“Why do I have to wear this? We’re practicing.” Wyatt frowned at the helmet that looked part bike helmet, part lacrosse helmet.
“Because everything matters. You practice the way you ride.”
“Got it,” Wyatt said, shoving the helmet onto his head. “Guess after having your head kicked a bunch of times, you would know.”
Those words made Maggie glance up at Cal. Had his head kicked? That sounded more than dangerous. He’d said his mother and Gary had issues with Wyatt riding, so why would Cal teach his younger brother something so dangerous? She’d done research on riding bulls, the PBR and injuries like the one Cal had sustained. She’d also read about Lane Frost and the other bull riders who’d met their death in the rodeo arena. Rodeo was not just dangerous. It was deadly. And the thought of Cal climbing onto the back of the bull who’d crushed him made her stomach sour. But then again, it was none of her business.
The pregnant barn cat meowed, drawing her mind away from the thought of Cal lying crumpled at the foot of a deadly animal.
Maggie had managed to lure the cat closer to her using canned tuna. She’d set it near the bucking barrel stall and spent several minutes inching closer. The cat seemed content to chow down. Maybe it was getting used to her.
“When can I get on a real bull?” Wyatt asked, sliding onto the apparatus that looked straight out of a playground sans the bright cartoon character.
“I called Hal and he said we could come out and try some of his yearlings. Let’s see how you do with proper instruction first.”
“Okay, but maybe next week? You’ll be ready by then, huh? I heard you tell Mom that you were doing better than you thought at therapy,” Wyatt said.
Maggie tore her gaze away from the cat. Over the past week, she’d watched Cal subconsciously rub his shoulder several times a day and pop pain pills. Several nights she’d woken to find the bed empty and Cal sitting on the old rocker, massaging his shoulder, his face etched in pain. Not exactly doing better.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Cal said, assisting his younger brother in positioning the rope. His tone was confident...or perhaps wishful. Either way, Maggie doubted he told the whole truth.
The tabby lapped at the canned tuna, the smell making Maggie wrinkle her nose. She crept a bit closer, easing herself onto the barn floor. The cat paused and looked up at her. Meeting gazes, they both sat still, watching each other. After nearly a minute, the cat resumed eating. Maggie stayed where she was, watching Wyatt rock and roll on the pretend bull, listening to Cal instruct him, and trying to show the cat she would do no harm.
Looking around the barn, she marveled at the changes. Fresh paint and a good scrubbing had done wonders. They’d hauled away tons of old junk, including the ancient tractor, and Cal had rounded up all the tack and taken it to be cleaned and repaired.
Never in a million years had she ever imagined herself sitting cross-legged and content on the floor of a barn in Texas watching a man she lo—
No. She didn’t love Cal. That was absurd.
Love wasn’t something she knew about. Oh, sure, she loved her family and few close friends, but she’d never been in love. The relationships she’d had thus far had been pleasant at best, forced at worst. But never had love been part of it.
“Maggie,” Cal called to her.
She tore her mind from thoughts of love. “What?”
“Come try the barrel,” Wyatt said.
“I’m fine here. You keep practicing,” she said, frowning as the cat finished her meal and slunk away. No petting her tonight.
“Come on, babe. I want to see if you can stay on. Don’t worry, I’ll give you the first lesson free.” Cal gave her a wink.
Her heart jerked at the grin and teasing. The man knew very well she’d already taken her first lesson. Of course this one wouldn’t end as pleasurably. “I don’t want to show Wyatt up.”
“Shit,” Wyatt scoffed.
“Watch your language around a lady,” Cal said.
“I ain’t no lady,” Maggie drawled in her best Mae West imitation.
“Sorry, Maggie,” Wyatt said, sliding his eyes away, looking abashed. “He’s right. I’m not supposed to be cussing around girls.”
“You Texans kill me,” Maggie said, shaking her head. Lifting her leg over the barrel, she made to leap up. Cal caught her around the waist and set her on the back of the bucking barrel.
“Why? ’Cause we treat a lady like a lady?” Cal said, helping to guide her hand into the slack area in the knotted rope.
“Yeah, and I’ve never seen people who identify themselves so much by the state they live in,” she said, wiggling until she felt steady on the bucking bull.
