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“Was anybody expecting company?” she asked, wondering if she should go for the rifle mounted inside the front door, above the frame.
Val was on her feet. “I recognize those lights. That looks like Casey’s truck.” She lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper, as if thinking aloud. “But he was supposed to be in Gallup this weekend. What if something’s gone wrong, and somebody’s come in his truck to tell me?”
The security lights came on as the black pickup rolled into the yard. Yes, the truck was Casey’s. Val stumbled down the front steps and raced out to meet it. From the porch, Tess could see into the cab as the door opened and the dome light came on. It was Casey. At first glance, he looked fine—husky, handsome, and fit as ever.
But as he eased painfully out of the truck, using a crutch for support, Tess stifled a groan. Even a minor injury would be enough to keep him from doing the work he loved.
Val was running toward him, but when she saw the crutch and his thickly wrapped ankle, she stopped as if she’d run into a wall. “What . . . ?” She gasped out the word.
“It’s nothing. Just a bad sprain—maybe more.” He gave her a tired smile. “But I need to stay off it for a few weeks until it heals. At least it’s my left side, so I can drive an automatic shift. Otherwise, I’d be in a bad way.”
“So how did it happen?” Tess had trotted out to retrieve his duffel bag from the rear seat.
“Just bad timing. I got tossed by Cactus Jack and landed on my feet, a little off-balance. The ankle twisted under me. I should’ve seen it coming and rolled instead. It’s a good thing you couldn’t hear me cuss. I know guys who would just wrap the ankle and get back out there, but if a rider were to get hurt because I wasn’t a hundred percent, I couldn’t live with that.”
Val came to him then, wrapped her arms around his ribs, and held him fiercely tight. “Damn you, Casey Bozeman, when are you going to learn some common sense? You’re getting too old for this adolescent boys’ sport!”
“When I get too old, I’ll know it.” Casey held her with one arm, steadying his balance with the crutch.
Tess sensed the tension building between these two people who loved each other so much. “You must be hungry, Casey,” she said. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll warm you up some leftover enchiladas.”
Brushing off Val’s efforts to help him up the steps, Casey made his way across the porch and into the kitchen. Tess had gone ahead to scoop two beef enchiladas with beans onto a plate and slide them into the microwave.
The house, which had no air conditioning, was still warm from the day. Ceiling fans stirred the tepid air. Casey sank onto a chair with Val next to him. Lexie had chosen to stay outside. From the spare bedroom came the sound of Shane working out on his weight machines.
“How about something to drink?” Tess asked. “Another Coke, Val? And you, Casey?”
“Water’s fine.” Casey stretched his leg to ease the weight on his ankle. Val waved her hand to decline the offer of a Coke.
“So how long do you have to stay off the ankle?” Tess dropped two ice cubes into a glass and filled it with cold water.
“Thanks.” Casey took it from her. “Total rest for the first two weeks. Then a couple more weeks of physical therapy. After that I’m hoping I’ll be fit to go back on the circuit. Any longer and I could miss the finals in May.”
This had been a year of change for the PBR. The next national finals, usually held in Las Vegas, in November, had been moved to Fort Worth in May. That meant one short, strenuous season to accommodate the change. On the new schedule, bull riders and other personnel, like Casey, would have summers off to rest, train, or take part in traditional rodeos. But until after the May finals, the pressure was on.
“Why not skip the rest of the season and start fresh next fall?” Val asked. “That would give you plenty of time to rest and heal.”
“It would give me plenty of time to get fat and lazy.” Casey dug into the plate of food Tess had set in front of him. Tess knew that Val was his first and only love. But a man needed more than love in his life. It had been the same with Mitch and the Marines. He had willingly gone into combat, and in the end, she had lost him.
The poet Lord Byron had said it best: “Man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart, ’tis woman’s whole existence.”
But that bit of wisdom would be lost on Val.
“Actually, Val,” Casey said, “I was hoping you could come back to Tucson with me and stay in the condo while I mend. I can manage all right on my own, but it would give us some time together—something we haven’t had enough of this season.”
Tess could sense Val’s resistance. A month of watching ESPN in Casey’s drab bachelor condo would try the patience of any woman. To the restless Val, it would be more like a jail sentence than a romantic getaway.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Tess said. “Why not stay here with us, Casey—at least until you’re ready for physical therapy. We’ve got plenty of room, and I could use your insight with the new bull that’s coming. He’s young and has some issues.”
“This is Brock’s bull—the one that’s replacing Whiplash?”
“Right. I saw him buck today. He’s going to be a handful. But if we can get him under control, he could be a moneymaker.”
“I’m willing to help, but I’m hardly in shape for bull wrangling.”
“I’m aware that you can’t get in the pen with him, but your advice would be worth a lot. You know how bulls think.”
Casey shook his head and smiled. “Nobody knows how bulls think except bulls. But as long as I can eat Maria’s cooking, I’ll stay anywhere. Is that all right with you, Val?”
