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“How about this? There’s going to be a dirt dance in the arena after the rodeo tonight. If I guess right the first time, you’ll promise to go with me.”
“And if you don’t?”
“That’s up to you. I could buy you dinner.”
“Forget it. Either way, I’ll be too tired to dance or eat. And I’ll be busy after the rodeo, loading the bulls for the drive home.”
“Then I’ll make it easy for you. If I can pick Whirlwind on the first guess, you’ll give me twenty minutes of your time—just to talk to you.”
“And if you lose?”
“Whatever you want. Your call.”
“Fine. If you guess wrong, you can shovel out the
trailer before we load the bulls for the drive home.”
Shane laughed. “You drive a hard bargain, lady.”
A smile dimpled her cheek. “You said it was my call. So knock yourself out.”
Shane made a show of studying the bulls, taking his time. “That black one’s a standout. He’s massive. Plenty of power. With that white blaze down his face, he reminds me of Chicken on a Chain. Ever see that monster bull buck? He was meaner than hell, both in and out of the arena.”
“Only on TV, a few years ago. He was a powerhouse. So do you think the black one is Whirlwind?”
“Nope.” Shane kept looking. “And the brindle—he’s sharp. Great conformation. But no, it’s not him either.”
That left the white and gray bulls, their patterns similar, as if their hides had been randomly spattered with black paint. The larger, whiter, one—with a bit of fat on him—was chewing cud, swishing at a fly with his tail. The gray bull, slightly smaller but just as powerful, was alert and restless, ears pricking toward the sounds in the arena, legs shifting, dancing, almost catlike in their precision. His body, a mass of muscle as thick and solid as a tree trunk, strained against the gate, as if he couldn’t wait to get out there and buck.
“Hello, Whirlwind,” Shane said, grinning as he pointed. “I can hardly wait to ride you.” And not just you, Shane thought, then gave himself a mental slap. He was out of line, even if it was only in his mind.
“The clock is running on your twenty minutes,” Lexie said. So get talking.”
Shane took a deep breath, feeling awkward as hell. “First of all, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your brother. I knew Jack—not well, but everybody was his friend. He was the best kind of cowboy and the best kind of man.”
Did the words sound rehearsed? They were, in the sense that he’d put some thought into them. He’d been in the stands at last year’s National Finals Rodeo when all-around cowboy Jack Champion had been stomped and killed after tumbling off an 1,800-pound bucking bull. He knew she’d been there, too, watching with her father and sister when it happened. There were no words for what they must have felt that night—or for what she must be feeling right now.
* * *
“Yes, Jack was the best,” Lexie murmured, struggling against the pain that was still raw after more than six months. Shane Tully sounded sincere enough, but he couldn’t even imagine what Jack’s death had cost the family. Jack had been their golden hope, their future, the one who would take his father’s place and guide the ranch to new prosperity.
And, of course, they had all loved him.
“Is your family doing all right?” he asked.
“We’re muddling along,” Lexie said. “Jack’s death made national news, but you may not have heard that our father passed away this spring.”
“Lord, no. I’m sorry.” His surprise sounded genuine.
“It was cancer. He’d been sick for a long time.” Lexie had learned to sound detached when she talked about it, as if the linked tragedies had happened to people in a movie or characters in a book. “But Jack’s death was the final blow. After that, it was as if he’d lost the will to live.”
“Again, I’m sorry. I wish I had better words to tell you. But know that I mean it.” He paused to watch the bulls for a moment. “So who’s running the ranch now?”
“My sister Tess and I, along with Dad’s second wife, who manages things in the house. Ruben, our foreman, is a lot of help, too. Things aren’t easy, but we’re doing all right. We grew up working on the ranch. Tess chose to stay there and help Dad. I was on my way to a college degree in ranch management and animal husbandry before I quit to come home and help. Cash is in short supply, but we’re hoping that if Whirlwind can bring in some serious prize money—”
She broke off, stopping the heedless flood of words. What was she doing—letting down her guard to a charming stranger who was asking too many questions? Bad idea. Even if he was just being sympathetic, her family problems were nobody’s business.
“Why am I telling you all this?” she said. “I barely know you. And I thought our deal involved you talking to me. Maybe you should start by telling me what you’re really doing here.”
