Compounding the loss of Cal would be the loss of the Triple J. Though she’d tried to keep perspective, she’d grown to love the place. Bud had been right. It was the sort of place a person found himself or herself. The grasses blowing in the hot wind, the lazy spin of the windmill on the neighboring ranch and the sight of a horse, old as she was, trotting in the early morning dawn was salve to any soul. She’d miss Wyatt with his sleepy morning hair sticking up and the cows that trudged over the hill each evening, coming in for their feed and fresh water. Heck, she’d even miss the irascible Charlie with his weird truck and taciturn manner. And the kitty girl she’d named Tussy after the little witch scratched her. The kittens hadn’t even been born yet. What if Maggie never got to see the wee things?
Five days.
“Maggie,” Cal called from the front porch.
She set her iPad down. “What?”
“Mom’s here to see the house,” he called back.
Maggie leaped up and started clearing away the dishes left out at breakfast. Cal had stomped in for coffee around seven o’clock and left the creamer out. Papers she’d used yesterday to line the floor while she chalk-painted the cabinet in the guest bath sat in a jumble. But then she paused at the absurdity. At that moment she’d reacted like a daughter-in-law might have acted. Like she was part of a regular family.
But they weren’t a family. She didn’t even rank as girlfriend. Hell, technically she was Cal’s boss. She sat the cereal bowl down with a clunk.
Pushing out the swinging door, she donned a smile. “Hello.”
The older woman turned. “I can’t believe how incredible this place looks. You two ought to take this act on the road.”
“In another lifetime,” Cal said gruffly, looking hot and tired. He, Wyatt and Charlie were painting the pens. A real estate appraiser would be out soon to do a valuation so Maggie could give Hunt Turner a number. He’d already sent an inspector who’d suggested some conditions. One was the state of the pens. That had pissed Cal off and sent him on a mission to make the pens pristine. “I’m out. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”
“It’s me and you,” Ruth said to Maggie, taking her elbow. Maggie had met Ruth only briefly one day when they stopped to pick up Cal’s mail. The woman treated her like an old friend.
Ruth’s effusive praise warmed Maggie as she escorted her around the completed rooms. Ruth specifically oohed over the kitchen, not seemingly bothered by the mess left on the counters. “This range is gorgeous. Not that I cook all that much.” Ruth ran a hand over the stainless steel.
“I love to cook, but when you’re a party of one, takeout is easier,” Maggie said.
Ruth grew thoughtful. “Maggie, what are your thoughts about Cal’s shoulder?”
Uh-oh.
“He’s doing well,” she said neutrally.
“Has he talked to you about it?” Ruth pressed.
“Not really. He told me there was a tear that needed repairing, but he’s been training and doesn’t seem to be having issues.” There. That was the truth. No need to mention he often woke at night in obvious pain...or that she’d discovered a new prescription for pain pills...or that Cal grew thunderous when anyone mentioned any concern with his shoulder. He’d nearly taken Charlie’s head off for asking how it felt yesterday. She wasn’t going to tattle to his mommy.
“Hmm,” Ruth said, drumming her polished fingertips on the new granite. “His surgeon is more than concerned. He doesn’t feel like his shoulder can hold up. I had hoped I might talk you into bringing it up. Perhaps, probing a bit to see if he might consider having the surgery.”
“Why me?”
“Because he cares for and respects you. I can tell. He’s never had a woman in his life he trusted other than me and he doubts my motivations. But he trusts you.” Ruth walked toward Maggie and placed a hand on her arm, squeezing. “Please. He’s so stubborn. I don’t want him to end up crippled or disabled or dead because of stubborn pride.”
“I don’t, either, but I don’t have the right to manipulate him that way.”
“Oh, not manipulation. Just out-and-out telling him he’s a fool.” Ruth sounded as though she teased her, but her eyes, ones so similar to Cal’s, were rock steady. The woman actually intended Maggie to work on Cal and get him to follow doctor’s orders.
“I can’t do that, Mrs. Whitehorse.”
