Pamela Tracy - Daddy for Keeps

Suddenly, Lucky was heading straight for her with a lanky walk that screamed pure cowboy. His belt buckle was even bigger than his confident stride. He wiped dust from his hat, smiled, and Natalie thought maybe he had the whitest teeth she’d ever seen. Another bull rider walked beside him.

Natalie stopped in her tracks. Lucky stopped, too, and caught her eye. “Do you want an autograph?”

Oh, no! He thought she was a buckle bunny. In a way, his assumption knocked down the defenses she’d so carefully erected while she was watching him.

“No,” she blurted, “I don’t want an autograph. I want help with Marcus’s son.”

lives in Arizona with a newly acquired husband ( Yes, Pamela is somewhat a newlywed. You can be a newlywed for seven years. We’re only on year five ) and a confused cat ( Hey, I had her all to myself for fifteen years. Where’d this guy come from? But, maybe it’s okay. He’s pretty good about feeding me and petting me ) and a toddler ( Newlymom is almost as fun as newlywed! ). She was raised in Omaha, Nebraska, and started writing at age twelve ( A very bad teen romance featuring David Cassidy from the Partridge Family ). Later, she honed her writing skills while earning a BA in Journalism at Texas Tech University in Lubbock, Texas ( And wrote a very bad science fiction novel that didn’t feature David Cassidy ).

Readers can write to her at www.pamelakayetracy.com, or c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

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Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

— James 1:17

To every mother who gave her heart at first sight,

first touch, first cry.

Plus, special thanks to Mark Henley, who shared bull riding expertise. The ride in the last chapter is really his. And to Wendy Lemme, who read the book in its final stage and helped with fine-tuning.

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

Questions for Discussion

T he billboard on top of the grocery store featured a picture they’d taken straight from his mother’s photo album. Lucky Welch, headliner of this year’s Selena Rodeo, shook his head and hoped no one recognized the bull in the background. It had belonged to his grandfather and was a family pet named Whimper.

Pulling out his cell, Lucky punched in his mother’s number. She didn’t even bother with “hello.” Instead, in a no-nonsense voice, she said, “Lucky, I’m right here with Bernice. She says it’s silly to pay good money to stay at a campground when you’re surrounded by family.”

Surrounded by family was a bit of a stretch, but Lucky knew better than to mention that detail. “Mom—” He paused, knowing that no matter what he said, he’d be staying at Bernice’s. That Bernice Baker was his mother’s best friend from childhood and not really family had never been an argument that worked. Nope, his mother always had one better, like…

“Bernice has already changed the sheets in Mary’s room.”

The changing of the sheets for company, at least in his family and most West Texas families, for that matter, was a time-honored tradition and not one to mess with. Plus, Lucky had met bulls easier to win over than his mother. Well, okay, one bull, to be exact: Whimper.

An hour later he pulled his truck into Bernice’s yard and waited for the fireworks. They came in the shape of his mother and her best friend, who exploded out the front door and down to meet him.

Since his brother’s death six months ago, his mother had taken excitable to a new level. After assuring her he was doing just fine—well, fine for a bull rider who’d put 52,000 miles on his truck this year—he unpacked in Bernice’s oldest daughter’s bedroom. He stuffed his rigging bag into a closet already full of old clothes, old shoes and old suitcases. He piled his Blackwood spurs and hand-tooled leather chaps on top of a hope chest that Mary had often referred to as hope less. Slightly older and full of jokes and mischief, Mary had taught him that girls could be tough but that sometimes the toughness was an act.

His mother and Bernice waited for him on the porch, enjoying the sunset. Polar opposites, they’d been friends since their first day of high school. Lucky’s mother, Betsy Welch, had ridden the bus an hour each way from a neighboring town. She stood almost six feet tall and still favored the big hair of her generation. Bernice had always called Selena, Texas, home. She edged just over the five-foot mark and was nearly as round as she was tall. She still wore her hair tied back in a simple ponytail. She’d been the tomboy; Lucky’s mother had been the princess and Selena’s rodeo queen when she was just eighteen.

“We’re going to have fried chicken later on,” Bernice said.

“Sounds good, but I want to check out the town.”

“You mean the competition,” his mother guessed.

“Yup.”

Lucky headed for his truck. Bernice’s young son, Howard Junior, called Howie by everyone, followed Lucky down the path. “I’m gonna be a bull rider when I grow up,” he bragged.

Ten-year-old Howie looked like he should still be pushing cars on the ground, watching cartoons or carrying a snake and chasing girls—not planning to hop on the backs of bulls. “You practice every day?” Lucky asked.

“Nope.”

“Then you’re not gonna be a bull rider.”

“Yes, I am,” Howie insisted stubbornly.

“You gonna practice every day?”

“Don’t haf to.”

Lucky grinned and ruffled Howie’s hair. “Okay, if you say so.” Howie scowled in return, as Lucky put the truck in gear and headed to a town temporarily doubled in size because of the rodeo he headlined. The town was one long street of businesses flanked by modest homes. Tonight, the bowling alley had a full parking lot, the restaurants had long lines and music blared from a bar on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Main.

Man, he wanted to take the highway to the Lubbock rodeo. His buddies were all there, and the purse was way bigger. When they heard he was doing Selena, they’d either laughed or offered condolences. He couldn’t decide which was more fitting. Most claimed his absence from the Lubbock rodeo was the answer to their prayers.

They had less competition, and he had a very happy mother.

Her roots were in the Selena area and although now she was a big-city girl, he knew deep in her heart she’d rather be here. If this rodeo made her happy, fine, he’d do it.

He found a parking spot at the end of the street, walked to a hamburger joint and stood in a ridiculously long line. He watched teenagers talking on their cell phones instead of to each other. Husbands his age divided their time between watching their children climb on the indoor jungle gym and talking with their wives.