Barbara White Daille - The Rodeo Man's Daughter

His Rodeo Career Is Over…

When Caleb Cantrell left home as a dirt-poor teenager, he never thought he’d return as a wealthy rodeo star. As a matter of fact, he didn’t think he’d return at all. The accident changed all that. It ended his career, nearly ended his life and rekindled a bitterness he thought he’d left in the dust long ago.

But A New Life Begins

To rebuild, Caleb has to go back to where it all began—back to Flagman’s Folly, New Mexico, and back to his high-school sweetheart, Tess LaSalle. But a ten-year-old secret stands between them, one that could hurt everyone Tess loves, especially her daughter…their daughter…the one Caleb never knew existed.

No rodeo ever required the courage Caleb needs now— to forgive, to forget and to start over again…if it’s not already too late.

Tess finally got a clear view of the opposite side of the yard…and what a view it was.

Caleb had just come around the corner of the shed. He’d taken off his T-shirt, and she couldn’t drag her gaze away.

He took the seat beside her. As she glanced over, she saw a long, thin scar traveling up his rib cage.

Reaching out with a shaking hand, she traced the scar. “Oh! Caleb, I’m sor—”

He lifted his hand and touched one finger to her lips. “Don’t say it. I don’t want that.”

She sighed. “I wish I knew what you did want.” She looked away. “You say you’re here to buy property, but you don’t seem interested in anything I’ve shown you. And then yesterday, in the truck…you said you’d gotten carried away. You said it wouldn’t happen again, but…”

He leaned closer. “It won’t happen again,” he said, his voice low, “unless you want it to.”

Dear Reader,

One of the things that will make me put a book on my keeper shelf is falling in love with the characters—the family and friends and folks from the community—who support the hero and heroine. I try to add that strong sense of community to my stories, too.

In writing my previous book (A Rancher’s Pride), I fell hard for Flagman’s Folly, New Mexico. Many readers tell me they did, also.

In The Rodeo Man’s Daughter, an injury has put Caleb Cantrell’s future at risk. Caleb has never felt the love of Flagman’s Folly. Yet, knowing he can’t go forward until he has settled scores from his past, he returns to his hometown. You’ve heard the expression “It takes a village to raise a child”? Well, in this case, almost everyone in town bands together to try to save Caleb—from himself.

I hope you enjoy this story! And please look for a third book set in Flagman’s Folly, coming to you later this year.

I would love to hear from you. You can reach me at: P.O. Box 504, Gilbert, AZ 85299 or through my website, www.barbarawhitedaille.com. I’m also on Facebook at www.facebook.com/barbarawhitedaille and Twitter, www.twitter.com/BarbaraWDaille

All my best to you!

Barbara White Daille

The Rodeo

Man’s Daughter

Barbara White Daille

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Barbara White Daille lives with her husband in the sunny Southwest, where they don’t mind the lizards in their front yard but could do without the scorpions in the bathroom.

A writer from the age of nine and a novelist since eighth grade, Barbara is now an award-winning author with a number of novels to her credit.

When she was very young, Barbara learned from her mom about the storytelling magic in books—and she’s been hooked ever since. She hopes you will enjoy reading her books and will find your own magic in them!

She’d also love to have you drop by and visit with her at her website, www.barbarawhitedaille.com.

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To my readers who love the town of

Flagman’s Folly, New Mexico

I hope you enjoy this chance to visit there again!

and

as always, to Rich

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

A long memory made for bad company when a man had too much time on his hands. Especially when those hands held a sizable number of grudges.

Caleb Cantrell eased up on the gas pedal of the pickup truck he’d rented earlier that morning at the airport. He cut the engine and stepped down from the cab, his worn boots hitting the ground and raising a cloud of dust. First time in ten years he’d set foot in Flagman’s Folly, New Mexico, and the layer of dirt that now marked him made it seem as if he’d never left.

Yet he’d come a hell of a long way since then.

Here on the outskirts of town, he stood and stared across the unpaved road at the place he’d once had to call home. After he’d left there, he’d slept in no-tell motels, lived out of tour buses and trucks and, eventually, spent time in luxury hotels. Didn’t matter where you went, you could always tell the folks who took pride in ownership from the ones who didn’t give a damn.

Even here, you could spot the evidence. Not a ritzy neighborhood, not a small community, just a collection of ramshackle houses and tar-paper shacks. A few had shiny windows and spindly flowers in terra-cotta pots. Some had no windowpanes at all. Here and there, he noted a metal-sided prefab home with too many coats of paint on it and weeds poking through the cinder blocks holding it up.

And somewhere, beyond all that, he knew he’d find a handful of sun-bleached trailers, their only decoration the cheap curtains hanging inside. The fabric blocked the view into the units through the rusty holes eaten into their sides.

Sometimes, the curtains blocked sights no kid should see, of mamas doing things no mama should do.

Swallowing hard, he retreated a pace, as if he’d felt the pull of one rust-corroded hulk in particular. It wouldn’t still be there. It couldn’t. But he had no intention of going over there to make sure.

Across the way, a gang of kids hung out near a sagging wire fence and a pile of cast-off truck tires. Still quiet, but soon their laughter and loud conversations would start, followed by the shouts from inside the houses. Some of the houses, anyway.

The rough edges of his ignition key bit into his palm.

In all the years he’d been gone from this town and with all the miles he’d logged, he should have shoved away everything that bothered him about this place.

He hadn’t forgotten a single one of them.

The gang of kids had moved out of sight behind one of the shacks. A lone boy, eight or nine years old, stayed behind and stood watching him. Dark hair, a dirty face. Torn T-shirt and skinned knees. Could have been Caleb, twenty years ago.

The kid made his way across the road. “Hey,” he said, “whatcha doing?”

“Just looking around.”

“What’s wrong with your leg?”

The boy must have noticed his awkward gait, the stiffness that always hit him after he sat in one position for a while. “I hurt my knee. Getting off a bull.”