The Bull Rider's Homecoming

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

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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