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The Bull Rider's Homecoming
Jeannie Watt


IS THIS HOME?Single mom Annie Owen is so busy raising her twin girls, there’s no time to focus on the “single” part…until rugged Trace Delaney temporarily moves nearby. Annie’s interest in Trace is more than neighborly, but she can’t risk losing her heart to a bull rider on the move.Trace is a rolling stone. Or so he thought. Settling down suddenly seems a lot more appealing if it’s with smart, gorgeous Annie and her girls. But they deserve someone they can count on. Is Trace ready to be that man, or will he run from the only place, and the only woman, that ever felt like home?







IS THIS HIS HOME?

Single mom Annie Owen is so busy raising her twin girls, there’s no time to focus on the “single” part…until rugged Trace Delaney temporarily moves nearby. Annie’s interest in Trace is more than neighborly, but she can’t risk losing her heart to a bull rider on the move.

Trace is a rolling stone. Or so he thought. Settling down suddenly seems a lot more appealing if it’s with smart, gorgeous Annie and her girls. But they deserve someone they can count on. Is Trace ready to be that man, or will he run from the only place, and the only woman, that ever felt like home?


“You should come by my place.”

Annie regretted the words the instant they left her lips. How was it that she felt so self-conscious?

Maybe because of that dream you had about him last night?

“Are you all right?” Trace asked.

“Hmm?” She innocently shifted her gaze to his handsome face.

Silence fell between them and Annie did her best to focus solely on her girls, but it wasn’t easy when she was so aware of the guy leaning on the fence a few feet away. And it was even more difficult when he said, “Would you like to go riding sometime?”

“Is that an invitation?”

“It is.”

“Because you’re looking for company?”

“Partly.”

“The other part?”

His gaze traveled over her in a way that warmed her. “Because I wouldn’t mind going riding with you.”


Dear Reader (#ulink_cd568f87-8f30-5317-942f-ca73cd544020),

What happens when a man who believes he’s destined to live his life alone gets involved with a single mother and her twin daughters? That man’s life gets turned upside down, that’s what.

Trace Delaney’s childhood consisted of one upheaval after another, and he grew up believing he wasn’t meant to stay in one place for long. His career as a professional bull rider serves him well. He’s always on the road—or rather, he was, until he agrees to take care of a fellow bull rider’s ranch while recovering from surgery. That’s when Annie Owen and her seven-year-old twins enter Trace’s life. He doesn’t want to get involved with the family. Truly he doesn’t. But he discovers that resisting gentle Annie and her girls is even harder than staying on a rank bull for eight seconds. Now he has to make the hard decision as to whether to stay or go.

As a bull rider’s sister, Annie knows that stuff happens in life and you have to work your way through it or around it, but she’s never come up against anyone quite as stubborn, or as attractive, as Trace. She’s determined to make a stable home for her girls, but she also feels a strong desire to convince Trace that just because he never has stayed in one place for long, it doesn’t mean that he can’t.

I loved writing Trace and Annie’s story, which is the second installment of my Montana Bull Riders miniseries. I hope you enjoy the story.

Happy reading!

Jeannie Watt


The Bull Rider’s Homecoming

Jeannie Watt






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


JEANNIE WATT lives in a historic Nevada ranching community with her husband, horses, ponies, dogs and cat, Floyd. When she’s not writing, Jeannie loves to horseback ride, sew vintage fashions and, of course, read romance.


To Bill Swanson—this bull-riding

romance is for you!


Contents

Cover (#u8a4b2e4c-522a-55f2-849d-f69d40fbd887)

Back Cover Text (#uc976af84-698e-54d9-9bc4-94828f1a6451)

Introduction (#u2ef64954-6576-546d-81e5-11579b75dad9)

Dear Reader (#ud80b5afa-fa8d-5e3a-9060-8e3361b9d42a)

Title Page (#uf5356937-ae29-516c-9b39-944ea3a23d63)

About the Author (#u78561c57-4ea2-5d3d-a1af-dbf3948a01c8)

Dedication (#u22d843b0-4130-5b16-90d5-23cd2d0d712c)

Chapter One (#u761d60cd-72aa-5fb1-abb1-6b79da6d4e8f)

Chapter Two (#u2cf7c59d-5dc2-558b-8a0c-7fba5a62b5e5)

Chapter Three (#u6d8756e5-39a1-5e56-b7f3-956af95e42b3)

Chapter Four (#u8d13b13d-5024-565c-a88c-b8e0d05a5074)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_441ea937-cd93-5beb-9643-6b7577820c98)

“Mom!”

“Just a sec, honey...” Annie Owen squinted at her sewing machine, trying to turn a tight corner. Just a few more stitches and—

“Mom!”

Annie jumped from her chair, recognizing the something’s-about-to-explode tone in her daughter’s voice just as she heard the awesome sound of water spraying against...something. She raced into the kitchen, skidding to a stop to gape at the stream of water shooting wildly out of the tiny utility room and hitting the hallway wall.

“Get back,” she automatically ordered her seven-year-old twin daughters, who were inching closer to the utility room, green eyes wide. Picking up a towel from the laundry basket and using it as a shield, she approached the wild hose that had broken free from its clamp during the rinse cycle and was now shooting water in all directions. She made a grab at it just as the doorbell rang.

“Peek through the side window and see who that is,” she called as she made another grab at the hose. She caught it but now that she had the spewing hose, what was she going to do with it? She had to turn the water off somehow and she couldn’t reach the faucet behind the washer.

“Stranger,” Katie called. “A guy.”

Great.

Annie opened the washer lid and tried to jam the hose inside but it instantly came free, banging the lid open and spraying her full on, soaking her hair. Sputtering, she wiped her hands over her face and slicked back her hair.

“He looks like a cowboy,” Katie said. “He has a black hat just like Uncle Grady’s.”

Great. Mystery cowboy.

“Give me a second.” Something she was saying way too often of late. Since taking the job at a local Western boutique and putting in all the hours she possibly could, she seemed to be one step behind the action, playing catch-up. But she loved her job. Truly she did. Finally she was gaining financial ground, and that felt great.

She wiped her face on the wet towel then tried to turn off the faucet, but it refused to budge. Finally she wrapped the towel around the hose, which stopped the spraying but not the flow. Muttering a word that the girls weren’t allowed to hear, much less say, she made her way out into the living room, marched to the door and opened it as far as the chain would allow. The guy standing on her porch, wearing a hat that really did look exactly like her brother’s, was tall, dark and unsmiling. In fact, he looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. The feeling was mutual. She wanted him somewhere else, too.

“Can I help you?” she asked with more of a clip in her voice than she intended.

“Uh,” the guy said, looking over her head at the waterworks going on behind her. The towel had come loose. “Maybe I can help you.”

And let a man she didn’t know into the house? She thought not. “I’ve got it,” she said dismissively.

“I don’t think so.”

Annie jerked her chin up. “Do you need directions?” She was about to close the door in his face so she could deal with her flood.

“I’m Trace Delaney.”

Annie blinked at him through the cracked door. She knew the name from the bull-riding circuit, but had no idea why the guy would be standing on her porch. “Grady’s on the road.”

His frown deepened. “I know. I’m watching Grady’s place for him. Or I guess it’s really his girlfriend’s place. He asked me to stop by and check in with you after I got here.” Once again he looked past her at the water. “Where’s the water main?”

“Cellar. I can get it.” She didn’t like his take-charge tone, and as far as she knew, Cliff Fife was watching Lex’s place, as he always did when the couple traveled together. Her brother was very good about keeping her apprised as to what was going on in his life, and he hadn’t said one word about a change of plans. Or about a fellow bull rider “checking in” with her.

