letting her emotions get the best of her.

  “What’s important is that you weren’t hurt. Either of you. Just scared. No less than I was, trust me.”

  Memories surfaced. They were never far away. Especially since her father’s return.

  One night, shortly before her parents’ marriage imploded, her father fetched her from a friend’s house when her mother couldn’t get away. The people lived less than a mile away. Nonetheless, he shouldn’t have been driving. Cassidy refused to go with him at first. When he raised his voice, she acquiesced rather than have him cause a scene in front of her friend.

  Misjudging the distance, he ran the truck into the well house. Granted, they weren’t going fast, twenty-five miles an hour at most, and the well house suffered the most damage. There was a small dent on the truck’s front fender. Cassidy’s seat belt saved her from injury.

  When the truck rolled to a stop, she jumped out the door and sprinted the entire way to the house, yelling at her mother to make her father leave. Two weeks later, her mother did.

  At first Cassidy had been glad. Good riddance. Then, seeing how miserable her mother and brother were, she was consumed by guilt. The feeling intensified when, two years later, Ryder left. When she was older, she’d wondered if her reaction to the accident had driven her mother into the arms of another man within days after her father left. Learning that was all a lie had affected Cassidy more than she let on.

  “I put up with the drinking and the bad business decisions,” her mother continued. “But I couldn’t let him endanger my children. Once the trust is gone, there’s no getting it back.”

  “You trust him now. At least, you act like you do. You let him purchase the bulls when you swore we’d never own them again.” And that purchase had led her father to hiring Shane.

  “There’s no letting or not letting,” her mother said. “We’re partners. An arrangement requiring give and take on both sides.”

  “What did he give?” From where Cassidy stood, her mother had done all the compromising.

  “He agreed to put money aside for Benjie’s college education.”

  Cassidy was taken aback, especially when her mother named the amount.

  “His own personal money,” her mother added. “Not the arena’s.”

  She quickly recovered. “He can’t buy my affections. Or my forgiveness. And he can’t buy off his responsibility for what happened.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that he’s simply doing something nice for his grandson? He does love the boy. And Benjie adores him.”

  He did, which rankled Cassidy to no end. “I’ll tell him no.”

  “You can’t stop him. It’s his money. He can do with it what he wants. And when the time comes, Benjie can accept it, with or without your consent.”

  Cassidy liked that less.

  During these past six months her life had been slowly spiraling out of control. First her father returned
. Then both her siblings met their future spouses. Lastly her father had hired Shane.

  Cassidy vowed anew to keep her son from his uncle’s path as much as possible. The benefit would be twofold. In addition to keeping the identity of Benjie’s father a secret, she’d quell this wild and inexplicable attraction to Shane. Anything else was unacceptable.

  * * *

  “ATTA BOY,” SHANE CROONED. “Steady now.”

  Wasabi swayed from side to side, but managed to remain standing—which was a good thing. If the bull collasped onto all fours, his massive weight could compress his lungs and cut off his breathing. It was imperative that every move be precisely executed, every step accomplished at the exact right moment or Wasabi might die.

  “We’re done,” Doc Worthington said, visibly relaxing as the tranquilizer took effect.

  Getting the bull sedated had been a tricky process, to say the least. With few choices, and to be as humane as possible, the Becketts’ vet had used a tranquilizer gun, aiming the feather-tipped dart at Wasabi’s muscular hind-quarters. The bull hadn’t felt a thing.

  Turned out, the initial dose hadn’t been strong enough, and the vet had to administer a second one, which had worried Shane. Stress and excitement could cause the tranquilizer to run through the bull’s system at an incredible rate. Shane had once seen a bull require five doses.

  Now, he carefully monitored the entire procedure from his place beside the wizened country vet. So far, so good, and his respect for the older man grew.

  Two of the arena’s most capable wranglers had been recruited to act as spotters, along with Mercer. If Shane appeared to be in any trouble during the bull’s massage therapy, they’d jump right in. Shane was glad for their presence. Despite his show of confidence, this type of therapy was relatively new to him. A phone call yesterday with the bovine sports medicine specialist had yielded some helpful advice.

  The older veterinarian considered Shane a bit crazy to take this on, especially since he had limited experience.

  Yes, there were risks. In more ways than one. Shane might get injured, or, worse, he could make a fool of himself in the eyes of his new employer and possibly lose his job.

  “You ready?” Mercer called from the sidelines.

  “Let’s do it.” Taking a fortifying breath, Shane crawled through the fence rails.

  “There’s still time to tie him up.”

  “I don’t want to upset him more than he already is.”

  Shane didn’t have long. Twenty minutes at most before Wasabi came out of the sedation. No telling how the bull would react. Dazed and disoriented, he’d likely attack the nearest object with horns or hooves. In this case, Shane.

  Straightening, he surveyed his surroundings before slowly approaching Wasabi. A small crowd had gathered to watch from a safe distance, Cassidy among them. Their gazes briefly connected before Shane looked away. He couldn’t afford any distractions, and Cassidy was a big one.

  Since their encounter in the trailer four days ago, it seemed as though she’d made it her mission to avoid him. Often, like at last night’s bull riding jackpot, he’d sensed her presence, only to turn and find her staring at him or, more often, quickly averting her head.

  She was obviously drawn to him, if nothing else, out of curiosity. And the feeling was mutual.

  Why, then, did she run for the hills every time he approached? Her behavior just piqued his interest further, and Shane wasn’t a man to be put off indefinitely.

