Christine Scott - A Cowboy Comes A Courting

Tyler Bradshaw jumped back from the gate, not out of fear, but for safety’s sake. In less than an hour, he’d be expected to ride on the back of this restless creature. He didn’t need to lose any essential body parts while he was waiting his turn.

Joey Witherspoon chuckled. “Diablo’s in a fine mood tonight.”

“That he is,” Tyler said, his calm voice belying the trepidation churning in his gut. He was getting too old for this. Time to think of retirement. At least, that was what he’d been told by concerned friends.

Not that he felt old. Far from it.

Only, at the age of thirty-two, most bull riders had ended their careers and put themselves out to stud. They’d found themselves pretty little wives and were raising families, settling down to enjoy their retirement while they were still in one piece. But not him, no siree. No primrose path to old age for him.

As far as he was concerned, if he had to hang up his spurs, he might as well be dead.

“How’s the back?” Joey asked, studying him carefully.

One of his concerned friends, Tyler reminded himself with a sigh. “The back’s fine.”

“No twinges? No spasms?”

“Not a twitch, not an itch.”

Joey didn’t crack a smile at his attempt at humor.

Tyler squinted at the man next to him. At an even six feet, they stood eye to eye. But that was where the similarity ended. Joey was dark to Tyler’s fair-haired complexion. He was solid-packed muscle to Tyler’s lean lankiness. And Joey was a lot smarter than he was. A few years his senior, his friend had had the keen sense to retire years ago from the rodeo circuit. Joey owned a little piece of land not far from Dallas, and he’d found a wife to put up with his pesky ways. Together, they were raising a brood of little Witherspoons. Five, at last count.

“You don’t have to ride tonight,” Joey said, the words soft enough for Tyler’s ears only. “Nobody’s going to care if you pass.”

“I’m fine, Joey,” Tyler said, tight-lipped, reining in his growing irritation.

He didn’t need to be reminded of his numerous injuries. A rider worth his salt didn’t get to be a champion unless he’d taken a few tumbles. Granted, he did have a tendency to fall on his tailbone, throwing his spinal cord out of whack on more than one occasion. So what if he was becoming a chiropractic junkie, relying on the doctor’s magic fingers more and more to work out the kinks? No one ever said the path to glory would be easy.

“Tyler Bradshaw, tell me you’re not crazy enough to get on the back of this man-eating bull?” a familiar voice called out.

Tyler grinned, relieved at the interruption. The topic had become entirely too serious for his taste. He turned to welcome the newcomer, Gus Whitman. Tyler owed Gus a great deal. A veteran of the rodeo circuit, the man had taken a raw, seventeen-year-old boy under his wing and coached him to become a champion bull rider. Gus was his mentor, his friend and more of a father figure than Tyler’s own pa had ever been.

Pleasure turned to surprise when he spotted his old friend strutting toward him with his arm draped about the shoulders of a beautiful young woman—emphasis on the young. Tyler shook his head. Well, he’d be damned. Gus must be feeling his oats tonight—or going through one of those midlife crises—to pick a filly so young.

He raked a second glance over the modem-day Lolita. She had dark—almost black—shiny hair, cut short and framing her oval face. Her big blue eyes were the color of the Texas sky. She had a pert little upturned nose. Her body was petite, but with enough compact curves to make a man sweat. Tyler didn’t blame Gus for losing his head over a woman like her, even if she was young enough to be his—

“What’s the matter with you, boy? Don’t you recognize my daughter?” Gus said, slapping him on the back with a hearty laugh. “It’s Skye, you fool.”

“Skye?” Tyler repeated dumbly.

It couldn’t be. Or could it?

The last time he’d seen Skye Whitman she’d been a flat-chested adolescent, who used to follow him around the rodeo like a lovesick puppy. He’d tolerated her youthful infatuation out of respect for Gus. But he’d kept his distance, never giving her reason to expect more than a brotherly friendship. Back then, she’d been cute enough in a fresh-scrubbed way, but she hadn’t looked anything like this grown-up version.

She’d gone away to college a child, and had returned home a woman.

No wonder he hadn’t recognized her.

“Hey, Tyler,” Skye said, her rosebud lips parting in an easy smile. “It’s been a long time.”

Even the voice was different, he realized. All rich and sultry, reminding him of the taste of milk chocolate melting in his mouth on a hot, summer day.

Somehow he found his own voice. “Skye, I can’t believe it’s you.”

An understatement for sure.

“It hasn’t been that long, has it?” The smooth lines of her forehead puckered into a frown. “Well, I guess it has been a few years. Six, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, aware that a half-dozen sets of eyes were upon him. They were drawing a small crowd. All of Gus’s cronies who still hung about the rodeo were beginning to zero in on their little group.

Unexplainably, Tyler felt a flash of resentment. He’d have liked to have had a moment alone with this new Skye. His gaze flitted over the lush curves of her breasts, the tiny nip of her waist and the gentle splay of her hips. Given a little time, he just might develop an infatuation of his own.

“Skye’s home for the summer to work on her thesis,” Gus said, his paternal pride showing through. “A regular college degree isn’t enough for my little girl, she has to get a master’s degree to boot.”

Like a slap in the face, the words brought Tyler reeling back to reality. He bridled his prurient thoughts concerning Skye, steering them in a safer direction. Skye Whitman was as off limits to him today as she had been six years ago. She was still Gus’s daughter, not a rodeo groupie. He didn’t care how grown-up the lady might appear.

Play around with her heart, and he’d be playing with fire.

Tyler Bradshaw hadn’t changed a bit.

Well, maybe a little. The squint lines around his eyes were deeper. The planes of his face were a little sharper, a little more rugged. And though he was still lean and lanky, he’d filled out some, appearing more solid. But he was still the heartbreaker she’d always remembered.

One of those cowboys she’d sworn to avoid.

What was different this time, she told herself, was that she’d been on the receiving end of one of those assessing gazes of his. That head-to-toe scrutiny of a discerning eye. Tyler Bradshaw was a man who loved women. The notches on his bedposts certainly attested to that fact. She couldn’t deny a certain titillating thrill that, after all these years, she’d finally caught his eye.

Six years ago, she’d have killed to have him notice her.

Now, it only made her wary.

“I’m getting married,” Skye blurted out.

A stunned silence met her announcement.

Tyler blinked, looking surprised.

Gus scowled, shaking his head in disgust.

“Congratulations, Skye,” Joey Witherspoon said, the first to react. “Who’s the lucky man?”

“Man?” Gus snorted.

“Ralph Breedlow,” Skye said, jumping in before everyone was treated to her father’s jaded opinion of her intended. “He’s an associate professor at the college I’ve been attending.”

“A medieval history professor,” Gus added, not hiding his disdain.

“Gus, really,” she said. “Now isn’t the time to discuss—”

“When’s the wedding?” Tyler interrupted, his deep voice sending a chill down her spine.