“You sure?” Trace pointed his chin at the water behind her. Annie wanted to look but didn’t.

“Positive.” He was most likely Grady’s friend as he said, but until she knew what was going on, the guy wasn’t coming into the house. Besides the stranger-danger factor, there was something about him that made her feel slightly off center. It was a discomforting feeling. “I’m used to handling this kind of stuff alone and I really need to get at it. Maybe we can talk some other time.” She gave him a tight smile and stepped back, getting ready to close the door.

The man opened his mouth as if to argue then seemed to change his mind. He gave a cool nod and turned to head down the porch steps toward a black Ford truck. Annie shut the door and twisted the dead bolt before he’d hit the last step and raced toward the cellar. She could debate her level of rudeness later, after the water was turned off.

“Let me know when he drives away,” she called to the girls. “Do not open the door.”

“He’s driving away,” Kristen called as Annie started down the cellar steps.

Excellent. A few minutes later she trudged back up the stairs, thinking that she needed to keep a wrench next to the main. That faucet was hard to turn. And the one behind the washer—that one needed a blowtorch.

Now the aftermath.

“There’s a lot of water.” Kristen edged up to stand beside her while Katie walked barefoot back and forth through the puddle in the hall.

“Lot of water,” Annie agreed, propping her hands on her hips. She tried hard to face all disaster with equanimity. The girls needed to see that panic helped nothing.

“Why didn’t you let the man help?” Katie asked midsplash.

“Because I don’t know him.” She didn’t even know if he was really Trace Delaney, although she couldn’t think of one reason why a guy would pretend to be a bull-riding friend of her brother. She’d have to do a Google search as soon as she got her house dried out. She rarely watched bull riding, preferring to get her stress in other ways, so she hadn’t a clue as to what Trace Delaney looked like.

“He’s Uncle Grady’s friend.”

“That’s what he says, but how do we know for sure?” Annie dropped the towel she still held on the encroaching water, stopping the flow into the kitchen. Lately the teaching moments seemed to be happening with alarming regularity.

“Oh,” Kristen said. “He might have been trying to fool us.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

She tried to be matter-of-fact. She didn’t want her daughters to grow up frightened—merely sensible. Kristen was a little too fearless; Katie a bit overly cautious. She’d love to edge them both toward a happy medium.

“Girls, why don’t you get the bathroom towels? I think this is beyond mopping.”

When she was done sopping up water, she was going to call her brother and find out why he hadn’t told her someone other than Cliff was watching Lex’s place and why that someone was checking in with her. It might all be very innocent, but she was getting a bad feeling...like maybe Grady was trying to fix her up, or, at the very least, getting her a watchdog. She did not need a fix-up and she certainly didn’t need a watchdog. She understood that her brother was trying to make up for the time he wasn’t there for her as he built his career, but what he didn’t understand was that she had been fine handling her life on her own then, and she was fine handling it alone now.

* * *

SO MUCH FOR DUTY.

Trace hadn’t been wild about checking in with Grady’s sister from the beginning, but he’d agreed to do so because Grady had been nice enough to offer him a place to stay while he recovered from the shoulder surgery that had put his career on hiatus. Emphasis on hiatus. His career wasn’t anywhere near over.

But why Grady thought his sister needed looking in on was beyond him. If she handled the waterworks with the same cool efficiency with which she’d handled him, she was probably already mopping up the damage.

If she wasn’t...well, he had offered to help.

He slowed as he approached a fork in the gravel road and checked the GPS. Left. He’d never been to this part of Montana, but within a matter of minutes, the GPS successfully guided him to Grady and Lex’s small ranch. The property was located almost five miles from that of Grady’s sister, so there wasn’t much of a chance of him accidentally encountering her while he was running or riding.

As he pulled into the driveway, he half wondered if that was a good or bad thing. No, he hadn’t wanted to check in with her, but now that he’d seen her, he had to admit to being somewhat intrigued. The steely glint in her eye as she’d quickly assessed his unworthiness had contrasted sharply with her small, almost delicate stature, her full mouth, the soft blue of her eyes. The front of her light brown hair had been soaking wet and slicked back from her forehead, accentuating the angles of her face, but when she turned to check on her girls, the hair that swung to the middle of her back looked as if it would feel like silk.

He let out a soft snort. If he ever tried to touch her hair, to see if it really did feel like silk, he’d probably find himself on the wrong end of a judo hold or something. Grady might be concerned about his sister, but Trace’s first instinct was that, small as she was, she could take care of herself.

Three dogs jumped at the fence when he parked his truck next to a classic GMC pickup. Lex had written their names down and he’d have to match them up to their descriptions as soon as he did a quick check of the other livestock. There was a pen of ducks and several horses grazing in the pasture. All the troughs were filled and the ducks seemed to have plenty of food.

When he returned to the truck and pulled his duffel out of the backseat, a white-and-black cat sauntered out from behind a tree and approached, getting close but not too close.

Felicity. He remembered that name. He’d once dated a Felicity. It hadn’t ended well. Hopefully he and the cat would get along better. The cat probably wasn’t going to demand that he find a new occupation.

The dogs greeted him with a mixture of suspicion and joy. Yay, someone is here to feed us! But...who is this guy?

Whoever he is, I hope he feeds us!

“I’m your new roommate,” Trace murmured as he headed up the walk with the entourage of sniffing pooches and one mildly interested feline. He unlocked the door and opened it. To his surprise, the dogs didn’t rush in. Instead they plunked their butts down on the porch and stared at him. Lex ran a tight ship.

“All right, you can go in,” he said, gesturing toward the inside of the house. He probably didn’t have the right command, but the dogs seemed to have understood. They raced past him into the living room and then he waited as the cat took a few slow steps forward then trotted daintily past him.

A neighbor by the name of Cliff had taken care of the place for the past two weeks, and all the animals had been fed for the day. Lex had written detailed feeding instructions and drawn small maps showing him where everything he would need was located. She’d offered him the master bedroom, but after taking a quick tour of the shipshape house, he decided to sleep in the extra room, which, judging from the horse show ribbons on the wall and the collection of rodeo buckles lined up on the bookshelf, had been Lex’s childhood room. He dropped his duffel and sat on the bed to take off his boots. Long, long day; long, long drive.

He rubbed his sore shoulder, squeezing slightly to test the depth of the pain, and winced. For once he was going to follow doctor’s orders and take it easy for at least another week. An ornery brockle-face bull named Brick was waiting to test him at Man vs. Bull in December, and he was determined to come out on top. Three times he’d tried to ride Brick and three times he’d failed. Not only did he want the purse, which would make up for all the events he was missing while he healed, he also wanted vindication.

To do that he’d have to allow himself to heal fully. He just hoped his head didn’t explode from frustration before that happened.

* * *

IT TOOK MOST of the evening to chase Grady down. Both his and Lex’s phones kept going to voice mail, and Annie began to wonder if he was in an emergency room somewhere. Bull riders tended to spend inordinate amounts of time being checked out by medical personnel, so she was starting to get truly concerned when on the sixth call he answered the phone. “Annie. Is everything all right?”

“I was about to ask you the same. Why didn’t you guys answer?”

“No cell service in Calico Valley. We just now drove into range. You called...five times? What’s up?”

“Who’s watching your place?”

“Trace Delaney is taking over for Cliff. I take it he stopped by?”

“He did. Why didn’t you warn me? He came at a rather inconvenient moment and I wasn’t all that cordial.”

“I’m sorry, Annie.” Grady did indeed sound sorry. She could almost see him slapping his forehead. “We threw this deal together at the last minute and then I had a bad ride at Livermore. After that I drove like the wind to make it to Calico...sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“I was in the money last night.”

