Natalie Patrick - Boot Scootin' Secret Baby

But he wasn’t riding for money these days; he was riding for his own brand of honor—to go out on top and have something he didn’t walk away from when it didn’t want him anymore. And he was under contract to make those rides as part of a much publicized duel, five rides to see who was better, man or beast, scheduled almost a full year ago by a high-dollar sponsor. To walk away would mean financial ruin and public humiliation.

His future hung in the balance against those two rides. Alyssa Cartwright wasn’t going to take that away from him, too.

He dressed quickly and, just before he walked out the door, donned his trademark hat, pushing it down low over his eyes.

The hotel lobby bustled with rodeo people and the usual hangers-on. More than one lady with faded makeup from the night before and a look of rumpled satisfaction about her smiled at him. He nodded to them but did nothing to encourage any hopeful “buckle bunny” as they sometimes called the rodeo groupies. Despite that, one big-haired gal with gilded boots, leopard-skin fringe on her denim jacket and short skirt dashed up to him, her arms open wide.

He dodged left and what was surely meant as a big wet kiss on the lips glanced off his cheekbone.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he muttered, disguising a quick duck of his head as a nod.

“I can’t believe it. I kissed Cub Goodacre,” the woman cried to a gaggle of similarly dressed gals, who all hooted and high-fived her like teenaged boys in a locker room.

“It’s the hat.”

“What?” Cub jerked his head up only to find himself face-to-face with Alyssa’s fiancé.

“Your hat.” The man gestured with one finger toward his own bare head. “It’s a stroke of genius.”

“It is?” Obviously, he thought, narrowing one eye at the fellow who looked as if he’d just stepped out of some slick western-wear catalogue instead of off the range, Alyssa had snagged herself a loon.

“Of course it is, man.” He chuckled as if they were old pals sharing an inside joke. “Why, you walk into a room and everyone knows at a glance that Cub Goodacre has arrived. Heads turn, folks whisper.”

“Like to think that has something to do with my accomplishments, not my headgear.” He threw back his shoulders to give himself height. This man of Alyssa’s stood an inch or so over him and that didn’t make Cub like him one bit better.

“Your skill on the bulls is legendary, Cub...can I call you Cub?” He smiled.

Cub figured if a rattler could smile, that would be just about what it would look like.

“Great, Cub,” the man went on, seemingly taking Cub’s lack of any response as overture to everlasting friendship. “Now, as I said, your skills speak for themselves and that hat and the strong, silent cowpoke persona you’ve cultivated, well, they speak for your professional image.”

Cub didn’t like this fellow. Did not like him at all. “But let me ask you this, Cub, who speaks for you?”

“I speak for myself.” Cub flicked his hat up off his face with one sharp pop of his thumb and forefinger. “May not come out as gussied up and slick as your words, mister, but I’ve done fine so far.”

“Have you, Cub? Have you really?”

The false concern rang like a rusted cowbell in Cub’s ears.

“Do you realize,” the man rushed on, “that with your reputation and talent you are one hot property?”

How could Alyssa have fallen for this two-bit hustler? Something was not right about this. Still, Cub reminded himself, it wasn’t his place any longer to protect Alyssa from foolish choices. That was this fellow’s lookout now.

The man narrowed his eyes in presumed familiarity. “You know, my friend, if you would just capitalize more on your current celebrity, you could be a very wealthy man.”

Cub shook his head and started to walk on. “I do all right just as I am.”

The man stepped back to keep himself directly in Cub’s path.

“Oh, I’m well aware of your considerable winnings these past few years.”

“You are?” Cub stopped.

“Got the stats from the National Rodeo Riders Association and frankly, Cub, you are underutilizing your earning potential.”

“I am?” He didn’t want to listen but the weasel had him hooked.

“Let me tell you, with the proper management to get you endorsements, better sponsorship, maybe a spot in a country music video, next season, you could be pulling down at least twice what you made last year.”

“Next season?” Cub huffed out a humorless laugh at the notion. “I’m sorry, buddy, but—”

“Crowder.” He thrust his right hand out. “Shelby Crowder.”

Cub eyed the man’s offered hand. He didn’t want to accept the gesture but his lifelong cowboy way of doing things wouldn’t let him slight a man he held no founded grudge against. When his palm met Crowder’s he gripped it tighter than the reins on a ton of loco bucking bull.

To his credit, Crowder didn’t wince. He did ease out a little sigh of relief when Cub turned him loose, though. Then he dove right back into business. “Look, there’s no use beating around the bush, Cub. I’m fully aware of your past relationship with Alyssa and I want you to know...”

“Shelby? Cub?” Alyssa’s voice carried across the bustling lobby.

Both men paused and turned toward her. The sight put a rock in Cub’s belly. She was still as beautiful in the morning light as she had been three years ago. It wasn’t lost on Cub, though, that this morning her easy smile and the flush of her cheeks was for the man standing beside him, not for Cub. He stole a glance at Crowder from the corner of his eye.

Head bowed, the other man seemed far more intrigued by his pager than the woman approaching them. Weaselboy sure was taking this whole awkward situation lightly, Cub decided. If the roles were reversed and Crowder were the ex-husband, a stampede wouldn’t draw Cub’s eye from Alyssa. Something was not right about this at all.

He let his gaze swing from Crowder’s nonchalant attitude to the overly sweet, yet almost panicked expression on Alyssa’s face. Something felt definitely crooked about this relationship and Cub figured he knew a way to bring the truth to light.

“What in mercy’s sakes is going on here?” Whatever it was, Alyssa surmised in a heartbeat, it wasn’t likely to be good for her.

Last night, she’d sent Cub on his way before he could meet Shelby and discover her lie. She hadn’t even mentioned the wild story to Shelby because the whole thing was so embarrassing. Besides, she had intended to clear it all up when she spoke to Cub later today. Of course, she thought that would be much later today.

She stopped beside the two men waiting for her in the practical elegance of the hotel lobby.

Somehow, she’d always pictured Cub staying in cheap out-of-the-way motels, or perhaps even sleeping in his truck as he went from rodeo to rodeo. The lonely, desolate drifter stereotype certainly suited her image of him much better than thinking of him staying in the best hotels, the places swarming with buckle chasing beauties. She should have at least considered, she scolded herself, that a rider as successful as Cub would be at this hotel, where she and Shelby were meeting potential clients this morning.

“Have you two been chatting long?” she asked, gripping her spanking new briefcase over her western cut jacket. She hoped neither of them could hear that rapid thrumming of her heart hammering against the faux alligator case.

“Actually—” Cub very gently placed the point of his boot on top of her shoe, stopping the feverish tapping toe of her pump. “Your...friend, here, has been trying to sell me your management services.”

“My management services?” She blinked, struggling to imagine what Shelby had in mind, while her real attention drifted downward to the place where Cub’s foot touched hers. Such a simple thing and yet it sent a tingling heat surging upward through her body, making it difficult to concentrate on the conversation.