by Pam Crooks
He’d have to think on that. The way he was feeling, after all they’d been through, he was more of an outsider than anyone’s favorite.
“Guess I’ll wait to see if she still wants me to have it.”
It would likely be a while before she could forget his mother had been responsible for taking Danny from her, even if Maggie’s intentions were the best they could be at the time.
It’d take Callie Mae a good long while to feel deserving, too. Of a husband. She’d need time to grieve for all she’d lost. Kullen hadn’t always been a lowlife, at least not to her.
TJ was responsible for some of her confusion, kissing her, bedding her like he did, but he preferred to think that might help ease some of the hurt.
Even so, his chest ached for what she had ahead of her. Might be she’d swear off all men, just to protect herself.
And wouldn’t that be just his luck?
He lifted a foot into the stirrup, settled himself into the saddle. Thought of all that lay ahead for him, too. Shining up the tarnish of his reputation.
He had plenty to prove to the world. To Callie Mae. Her parents. He needed them to be reminded of the man he’d always been, deep inside.
Time. They both needed it.
“Goodbye, Callie Mae.”
“TJ, I—” She halted. Bit her lip. “Never mind.”
He nudged his horse forward, and as he rode down the lane toward Boomer’s, he could feel her watching him go.
Epilogue
Callie Mae shaded her eyes against the late-morning sun and riveted a fascinated gaze to the gaily striped hot-air balloon slowly ascending into the sky.
“You couldn’t pay me enough to climb into one of those contraptions.” Her mother gently rocked the extra-wide woven-reed carriage. Inside, Callie Mae’s baby brothers slept soundly, oblivious to the sporting crowds that packed the Panhandle Exposition. “They make my stomach flutter just looking at them.”
“Mmm. But think of the adventure, Mother.”
“I can only think of falling out.”
Callie Mae laughed softly. “Yes, I suppose I’d think of that, too.”
Even so, the excitement of her first hot-air balloon ride was something she intended to experience at some point in her future.
But not today. There were too many other things to see and do.
Like her first formal stakes horse race.
Reconsidering her decision to allow the entrepreneurs to build their exposition on leased C Bar C land not far from Tres Pinos Valley had never felt more right. She had Danny to thank for that. The truth in his death. Knowing he hadn’t really died as a result of the forbidden racing, and the drinking and wagering that encompassed it, well, her perspective took on a big change.
Besides, all the excitement in the air was catching.
The scent of fresh lumber and new paint still hovered over the grandstands, an elegant roofed structure of which every row was filled. Those that couldn’t find seats milled on the ground, talking and laughing. Each woman came dressed in her finest gown, each man in his best Sunday suit.
Others gathered along the track, surrounded on both sides by a white wooden fence. Near the finish line, bookmakers worked the betting ring, posting their calculated odds on elevated blackboards. Harlots mingled with the upright, penne-ante gamblers with high-stakes operators.
“They’re getting ready to race.” Carina pointed to the starting line.
Callie Mae shifted her scrutiny to the horses, brought out from the paddocks by their trainers and led to their places. Anticipation quickened her pulse. Seven beautiful thoroughbreds, ridden by jockeys in colorful silks.
Yet she lifted her binoculars and focused the lenses over only one horse. Blue Whistler. Gleaming black beneath the sun, thickly muscled and long-legged…
He was something to behold.
“Amazing how he’s won every race he’s ever run, isn’t it?” Carina murmured, studying him, too.
Callie Mae didn’t need to consult her racing bill to know it was true. Newspapers continually carried enthusiastic headlines proclaiming the thoroughbred’s prowess on the dirt track.
“Seems he got everything he wanted with that horse,” her mother mused.
Callie Mae refused to look at her. “Who?”
“You know very well who.”
She lowered the glasses. “I suppose you mean TJ.”
Just saying his name out loud stirred the blood in her veins. After that fateful day when he’d ridden away from the C Bar C, Callie Mae had avoided speaking about him unnecessarily.
It was easier that way.
Eventually, her parents quit talking about him at all, at least not in her presence, and that suited her fine.
But oh, she still missed him. So much, it hurt. How many nights had she lain awake, hoping to hear her window open, wishing he’d crawl right through and into her bed?