“Congratulations.” Annie checked to see if the girls were indeed at the kitchen table working on their reading homework before she said in a low voice, “So why did Trace Delaney check in with me? As opposed to you simply calling me to let me know that you’d changed caretakers?”

“You’re my sister,” Grady said patiently. “I just thought it would be good if he had a contact while he was there. So I told him how to find your place.”

“As opposed to simply giving him my phone number.”

“I did that, too.”

“You aren’t trying to hook us up, right?”

Grady sputtered. “I learned my lesson when I tried to fix you up with Bill Crenshaw in high school.”

Not quite true. He’d sent a couple of carefully vetted bull-riding buddies her way over the past couple years, but Annie wasn’t in the market for a man—especially a bull rider. Too much stress involved and, besides that, she had her hands full with her girls. Who had time for a guy?

“I hate being blindsided,” she finally said.

“I get that and I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Okay...well, ride hard tomorrow.”

“Day after.”

Annie smiled a little. “The girls send hugs.”

“Hugs back,” Grady said.

Annie ended the call and settled back in her chair. What was done was done, so why was it bothering her? Because the guy had stopped by at Grady’s urging and she’d run him off the property. Not a very nice thing to do.

She needed to explain. Make amends. And maybe get another look at the guy. He’d had kind of amazing hazel eyes, and while she may not be in the market for a guy, there was no reason she couldn’t look.

* * *

TRACE’S BIGGEST ADJUSTMENT after having the surgery to repair the torn ligaments in his shoulder had been adapting to downtime. Never in his life had he held still for so long. Even busted and cracked ribs hadn’t kept him from practicing. A good, tight wrap and he’d been ready to go, but the doctor had been quite clear that if Trace didn’t allow himself sufficient healing time with this injury, then he was looking at destroying the work the surgeon had done and perhaps putting himself out of competition forever.

Not going to happen, which meant following orders.

Which also meant champing at the bit as he marked time, watched bull-riding technique videos and exercised the parts of his body that he could. He was eating carefully—lots of protein, not much sugar or bread—trying to keep the weight off and the muscle intact as he worked his lower body. Legs were important and he wasn’t going to lose the strength in his.

When Trace had agreed to watch Grady’s place, he’d figured he could spend the hours when he wasn’t concentrating on rehab puttering around the place, doing whatever he was capable of with a bum shoulder. Unfortunately, the ranch was in pristine condition and there were no handyman jobs to do. His only duties were to feed the animals twice a day, water Lex’s plants and mow the yard. If ever there was an incentive to heal up and get back on the road, this was it.

Grady had called the night before to apologize for the mix-up with his sister. He’d neglected to tell her that Trace would be checking in, so naturally she’d been startled when he’d shown up at her door, acting as if she should be expecting his arrival. And it wasn’t as if he’d come at the best of times. The highlight of the call had been when Lex had taken over the phone and asked if Trace would mind exercising her horses. He had a feeling she knew just how much time he’d have on his hands, and the thought of riding off into the not-too-distant mountains appealed. He could ride bareback, work on his balance and leg strength.

First thing Sunday morning Trace experienced the thrill of trying to mount a sixteen-hand mare bareback without jarring his left shoulder. It was doable...kind of. At least there was no one around to see him climb up onto a fence and ease himself onto the horse’s back, just like little kids had to do—although it wasn’t unlike mounting in the chute. Yeah. That was it. No shame there.

After settling on the mare’s back and doing a few practice circles in the wide driveway to make certain that she and he were communicating properly, he started down the road toward the mountains. The dogs complained bitterly about being left behind, but he wasn’t going to risk taking Lex’s dogs out on the road, no matter how lightly traveled it appeared to be. Riding felt good—no, it felt great—after weeks of being cooped up, and after a good two hours exploring the foothills, he finally headed back, hungry and thirsty. He hadn’t expected to explore for so long, but there was no reason for him to hurry back to the lonely ranch.

The ranch, however, wasn’t as lonely as he’d left it. He spotted a small white car parked in front of the house when he rode into the driveway and immediately recognized the little girls poking their fingers through the fence at the dogs, who were wiggling ecstatically. Grady’s sister and nieces had come to call. Annie was on the way back to her car from the front door when she shaded her eyes against the sun and spotted him.

“Hey!” one of the girls yelled as he rode closer. “That’s my horse!”

“Katie,” her mother warned, and although the girl’s mouth clamped shut, she didn’t look happy. Trace dismounted stiffly several yards away, sliding down the horse’s side carefully, so as not to jar his stiff shoulder too badly, then led the mare up to the car where the girls started petting her shoulder and neck.

“Can I please have Daphne’s reins?” one of the girls asked. Trace looked at Grady’s sister. She gave a small nod and he handed the reins over.

“We’ll get her a drink,” the other twin announced.

Trace watched them lead the mare toward the trough then turned back to find Annie regarding him. Yesterday, with wet hair slicked back from her forehead, she’d been all serious blue eyes and unsmiling lips. Today the long brown hair spilling in waves around her shoulders softened the angles of her heart-shaped face and accentuated the fullness of her mouth, the soft blue of her eyes—but her expression was just as serious as it had been while dealing with a flood and a stranger at the door. Somehow those full lips of hers didn’t look right pressed into a flat line.

“Look, I’m sorry for being short with you when you came by the house. I didn’t know—”

“It’s all right.” The naturally husky notes of her voice strummed along his nerves in a pleasant sort of way.

“I was rude.”

“Understandable, given the circumstances.”

Annie didn’t reply. She shifted her weight and looked past him to where her girls were watering the mare, presenting him with her delicate profile. Trace rarely had a problem filling in gaps in conversation, but as she brought her gaze back to his, he found himself at a loss. She was a small thing, serious, yet sexy in a girl next door sort of way...and being near her stirred something deep inside of him. Something he didn’t particularly want stirred.

“I appreciate your understanding,” she said coolly.

“Not a problem.”

No problem at all, although he couldn’t help but wonder if being attracted to Grady Owen’s sister might introduce a complication or two into his life.


Chapter Two (#ulink_1a59ea73-c0f8-515b-8e28-00d9ab0711c9)

Trace Delaney was tall for a bull rider. And since Annie was short, she had to look up at him. The guy had great cheekbones, a really nice mouth and, unlike her brother, no visible scars. Deep hazel eyes, more green than brown, studied her solemnly from beneath slightly frowning dark eyebrows, and she realized that she was staring. She pulled her gaze away and a few awkward beats of silence passed. Neither of them seemed able to come up with anything to say, but she refused to shift uncomfortably.

“By the way,” she said, breaking the silence. “I’m Annie Owen. Those are my daughters. Kristen in red and Katie in blue.”

“Cute kids.” At least he didn’t say they took after her, as many people did, because they didn’t. They looked like their blond-haired, green-eyed father who was long gone. Not that that bothered Annie anymore. She was grateful to be raising her girls alone.

“Thank you.” She dove into the reason she’d come. “Obviously there was a miscommunication between Grady and me, and I wanted to stop by to apologize for chasing you off my porch.”

Trace smiled and Annie fought to keep from catching her breath. Holy cow.

“He and I talked. It’s fine. Did everything turn out all right last night?”

“After a lot of mopping.”

“What about repairs? Do you have someone handling those?”

She looked at him in surprise. “I went to the hardware store for a hose and a new wrench.” Because she couldn’t find hers and had a feeling it had been involved in some project the twins had cooked up. “We’re on our way home now.”

“Ah.” Again the silence settled in and Annie was about to do them both a favor and call the girls so that they could leave, when Katie and Kristen headed back toward them from the trough, pulling the ever-patient mare behind them.

