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Butif we got enough time to let this magnetic attraction between us blaze and burn out—as it would eventually do—and we went our separate ways in peace, it might all be worth it. Adding to that, I had learned not to hesitate to get what I wanted; either I went for it, or I didn’t.
Sitting back in my seat, I barely held back a smile. “So, shall we resume the previous conversation?”
Her eyes darted up, and I could see the ‘Are you serious’question splashed over her face. I kept my expression neutral but allowed a smile to play over my face. I tilted my head. “What do I do about Sam?”
Rayna shook her head as if to sayI don’t believe this,and I wouldn’t blame her for that. I had spun her reality…again.
“I think you should ask her again,” Rayna said, calmer and steadier than I’d expected. “But this time, try to come at it from another angle. Ask her about her friends and lead it to Tyler.”
I barely held back a grimace; lately, it was dawning on me that I was seriously fumbling about this parenting game. I should have had a stronger hand at home, but my business had come first while thinking everything was fine.
It was not letting this do-as-you-please business continue with the girls, and if I needed backup from a professional, even better.
“Come over to the ranch this Saturday,” I said, then tacked on, “If you have time, that is. I want to give you a better idea about Sam, about her environment. I’ve heard it plays a great deal into shaping who they are.”
It might have sounded like a flimsy excuse to get her on my turf—and it probably was—but I seriously worried if being surrounded by too many men was affecting Sam.
Rayna looked contemplative. “Wouldn’t that be a bit strange for Sam? To see me at her home?”
“I’ll explain it to her,” I replied.
Still, she looked apprehensive. “But about…us? How will that go about?”
“I’ll take care of that, too,” I replied.
Rayna bit her lip. “I…I’ll come.”
Relief swamped me. “I’ll give you the directions.”
* * *
The heat on Saturday morning was swelting hot. I couldn’t count the number of times I had to sweep my hat off my head to mop the rivers of sweat washing over my face and down my back.
Bluebonnets covered the slopes beside the roads and the trails along the hill rise where the three-hundred-thick herd roamed and grazed. Most of the herd stayed together, but occasionally, a steer would wander off on her own, or a calf would find itself trapped in a crag.
A week ago, we had added two more guys to our family, and as I crested a hill, I saw a figure about a hundred yards away applying a fence stretcher to a run of wire. That had to be Scotty, one of our new ranchers/handymen.
I turned my horse as the bulls and steers lumbered past me, heading down the rise to the valley below. The herd was intact, well mostly; a few were out of place, but nothing to worry about…until, with just a flicker of my eye—I realized something was wrong.
Old Goliath, a big, two thousand-pound beast, was heading to Scotty; the man was not wiser. Jesus Christ.
“Scotty!” I shouted, sucked in a breath, and then yelled louder. “Scotty!”
This time his hat moved as he turned and saw the bull coming to him and went pale as a sheet. “Don’t run!”
I kicked my horse into a gallop while grabbing my rope from the saddle bag. I quickly mounted up. It had been a long time since I’d done any roping, but I still remember the ropes.
Goliath was barreling down, his dark red hide as bloody as the ground would be if I didn’t get to Scotty in time. The old beast was making the dirt fly up and surround him in a cloud of dust, and his horns—though shaved down—were still as huge as the Devil's pitchfork and would do massive damage.
Ben and Jake had realized what was going on and were speeding to Scotty forty feet in. I gave my horse a swift kick on his flanks, and he broke into a sprint, edging over Goliath and blocking him from his line.
The other two followed me and hemmed him in. I whipped the rope over my head, threw it, and snagged one of the horns in one try. I gripped the saddle with my thighs and knees to keep my seat, and Goliath bellowed and yanked his ugly head, trying to break free.
Ben’s lasso wrapped around Goliath’s neck, easing some strain from me, and by a stroke of luck, Jake’s rope grabbed his bind hoof, and we got him on the ground. Before I could get down, Ben and two more got behind us while the seasoned cowboy hogtied the beast like a trussed chicken.
I leaped off to rush to Scotty, who was gray with fright, and grabbed at him to make sure he didn’t faint. “It's all right, Scotty. You’re fine.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Is…it always like this around here?”
