B.J. Daniels - Rodeo Daddy

“Cody will have my hide for this,” Dylan said.

“You’ve always been able to hold your own with Cody,” she returned. “Where, Dylan? You can’t talk me out of this any more than Cody did, and believe me, he tried.”

“I’m sure he did,” Dylan said with a groan. “Jackson Robinson is riding in Lubbock tomorrow night.”

Lubbock, Texas. That was only a day’s drive away.

“That’s perfect. Thanks, Dylan. You don’t know what this means to me.” She started to hang up.

“Chelsea, don’t get your hopes up too high.”

Too late for that.

“Why don’t you take Cody with you?” Dylan suggested.

“Cody?” He had to be kidding. “I think not. Anyway, he has a ranch to run. I’ll be fine. Really.” She didn’t need her big brother protecting her.

She hung up, her heart pounding. As impulsive as she’d always been, even she was shocked by what she planned to do. She was going to see Jack. Jackson. Whatever he called himself these days. She told herself that she’d know the truth the moment she looked into his dark eyes.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN SHE GOT UP the next morning to leave, Cody was already gone. She loaded her bag into her car, scribbled a goodbye to her brother with the promise to call, and left.

The night before she’d packed hurriedly, shaking with just the thought of seeing Jack again. Maybe Dylan and Cody were right. Maybe this man did have some power over her. He’d certainly stayed in her thoughts all these years. And in her heart.

She hadn’t known what to pack or for how long. A few days max. What should she wear? What any Texas-born cowgirl wore to a rodeo—jeans and boots.

But she threw in her favorite blue silk dress for good measure, just in case.

Just in case what? What did she hope was going to happen? She tried not to go there.

She’d just closed the bag when she heard a sound behind here.

“So you’re really going to do this,” Cody said from the doorway.

He no longer appeared angry, just concerned. She nodded.

“Could you at least tell me where you’re going?” he asked.

“Lubbock. He’s riding bulls with the rodeo circuit.”

Cody nodded. He’d ridden a few bulls himself, and a few broncs.

She hadn’t really wanted to tell him that Jack had changed his name, afraid Cody would only see it as more evidence of his guilt. “He’s riding as Jackson Robinson.”

“Is he?”

“Have you heard of him?” she’d asked, seeing something in her brother’s look that worried her.

He hadn’t answered. “You realize you might be the last person he wants to see.”

She refused to even consider that possibility.

Cody had stood in the doorway for a moment. “I know better than to try to talk you out of this fool behavior.”

“That’s good,” she’d agreed.

“Could you at least call and let me know you’re not dead on the highway?”

“What good would calling do? You’ll be out mending fence or chasing down some stray calf, acting like you work around here.” He didn’t seem to appreciate her sense of humor. But then he never had.

“I’ll take the cell phone with me,” he’d said after a moment. He’d made a disgusted face and looked even more put out with her. Cody hated cell phones and refused to carry the one she’d bought him.

“Then I’ll call,” she’d promised, and smiled. “Wish me luck?”

“You’re going to need more than luck, little sister.”

Last night she’d felt confident, but now that she was on the road, she was less sure of herself. What if she was wrong about Jack? What if he didn’t want to see her? Or worse, what if he admitted he’d never cared, that he’d only been after her cattle—and her ranch?

That thought almost made her turn around. Almost.

She remembered the day Jack had arrived in an old red pickup, rattling up the road in a cloud of Texas dust, looking for a job. He’d climbed out of the truck. Even at twenty-two he looked solid, as if he’d done a lot of manual labor. Had it been love at first sight? She’d always thought so.

A terrible thought struck her. What if Jack thought she’d known about the check?

She drove past San Antonio, took Highway 10 and headed west. At Sonora, she’d angle up 87 and on into Lubbock. She figured she’d be there before Jack rode.

Turning up the music, she put the top down on the Mercedes her father had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday. But she couldn’t quit thinking about Jack. Or worrying that she might be wrong about him.

* * *

AFTER GETTING CAUGHT in road construction for hours, Chelsea was late reaching Lubbock, and suddenly, she wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. She was twenty-eight, no longer a kid. And yet she was still chasing rainbows.

But she’d come this far. And if she didn’t see Jack, she would always wonder, right?

A little voice in the back of her head that sounded uncannily like her brother kept warning her this was a mistake.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, shocked to realize she hardly recognized the woman behind the wheel. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright as stars, excitement radiating from her. And determination. She was a woman who liked to finish what she started, one way or the other.

By the time she found the rodeo grounds on the far side of town, the rodeo was over and the crowd had gone home.

She parked, raked her hand through her long, unruly hair, wishing she’d had the sense not to put the top down on the car.

Getting out, she walked slowly toward the chutes at the rear of the arena, hoping that Jack would still be there.

She asked a cowboy loading his horse into a trailer where she could find Jackson Robinson. He pointed her in the direction of a dozen trailers, pickups and motor homes camped under a long row of old oaks—and one older model motor home in particular.

As Chelsea neared, she saw that the outside door was open and light was spilling out the screen door onto a piece of carpet in front of the metal pull-out step.

The evening was warm and filled with the fragrances of coming summer. Woven into the scents were the many different foods being cooked in the tiny community camped here, and the leftover smell of corn dogs, cotton candy and fried bread from the rodeo.

The lights, the warm breeze and the inviting aromas gave the encampment a cozy, homey feel. Horses whinnied in the corrals. Laughter drifted on the breeze from small groups of cowboys sitting outside their rigs in pools of golden light. There would be another rodeo tomorrow night, so it appeared most of the riders were staying for it.

As she approached the motor home, she thought she smelled something cooking inside. Then she heard a sound that stopped her cold. It drifted out the screen door. Light, lyrical, definitely female laughter.

She stopped walking, realizing just how rash she’d been. Had she expected Jack to pine away for her all these years as she had for him? Obviously she had.

Suddenly she was struck with a huge case of cold feet. She started to turn and stumbled, almost colliding with a child. The cowboy was small and slim, dressed in jeans, boots and a checked western shirt. His straw cowboy hat was pulled low over his eyes.

“Sorry,” Chelsea murmured, feeling like a coward. Didn’t she want to know the truth? If she couldn’t face the fact that Jack had someone else, how could she face it if he’d lied to her, rustled her cattle and taken off with her heart? Which right now seemed damned likely.

“Are you looking for someone? I know everybody here.”

“Oh you do, do you?” Chelsea asked with amusement. She’d thought the child a boy, but on closer inspection, she realized the cowboy was in fact a cowgirl of about eight or nine. And from the amount of dirt on her jeans and boots, Chelsea would say a tomboy. She recognized the look.