The Bull Rider's Son

No way, no how, was she putting her son through the same broken childhood she’d endured. She would not suffer the same heartbreak that had devastated her mother when they’d lost Ryder. And it would happen. Of that, Cassidy was certain.

“Mom mentioned Bria will be visiting soon.” Cassidy forced a smile.

Shane, on the other hand, beamed. “Every other weekend to start.”

To start? Was he planning on obtaining full custody of his daughter? Cassidy’s anxiety increased. If Hoyt followed his brother’s example...

She pushed the unpleasant thought away. “She’s close by, then?”

“Mesa.”

“Ah.” A forty-five-minute drive.

“That’s why I accepted this job.” A glint lit his eyes as his gaze focused on her. “Now I have even more incentive.”

Oh, dear. Cassidy steeled herself, determined to resist him. “Bria’s mom is okay with you taking her more often?”

“Judy’s been great. She wants Bria and me to have a relationship.”

“But she lied to you about having a child.”

The uncanny similarities between Benjie and Bria weren’t lost on Cassidy.

“I understand her reasons,” Shane said. “I wasn’t what you’d call good father material. Now that I’ve quit my wild ways and found a job which keeps me in one place, Judy’s willing to work with me.”

His brother, too, had quit his wild ways to become a rodeo announcer, but Cassidy didn’t feel inclined to work with him. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

“It can’t be easy for you, seeing Wasabi every day.”

“He’s just another bull under my care.”

Her gaze was automatically drawn to his scar. She’d seen the pictures posted on their mutual friends’ Facebook pages. The gash, requiring forty-four stitches, traveled from beneath his right ear, down his neck to his chest. Miraculously, Wasabi’s hoof had just missed an artery. Otherwise, Shane might have bled out.

“I’m glad you’re all right.” Her voice unwittingly softened.

Shane responded with a heart-melting smile. No surprise he’d inspired a legion of female fans during his years on the circuit. Was that the reason for Bria’s mother’s secrecy? It wouldn’t surprise Cassidy.

“Not my day to die,” Shane said matter-of-factly.

“All the same, it was a terrible fall. How can you bear to look at Wasabi?” Cassidy still shuddered when she passed the well house, even though the accident involving her and her father happened twenty-five years ago. Like Shane, she’d walked away when things might have gone horribly different.

He shrugged. “He was just doing his job. Like any bull. I didn’t take it personally.”

More charm. He could certainly lay it on thick. And Cassidy was far more susceptible than she liked.

She abruptly stood. “I need to go.”

Reaching for his cowboy hat, he also stood and waited for her to leave first. “Drop by anytime.” The invitation was innocent. Not so his tone, which hinted at something else altogether.

When she spoke, her tone was all business. “If you need something, let me know.”

“How about having dinner with me?”

She blinked. He didn’t just ask her on a date, did he? “I beg your pardon?”

“Your dad mentioned a couple good restaurants in town. I could use someone to show me around. Help me get the lay of the land. Seeing as we’ll be working together—”

She shook her head. “Benjie, my son, has homework tonight.”

“You could bring him along.”

“Thanks, but no. He has enough trouble with school as it is. I’d never get him to finish his homework if we went to dinner first.”

“Maybe another night this week.”

Did the man never give up? “We’ll see,” she said, planning to stall him indefinitely.

Outside the trailer she allowed herself two full seconds to gather her wits before heading to the arena in search of her sister. Should Shane come searching for her, he’d find Cassidy doing exactly what she said, helping with the riding lesson.

Fortunately, Liberty was there, talking to a student’s mother. She finished just as Cassidy approached and met her halfway.

“What’s wrong?” Liberty asked.

Cassidy shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Not a ghost. The brother of one, perhaps. “I was talking to our new bull manager.”

“Shane? Do tell.”

Cassidy planted her hands on her hips. “What does that mean?”

“He’s a nice-looking guy.”

“We work at a rodeo arena. There are a lot of nice-looking guys here.”

“But none of them have ever left you flustered. Didn’t you two date once?”

Cassidy ignored the question. “I’m not flustered. I’m annoyed. I have a lot to do and can’t afford the time it takes to babysit a new employee.”

