So I leave you the only place I felt myself. Your first inclination will be to sell the place. But I am betting if you spend any time there, you will find a place to belong. You’ve enough grit, smarts and sass to pull it off, Maggie. Don’t be afraid to be less than practical. When you follow your heart rather than your head, you end up with a life fulfilled rather than one merely lived. Thank you for caring for me, dear girl. You have been a delight and deserve only the best. That’s why I left you a piece of Texas.
With love and appreciation,
Bud
* * *
THE WORDS BLURRED as a sob ripped through her. Guilt mixed in with her grief as she thought about those papers she’d signed a mere hour before. Bud had loved her enough to give her a future he thought she deserved and she’d let it go. Why? Because she thought it sensible. And it was.
She’d convinced herself she didn’t belong here. But maybe she did. Where someone belonged was up to them, right? Just because it made sense to go back home and rely on her skills to create a life didn’t mean she had to. After all, the past few weeks she’d spent in Texas hadn’t been good just because she’d fallen in love with a cowboy. No. She’d fallen in love with the Triple J. With the sad horse and the freshly painted porch. With the way the sun fell through the windows onto the warm wood floors...and that soaker tub had her name written all over it. The cat had given birth to kittens in the barn yesterday. Five scrawny, mewling kitties who rooted for milk. The feral cat had even allowed Maggie to pick up one kitten. Wasn’t that a sign? Even the barn cat thought she belonged.
Because deep down underneath her sensibility she longed to keep the Triple J.
She longed to be at home...finally.
Bud had given her a fresh start. The Triple J was that fresh start and it belonged to her.
Two minutes later she bumped to a halt beside the pretty white farmhouse. She climbed out and gave a wave to Charlie who had just fed Sissy. Maggie had caught him cooing to the kittens earlier. The man hadn’t smelled like bourbon in over a week. He looked better as each day passed. More alive.
Maggie looked over at the house, the earlier grief slinking away, the heartache softening just a bit. It looked like home. Because it was home.
Cal had hurt her when he’d thrown ugly accusations at her. She’d not had a chance to defend herself against his words. He’d left, like a little boy taking his toys away. Maggie had known he had an issue with people he loved meddling in his life. But she hadn’t been doing that no matter what he thought he’d overheard. His leaving had hurt and she’d spent the entirety of two nights in bed, crying over the injury done to her heart.
She’d cried this morning, too, when she’d awoken alone.
When she’d drunk her hot tea alone.
When she’d accepted the real estate contract delivered by courier.
But now she knew she could heal. She loved Cal, but she wouldn’t allow him to break her and send her running back to Philly.
Her cowboy boots sat beside the front door she’d painted teal blue. Like a symbol of her future. Like they were waiting for her to claim who she was.
Maggie kicked her flip-flops off and slid her feet into her boots.
Then she went inside the house to tear up the real estate contract.
16
CAL HADN’T EVEN made it to the Louisiana border before he knew he’d been a jackass. And by the time he crossed into Mississippi, he felt like turning around.
But he didn’t.
Because he was a man and there was this thing inside every man called pride. And pride liked to toss out comments like “don’t be such a pussy” or “you don’t need that shit” or “plenty of fish in the sea.” Pride was the trash-talker, the destroyer of romance and the chief instigator of divorce, job loss and world wars. Pride needed its ass whipped, but Cal wouldn’t do it because it all felt too raw.
So he kept driving, stopping for an occasional Red Bull or a can of Skoal in order to push through to Mobile. He arrived in the middle of the night, exhausted, haunted by his behavior and wired on too much caffeine. No bars were open, so he grabbed a motel on the outskirts of town and bought a six-pack at an all-night convenience store where a prostitute asked him if he wanted some company.
No. Company was the last thing on his mind.
He went back to his room, drank three beers, showered, dried off with a stiff towel that smelled like bleach and collapsed onto the squeaky bed. When he woke up, it was one o’clock in the afternoon and his head felt like a ripe melon waiting to split open.
A drive by the arena proved useless. It was as dead as a cemetery but with fewer flowers. So Cal checked out of his room, drove down to the Gulf coast and got a hotel room at a casino. For the next few days he gambled a little, walked the beach and religiously performed the stretches the physical therapist had given him to do daily. He also stared at his phone, praying Maggie would call.
