“Why Texas?” Cal asked.
“Why not?” Hunt answered, giving nothing away.
“Because you’re from Alabama,” Cal sniped.
Hunt’s lips twitched. “Guess that’s true, but my grandfather was from Texas and I have good memories here. Besides, my business interests have shifted over the past few years. Moving closer to where I work makes sense.”
“What’s your business?”
“Oil and gas.”
Of course it was. Not only was the man abnormally decent looking, but he likely had millions wasting away in some bank somewhere. “That’s a volatile business, huh? Up and down.”
“That’s true,” Hunt said, pausing at the door, allowing Maggie to exit first. Probably so he could check out how incredible her ass looked in the short skirt she’d pressed that morning. She wore her hair in a braid and a bright blue shirt that hugged her curves. And those cowboy boots. Damn, she looked like a Southern dream in those cowboy boots.
“Next is the barn. After you’ve seen it and the outer buildings, Cal will drive you out to look at the land. He can answer your questions in regards to livestock, property lines and what have you,” Maggie said, using a professional voice. Like she answered phones or something. But her smile was more genuine than polite.
“Thank you, Maggie,” Hunt said, following her out into the living area.
“I hate you have to see the place mid-renovation,” Maggie said, turning and gesturing to the fireplace. “We’re still in the process of installing a new mantel and you can see the wood we’re using for the floors. It’s a nice stained oak.”
“No worries,” Hunt said, his eyes on Maggie’s breasts. Or maybe not. Cal couldn’t tell. Hunt seemed a sneaky devil, the kind of man who could ogle boobs but not get caught at it. “I can see it will be nice once it’s completed. I like the kitchen floor.”
“Thank you. We thought it contrasted nicely with the white cabinets and quartz counters.” Maggie’s amber eyes glinted with pride. Her gaze met Cal’s and damned if her pleasure over how nicely the kitchen they’d designed turned out didn’t make his heart swell. Not to mention during the entire tour she’d said “we did this” or “we thought that.” Never I. Always we. As if they were a team. He hoped it gave Mr. Cadillac Fancy Pants the firm idea Maggie wasn’t up for grabs.
Only the Triple J.
And even that bothered him.
Ever since Wyatt had suggested he buy the place, he’d been flipping the idea over in his head. He had unfinished business and wanted that million-dollar purse. But some day he’d have to do something else. And when he did, why not do as his brother suggested? Bull riding school. He knew there were a few decent bull riding schools around the country, but there was only one in the whole state of Texas. Maybe he could raise bulls and conduct some sessions on bull riding at the same time. The bunkhouse could easily be converted into dormitories and the spread was the perfect size for both endeavors. It could work. In fact, it could work really well.
But he didn’t have a couple of million lying around to make something like that happen. Sure, he had made good investments, thanks to his stepfather, but he didn’t have much liquidity. Still, a sound business plan could net him a loan. He had the name recognition to pull it off and if he could hire a few other decent bull riders, he’d be a shoe-in trainer for up-and-comers. Maybe he’d talk to Gary and see what his stepfather thought. Gary might even see it as an investment opportunity. Cal would have to put pen to paper and see what he could come up with before he broached the subject over Sunday dinner.
“Should we go to the barn?” Maggie asked, walking toward the front door. “It’s in great shape. Do you own horses, Mr. Turner?”
“We have two Irish Sport horses, but I also have a few quarter horses. My daughter shows.”
“Oh, you have a daughter,” Maggie said, raising her eyebrows.
Hunt smiled, following her onto the porch. “Sara’s passionate about her horses.”
“How old is she?”
“Ten.” Hunt wasn’t very forthcoming, but that suited Cal fine. He didn’t want the man getting chummy with Maggie any more than he had to. In fact, he didn’t want to show him the acreage. Hunt needed to leave and forget about Maggie and the Triple J.
Adios, Bama.
“What a fun age,” Maggie said, beaming at Hunt. “I remember when I was ten. So curious about the world, but still so innocent. Treasure that.”
“I do. I wasn’t around much when she was younger, so I’m trying to make it up to her. Fresh start.”