“We can be a little obnoxious about it,” Cal said, stepping back. “Let’s see what you can do, cowgirl.”
Maggie started moving, stiffening up when the barrel shifted to the front. Felt like riding a slinky. “This is hard.”
“That’s what she sa...” Wyatt pressed his mouth together, making Maggie laugh. But not for long. She tightened her thighs and shifted in the other direction. The barrel went with her.
“Arm up,” Cal shouted, steadying her with his big hands. She liked the way they felt on her, guiding her as she tried to ride the glorified playground apparatus. “Now move with the bull.”
She tried to move with the barrel, but she’d had too many days of lounging and not enough days at the gym. Her core was weak and her thighs felt like jelly. No wonder Cal had abs of steel. “Okay, enough,” she said.
Cal pulled her off the barrel and into his arms. Leaning down he kissed her nose before releasing her. “Good job for a city girl.”
“You know, Cal, you really ought to buy this place from Maggie,” Wyatt said.
Cal straightened. “Got no use for it.”
“You could train cowboys here, like a rodeo school. Or you could raise stock. Lots of cowboys do that. Remember Scotty Dawes? That’s what he does now and his bull is up for Bull of the Year.”
“I know damn well what Scotty does. His goddamned bull was the one who caused this.” Cal pointed toward his injured shoulder.
“Jeez, I was making talk. Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Wyatt said, immediately bristling.
“Don’t worry about what I’m going to do once I’m washed up. I’ll manage.”
Maggie shuffled back toward the barn door, not wanting to be part of this conversation. She’d already seen his reaction to meddling when they were at the Co-op. It was obvious Cal avoided thinking about his future after walking away from the PBR. And since their own arrangement would expire soon, there was no need to look ahead to anything more than what they would grill that night or whether they should paint the bathroom the same color as the bedroom. Essentially, she and Cal were Mr. and Mrs. Right Now.
No future.
“I didn’t say you were washed up, Cal. You’re puttin’ words in my mouth.”
Cal didn’t say anything.
“Mom said we’d try to make Vegas this year.”
Cal glanced up with surprise, a smile curving his mouth.
Maggie turned away at the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. Not at Cal’s response to his brother’s declaration, but because it was further proof his life would go on without her. By the time he went to Mobile, she’d be wrapping up things here in Coyote Creek. She’d be moving on...if she could sell the place. Money had disappeared from her savings account like rain on a dry pasture.
She blinked the moisture from her eyes, determined not to be maudlin over life marching on, and nearly knocked over Charlie.
The old cowboy steadied her and said, “Good news. Think I found a buyer for this place.”
12
CAL HATED THE potential buyer, Hunt Turner, on sight. For one thing the man was from Alabama. For another, he was tall, fit and looked like Clint Eastwood. And the deal breaker was the way he looked at Maggie. Like he judged good horseflesh and found her to his liking.
Hunt had stopped at a gas station almost a week ago and inquired about spreads for sale around the area. Luckily, Charlie had been at the Stop-N-Go buying a few things (aka beer) and overheard his conversation with the cashier. Charlie took the man’s custom-made card with a fancy-sounding corporation imprinted under the name Hunter Clayton Turner, Jr.
Cal bet the man didn’t know a cow from a steer. Probably had his boots hand tooled in Italy or something stupid like that.
“I like what you’ve done with the house so far,” Hunt said, nodding at the freshly painted bathroom. “Nice fixtures, clean lines.”
“A soaker tub will go here. Cal’s tiling halfway up the wall with the most gorgeous green tiles you’ve ever seen. Whoever’s soaking in the bubble bath will have a perfect view of the backyard. Once I get those roses put in along the white fence, it will be such a pretty vista. Are you married, Mr. Turner?” Maggie asked.
“Not any longer, but I’m looking to settle down. That’s why I’m interested in the place. Putting down roots in a small town is important to me,” he said, taking Maggie’s elbow as she stepped over the boxes of tile Cal had stacked there yesterday. They were supposed to have begun the project that morning, but Hunt Turner called and asked to stop by before he drove back to Alabama. The man’s big hands on Maggie’s arm irritated the hell out of Cal.