Читать книгу: «Boot Scootin' Secret Baby»

Chapter One

Y‘all Come!

Summit County Rodeo Days Kickoff Celebration

Bar-B-Que

Yahoo Buckaroo Western Ranch and Rodeo

Museum

Home of legendary rodeo show people, Yip and

Dolly Cartwright

Cub Goodacre narrowed his eyes at the flyer taped in the grimy front window of the Summit City Feed and Grain. His gaze skimmed past the particulars of the event—he knew how to get to the ranch, knew the glorified “goat roast” raged from early afternoon until the big fireworks shebang just after dark. He also knew that the invitation, extended to any and all with a love of the rodeo and ten dollars to spare for a ticket, did not include him.

A fist seemed to grip at his heart and slowly it began to twist, tightening its searing hold with every beat For almost three years, he’d stayed clear of the Summit City Rodeo Days and the painful memories it evoked. Now fate and his long-left-empty dreams had dragged him right back here to the scene of his proudest triumph and greatest devastation.

He blew out a long puff of warm air through his nostrils. His gaze dropped to the caption below the photo in the center of the yellow paper.

“You bet your boots, I’ll be there, pardner!”

“Not me, kid,” he muttered to the pint-size cowboy wanna-be peeking from under a black hat. “So just keep your boo—”

He froze smack-dab in the middle of turning his back on his past and the invitation to ride hell-for-leather back into it.

My boots. His lips moved but no sound came. He leaned down to get a better look at the black leather and snakeskin boots they’d let some diaper desperado use as a plaything.

His boots. No doubt about it. He could tell they were his by the jagged notch in the right heel. He’d left those damaged boots behind the last time he’d left Summit City.

He set his jaw and clamped his hands on his hips. The cool fabric of his faded jeans chafed his legs as his senses pricked up. He inhaled the crisp fall air and glared at the boots until he almost expected to burn a hole in the paper.

This picture could be the work of only one person—the only person he’d trusted with his favorite boots, the same person he’d trusted with his heart. She’d kept both of them.

Her image flashed like heat lightning scoring through his thoughts. Despite the years and the world of hurt between them, he still pictured her as she looked on their first date. Her strawberry-blond hair, pulled back in a single thick braid, fell from the crown of her head to square between her shoulder blades. He could even see the faint freckles sprinkled over her blushing cheeks and the sincerity and adoration shining in her hazel eyes.

How quickly that adoration had hardened to accusation, he realized in one flickering moment. He hadn’t seen her face during their last, hateful argument, but he didn’t have to. He’d heard the depth of her disappointment with him, the anger he’d hoped to avoid by leaving as he did, coming full force through the telephone lines.

His blood pounded in his veins like the thundering hooves of a bull gone loco. Cub forced his gaze back to the taunting advertisement. His cheek ticked as he struggled to control any outward show of the wild rush of emotions spinning in his chest, fighting to kick free.

This poster, this picture, this personal hell of his were all the work of one woman—Alyssa Cartwright.

The fancy logo at the center bottom of the paper confirmed it. Crowder and Cartwright Western Management Company, with a local address.

This had to mean she still lived in Summit City—probably still lived under her parents’ roof, and under their thumb. And that meant she would probably show up at the rodeo.

I promise you this—I’m coming home to you, Alyssa Goodacre, coming home a success, worthy of a woman like you, or I ain’t comin‘ home at all. His own words jeered him from his callow past. He’d become a success by most men’s measure of the term, and now he’d finally come back to Alyssa’s home, but there was one thing he couldn’t claim. His time alone and a cruel trick of fate had taught him this: he was not now, nor could he likely ever be, worthy of the only woman he would ever ask to share his name. A man like him could only let her down and hurt her.

He hadn’t come back to Summit City to prove something to Alyssa, though that dream had died hard. He’d come here now to prove something to himself.

Cub thought of the two rides he had remaining before he walked away from the rodeo forever—provided he could still walk by then. He shifted his weight to his right hip, then winced at the lingering pain from his last punishing ride. Two rides, win or lose, stood between him and walking away from bull riding like a man. If he didn’t make those rides, he’d feel like a total failure. He’d failed as a son, as a protector, a champion, and a husband; he would not fail at the one thing he did right and that meant making those two rides.

Two rides. And Alyssa was going to be in the stands watching his next one.

How the hell was he supposed to concentrate with that on his mind and all these feelings he’d thought he’d buried churning up in his gut?

He couldn’t.

So, he had just ten days to either get that gal out of his system or buffalo her into avoiding the rodeo on the night he rode. That meant that one way or another he had to see his ex-wife—and he’d prefer to do it on his own terms. But how?

