Cathy McDavid - The Bull Rider's Valentine

“I don’t know of any. Spence would have a better idea. Though, you could always head into town and stop by the Poco Dinero Bar and Grill. Ranch hands regularly hang out there. Buy one of them a beer and get them talking.”

It was a good idea. “Thanks for the tip,” Nate said. “And for letting me park my truck and trailer. I promise not to get in the way.”

“No problem.”

“Dinner was great.” He checked the time on his phone and grabbed his cowboy hat from where it hung on the back of the chair. “I can see myself out.”

“Breakfast is at six.”

“I’ve got food in the camper.” If a couple cans of pork and beans and a box of granola bars counted as food.

“Come on, Nate. You can meet Spence.”

“We’ll see.”

She didn’t insist, and he headed out the front door to where he’d parked his truck. A drive down the main street quickly brought him to his destination, easy to find from the glowing neon signs in the window and busy parking lot.

What Frankie had predicted was true. Even on a Tuesday, the Poco Dinero boasted a fair-size crowd. Though the small stage—home to whatever band played on the weekend—was empty, a middle-aged couple shuffled across the dance floor, their steps in time to music coming from the jukebox. Small posters on each wall announced the soon to be completed recreational rodeo arena and a website for interested parties to check out the details.

Regulars sat at the polished mahogany bar, swigging their beer or whiskey, exchanging stories and occasionally checking the score of the basketball game playing on the wall-mounted TV. A second couple snuggled in the booth. A group of four men occupied a table and loudly bickered about politics and its effect on the price of cattle.

No one paid Nate much attention until he claimed the only empty stool at the bar.

His neighbor, an elderly gentleman with graying whiskers, turned and offered a friendly greeting. “A bit nippy out there.”

Nate unbuttoned his jacket and slung it over the bar stool before sitting. “You can say that again.”

The bartender, a small, whip-thin gal with the telltale signs of a hard life spent serving drinks either at this bar or one just like it, sidled over to take his order. Fifteen seconds later, a longneck beer was placed before him and money exchanged.

Noticing the older man’s gaze returning to the basketball game, Nate said, “Suns might actually win this one.”

“If their defense doesn’t fall apart in the last five minutes.”

He wore the clothes of a ranch hand but, from his age, Nate figured him to be retired. That didn’t discount him as a source of information. In fact, he might know more than most.

“What brings you to Mustang Valley?” the man asked, lifting a glass tumbler to his lips. His hand visibly shook.

Nate was immediately reminded of his late brother, Allan, though this man almost certainly didn’t suffer from cystic fibrosis. And his brother’s hands had shaken only near the end and when he was especially fatigued. Yet, there was an undeniable similarity. Nate would bet money this man suffered from some health issue.

“A favor for a family friend,” he answered. “But at the moment, I’m looking for work. Have you heard if any of the ranches in the area are hiring? I’m a pretty good cow wrangler. I’m also a decent handyman and have worked construction off and on.”

“Check out The Small Change,” the man offered. “Northeast of town. Ask for the owner, Theo McGraw. He might have an opening for a wrangler or a handyman.”

“Appreciate it.”

By then, the bartender sidled over. “Either of you boys ready for another round?”

Nate shook his head. “I’m good for now.”

The older man raised his glass, the melting ice cubes tinkling from his shaking hand. “When you have a second, Bess.”

“Coming right up, Theo.”

Nate turned and stared at him. “Theo? As in Theo McGraw?”

“This here’s the owner of The Small Change,” Bess said. “Biggest cattle ranch in the valley.”

“I do believe I’ve just been played.” Nate tipped his bottle of beer at Theo, who grinned in return.

“The invitation to drop by still stands.”

The bartender returned with Theo’s drink. As if it were an afterthought, she paused to study Nate. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so.” He was often recognized by people familiar with rodeo. These days, he didn’t supply his name in case someone asked what the hell had happened to his career. He didn’t like admitting it had suffered a slow, painful death.

“Give me a second.” She wagged a finger at him and squinted her eyes.

He attempted to distract her. “I’ve been here before. But it was years ago.”

“Well, I’ll be!” The woman beamed as recognition dawned. “You’re Nate Truett.”

Her announcement also got the attention of several people sitting at the bar, including Theo McGraw.

“The Nate Truett?” he asked.

“World champion bull rider,” Bess said, bursting with pride at her accomplishment.

“Guilty as charged.” Nate wished the bartender didn’t have such a keen memory for faces.

“Did I hear you say you’re looking for a job? Because I might have one.”

“I’d be lying if I said I ever bartended.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Not that. Something else. Something better than a wrangler. Sorry, Theo.” She sent him an apologetic smile.

He laid a hand over his heart. “You wound me, dear lady.”

The woman propped her arms on the bar in front of Nate. “I’ll show you. On my break. Can you wait half an hour?”

“All right.” Nate was intrigued.

Theo, too, judging by his expression.

Suddenly, the front door whooshed open. Along with an unwelcome gust of cold air came three people, huddled and chatting amiably. As the door banged closed behind them, they split apart. To Nate’s amazement, there stood Ronnie.

The next second, she spotted him and her smile instantly died.

Chapter Three

Ronnie didn’t normally swear. A ripe oath, however, slipped past her lips at the sight of Nate sitting alongside Theo McGraw, her father’s boss. Luckily, her clients, the Carringtons, appeared oblivious. Not that she needed to worry. Both were former rodeo competitors and had probably heard a lot worse during their many years on the circuit.

Still, Ronnie preferred to make a good impression. Especially on clients like the Carringtons, whose daughter was one of Ronnie’s students. If all went well, they’d close the deal tonight on Star Shine, a reliable beginner barrel racing horse Ronnie was selling on behalf of a friend. In exchange, she’d receive a small percentage of the final price.

A good deal for all concerned. Star Shine was an excellent match for the Carringtons’ daughter and would serve her well over the next few years. The price was fair, and in return, the horse would be well cared for and doted on by the thirteen-year-old.

Hugh Carrington remained the sole holdout and had suggested they meet at the Poco Dinero to rehash the details. Ronnie had acquiesced. She and the owner, Bess, had recently entered into a business arrangement, and meeting at the honky-tonk made sense. Now, Ronnie wished she’d insisted on a different spot.

“How about that one?” Hugh motioned to an empty table near the bar, which, of course, put them in close proximity to Nate.

Ronnie sighed. Would she get even one break today? Every time she least expected it, Nate was there, insinuating himself into her life. Showing up at the ranch earlier, driving Sam home, parking his trailer at her sister’s house and, now, sitting next to the man who signed her father’s paychecks—both of them a pebble’s toss from her important business meeting.