“She drank a lot,” Katie announced, still holding tightly to the reins.

“Warm morning,” Trace agreed. “And we went a long way.”

Bareback. Annie couldn’t help but wonder if his butt was sore. Hers would be. How long had it been since she’d ridden?

Katie tilted her head up. “Can I come and ride Daphne next weekend?”

“Katie!” Annie flashed Trace a quick glance of apology, catching the deer-in-headlights look that crossed his face. He might have been willing to check in with her, but it was blatantly obvious that he didn’t want his space invaded. Fine, because she didn’t want to invade it. Not when he made her feel so crazy aware of him. Like riding, when was the last time that had happened to her?

“We’ll wait until Lex comes home to ride,” Annie said in her mom voice.

Katie drew in a breath, as if to argue, but Annie cocked an eyebrow and she let out the breath in a whoosh. “All right,” she mumbled. She and Kristen turned as one and headed for the car.

“Sorry about that,” Annie said.

Trace gave her a tight smile in return. “It probably would be best if they waited for Lex.”

Annie gave a nod, even though a small, contrary part of her wanted to say, Hey, it isn’t like you have to be around while they ride.

“Agreed.” The car door opened and closed behind her. “I need to go. Lots of chores ahead of me. Give a shout if you need anything.”

He wouldn’t. She knew that as certainly as she knew that she was going to spend the drive home explaining why the twins had to wait for Lex to get home before riding the horses they’d ridden regularly for the past several months.

Because that was the way it was. End of story.

* * *

WELL, THAT HAD been awkward.

He shook his head as Annie turned her car onto the county road, and then led the mare toward the pasture. Faking small talk was usually easy, but facing off with Annie had triggered the discomfort he’d once felt around people he didn’t know. A discomfort he’d worked a long time to overcome.

He’d grown up shy and his mom had been something of a recluse until she passed away just after he’d turned fourteen. They’d moved from apartment to apartment, trailer house to trailer house, looking for ever-lower rent as the medical bills stacked up. They’d stayed in the Reno-Carson City area, but he’d changed schools every year or two and found it was easier to simply keep to himself. That way people didn’t ask questions, expect to be invited over. Things like that.

When cancer had finally claimed his mom, he’d been sent to live with his father, who hadn’t wanted him in the first place. The last thing he’d wanted was the son who was a reminder of his brief relationship with a Reno cocktail waitress. He’d given Trace food and shelter, but his discomfort with the situation had been palpable, and Trace had found himself feeling even more alone than he had when he’d been in Reno. At least there he’d had his mom and a few acquaintances. That first summer in Oregon, he’d had no one—or at least he hadn’t until Ernest McClure had found him exploring on his property and had insisted that he come home and eat lunch with him and his wife, Josie, so that they could get to know “the new neighbor.”

Trace had gone, more because he’d been caught trespassing than because he wanted to get to know anyone. Going with Ernest, however, had been the best accidental move of his life. In Ernest and Josie, he’d found pseudograndparents. Mentors. People who believed in his basic good—something he’d kind of wondered about.

Thanks to their gentle influence—which later he discovered was more like velvet-covered steel—Trace started actively working to make something of himself, his life. He’d joined the school rodeo team, and made an effort to connect with other kids. It’d been painful at first, but as he made more friends, he gained confidence, and by the time he’d graduated, he’d learned to play the social game well. He may never have connected with his dad, but he’d done all right. And now he could effect easy conversation with the best of them...except with Annie Owen.

He had no idea what was going on there.

Trace gave a small snort as he closed the tack-room door and pushed the past out of his head. He didn’t need to worry about Annie or connecting because he probably wasn’t going to see her again. The future was his biggest concern.

The future and the long day on the ranch that stretched out before him.

* * *

EVEN THOUGH ANNIE had worked at Annie Get Your Gun for over a year, she still felt like smiling when she walked through the door to start her day. It was a total accident that she shared a name with the store, but she liked being partnered up with Annie Oakley, who was the true namesake.

There was something about the upscale yet funky Western boutique housed on the ground floor of a historic brick building that was both welcoming and inspiring. If she could afford it, she would happily decorate her entire house with the items sold at the boutique, but that wouldn’t be happening anytime in the near future. Her girls were growing like weeds and it seemed like she was spending her extra cash on new shoes or coats every couple of months. But a person needed a little pick-me-up every now and again, so she settled for buying the occasional small piece of bric-a-brac on payday and being thankful that she had a full-time job with benefits.

In fact, it still amazed her that Danielle had offered her the job in the first place, since she and Grady had once been engaged and it hadn’t ended well. But Danielle was now married to a great guy, and Grady was engaged to Lex, a partner in the business. A convoluted state of affairs, but the end product was that Danielle and Grady were both blissfully happy and Annie had a job she loved.

“You’re here early,” Danielle said as she walked into the back room carrying a vase of wilted roses.

“The girls managed to get ready for school on time. I’ve worked up an incentive plan.”

“Clever mom.” Danielle gave her kind of a goofy smile.

“What?”

She bit her lip then blurted, “I’m pregnant! I’m going to be a mom, too!”

Annie gasped then reached out to hug Danielle, who was almost bouncing up and down with excitement. “When?”

“January.”

“And no morning sickness?” Danielle shook her head. “Lucky you,” Annie murmured. “I think I was sick for five months.”

“Have I mentioned that I’m excited?” Danielle said. “I’ve been looking at Western baby stuff. A lot of it. You may have to rein me in so the store doesn’t become Annie Get Your Baby Gear.”

Annie laughed. “I’ll do my best, but baby gear mania is like a sickness. Everything is so cute.”

“I know.” Danielle opened the cooler and took out the bouquet of flowers stored inside and replaced the roses in the vase. She jerked her head toward the boutique. “I have more news.”

Annie followed, waiting until Danielle had placed the flowers on the end of the tall counter where they transacted business. She nodded at the locked door on the west side of the room. “I negotiated with Great Granny and because they’re having trouble renting that little space after the Book Nook closed, she’s letting me have it for a song. I’m making a quilt room.” She walked over to the door and turned the old-fashioned key resting in the lock then pulled it open. The Book Nook had been vacant for almost as long as Annie had worked for the store, and the room was both musty and dusty.

Danielle stood for a moment, studying the space. “Definitely some work ahead of us.” She glanced over at Annie. “If there is an us. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind putting in some overtime and helping me clean and paint this space. The cleaning we can do when we have downtime during the day, but the painting—I don’t want fumes, so I figured that could be done during the evening. Thus, the overtime.”

“I’d just do it,” Annie said.

“I don’t want you—”

“You can buy me a drink sometime. After...” She patted her abdomen.

“If you’re sure,” Danielle said, stepping farther into the room.

“Totally sure.” Annie crossed over to the windows, which had brown paper covering them. “It’ll be nice to get this paper down.”

“It was never meant to be up for so long,” Danielle agreed. “And it’ll be nice not being next to a vacant space.” She turned in a circle. “I’m going to hang the best quilts, put racks over there and see if I can score some dressers to display smaller items.”

“I’ve been trying to make smaller items,” Annie said. “I don’t seem to have the knack.” But she wished she did. Lex made metal jewelry for the store, and Kelly, who’d worked there before Annie, still brought in her pottery pieces. Annie had nothing to contribute.

“You know, I’m fine with you simply being a great associate.”

Annie gave a soft snort. “I want a talent like everyone else.”

“Maybe you’re really good with interior paint,” Danielle said with a wry smile.

“I do sling a mean brush.” She did. The house she’d grown up in had been grim when she’d moved back home after Wes had left her. She and Grady had rented it out while she’d been in college and the renters hadn’t been all that careful with the place. It’d taken Annie a long time to brighten the house with paint and small touches, making headway whenever her budget allowed.