“Cub?”

The sound of his name shot through his cluttered thoughts, making him flinch. Jerking his head around, he found a young girl standing beside him on the sidewalk.

She smiled, cocking her head so that her stark yellow hair swung down to brush over her equally artificial-looking cleavage.

He racked his brain to think how he could know this pretty young thing. He’d had his wild days, for sure. His “every good ride deserves another” philosophy defined many a post-rodeo celebration. However, from the moment he’d laid eyes on Alyssa to this day he’d never done more than collect his winnings and drive on to the next rodeo—or back to see her, when they’d dated.

The brilliant sun warmed the broad back of his dark shirt. He searched his memory for any trace of this girl’s face but only one woman’s face had ever been etched in his being. Carved with a knife that cut so deep the scars would never heal, he thought, fighting down his gut response.

He forced his attention back to the breathless blonde. From the looks of her now, this girl couldn’t have been more than a teen in his own carousing days. And that was one line Cub didn’t cross.

On his own since he was sixteen, he knew how easily a young person, hungry for love and acceptance, might latch onto someone older, longing to connect for a week, a day, even an hour, just to pretend he belonged, that someone gave a damn about him. But the people hanging on the fringe of the rodeo cared only for themselves and the next good time; he had learned that the hard way himself with an older version of this gal.

He half winced at the anxious girl waiting so close that he could hear the rasp of her shirt against his sleeve with every heave of her breasts. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall meeting—”

“Oh, you don’t know me.” Her words rushed out like a brook undammed. “I’m a real big fan of yours. I recognized you by your hat.”

He touched his thumb and forefinger to the brim of his trademark hat. He’d spent his first prize money to have one like it custom-made in Austin, Texas—cattleman’s crown, Aussie brim—the kind that dipped down in front to always shade his eyes. He still had them made there, always in a deep smoked brown with a thin braided leather band, its ends hanging off the back just enough to whip in the air when he rode a killer bull.

“I was so excited when I heard you’d be riding here, especially since you haven’t ridden here in a while,” the girl gushed on. “But I knew you’d show up here to ride Diablo’s Heartbreak.”

At the mention of the bull he’d been dueling all season, Cub’s lips twitched into what passed for him as a smile. “Sounds like you are a fan.”

“How could I not be? I mean it’s so exciting how you and Diablo’s Heartbreak have been battling it out. One ride you show him who’s boss and the next he tosses you right on—”

“My assessment differs somewhat, ma’am. But I get your point.” He nodded his head, his jaw tight at the reminder that he had yet to really best the beast. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got unfinished business to attend to.”

“Oh.” She blinked as though she’d expected more. “Um, well, um, could you...could you sign this?”

He half expected her to offer her breast for his signature but when he glanced down he saw a flyer, just like the one in the window, and a pen thrust out toward him. He took the page and carefully lettered his name in his blocky penmanship that some cowboy once said looked like it had been spelled out with western cattle brands instead of written by a man.

“There.” He handed the flyer back to the woman, who clearly was not pleased.

Well, that was his lot in life—letting women down. He hadn’t been able to save his own mother from a life with an abusive no-account husband. He hadn’t saved his first lover from her self-destructive ways as a rodeo groupie. He’d meant to do better by Alyssa, thinking he’d spend his life sheltering and protecting her from the unpleasantness of the world, and he’d ended up letting her down, too.

The sun glared off the yellow paper as the woman dangled the flyer between them again. “I was thinking you could put the name of your hotel—”

He pointed at the flyer still snapping in the breeze. “Where did you get that?”

“They have stacks of them in the feed store.” She pointed with her thumb. “But, I thought maybe—”

“I know what you thought, darlin’ and I’m flattered,” he lied. In truth, he’d hardly heard a word she’d said and he didn’t give a damn anyway. Let her find some other cowboy’s buckle to polish. Or better yet... “Why don’t you find some local rancher to take care of you, darlin’, and not waste your time chasin’ after cowboys who won’t be here for you tomorrow?”

Her mouth gaped open in outrage. A sharp gasp expressed her fury with his suggestion.

He shrugged. “Well, do what you will. Like I said, I got unfinished business. Afternoon, ma’am.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode straight into the Feed and Grain to get himself one of the flyers that was going to be the undoing of Miss Alyssa Cartwright.

Ka-pow!

Gold, glittering sparks shimmered in the dusky sky. Alyssa tipped her head up, her lips rounded to join the crowd in one collective “Ooooh.”

It had been a great day, a perfect beginning to a terrific new life. She’d given out dozens of business cards and set up meetings with several potential clients. Through it all, she’d been charming, confident and professional, and had still gotten in some quality time with her daughter, who was now on the grandstand with her grandparents enjoying the show.