Something in his tone made Cal soften slightly toward the man. Sounded like regret and Cal could understand that. He’d not spoken to his mother for the first part of Wyatt’s life so he felt he hardly knew the sometimes sullen, sometimes enthusiastic teenager who’d sat across from him at the breakfast table the whole month of June. That realization was one of the reasons he’d agreed to teach Wyatt how to ride a bull. Before the accident and surgery, Cal had dreaded the thought of being in Coyote Creek, stuck in bed at the Whitehorse house. He hadn’t wanted to intrude on a family that didn’t feel his, especially when he knew he’d be in pain.
Over the past few weeks of loving Maggie every night and spending time with his brother, Cal had found life in Coyote Creek not as painful as anticipated.
“A fresh start,” Maggie repeated, nodding her head. “Sounds like a perfect plan.”
Fifteen minutes later, they stood in front of Cal’s pickup. The old horse Maggie now called Sissy nickered at the fence, looking not as pathetic as she once did. Or maybe she did, but Cal now saw her through a different lens.
“I haven’t seen the land yet, but I already know I’m interested,” Hunt said, setting his hands on his lean hips and perusing the house and surrounding buildings. “It’s the perfect size for my needs and it’s not too fussy. Feels like a real home.”
Maggie looked over at the house, something sparking in her eyes. “Yes, it’s very much like a real home.”
Her words sounded sad. Was she regretting her decision to sell? Part of him wanted her to. Because something inside him wanted her to choose him, to stay in Texas and fight for what they had between them. But it wasn’t fair of him to wish that. Not when he knew he couldn’t—no, that he wouldn’t—commit to a future.
He had his eye on the prize and that prize was in Las Vegas.
Cal would finish the business he had before he faced the monster that nipped at his heels...let go of who he’d always been.
A few days ago he’d gone in for an MRI on his shoulder. The doctor had left a message on his phone in a voice that left little room for doubt. Early on they’d discussed the possibility of a second surgery and now Cal knew the possibility was a reality. A tear in his rotator cuff needed to be repaired in order for him to have full rotation of his arm. Cal had likely overtaxed his shoulder too soon after the original surgery. His enthusiasm for getting stronger had led to redamaging the ligaments. The tiny tear was the reason he still had to pop half a pain pill a couple of times a day. Of course, even with the tear, Cal could finish the season. Riding that way would mean a steady diet of medication and therapy. He’d have to compensate for the inflexibility. Climbing in the rankings would be doubly hard. But Cal could do it.
“Cal?” Hunt said, turning toward him.
“Yeah.”
“Maggie said you’d drive me around?” Hunt asked.
Cal gestured toward his truck. “Sure.”
Maggie’s forehead furrowed at his clipped reply. Couldn’t the woman see the guy’s slimy gaze on her? Didn’t she realize Cal was obliged to warn the man off? Did she know she was Cal’s? At least his for almost three more weeks.
When Hunt glanced back, Maggie summoned a cheerful smile. “See y’all when you get back.”
“Did you just say ‘y’all’?” Cal asked.
She blinked, looking surprised before laughing. “Well, when in Texas.”
She’d said those words several times before. As if being in Texas was like a magic pass to do things she’d never do again. Like wear cowboy boots. Shoot tequila. Ride a cowboy. It was as if saying “when in Texas” made everything they’d been doing for the past weeks a mere lark. Not real.
Thing was, everything felt too real to Cal. Like a lit match tossed in gasoline, he and Maggie had gotten explosive fast. Which was maybe why he felt like an old porch dog, growling and pacing the perimeter, refusing to let Hunt Turner take a sniff. Perhaps it was time for Cal to pull back and get perspective.
But then Maggie looked at him expectantly with eyes so full of question, cheeks flushed from the heat and mouth curved in a pseudosmile that said she understood why he was acting like an enormous ass. And he knew he couldn’t step away.
Only two weeks, five days and a handful of hours left until he headed to Mobile, shoulder healed or not.
Only two weeks, five days and a handful of hours left until he walked away from Maggie.
“Cal,” Hunt said again.
“Huh?”
“Ready?” the man said, looking far too cool in the Texas afternoon heat.