Page 3 of Catch Me, Cowboy
“Ah. Looking for the River Road?”
Shelby just smiled rather than lie again and jerked her head toward the paint mare. “I’m going to be out on her for about an hour on the willow trail.”
“Be careful.”
She always was, which was why Ty wasn’t getting a second crack at her.
*
After leaving theForty-Six Ranch, Ty drove past what had once been Harding Farms and parked at the edge of the barley field, letting the engine idle as he studied his old home out the back window of his truck. His body ached, as if always did when he held in one position for too long, but this pain went beyond the dull throb of knitting bones and muscles. He felt as if every part of his body had seized up. Stress. Pure and simple.
He’d had no idea how to approach Shelby, but had figured since Carol Bingley, town gossip, had spotted him his first night in town, he be better off seeing her sooner than later. It probably wouldn’t have mattered when he saw her—she was still as pissed at him as she’d been the day that he’d left. Which told him she cared enough to be pissed.
But it didn’t give him a clue as how to proceed, so here he was, communing with his past, as if it would give him an insight into the future.
The farm had changed. The house was freshly painted and the barn had been reroofed—things his father hadn’t been able to afford to do. Two little boys ran out of the house and made a beeline for the swings he and his brother, Austin, had played on years ago. The table he’d helped his father build was still there, too, covered with a red-checkered cloth. When his parents had sold out and moved, they’d left most everything behind, including the table he’d been so proud of. Granted, there wasn’t a lot of room for a redwood picnic table on the postage stamp sized lawn in the Arizona snowbird trailer park his folks now called home. It was as if when his dad had given up farming, he’d wanted to deal with as little land as possible, so he and Ty’s mom had headed south, where there were no Montana winters to contend with. No crops to worry about. No hunting or fishing either—at least not like there was in Montana, but Dad had been fine with that. Austin once said the land had wrung everything out of their father as he fought his losing battle to make the farm continue to pay for itself and support the small family that worked it. He’d given up his dream of being a champion bronc rider to take over the farm and had lost both—the dream and the farm. That was where Ty and Austin came in.
The woman came out of the house again carrying a large bowl. She paused on the steps, shading her eyes with her free hand as she stared in his direction. Ty put his truck in gear and pulled out onto the gravel road. He didn’t want her to think he was casing the place when all he was doing was checking in on his past before moving forward with his future.
The forward part was still a little shaky. He wasn’t done with his career, even though he’d truly believed he was when he’d announced his retirement after the wreck that had so thoroughly broken him early in the spring. About a week into recovery, he’d realized he had to give rodeo one more shot. Had to go out on his own terms, not on the terms of a cranky, white mare that had reared over backwards into the chute when the gate opened instead of charging out into the arena, thus doing Ty a world of hurt.
His therapist hadn’t agreed and had told him it was time for a new career, a new life. But he loved his old one. The one that had taken him across the country time and again. Had battered his body and fed his brain. Had made him a winner, which helped compensate for his father’s losses in life. His dad finally became a winner because his sons were winners—Ty in saddle bronc, Austin in the bull riding. Kenny Harding loved being the father of two champions… sometimes too much.
And at other timeswaytoo much.
Actually, his dad was a fuckingDance Mom, but Ty tolerated it because he understood his old man and loved him. It hadn’t been easy for Kenny to accept that his eldest son’s career was over, which was why Ty hadn’t said one word about getting entry into the 78thCopper Mountain Rodeo. He wanted to test the waters, see if he still had what it took to continue his career, and he wanted to do it with as little fanfare as possible. He’d spoken to the head of the rodeo board and asked if they’d keep his entry quiet until day sheets were printed. Not a problem, they assured him, but they wanted to use his comeback ride for advertising next year if all went well. Ty had no problem with that. Maybe he’d be on his way to another championship by that time.
He took the left hand fork that led back to Marietta, past Copper Mountain, past the ghostly workings of the copper boom that had brought some of the first people into the area—his family included. When he pulled onto the highway to head south, he passed a flower-laden cross with a firefighter’s coat hanging on it. Harry Monroe. He’d been a year ahead of Harry, a truly great guy, in school. Ty hadn’t realized he’d been recently killed on the highway while helping a stalled out motorist until he’d eaten at the café and overheard talk of fund-raisers.
Life was short. Too short not to grab for all he could get. A championship. The woman he still loved… he wasn’t waiting another four years to make things right with her. As it was, he felt damned lucky she was still single. She was strong and beautiful and, in some ways, scarred. She’d never fully gotten over losing her mother, and he probably hadn’t helped matters by essentially abandoning her, but it was the only choice he could have made at the time.
He drove into Marietta and parked his truck next to the Graff, a beautifully refurbished Victorian hotel. He’d love to check in and stay for a couple of days, but he was hoarding money until after the rodeo, when he’d have a better idea as to where he was career-wise. He hadn’t done a lot of planning when he’d left his friend’s ranch in Texas to return home. Once he’d gotten entry into the rodeo, he’d pretty much climbed into his truck and started to drive, thinking if he got there a few weeks early, he could catch up with people, finish unfinished business, maybe find a place to bunk in exchange for some work—work that might become fulltime if the rodeo didn’t go well. For the moment he was making do with a bedroll in the back of his truck and the public shower facility at the fairgrounds. He’d done worse.
An older woman he didn’t know smiled at him as he got out of his truck and he touched the brim of his hat and smiled back. He started down the sidewalk to Grey’s Saloon, figuring there was no better place to catch up on local goings on and see if anyone needed a day hand. He’d just passed the bank when a woman brushed by him from behind, moving with a limp that didn’t slow her down much.
“Tanner. Hey.”
Tanner McTavish turned and blinked at him before pushing her rust colored braid over her shoulder in a self-conscious gesture. “Ty. Hi.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, possibly because Tanner was a friend of Shelby’s. “I heard you were back.”
Word traveled fast in Marietta, as always. He’d pulled into town yesterday evening and ate dinner at the café before parking his truck at the fairgrounds. The café had been almost empty, but Carole Bingley had been there with a friend, which explained everything. A compulsive gossip who worked at the pharmacy could spread a decent rumor with lightning speed.
“I am. I’m looking for a place to live for a while if you know of anything.”
“Not off the top of my head.” She cocked her head a little. “Does that mean you’re staying?”
“For a while.” An awkward silence hung between them before he asked, “Is Tucker going to be in town for the rodeo?”
Tanner’s expression went stony at the mention of her sister’s name. Apparently things weren’t all that great between the twins. “She’ll be here. I’ll tell her you asked about her.”
“No need.” He and Tucker had gone out a time or two, but only as friends. She was flirty and fun, but she wasn’t Shelby. “Just trying to catch up on who’s where.” He gestured toward the saloon. “Thought I’d start here.”
Tanner gave a soft snort. “As long as you’re not counting on Jason to fill you in, you should do fine.”
The last thing Ty expected was that Jason Grey would fill him in on local gossip. The guy was grim, but he still ran the best establishment around—although Ty had yet to check out the new microbrewery, FlintWorks. He’d had some good times at the Wolf Den, further down the street, but he didn’t think his body could take the trouble he sometimes got himself into there.
“I’ve got to run,” Tanner said, adjusting her long purse strap on her shoulder. “Good seeing you.”
“Good to see you, too.” He walked on to Grey’s and pushed through the door, stopping just inside so his eyes could adjust.