She shook back her hair, pleased with her new haircut and the way the glossy layers made her feel sassy and sexy for the first time since—

No. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to think about Cub. This whole day had just gone too well for her to start dwelling on past failures, past mistakes.

A shrieking whistle pierced her stomach-clenching thoughts.

High, high up into the ever-darkening sky a rocket soared, casting a radiant yellow light on the upturned heads of the gathered guests. Across that sea of awestruck faces, someone was not focused on the sizzling light show overhead. Before the fiery blossom fizzled and sent spirals of white vapor plummeting downward, Alyssa caught a glimpse of movement. That one glimpse chilled her to her soul.

A hat, smoked brown, with a cattleman’s crown and Aussie brim—she’d swear she saw it. Her pulse thudded in her ears like a string of firecrackers exploding inside a metal drum. She strained to peer into the dimness, into the murmuring mass of people, but saw nothing. Had she imagined it?

She twisted one finger in her hair but the new cut refused to wind around and only lapped at her circling knuckle. With one deep breath, she squared her shoulders. Exhaling slowly, she patted her hands down her beige linen shortsuit as if needing a physical reminder that this was the new Alyssa Cartwright and she was totally in control.

Pheee-ueew! Another rocket whizzed skyward.

You’re imagining things, she told herself then trained her gaze on the brilliant red fireworks display. She gritted her teeth to keep from scanning the newly lit crowd once more in search of something logic told her she would not find. She tried to breathe steadily but the very air she dragged into her lungs felt the consistency of muddy water—and about as appealing. She tried to swallow. She tried to keep her eyes on the sky. Tried and failed.

“Aaahhh.” The crowd welcomed the next spate of flickering colors.

Alyssa turned and searched desperately for Cub Goodacre’s trademark hat with the anticipation of a shipwrecked sailor waiting for the shark’s fin to appear.

There. She saw it and then the outline of the wearer. It was Cub—and he was headed straight for her. In fact, he looked as if he would reach her any—

The light above faded, putting the whole scene in a blue-black shroud again.

Her pulse hammering, Alyssa turned on the heel of her ballerina flat. She had to get out of here. Yes, she had wanted him to come back, but not like this, just showing up. She needed more time. She needed to prepare herself. She needed to get out of there before he got to her.

“Excuse me,” she repeated again and again as she picked her way toward the house and safety.

Pop. Pop-pop. Pop-pop-pop.

Alyssa nearly leapt out of her skin with every earsplitting snap but she forged ahead. On the steps of the huge white house that looked a tacky tribute to Tara, Graceland, God and country, she relaxed enough to take one last glance back at the crowd.

No hat. No circling shark. She blinked.

A fountain of red and blue sparks shot upward, illuminating the view from the ground up.

No Cub Goodacre.

She exhaled and in doing so realized she’d held her breath so long and so hard, her chest actually ached to release it. How could she have let her mind play tricks on her like that?

Fear of failure, clear and simple, she decided. She had had her first taste of success today, known that this time she wasn’t going to crash and burn like she had in her last attempt to stand on her own. Then what should leap up and try to scare her into behaving like the old Alyssa? Only the image of her greatest failure as a daughter, a wife, and an independent woman—Cub Goodacre.

The very idea was laughable, really. Cub, here. On her parents’ ranch after three years without so much as a “Fare thee well or go to hell.”

She forced a chuckle through her dry throat, shook her head and turned to go inside.

Pshhheeeuw! Boom. Bang. Bang. A blaze of colors bloomed like enormous flaming parachutes opening against the star-strewn sky, bathing the scene below in a red and yellow glow.

Pppt...Pppt...Pppt...

“Hello, Alyssa.”

Pow!

“Cub!”

Alyssa shut her eyes, half hoping the mirage would fade.

Red shone against her lids with another burst above her. Even so, she could still see the image of a man in faded jeans so perfectly snug they could have grown over his lean thighs and tight calves instead of being bought from a rack. She saw in tantalizing detail the denim shirt, tailored to fit against the rock-hard torso tapering upward to shoulders so broad they made a woman lose herself in sweet dreams of safety and security—and lovemaking as wild as any bull ride.

She could even see the scar that trailed along his jaw to just under his chin. An old rodeo injury had given him that little souvenir, the damage leaving his voice perpetually husky, so that even when he asked someone to pass the sugar, it sounded like an indecent proposal.

She laid her palm across the open V above her breasts. Her skin felt damp. Her head swirled. No mere mirage could make her feel this way.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. He loomed real and dangerously sexy before her. Cub Goodacre was here in the flesh.