“Right.” Liberty laughed gaily before turning on her heel and leaving Cassidy to stew alone.

She hated it when her baby sister was right.

Chapter Two

Seven-point-three seconds into his ride, the young cowboy came flying off the bull’s back. He dropped to his knees as the buzzer sounded, then pitched forward onto his face. Recovering, he pushed to his feet, grabbed his fallen hat and dusted off his jeans, a fierce scowl on his face.

Cassidy couldn’t be sure if he was mad at himself for failing to reach the full eight seconds required to qualify or if he was in pain. Perhaps a little of both. He hobbled slightly on his walk of shame from the arena. Behind him, a trio of wranglers chased the bull to the far end and through a gate. A fourth wrangler swung the gate shut on the great beast’s heels.

Score: bull one, cowboy zero.

“Better luck next time,” a buddy hailed from the fence where he’d been watching.

A second pal slapped the cowboy on the back while a third offered him a bottled water and hearty condolences.

Moving as a group, the two dozen participants from the Tuesday night jackpot slowly made their way to the open area where either their families, friends or pickup trucks waited.

Cassidy switched off her handheld radio and tucked her clipboard beneath her arm. She, too, was almost done for the evening.

Bull-riding jackpots, along with bucking horse, calf roping and steer-wrestling competitions, were popular events at the Easy Money. Especially in the weeks preceding a rodeo. If a participant performed well, he could earn enough winnings to cover his entry fees and perhaps a little extra. If not, well, at least he got in some good practice.

Tonight, Shane had worked closely with Cassidy’s father, learning the ins and outs. He also studied each bull, noting the personalities and traits of those new to him and re-familiarizing himself with those he’d previously ridden.

Cassidy knew this for a fact because she’d taken her eyes off him only long enough to perform her tasks of calling out the participants’ names and communicating with her sister in the announcer’s booth. Even now she had to look away for fear of Shane catching her staring at him with doe eyes. Again. He had already, twice.

Damn, damn, damn. Why did her father have to hire Shane Westcott of all people? She should have said something when she’d had the chance. But, then, she would have had to tell her father why, and that was out of the question.

Okay, Shane was competent at his new job. Cassidy noticed he took time to converse with each cowboy, offering tips and pointers and, more importantly, listening to the cowboy talk about his ride.

Shane entered every piece of information into a small spiral notebook he constantly removed and replaced in his shirt’s front pocket. No fancy-schmancy handheld electronic device for him.

Somehow, Cassidy thought that fitting. Shane didn’t strike her as a high-tech kind of guy. No wonder he and her father got along like twins separated at birth.

They also dressed alike, though Shane’s shirt fit his broad shoulders better and his jeans hugged his narrow hips with drool-worthy closeness.

Stop looking at him!

Slamming her mouth shut, Cassidy wheeled around, intending to return the handheld radio to the registration booth and do a final total on tonight’s runs. Instead, she came face-to-face with her mother.

“Keep staring at him like that and you’re going to draw attention to yourself.”

“I’m not staring,” Cassidy insisted.

“Sure. And I’m a natural blonde.”

“You are a natural blonde.”

“Was. These days, my color is courtesy of Pizzazz Hair Salon.” Her mother linked an arm through Cassidy’s and led her away from the chutes. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before he’s any the wiser.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“You did date once.”

“I’m just curious.”

“About him or Hoyt?”

“Not so loud,” Cassidy admonished and glanced nervously about. No one appeared to have heard, but she couldn’t be too careful. “Hoyt, of course,” she continued in a half whisper. “I asked Shane about him the other day.”

“And?”

“He’s still married. Still childless. The good thing is, he and his wife bought a house in Jackson Hole.”

The two of them walked to the registration booth. There Cassidy removed the wristband key ring she wore and unlocked the door. Breathing a sigh of relief, she entered the one-room modified office. Finally, they were out of earshot.

“Just because he has no children,” her mother said, “doesn’t automatically mean he’d seek custody of Benjie.”

“You can’t be serious.” Cassidy entered numbers on a ten-key calculator, tallying the evening’s scores for her father. And probably, Shane as well. She’d have to explain their system to him.