Too many, for sure.
Unfortunately, the man hadn’t bothered to step foot on C Bar C soil in the months since, so why should she waste her breath on him?
“You’ll feel better if you swallow some of that pride, you know,” Carina said in that shrewd way of hers.
“Hush, Mother.” Callie Mae refused to discuss TJ further. Matters between them wouldn’t change, so what was the use? “The starter is raising his pistol.”
Again, she fastened the glasses over Blue Whistler. At the sharp report, the horses bolted forward. Their hooves pounded over the track, fast, faster. The cheers of the crowd nearly drowned out the thundering sound, and oh, the excitement of watching them!
Her lenses followed Blue around the track, and she forgot to breathe. He pulled forward with an ease that astounded her, astounded everyone, increasing his lead with every second, until a length and a half separated him from the horse behind.
And before she knew it, the race was over.
Blue Whistler had won again.
The crowd roared its excitement. Callie Mae cheered, too. Even her mother got caught up in the commotion—until the deafening noise awakened the babies.
No amount of soothing could quiet their squalls, and Carina was compelled to search for someplace private to feed them. Knowing her mother would need help, Callie Mae accompanied her in a roundabout route past the grandstands, until oddly, Carina halted.
“Why, there’s the winner’s circle,” she said.
Captivated by the magnificent Blue Whistler, Callie Mae halted, too. The thoroughbred was surrounded by scores of people, photographers and reporters madly jotting notations on their pads. Still in the saddle, Lodi, the jockey, mud-spattered but exultant, held a bouquet of roses. A beaming Boomer Preston kept firm hold on the bridle while his new wife, Maggie, clutched his elbow and smiled shyly for the cameras.
And in the midst of all of them… TJ.
Her breath left her in a whoosh. If she thought him blood-warming virile in Levi’s and cotton shirt, he was doubly so now in a crisp black suit and pristine white shirt. His teeth gleamed from a broad smile; his skin had been darkened from the sun. He appeared completely at ease as the center of attention, answering questions smoothly, with a quick wit.
“Mr. Grier, Blue Whistler’s win today has won you a purse thousands of dollars richer than formal stakes races back East. How does that make you feel, being a wealthy man?” one of the reporters called out.
“Guess I’d have to say it makes me feel proud of my horse. None of this would be happening if not for him. And—”
He spied Callie Mae, then, and the words died in his throat.
Heads turned toward her, and instant embarrassment from being caught eavesdropping swept through her. She yanked her gaze away and would’ve escaped with her mother… except her mother had left, pushing the carriage through the crowd at a fast pace, which made Callie Mae realize with absolute and appalling certainty that her mother had been cleverly matchmaking—
Panicked, Callie Mae turned back to TJ.
She recognized the expectant hush which
had fallen over the group surrounding him. Being a Lockett, she’d experienced it often enough, and the years of bearing her name had taught her what to do.
She squelched the panic. Ignored the pounding of her heart. She squared her shoulders, strode forward and met the curious looks head on. She planted a smile on her face. She extended her hand and opened her mouth to express her congratulations to TJ—except a brash, unimpressed reporter stepped in front of her without regard to her intentions, bumped her sideways and nearly knocked her off her feet.
“Mr. Grier, tell us what other races you’ve assigned Blue Whistler to run,” he said in a loud voice.
TJ scowled at him. “That’s enough questions, gentlemen.” He grasped Callie Mae’s elbow. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” She righted her hat, a delicate creation of straw, ribbons and one very prominent ostrich feather.
“Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, as he burrowed his way through well-wishers with a ruthless charm. “What about Blue and those people who were waiting to talk to you?”
“Boomer will take care of ’em.”
He hustled her toward the Amarillo Jockey Club, and they passed Henry Sanborn along the way. Joseph Glidden and James T. Berry, too, the entrepreneurs who’d been so determined to build the exposition and its racetrack. She had no time to speak with them, not when she had to hurry to keep up with TJ’s long-legged stride.
He pushed open the club doors; the scent of cigars and leather accosted her. He guided her through the dining room and down a hall, finally turning into a smoking room of sorts, elegantly done in dark wall paneling and large, overstuffed chairs.