  “Watch it,” Mercer hollered when Wasabi opened his bleary eyes and swung his head clumsily to the side. Mercer, along with the two wranglers, had formed a circle around Wasabi and Shane. “Maybe you should dose him again,” he said to the vet.

  “I don’t dare. Not unless you have a crane handy we can use to lift him.”

  That elicited a round of nervous chuckles from the wranglers. They, too, were on high alert.

  A moment later, the bull calmed, and his eyes drifted closed. He rumbled as if snoring. Shane waited another minute, positioning himself near Wasabi’s shoulder, avoiding both the bull’s hind end and head, either of which could be deadly.

  When the bull didn’t react, he tentatively stroked Wasabi’s back. Other than a slight twitch, the animal remained motionless. Growing bolder, Shane removed first one, then the second dart. Wasabi continued sleeping, and Shane skimmed his palm down the bull’s thick neck to his shoulder. Probing gently, he searched for any lumps, swelling or other signs of a contusion. Wasabi’s injury could have been the result of a kick from another bull, requiring a potentially different course of treatment.

  “Find anything?” Doc Worthington asked.

  “Nothing yet.” Shane increased the pressure, kneading methodically.

  Wasabi snorted lustily. A moment later, he quieted.

  “He probably just sustained a sprain.”

  In Shane’s opinion, the vet was being optimistic. Wasabi could have a torn tendon or ligament. Trauma of that nature would end his career.

  “Guess we’ll know soon enough,” Mercer said.

  They would, if Wasabi didn’t improve quickly. Like, within days.

  Knowing he had little time left, Shane continued with the massage. It might be his imagination, or wishful thinking, but he swore the bull relaxed beneath his touch.

  “Get the tape,” he said.

  Mercer delivered the roll from the vet. During Shane’s phone call yesterday, the bovine sports medicine specialist had recommended elastic therapeutic tape, the same type human athletes used for their injuries. Wasabi would look a little funny, but if it helped, who cared?

  Just as Shane finished affixing the last strip, the bull started to rouse.

  Doc Worthington raised his tranquilizer gun. “I can dose him again.”

  “Don’t bother, I’m done.”

  More correctly, Wasabi was done. Grunting angrily, he jabbed the empty air in front of him with his horns. Shane jumped out of the way, though the dazed bull missed him by a mile.

  The reprieve didn’t last. Wasabi awakened quickly and, finding himself confronted by hated humans, charged the closest one, which happened to be Shane. And, like that, the race was on.

  Shane bolted for the fence. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mercer and the wranglers attempting to distract Wasabi. The bull ignored all but his tormenter and bore down on Shane, his loping gait growing steadier and faster by the second.

  “Look at him move.” Doc Worthington slapped his thigh. “He feels better already.”

  At the moment, it was little consolation to Shane that his efforts had yielded the desired results.

  With the fence in sight, he executed a high-flying leap. Grabbing the top railing, he hurled himself up and over and onto the other side, landing with a loud thud. Only then did he notice the sharp pain shooting up his left calf.

  Wasabi had clipped him in the leg. Nothing was torn, either his jeans or his flesh, but Shane would be sore for the next few days.

  Mercer ambled over to check on Shane. “I say we call it a tie.”

  Doc Worthington chuckled. “Or a payback.”

  Shane called himself plain lucky. “Anyone see what happened to the roll of therapeutic tape?” His last recollection was of it sailing out of his hand.

  “In the dirt.” Mercer hitched his chin at the holding pen. “We’ll get it later when the coast is clear.”

  The two wranglers had convinced Wasabi that his interests were best served back in the main pen with the other bulls and not causing trouble for them.

  “My hat’s off to you, young man.” Doc Worthington eyed Shane’s leg. “You all right?”

  “Fine.” He glanced at the crowd, which had shrunk to a small gathering. Good, Shane thought. His leg did hurt, and the fewer people who knew it, the better.

  All at once
, Cassidy rounded the chutes, passing her father and the vet on their way to the pen, and made straight for him. It was a nice change from her recent habit of avoidance. The expression of concern on her pretty face made him almost forget about the pain shooting up his leg.

  “Are you okay?” she asked in a rush.

  “Never better.”

  “I’m serious, Shane.”

  “He barely nicked me.”

  She studied him critically, her eyes traveling from his head to his boots. “You’re limping.”

  He grinned, he couldn’t help it, and lowered his voice. “I appreciate the concern, Cassidy. It means a lot to me.”

  “Of course I’m concerned. You had a close call.”

  “Any other reason?” He leaned in. A mere fraction at first, then more.

  She abruptly drew back. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

  “I’m thinking you’re worried about me because you might like me a little.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  His grin widened. “Could have fooled me.”

  “I mean, I do like you. As a fellow employee.” Her cheeks flushed, and she tripped over her words. “And as an old friend.”

  He’d flustered her, and though it shouldn’t, the thought pleased him. “Right.”

  “You always had a big ego.”

  “Matched only by my....” He let the sentence drop.

  “Shane!”

  “Confidence,” he finished with a chuckle.

  “I guess you are okay. Don’t know why I worried.”

  She spun and would have left him in the dust if he hadn’t grabbed her arm and pulled her swiftly to him.

  “Thanks.” Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to her cheek, letting them linger.

  The contact wasn’t much. Not as far as kisses went. No more than a light caress. Yet, it sent a shock wave coursing through him with the kick of a lightning bolt.

  She must have felt a similar shock, for she let out a soft “Oh” and, for one incredible moment, melted against him. The next instant, she tensed. “I—I have to g-go.”