But, of course, she wouldn’t. And didn’t.
Why would she? He’d acted like an immature asshole. Accusing her of meddling in his life, storming off like a little kid. The whole episode embarrassed him, but at the moment he’d been so incensed. Anger and hurt rampaged through his body, making him like the bulls he rode—irrational, dangerous and too stupid to know he overreacted. He’d been terribly wrong to leave that way. He’d told her it would be a clean break, no hard feelings, no leaving her hanging with the ranch. But he’d not upheld his end of the deal.
Had he hurt her?
He knew he had. He’d seen it in her eyes when he’d lashed out.
So why didn’t he fix it? Call her, tell her he was an idiot, beg her to come to Mobile...or stay in Texas. Forever.
But he knew the answer. He was scared of needing Maggie. Never before had he needed anyone other than himself. His life had been simple—get up, work out, ride bulls. That had always been enough, and he didn’t want that to change. Cal didn’t need that sort of weakness in his life. Love made a man soft and cowboys weren’t soft. They cowboyed up and rode hurt, so how much different was a busted heart from a busted leg?
Cal would bear it.
And as he kicked at the last wave on the white beach he vowed to do just that. Suck it up, forget about Maggie and ride. His goal hadn’t changed because he was stupid enough to fall in love. Or whatever it was he felt for Maggie. Eye on the prize waiting on him in Vegas.
Cal packed up his gear and drove back to Mobile.
Two days later, his shoulder hurt like shit, he’d slept like shit and he looked like...shit. Not the best way to feel before facing some of the rankest bulls in any event thus far. The promoter had done a good job lining up the best stock and all the regular guys were in the locker room when Cal strolled in.
“Well, if it ain’t ol’ Hollywood,” Crank Daniels drawled, slapping Cal on the back. He managed not to wince. “You get tired of modelin’ and decide to start slummin’ again?”
“Shut up, Crank,” Cal growled, setting his gear on a bench and unzipping it. “You act like you’re a durn redneck and we all know your mama’s eating squab and pâté back in River Oaks.”
“Shiiit.” Crank laughed, plopping his skinny ass onto a chair and pulling out athletic tape to wrap the ankle he’d broken in Laredo.
Antonio Morez cast dark eyes on Cal. “It’s good to see you, friend.”
Cal managed a smile. “You, too.”
Tony was serious and deeply religious, often taking time to meditate before each ride, whereas Crank could sub in for a rodeo clown at a moment’s notice. The number-two-ranked bull rider was as notorious for the pranks he played on his fellow riders as he was his ability to cover any bull on a given day. Both were talented riders and decent friends. One to pray with, one to raise hell with.
“Who’d you draw?” Crank asked.
“Raisin’ Cane.” Cal felt good about the bull he’d ride for his first true outing since the surgery. Cane had a mean streak and hadn’t been ridden in his past three outings. Which meant he could bring a good score.
“That’s the sort they give old cripples like you, Hollywood,” Crank said with a twinkle in his eye.
Cal gave Crank a choice finger and then started getting ready for his comeback.
An hour later, Cal strolled out with his fellow riders to be introduced in the arena. Usually the strobe lights and the explosions amped him. He loved the roar of the crowd and the almost obnoxious behavior of the announcer—it was all part of the experience. But tonight he felt hollow. Nothing had changed, so he didn’t know why it all felt like a letdown. When had strapping up to ride the hell out of a bull felt more a job than a thrill?
And the cold sweat dripping down his back didn’t help.
He wasn’t scared.
He was fearless.
All he needed was to hang on for eight seconds and grab a good score.
Three hours later he walked out of the stadium, smiled and signed autographs and accepted congratulations from the fans who’d waited in the light drizzle to take a picture with him. His shoulder hurt like hell, but the adrenaline still coursing through his body took the edge off. Cal should have been ecstatic, but he couldn’t get there. His comeback ride had been anticlimactic.
And that sucked.
As he waved good-night to his fellow competitors, he reached for his phone. No messages. Not from his mother. Or his brother. Or the woman he’d left in Texas wounded by his dumbassery.