He locked the door. And speared her with his hooded gaze.
“What took you so long, Callie Mae?” he demanded.
She blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I thought you’d come to see Blue before now. Hell, after all we went through to steal him away from the mustangs, didn’t you want to see him run?”
Her mind worked. “I was waiting for you to come back to the C Bar C, TJ. You never called on me. You never—I thought you—”
“I’ve been traveling. Have been for weeks.” He cocked his jaw. “Guess you could say I’ve gotten a few things out of my system while I was gone.”
Callie Mae understood. The dream he’d needed to follow.
“You’ve always been a fine horseman, TJ. Now you’re an accomplished turfman, too. You’ve become respected in racing. People envy you for what you’ve done. Has that been enough?”
“No.”
She regarded him with surprise.
“All the months I spent on the circuit convinced me it wasn’t the life for me. I want a home of my own, Callie. Not in a bunkhouse on the C Bar C. Not in a spare room at Boomer’s. My own house. My own land.”
“Yes.” She understood that, too. Hadn’t she wanted those same things? “But you can. In Tres Pinos Valley.”
“Your mother offered the acres to me. And I accepted, on two conditions. The first, I would buy them from her fair and square. I didn’t want those acres just because I happened to be her favorite cowboy.”
TJ had amassed considerable wealth in racing Blue. Buying the land from her parents, at almost any price, would meet the condition.
“I’ve missed you, Callie Mae,” he said suddenly. “There were times when I thought it would just about eat me alive, missing you so much.”
Unexpected hope stirred inside her, like baby butterfly wings. “I’ve missed you, too.” There. She admitted it. “I could hardly bear being away from you.”
Their gazes locked, and a slow heat darkened the depths of his eyes. He hooked his arm around her waist and brought her full against him, lowered his head and took her mouth with a sudden savagery that revealed the yearnings he’d kept inside him too long. She melted. Of their own accord, her arms curled around his back, and only by feeding his hunger could she sate her own.
She had no way of knowing how long he kissed her, only that her lips turned swollen, her breathing ragged. He dragged his mouth along her jaw, pressed kisses into the curve of her neck.
“Oh, TJ, I’ve wanted you to hold me like this for so long,” she murmured. “I’ve wanted to taste you, love you, like I did when you crawled in through my bedroom window.”
Her lashes drifted closed; she savored all the delicious things he made her feel.
But there was more she needed to know. She drew back.
“What of the second condition?” she asked, holding her breath.
“Ah, that’s the best condition of all.” Despite his smile, he seemed to hesitate. “That I share the land with you. Fifty-fifty. As my wife. For the rest of our lives.”
Her breath caught. Her throat closed with a surge of emotion.
“Are you asking me to marry you?” she whispered.
“I’ll build you the house you’ve always wanted, Callie Mae. We’ll fill it with our children.” He kissed her again, so tenderly she nearly wept.
Happiness soared through her. Had her mother known all along?
“I love you, TJ,” she breathed. “Even when I didn’t know I did, I loved you.”
“But I loved you even more.”
Her heart swelled near to breaking. “Yes. I think you did. But only at first.”
“Will you marry me, darlin’?”
“Yes. Oh, TJ.”
Callie Mae sealed the vow with a plethora of kisses. She reveled in the knowledge that he was coming back home to the C Bar C, at last, to be her very own—and very favorite—cowboy. And that he intended to stay, for the rest of their lives.
To live their very own legacy.
The End
About Pam
While expecting her first child (more years back than she cares to count), Pam Crooks read her very first romance novel, and she’s been in love with them ever since. She grew up in the ranch country of western Nebraska, and it was inevitable she’d eventually write lots of books about cowboys. Pam still lives in Nebraska with her husband (who is not a cowboy), four married daughters and a whole slew of perfect grandchildren.
She’s a long-time member of RWA and RAH, her local chapter. Pam is also one of the founders of Petticoats & Pistols, a popular blogsite for western romance. She loves to cook, hang out at her lake cabin, and decorate birthday cakes for anyone who will let her.
To see other books Pam has written, visit www.pamcrooks.com
Or visit her author page on Amazon.