“I was thinking Friday evening to paint? You can bring the girls.”

Paint and her twins were usually an explosive combination. Annie lifted an eyebrow, thinking that Danielle had a learning curve ahead of her. “That sounds great and since its Friday, I think that would be a good night for the twins to spend the night with friends.”

* * *

THE DAYS PASSED SLOWLY. Trace saddled up every day, exercising each mare in turn and even giving the cranky old gelding, Snuff, a go. After the daily ride, he worked out as best he could, read, watched videos and wished that Lex had a less meticulously cared for ranch. A guy named Hennessey had a practice pen nearby and Trace thought he might check it out, but knowing himself as he did, he didn’t want to be tempted to hurry things along. The longer he healed, the better his chances of having a winning season the next year—and the better his chances of getting the best of Brick and funding that season. Or at least part of it.

The problem, as he saw it, was that the only way to be a successful bull rider was to live and breathe the sport. Unfortunately, that made downtime difficult. Trace had nothing to fill the hours once he’d gone through all his exercises and rehab, mental and physical, and fed the animals. The one positive to the ranch was that for the first time in forever, he had a real kitchen to work in—one where his stepmother wouldn’t instantly kick him out, anyway—and within a matter of days his simple meals became more elaborate.

Being at the stove reminded him of being with his mom. As she’d grown more ill, he’d taken over the cooking, following her instructions as she sat at the table and watched, sometimes with her head resting on her arms. She hadn’t had much of an appetite by that point, but she’d taught him to make hearty food that would feed a growing kid. She’d also taught him how to stretch ingredients, shop sales, use coupons and maintain a household budget.

Trace’s mouth tightened as he put a cast-iron pan on to heat. He missed his mom. Sixteen years and the ache was still there. He’d lost his father not that long ago, but mostly he felt resentment when he thought of his dad. It wouldn’t have killed the guy to open up a little—at least tell him he had a serious heart problem. But no. He didn’t find that out until the heart problem had put his dad in the ground.

Lex had a nicely stocked kitchen and Trace started a list of the things he needed to replace as he used them. She also had a decent collection of cookbooks, and it was while he was thumbing through one, looking for inspiration, that he stumbled upon the Gavin chamber of commerce pamphlet and discovered that he knew a local bar owner. Gus Hawkins was also from northern Nevada, and he and Trace had competed in a lot of the same rodeos in high school and college.

It would be great to see someone he knew. Someone he didn’t have to fake small talk with. For all of the time he’d spent alone in his life, alone on this ranch felt different. It had to be because he wasn’t traveling and he wasn’t riding bulls. His life had changed radically after the surgery and his brain was still trying to figure out how to cope with these new limitations.

* * *

TRACE DID HIS grocery shopping Friday evening, just before the store closed for the night, then parked outside the Shamrock. The place was beginning to get crowded, but there were still a few empty tables around the periphery of the room. Trace bypassed the tables and headed to the bar, which was manned by an older guy who looked at him over his glasses as he approached.

“Hey.” Trace put his hands on the edge of the bar and looked at what was on tap. He ordered then asked if Gus was around.

The old guy’s glasses slipped a little lower as his chin dropped. “It’s his day off.”

“I rodeoed with Gus during high school.”

“You did, now?” Trace started to pull out his wallet but the bartender waved his hand. “First one’s on me.”

Trace smiled. “Thanks. I guess I’ll stop by on a day that’s not Friday.”

“Or Thursday. His other day off. By the way, I’m Thad. Gus’s uncle.”

“Trace Delaney.”

“You ride bulls.”

“I do.” He wasn’t a big name, but it wasn’t unusual for people who followed bull riding to know who he was.

“Are you done with the circuit?” Thad pushed a foaming draft across the bar.

Trace raised his glass. “Bad shoulder. I should be good to go in a matter of weeks.” Months, he reminded himself. No pushing this recovery as he’d always done in the past.

“It’s got to be rough on the paycheck being out for so long.”

“Doesn’t help,” Trace agreed with a “that’s life” smile.

A group of six or seven youngish guys dressed in matching baseball shirts came in through the back door, and Trace stepped back as they crowded up to the bar. “I’ll tell Gus I saw you,” Thad called as he backed away.

“Thanks.” The place was filling up, but Trace found a quiet table near the empty pool tables, where he sat and slowly sipped his beer, watching the people around him. He was in no hurry to get back to the lonely farm and was therefore in no hurry to finish his beer. It was only 7:30 p.m., so a long night stretched before him.

Another rowdy group of kids dressed as cowboys came into the bar and soon commandeered the pool tables. Trace watched the dynamics in the group, pegged the cocky guy with the black hat as the leader and wondered if he’d looked that stupid after having one too many. A girl in tight silver pants draped herself around Black Hat, who practically shook her off. Silver Pants pouted a little as Black Hat took his pool shot then gave a smirk when the ball hit the edge of the pocket and rolled to the center of the table.

“I told you to rub me for luck,” she said.

And Trace had had about enough people-watching.

He went back to the now almost deserted bar to drop off his glass, and he and Thad started talking again. Thad seemed fine to talk despite being busy at the bar, so Trace lingered a bit before heading out the back door leading to the parking lot. He’d barely stepped outside when he heard a woman cry out and then the sound of a scuffle. He rounded the first row of vehicles in the lot and saw Black Hat and Silver Pants standing next to a tricked-out truck.

“Leave me alone,” the girl yelled. Black Hat didn’t move, so she started slapping at him, until he put his hands up and pushed her back into the truck. Her head struck the mirror, and even though she didn’t appear to be hurt, Trace started toward them. If it had been a couple of evenly matched guys, it would have been different, but this wasn’t an even match.

“Mind your own business,” the guy growled, barely sparing Trace a glance as he faced off with the girl who was now spitting curses at him while rubbing her head with one hand.

Trace stepped in between them. “She asked you to leave her alone.”

“You going to get involved, cowboy?” the guy asked in a deadly voice.

Trace took another step forward, hoping the woman had the good sense to take off while she could. “I don’t want to get involved, but if she wants to go—” Something hit him hard on his temple, knocking him sideways. His teeth clacked together and he tasted blood, but he didn’t go down.

“You get away from us,” Silver Pants shrieked. When Trace turned toward her, the guy swung at him. Trace managed to pull back enough to miss the brunt of it, but the guy swung again, hitting him square in the bad shoulder as he attempted to dodge the blow, and the fight was on. Trace got a couple punches in with his right hand before the guy grabbed his shirt and swung him around. He lost his balance and went down, pulling Black Hat with him.

They rolled in the gravel, hitting one another, the girl shrieking and smacking at them with her purse—the same purse she’d used to coldcock him. Just when Trace got a lucky shot to the jaw, he heard the sound of tires on gravel, and then the reds and blues lit the ground nearby. A pair of rough hands pulled him away from Black Hat and the next thing he knew, his hands were cuffed behind his back, the pain in his shoulder so raw and deep that he could barely catch his breath, much less give his name when the cop demanded it.

“He started it,” the girl sobbed. “He did. We were out here talking and he just attacked us!”

Trace let his cheek drop to the gravel. He was so thoroughly hosed.


Chapter Three (#ulink_df96dd26-fe02-5f8a-82a2-b18e57199893)

“We need to give a statement,” Danielle said as the deputies finished handcuffing the two men who’d been fighting in the parking lot behind the store, not far from Annie’s car.

“Not until they get Shelly under control,” Annie muttered back, even though she agreed wholeheartedly. They’d come around the corner just in time to see Shelly Hensley wallop the guy who’d tried to intercede on her behalf. Typical Shelly move. As the deputy turned her around to cuff her she loudly cursed him out.