Drat. Yet another reason for them to work together. She paused and leaned against the counter. “To quote Shane, ‘Hoyt wants a big family.’”

“Me not telling your dad about Liberty is no reason for you to keep Hoyt in the dark regarding Benjie.”

Cassidy gawked at her mother. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I am on your side and will support any decision you make.”

“Except now that Dad’s back, and he and Liberty are all cozy and comfy, you’re having second thoughts.”

“I’ve always had regrets. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, lying all these years.”

The story was well known throughout Reckless and by plenty of others in the rodeo world. Sunny Beckett sent her husband and business partner packing when his acute alcoholism nearly ruined them, personally and financially. What she didn’t tell him, or anyone else, was that she had been pregnant with their third child. Rather, she lied about the father’s identity, claiming he was some cowboy passing through.

Then, last summer, Liberty had accidentally discovered Mercer Beckett was her biological father and tracked him down. He used a reconciliation with her to worm his way back into the lives of his ex-wife and daughters.

One good thing had happened in the wake of Mercer’s return. Cassidy’s brother, Ryder, also came home. They still didn’t agree on their father—Ryder trusted their father’s sobriety and she didn’t—but otherwise the two of them had grown close during the last few months.

How could they not? Ryder was engaged to Cassidy’s best friend, Tatum Mayweather, after all. Cassidy hadn’t seen that one coming, but she was pleased for both her brother and best friend. They proved differences were superficial when it came to love.

Theirs was actually the second of two upcoming Beckett weddings. Liberty was also engaged. To Deacon McCrea, a former employee of the arena and now their legal counsel. Cassidy, conversely, remained single and planned to stay that way.

She’d been asked to be maid of honor at both affairs, the dates of which had recently been set for this summer and fall respectively. She would be pretty busy during the coming months, assisting with the thousand and one details, hosting bridal showers and making short day trips to pick out dresses.

Thank goodness she didn’t need to worry about her parents. Since his return, her father had made it clear he was still in love with her mother and intended to remarry her. So far, her mother was resisting. One of her parents, at least, was behaving sensibly.

“Well, I have no regrets.” Cassidy powered off the ten-key calculator and tore loose the paper tape.

“Hoyt has a right to know he’s a father,” her mother said.

“And Dad didn’t?”

“You deserve child support.”

“I don’t see the big deal. You didn’t get any from Dad for Liberty and managed just fine.”

Her mother compressed her lips in a show of impatience. “That’s not entirely true and you know it. He didn’t take any money for his share of the arena all those years—which is basically the same as paying child support.”

“He stole Ryder from us.”

“Ryder went to live with him when he was old enough to legally choose.”

Cassidy’s chest grew tight making it hard to breathe. “I won’t lose Benjie.”

And there it was. The crux of the matter. Cassidy’s greatest fear. What would happen if she told Hoyt about Benjie? Even if he didn’t come after her for some sort of custody, Benjie could one day decide he’d rather live with his father and leave her just like Ryder.

“Shane’s not stupid.” Her mother’s manner was less judgmental and more sympathetic. “He’s bound to put two and two together.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“You can’t keep Benjie hidden from him forever. They’ll meet eventually. What if Shane tells Hoyt?”

“I’ll lie if I have to.” Leave Reckless if necessary.

“You’ve been lucky so far. One day Benjie’s going to ask about his father, and you won’t be able to put him off like you have in the past.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Cassidy—”

“Believe me, Mom, I’ve weighed the pros and cons. I’m not ready to tell Benjie or Hoyt.”

Her mother sighed. “You didn’t always feel that way.”

No, she hadn’t. When she was eight months pregnant Cassidy had gone so far as to locate Hoyt and drive to where he was living, only to learn he was engaged to Cheryl, a young widow who’d lost her first husband unexpectedly. Putting herself in Cheryl’s shoes, Cassidy had turned around and driven back to Reckless. She wouldn’t be a home wrecker. Been there, done that, and she refused to compound the guilt she already bore.

“I came to my senses.”

As if reading Cassidy’s thoughts, her mother said, “You weren’t the reason I divorced your father.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Really?”