“Ruth,” she said, dropping her hand. “And why not? Don’t you love him? Or at least care about him? You don’t understand bull riders. They get on those bulls when they can’t even see straight. Some of them die because they don’t have the sense God gave a billy goat.”
Fear curled in Maggie’s stomach. Again the vision of Cal crumpled in the dirt, a drooling bull scooping him up and tossing him into the air, bloomed in her head. Would Cal riding with an injured shoulder lead him to misjudge things during the ride? Would his balance be off? Would the pain cloud his decision-making in the arena? Maggie didn’t know. She didn’t know anything about the sport of bull riding other than it was dangerous and required a cocksure, experienced cowboy. “I understand your fears, but you should talk to him. You’re his family.”
“I have. He gets angry, lies to me about the pain. He’s always been unreasonable, and you seem such a reasonable girl. Like you could talk a snowman into buying ice cubes.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Just a little talk about making wise decisions. It could make a difference.”
Maggie knew she couldn’t convince the woman she had no sway over her son so she nodded. “I can try.”
“Oh, good. I’ve been so worried about him. You know, he’s headstrong like his father. Whatever Dave wanted he was going to get and to hell with everyone else. But Cal’s been different these last weeks. He seems more at peace. More comfortable around me and Wyatt. He’s never realized how much he’s belonged here. I guess I don’t want him to end up like his father, always searching, never thinking about others. He needs a home, a place he feels safe. I think he feels that way here with you.”
“You know I’m selling this place, right? That I’m going back home?”
Ruth stepped back. It was obvious she thought differently. “But what about Cal? I thought you two were—”
“We’re not what you think we are, Ruth.”
“I have eyes. You two are in love.” Ruth looked at Maggie like she was an idiot for not seeing something so obvious. But what Ruth saw was her son in a relationship. Of course the relationship was as temporary as the tattoos Maggie used to slap on her arm each summer, but Ruth didn’t know that. She saw what she wanted to see.
Maggie sighed. “Ruth, Cal’s going to ride in the next BFT series, whatever that is, and I don’t have the authority or power to change that. I’ll try to talk to him about his family’s concerns, but don’t hold out hope. After all, Cal is a grown man who knows himself better than anyone. If he says he can ride, he will.”
Ruth looked as if Maggie had kicked her dog. “No. He doesn’t know his limitations. He’s a rodeo man and that means he’d rather kill himself than do as instructed. I thought you could help. It was a last-ditch effort to get my son to take care of himself, to think about those who love him for once.”
“I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I think he’ll do fine. He’s determined and he’s been going to therapy and working hard to get stronger.”
“Of course,” Ruth said, inhaling and then releasing a huge sigh. “It’s not just his shoulder, though. It’s the two serious concussions, the worn-out cartilage in his knees and the broken ankle that didn’t heal right. I don’t know how much more his body can take. How much more I can take of watching my son tossed around like a rag doll.”
Maggie didn’t have the words. What could she say to this woman who wanted her son to quit rodeo?
For a few moments they stood in silence.
Finally, Ruth slapped her hands together. “Let’s go see the barn.”
“Okay,” Maggie said, opening the back door. She wanted to shut Ruth out and lock it. She wanted to run to Cal and shake him and scream for him to stop riding bulls...to give up the sport...to stay in Texas...to spend every night beside her because she lov—
No.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t love Cal “Hollywood” Lincoln.
They walked out the door and found Cal hooking his trailer to his truck.
15
CAL WAS SO angry he could spit. So he did. Right into the dirt next to his trailer hitch.
So Maggie and his mom were conspiring to keep him sidelined, to use the feelings he had for both of them to manipulate him?
The thought pissed him off so bad he couldn’t think of anything else but getting the hell away from them. From everyone. Hell, that was probably why his dad had left. Every man knew it was a fact women hid their true motivations behind good intentions. I’m so worried about you. I just want you safe. Use common sense. You’re going to kill yourself. Hand me your balls so I can put them on the shelf.