“I think it’s safe now,” Danielle said.

Annie nodded and they started across the lot. The deputy looked over his shoulder at them as they approached, and she saw that it was Cullen McCoy, whom she’d gone to school with. “We saw the whole thing,” Annie called as she and Danielle stopped a safe distance away.

Shelly glowered at her in a way that made Annie glad they’d waited until the cuffs were on. “They did not.”

Cullen gave his head a tired shake, giving Annie the impression that it wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with Shelly. Another cruiser pulled into the lot and after a brief conference with the female deputy who stepped out of the car, Cullen jerked his head toward the street. “I’ll talk to you one at a time. You first.” He pointed at Danielle, who followed him a few yards away.

Annie stayed put, shifting her weight and thinking that this was the most excitement she’d had since the girls let the snake loose in the house. The female deputy put her hand under the still-handcuffed rescuer’s arm and when she helped him to his feet, a sound of pain escaped his lips.

Annie’s mouth fell open, then she snapped it shut again. The guy who’d gotten creamed trying to help Shelly was Trace Delaney.

* * *

TRACE GLANCED PAST the female deputy to see who else was witness to his humiliation then swallowed a groan. A leggy blonde woman and...Annie Owen.

Excellent.

Shaking his head, he looked down at his boots, tightening his jaw against the pain shooting through his shoulder. To his left the woman he’d tried to help was spewing venom, and to his right the deputy who’d cuffed him was talking to the blonde. He had no idea where Black Hat was, but his hat still lay in the gravel close to where they’d fought.

He sensed Annie moving, cast another quick look and saw that it was her turn with the deputy. When she’d finished, the deputy came toward him.

“I’m going to ask you to take a breathalyzer test,” he said after checking Trace’s identification.

Trace nodded. He was more than willing to take the test—not that he had much choice in the matter. They’d draw blood if he refused. He blew into the tube and a moment later the deputy unlocked the cuffs.

“Hey! What about Danny?” Silver Pants shrieked before the female deputy took her by the arm and hauled her a distance away.

“Do you know these two?”

“No.” And he knew better than to give more information than was asked for.

“What happened?”

“I was on my way to my truck and these two were dusting it up. The guy laid hands on the woman and I told him to stop.”

“Did you threaten either of them?”

“No. I just told him to leave her alone.”

“According to the witnesses,” the deputy said to Trace, “the female suspect struck you without provocation and then the male suspect—” he glanced down at his notes “—took a swing and from that point on you were acting in self-defense.”

“The guy in the black hat pushed her against the truck and she struck her head on the side mirror. She didn’t appear to be hurt, so I thought I’d distract him so she could leave.” His jaw tightened. “She chose not to go.”

The deputy gave a weary nod. “I’ll be dealing with both of them. Her for battery on you. Him for battery against both of you. Do you want to press charges?”

Trace shook his head. He just wanted to forget the evening, and he really wanted Annie to leave.

“Then you need to head on home.” The deputy gave him a long, hard look. “Are you okay to drive?”

“I only had one beer.”

“I’m talking about your injury. Maybe you should go to the ER. Get checked out.”

“It’s an old injury. He didn’t do it.”

“He didn’t do it any good, either,” the deputy said, shaking his head again.

“I’ll take him home.”

They both turned to see Annie standing a few feet away. Trace’s chin jerked up. Yeah, as if he’d let her. He’d had his quota of embarrassment tonight.

“He got his head pounded against the ground at one point,” she told the deputy. “Pretty hard.”

That’d happened early on. She’d seen the whole thing.

“I’m fine.”

Annie merely raised her eyebrows at the deputy, who then nodded. “Yeah. Take him home. Thanks, Annie.”

Thanks, Annie. Trace’s mouth tightened, but there was no good to be had from arguing with the law, so he started for his truck.

“My car is over here,” Annie called.

“Her car is over there,” the deputy echoed. Trace reversed course and by the time he got to Annie, she’d finished saying a few words to her friend and pulled the keys out of her pocket.

“It won’t kill you to accept a ride home,” she murmured. “I’ll help you get your truck in the morning.”

And the only thing that kept him from arguing was the fact that, yeah, he was starting to feel a little light-headed. He knew that feeling. Knew it well, actually. It happened when he got clocked too hard in the arena. It’d pass, but maybe he should be grateful instead of all surly. So after he scrunched himself into the front seat of Annie’s car, he said, “Thank you.”

She snorted a little and started the engine. “Right.”

“No. Really.”

She shot him a look then shook her head.

“What?”

He saw a corner of her mouth tighten. “No wonder Grady asked me to keep an eye on you. You’re here less than a week and you’ve already tangled with Shelly Hensley.”

“What a minute.” Maybe he’d been clocked harder than he thought. “Why would you need to keep an eye on me? Grady asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“Whatever.” She slowed to a stop at an intersection then continued on out of town.

Trace fell silent, irritated, his shoulder throbbing. They rode for several miles and it wasn’t until they got close to his place that Annie said, “Hey,” in a somewhat grudging voice.

He glanced at her, frowning.

“He didn’t tell me to keep an eye on you. He said you might need a contact in the community. You did. It all worked out. And I know that he asked you to keep an eye on me. He told me.”

Trace nodded instead of answering.

Annie pulled into his driveway and then stopped next to the front walk. “Is everything really okay?”

“I just got beat up by a douche bag. What do you think?”

Her expression softened an iota. “If you need anything, will you call?”

“Like what, Annie?” It was the first time he’d said her name out loud and it sounded oddly intimate. She seemed to think so, too, because those blue eyes widened then narrowed.

“I don’t know what your needs are,” she said calmly.

He did and he was beginning to feel a need directed toward her, despite the humiliation of the evening. He had to get out of there. He reached for the door handle. “I’ll figure out a way to get my truck.”

“Or I could pick you up on my way to work at eight.”

She was challenging him. Trace rarely if ever backed down from a challenge. “Thanks.”

“Common sense wins. Cool.” She gave her slim shoulders a shrug and despite the pain beating through him, and the very real concern that he’d set his rehab back by a week or two, Trace found himself wanting to smile.

* * *

ANNIE TOLD HERSELF—firmly—that there was no need for her to feel self-conscious about picking up Trace Delaney and giving him a ride to his truck, which was parked where she parked every day. It was the natural thing to do. The neighborly thing to do.

They were kind of neighbors...several-miles-apart neighbors, but they had the same zip code.

She pulled her car up to the gate at the end of Trace’s walkway. The dogs shot out from behind the house, leaping up and down, their heads appearing and disappearing from behind the fence, and a few seconds later Trace came out of the house, looking dark and withdrawn.

He held his shoulder stiffly and his arm wasn’t in his jacket sleeve, which concerned her, but having grown up a bull rider’s sister, she didn’t say a word about it and pretended not to notice the grimace of pain that flashed across his face as he got into her car.

“Thanks for doing this,” he said politely as he folded himself down into the seat. Apparently he felt self-conscious about being ferried back to his truck. Men.

“Not a problem.”

Once Trace was in the car and the door was shut, Annie couldn’t decide if the car was too small or if he was too big. Only he wasn’t big. He was tall and lean. Wiry, as bull riders tended to be. But the car felt different with him in it.

And whereas he’d smelled like a guy who’d been fighting in the parking lot the night before—which Annie had been surprised to find she didn’t mind one bit—today he smelled of soap and man. She didn’t mind that, either.

She bit her lip as she stopped at the end of the driveway. Since Trace seemed to prefer silence, she decided to honor his wishes and not make small talk. She did enough of that in the line of duty and it really wasn’t that bad driving in silence.