“He was a drunk. If you hadn’t divorced him, he’d have driven the arena into bankruptcy. I may have been ten, but I remember. Everything.”

The smell of alcohol clinging to him like a layer of heavy sweat. Finding him passed out in the back of his pickup truck behind the barn. Or on the living room couch if he managed to stagger inside. Once in the middle of the kitchen floor. Twice in the chaise lounge on the back patio when her mother had banished him from the house.

Worst of all were the outbursts, which, to this day, still rang in her ears. The yelling. The fights. The breaking down into gut-wrenching sobs, his and her mother’s. The constant apologies.

“He regrets the accident.”

Cassidy wheeled on her mother. “He could have killed me. And himself.”

“I’m not defending him.”

“Sounds like you are.” She wiped at the tears springing to her eyes, angry at herself for letting her emotions get the best of her.

“What’s important is that you weren’t hurt. Either of you. Just scared. No less than I was, trust me.”

Memories surfaced. They were never far away. Especially since her father’s return.

One night, shortly before her parents’ marriage imploded, her father fetched her from a friend’s house when her mother couldn’t get away. The people lived less than a mile away. Nonetheless, he shouldn’t have been driving. Cassidy refused to go with him at first. When he raised his voice, she acquiesced rather than have him cause a scene in front of her friend.

Misjudging the distance, he ran the truck into the well house. Granted, they weren’t going fast, twenty-five miles an hour at most, and the well house suffered the most damage. There was a small dent on the truck’s front fender. Cassidy’s seat belt saved her from injury.

When the truck rolled to a stop, she jumped out the door and sprinted the entire way to the house, yelling at her mother to make her father leave. Two weeks later, her mother did.

At first Cassidy had been glad. Good riddance. Then, seeing how miserable her mother and brother were, she was consumed by guilt. The feeling intensified when, two years later, Ryder left. When she was older, she’d wondered if her reaction to the accident had driven her mother into the arms of another man within days after her father left. Learning that was all a lie had affected Cassidy more than she let on.

“I put up with the drinking and the bad business decisions,” her mother continued. “But I couldn’t let him endanger my children. Once the trust is gone, there’s no getting it back.”

“You trust him now. At least, you act like you do. You let him purchase the bulls when you swore we’d never own them again.” And that purchase had led her father to hiring Shane.

“There’s no letting or not letting,” her mother said. “We’re partners. An arrangement requiring give and take on both sides.”

“What did he give?” From where Cassidy stood, her mother had done all the compromising.

“He agreed to put money aside for Benjie’s college education.”

Cassidy was taken aback, especially when her mother named the amount.

“His own personal money,” her mother added. “Not the arena’s.”

She quickly recovered. “He can’t buy my affections. Or my forgiveness. And he can’t buy off his responsibility for what happened.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he’s simply doing something nice for his grandson? He does love the boy. And Benjie adores him.”

He did, which rankled Cassidy to no end. “I’ll tell him no.”

“You can’t stop him. It’s his money. He can do with it what he wants. And when the time comes, Benjie can accept it, with or without your consent.”

Cassidy liked that less.

During these past six months her life had been slowly spiraling out of control. First her father returned. Then both her siblings met their future spouses. Lastly her father had hired Shane.

Cassidy vowed anew to keep her son from his uncle’s path as much as possible. The benefit would be twofold. In addition to keeping the identity of Benjie’s father a secret, she’d quell this wild and inexplicable attraction to Shane. Anything else was unacceptable.

* * *

“ATTA BOY,” SHANE CROONED. “Steady now.”

Wasabi swayed from side to side, but managed to remain standing—which was a good thing. If the bull collasped onto all fours, his massive weight could compress his lungs and cut off his breathing. It was imperative that every move be precisely executed, every step accomplished at the exact right moment or Wasabi might die.

“We’re done,” Doc Worthington said, visibly relaxing as the tranquilizer took effect.

Getting the bull sedated had been a tricky process, to say the least. With few choices, and to be as humane as possible, the Becketts’ vet had used a tranquilizer gun, aiming the feather-tipped dart at Wasabi’s muscular hind-quarters. The bull hadn’t felt a thing.