He was the one who finally spoke as they hit the Gavin city limits. “Do you want to bring your girls to ride sometime?”

She sent him a frowning look, wondering where that had come from. “They can wait until Lex comes home.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ve never spent time around kids, so I kind of panicked when they asked, but after you left I realized that I really had nothing to do with the matter. So, you’re welcome to come...if you still care to.”

There was something in his voice that had her glancing away from the road to him. “You’re hurting and the last things you probably need are a couple of rowdy—”

“Annie.” She shot another look across the small space. “I’m not the kind of guy who usually fights in parking lots.”

Annie’s eyebrows shot up as she realized what his concern was. “I wasn’t worried about that.” She let out a huff of breath. “Besides, I saw what happened. Shelly attacked you from behind when you were trying to help her. And you know what?” Another quick look his way. “You could have taken that douche bag despite your shoulder. He was tiring, you know.”

She pulled into the lot and parked in her usual spot, fifty yards away from where his black truck stood close to the Shamrock. When she turned to take her purse from the backseat, she saw that he was studying her with a bemused look.

“I grew up with bull riders. You think I haven’t seen a scrap or two in my day?”

She pushed the door open and got out. Trace did the same and she realized that perhaps she’d accidentally discovered the secret to feeling more comfortable around a guy who was putting her totally on edge. Treat him like her brother.

He smiled at her then over the top of the car—a slow smile that made Annie’s nerves start to thrum.

Uh...no...the brother thing wasn’t going to work.

It had been a nice idea, but she was going to have to come up with something else. She managed a look of concern.

“Are you sure about this? You won’t feel invaded?” Because she thought he would, and pointing that out might be a great way to sidestep this rather generous offer.

“It’s not my place. If the girls want to ride, they’re welcome. I’ll probably stay in the house, out of the way.”

Annie lifted her eyebrows. “More likely out of harm’s way.”

“Well, like I said, I have no experience with kids.”

Annie fought with herself. He was being nice because of what had just happened between them and the words “no, thank you” would solve her problem nicely and put her out of harm’s way.

“How about Sunday at ten o’clock?” she heard herself say.

“Sunday at ten o’clock,” he echoed. Then he gave her a quick nod before starting for his truck.

And Annie gave herself a moment to watch him go.


Chapter Four (#ulink_4be3c17a-836f-5824-b4b4-165a02864837)

Late Saturday afternoon, on the day after he’d gotten walloped in the parking lot, Trace went back to the Shamrock. He wasn’t one to avoid a place just because he’d gotten the snot beat out of him there—if he were, he wouldn’t be a very successful bull rider—and he wanted to say hello to Gus. He pushed through the door and saw Gus behind the bar and no sign of Silver Pants or Black Hat.

“Delaney!” Gus spotted him before he was halfway across the room and came out from behind the bar to meet him. “I’d man-hug you, but I don’t know what part of you hurts.”

Trace laughed as they shook hands. The truth was that his shoulder hurt like crazy, and he was concerned about the number of weeks he’d put himself behind in rehab by butting his nose into someone else’s business.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Gus said as he headed back around the bar. “Or better yet, wait five minutes until I’m off shift and I’ll join you.”

“Sounds good.” Trace headed over to a table by the door. Five minutes later Gus showed up with two frosted mugs of beer.

“I don’t usually end my day this way,” Gus said as he raised his glass to his lips almost as soon as he sat down. “But there are days.” He took a drink. “Speaking of which, I heard what happened with Shelly last night.”

“I imagine most everyone has heard by now.”

“Pretty much,” Gus agreed. “My uncle banned her from setting a foot in the place for a month about an hour ago. She threw a fit, so he made it two months and if she shows up before that, he’ll call the sheriff and ban her for life.” Gus gave his head a quick shake. “You have no idea the trouble that woman can cause.” He smiled a little. “No. I guess maybe you do.”

“Firsthand,” Trace agreed. “If she’s such a troublemaker why not ban her for life now?”

“Because her father is—” Gus made quotation marks in the air “—important.”

“He must be very proud of his daughter.”

“Unfortunately, I think he is.”

Trace gave a soft snort. What would that have been like? To have a father who was proud of you?

“Sorry to hear about your dad,” Gus said, keying in to the direction of Trace’s thoughts. “Gramps mentioned that he’d passed and that the ranch was for sale when I spoke to him a couple months ago.”

“Yeah. Well, as you know, we weren’t that close.” Not even close enough for the old man to let his firstborn know that he’d suffered two heart attacks before the one that had killed him.

Would it have changed anything? Trace didn’t know, but at least he would have had the option of going to see him. Making peace. Although that was probably a pipe dream, because his father’s wife would have figured out a way to keep him from seeing the old man, just as she’d driven a wedge between them when he’d first moved in with them after his mom died and his dad was still trying to figure out how to deal with the uncomfortable situation.

Trace had no idea of what she’d been afraid of—him usurping her boys in their father’s affection? As if that would have happened. His younger half brothers had still been in the cute kid stage when Trace had arrived in Oregon. He’d been the gangly, awkward kid. Nothing cuddly and lovable about him. Maybe she’d simply disliked him because of what he represented. It didn’t matter. She’d made his life a misery, but the result was that he had a great bull-riding career because of her.

Trace lifted his glass. “It still hurt to lose him.” It had. There was no longer the slightest chance of them ever making peace, and deep inside him there was still a bit of the kid who wanted his dad to want him. “So how long have you been here in Gavin?” Trace asked, shifting the subject from himself.

“A matter of months. My uncle needed help and I’d just hit a wall in my career.”

“Bad wreck?”

“Cranky old piebald named Murph stomped the living crap out of me. To the point that I decided it was time to hang it up.”

Trace rolled his shoulder, testing for pain. “I’m not to that point yet.”

“You’ll know when you are.” Gus spoke with quiet certainty that Trace found unsettling. Gus had been one of the most fearless riders he’d ever known. “And until then—” Gus raised his glass “—best of luck.”

Trace returned the salute and stretched his stiff leg out. It felt good to talk, even if he did not care to dwell on the subject of retirement. The conversation shifted to Trace’s current standings and his hope to compete in a few events prior to once again taking on Brick in Man vs. Bull, and Gus spoke about reestablishing a life after his own career. Trace knew that was something he’d eventually have to deal with, but he wasn’t yet ready to abandon the sport that had made him feel as if he were someone, regardless of what his family had thought of him. Not even close.

After a good hour of talk, the place started filling up with happy-hour drinkers, and even though he wasn’t wild about going back to the lonely farm, Trace paid for the second round and headed out. He rolled his shoulder as he walked to the truck. He and pain were old friends—competitors, really. So far he’d won every bout, and he had no intention of going down in this one.

Twilight had fallen and the automatic lights in the parking area were coming on. The lot was emptier than it had been when he’d first pulled in. People had gone home from work, but it was still too early for the bar crowd to come out en force. Annie’s car was parked at the edge of the lot, right where it had been the night before when she’d all but frog-marched him to the vehicle. She kept late hours, but he imagined that in a town the size of Gavin, jobs were not easy to come by and she didn’t have a lot of choice in hours.

He was almost to his truck when a door in the brick building at the far side of the lot opened, and Annie came out with a bundle of what looked like white sheeting in her arms. She carried it to the Dumpster and awkwardly attempted to push the lid open far enough to stuff the bundle in.

“Need help?” Trace called.

Annie gave a start then let out a breath, her shoulders slumping with relief when she recognized him. “Wouldn’t mind,” she said. “These things are kind of gunky.”

He crossed the distance between them and lifted the heavy metal lid. Annie shoved the bundle in then wiped her hands down her pants. Pale orangish-colored streaks followed her fingers down the denim.

She grimaced at the paint stains then looked back up at him. “Hanging out in parking lots again?”

He smiled in spite of himself. “On my way home, actually. I figured if I’m going to live in this area for a while, then I should probably get back on the horse...or in this case go back into the bar.”

“You should be safe enough now. Shelly got banned.” She took a backward step, started to put a hand on her upper arm, then hesitated as she caught sight of it. Annie was not a neat painter. “I knocked a can over,” she explained, even though he hadn’t asked. “I caught it pretty fast, but not fast enough.”

“You’re a painter?”

“I am tonight. My boss is pregnant and paint fumes bother her, so she took the kids and I’m painting our new quilt room.”

Okay. Explanations given. Dumpsters dealt with. Time for him to leave.

Except...he didn’t feel like leaving.

He glanced over at her car. “I suppose you have to get right home.”

“That was the plan, after I tidy up a few more things.”

Trace cocked his head at her, going with instinct instead of common sense. “Would you like to go get a quick drink?”

A surprised look crossed her face and he thought for sure she was going to say no, but she gave a small shrug. “Sure. I haven’t had a free evening in a long time.” Trace started to smile and then she ruined it by saying, “And you are a friend of Grady’s.”

Yeah. He was. And he was finding Grady’s sister...interesting.

She looked down at the paint on her clothes then grimaced at her hand. “I have to tidy up and change. Do you want me to meet you at the bar?”

Obviously she was not inviting him to come into the building with her. “No. I’ll wait for you here.”

“All right. I’ll be fast.” She gave him a pert look over her shoulder as she started for the door. “Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

He found himself smiling again as she disappeared inside. Less than five minutes later she came back out the door, wearing a denim skirt, a red shirt, Western boots and silver beads. Somehow she managed to look both cute and sexy. The tiny smudge of apricot colored paint on her wrist only added to the package.

“You are fast,” he said as they started across the lot.

“One of my many mother superpowers. I learned to dress on the fly as I averted disasters here and there.”

“Broken water pipes?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of spilled milk.”

Trace escorted Annie into the Shamrock, stopping at the bar long enough to order a draft for Annie and a sparkling water for himself while Annie claimed a table.

“Thankfully the music hasn’t started,” she said as she adjusted her chair. “Which means we can hear one another.”

“Makes for better conversation,” Trace agreed. And he was hoping for better conversation. All of his meetings with Annie had been strangely awkward up until now.

Annie smiled a thank-you as the server placed the beer and water on the table. She met his eyes and he said simply, “I’ve had two drinks and I’m driving.”

The corner of Annie’s mouth tilted and he thought she was going to say something about him showing remarkable common sense for a bull rider, but instead she said, “It’s going to be strange going home to a quiet house.” She lifted her beer and reached over to tap his glass lightly with hers. “Thanks for helping me delay the moment.”

“Anytime.” He meant it.

Annie took a small drink then set the mug down as a young guy in a Western shirt approached the table. “Hey, Annie,” he said, barely sparing Trace a glance. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Her expression became polite but cool as she said, “I haven’t been out in a while. The kids keep me busy.”

The guy turned his attention to Trace, smirking a little before he looked back at Annie and said, “Good thing there’re no women with big purses here.”

Annie smiled sweetly up at him. “Cody, have you met Trace Delaney? He’s watching Grady’s place.”

The kid’s mouth fell open as he recognized Trace’s name, but before he managed to say anything, Annie said to Trace, “Cody rides bulls. Does pretty good, too.”

“I, uh...” Cody had gone red now that he realized who exactly had been walloped by Shelly. He pushed his hands into his back pockets then pulled them out again. “Good to meet you. I didn’t recognize you. Probably because I didn’t expect you to be here. In Gavin, I mean.” He shoved a hand at Trace, who took it gamely. “I only ride on the local level. Nothing like...yeah.” He shifted his weight. “Any chance you might be interested in going to Hennessey’s practice pen? Maybe give some pointers?”

“Will there be any women with big purses there?” Cody went even redder at the jab and Trace felt kind of bad for him. “I might be able to find some time.”

“Thanks. That would be...great. Thanks.”

“See you around,” Annie said gently and Cody took the hint, heading back toward the bar where his small group of friends waited.

“You play hardball,” Trace said once Cody was out of earshot. The kid had definitely been territorial about Annie, but the feeling was not reciprocated. Annie looked more annoyed than anything. The color was high in her cheeks and her full mouth had tightened again. He felt a strong urge to do something about that. Annie needed to relax a little.

“Cody is the little brother of one of my high school friends, and has had a burning crush on me forever. Even the twins didn’t slow him down.” Annie focused on her hands before bringing her blue gaze back up to his. “That sounds kind of vain, doesn’t it? But it’s the truth.”

Trace smiled. “Nothing wrong with speaking the truth.” And he could totally understand the kid having a long-lasting crush on Annie.

She settled back in her chair. “Here’s a bit more truth... It feels kind of unreal sitting here and having a beer instead of racing home—even with the girls at Danielle’s.” She took another small drink, then put the mug down. “If you weren’t a friend of Grady’s I wouldn’t be.”

He’d gotten that idea earlier, when she’d agreed to go for the drink.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t go out much.”

“Homebody?”

“Exhausted,” she said candidly. “To conserve energy, I rarely stray from my normal routine, which consists of kids, work, kids.” She smiled at him then gave her head a small shake as if suddenly realizing how small her world was at the moment.

“Their father doesn’t help?”

She raised her eyes. “I haven’t seen their father since before they were born.”

Okay, then. “That’s pretty far out of the picture.”

“He sends checks quarterly. Automatically, through his bank.”

Trace knew from his own experience that checks weren’t enough. Not even close. But Annie wasn’t ill, as his mother had been, and her life did appear to revolve around her girls.

Annie smiled ruefully and echoed his thought. “You’ll have to forgive me if I talk about my kids a lot. They’re pretty much the center of my universe.”

“Maybe it’s good to focus on yourself every now and then.”

“Voice of experience?” she asked drily.

“Touché.” He reached out and touched her hand, barely aware of the action until he felt her silky skin beneath his palm. “And don’t get me wrong—I’m all for putting your kids first. My mom tried to do that, but she was too sick to do it well. She died when I was fourteen.”

“I’m so sorry.” Annie drew her hand back in a smooth motion as soon as he lifted his.

Was she afraid he’d touch her again? It had been meant as a friendly gesture, but the contact had sent an unexpected jolt of deep awareness surging through him. He wondered if she’d felt it, too, or if he was the only one feeling this strong pull. Life would probably be simpler that way, and, frankly, he couldn’t read her.

“Where did you go after she died? Relatives?”

“My father’s place. He was kind of a distant relative.” Her eyes widened at his response, and Trace sucked in a breath. That had sounded awful and he hadn’t asked her to have a drink with him to rehash his past...or hers, for that matter. “I didn’t have a lot of contact with him before that. I barely knew the man when I moved to his ranch.”

“That had to be rough.”

He smiled as carelessly as he was able. “It got me into bull riding, so no regrets.” Except for never really knowing the guy who’d given him his name.

“Your dad taught you to bull ride?”

He managed not to snort at the idea of his father spending that much time with him—or his stepmom allowing it. “The neighbor taught me. I used to go hang out there...long story.” One he didn’t feel like telling, so instead he smiled, watched as her gaze traveled over his face, wondered what she saw there. A winner? A loser? A guy who considered his father a distant relative? In many ways he was all of the above, but when he’d asked Annie to have a drink with him, he hadn’t expected the conversation to take this route. Judging from the speculative expression on her face as she studied him, neither had she.




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