Turned out, the initial dose hadn’t been strong enough, and the vet had to administer a second one, which had worried Shane. Stress and excitement could cause the tranquilizer to run through the bull’s system at an incredible rate. Shane had once seen a bull require five doses.

Now, he carefully monitored the entire procedure from his place beside the wizened country vet. So far, so good, and his respect for the older man grew.

Two of the arena’s most capable wranglers had been recruited to act as spotters, along with Mercer. If Shane appeared to be in any trouble during the bull’s massage therapy, they’d jump right in. Shane was glad for their presence. Despite his show of confidence, this type of therapy was relatively new to him. A phone call yesterday with the bovine sports medicine specialist had yielded some helpful advice.

The older veterinarian considered Shane a bit crazy to take this on, especially since he had limited experience.

Yes, there were risks. In more ways than one. Shane might get injured, or, worse, he could make a fool of himself in the eyes of his new employer and possibly lose his job.

“You ready?” Mercer called from the sidelines.

“Let’s do it.” Taking a fortifying breath, Shane crawled through the fence rails.

“There’s still time to tie him up.”

“I don’t want to upset him more than he already is.”

Shane didn’t have long. Twenty minutes at most before Wasabi came out of the sedation. No telling how the bull would react. Dazed and disoriented, he’d likely attack the nearest object with horns or hooves. In this case, Shane.

Straightening, he surveyed his surroundings before slowly approaching Wasabi. A small crowd had gathered to watch from a safe distance, Cassidy among them. Their gazes briefly connected before Shane looked away. He couldn’t afford any distractions, and Cassidy was a big one.

Since their encounter in the trailer four days ago, it seemed as though she’d made it her mission to avoid him. Often, like at last night’s bull riding jackpot, he’d sensed her presence, only to turn and find her staring at him or, more often, quickly averting her head.

She was obviously drawn to him, if nothing else, out of curiosity. And the feeling was mutual.

Why, then, did she run for the hills every time he approached? Her behavior just piqued his interest further, and Shane wasn’t a man to be put off indefinitely.

“Watch it,” Mercer hollered when Wasabi opened his bleary eyes and swung his head clumsily to the side. Mercer, along with the two wranglers, had formed a circle around Wasabi and Shane. “Maybe you should dose him again,” he said to the vet.

“I don’t dare. Not unless you have a crane handy we can use to lift him.”

That elicited a round of nervous chuckles from the wranglers. They, too, were on high alert.

A moment later, the bull calmed, and his eyes drifted closed. He rumbled as if snoring. Shane waited another minute, positioning himself near Wasabi’s shoulder, avoiding both the bull’s hind end and head, either of which could be deadly.

When the bull didn’t react, he tentatively stroked Wasabi’s back. Other than a slight twitch, the animal remained motionless. Growing bolder, Shane removed first one, then the second dart. Wasabi continued sleeping, and Shane skimmed his palm down the bull’s thick neck to his shoulder. Probing gently, he searched for any lumps, swelling or other signs of a contusion. Wasabi’s injury could have been the result of a kick from another bull, requiring a potentially different course of treatment.

“Find anything?” Doc Worthington asked.

“Nothing yet.” Shane increased the pressure, kneading methodically.

Wasabi snorted lustily. A moment later, he quieted.

“He probably just sustained a sprain.”

In Shane’s opinion, the vet was being optimistic. Wasabi could have a torn tendon or ligament. Trauma of that nature would end his career.

“Guess we’ll know soon enough,” Mercer said.

They would, if Wasabi didn’t improve quickly. Like, within days.

Knowing he had little time left, Shane continued with the massage. It might be his imagination, or wishful thinking, but he swore the bull relaxed beneath his touch.

“Get the tape,” he said.

Mercer delivered the roll from the vet. During Shane’s phone call yesterday, the bovine sports medicine specialist had recommended elastic therapeutic tape, the same type human athletes used for their injuries. Wasabi would look a little funny, but if it helped, who cared?

Just as Shane finished affixing the last strip, the bull started to rouse.

Doc Worthington raised his tranquilizer gun. “I can dose him again.”