Читать книгу Rodeo Daughter - Leigh Duncan, Leigh Duncan - Страница 9

Chapter One

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Amanda leaned against the hood of her car. Staring into her father’s perpetual blue-eyed squint, she fought for composure.

“Sorry, Mandy.” Tom Markette managed to say the words without sounding or looking at all apologetic. “I need the biggest paycheck I can get, and Okeechobee offered it. Gas and feed ain’t free, you know.”

Amanda swallowed a bitter retort. There was more than money behind her father’s decision to leave her twisting in the wind, and they both knew it. But this wasn’t the time to dredge up old hurts. She shoved a hank of loose hair behind her ear and chose a different battle. She had more immediate issues to deal with, starting with the Saddle Up Stampede in…

“Dad, the stampede is in five days. Five days. You can’t back out now.”

Expecting to find her father in the practice ring of the Boots and Spurs Dude Ranch, where the bar association held its annual fundraiser, she’d closed her law office in nearby Melbourne and driven out to watch him ride. The instant she’d spotted his long form propped against his motor home, a familiar sinking feeling had formed in the pit of her stomach. Acid had burned the back of her throat when she’d spied a horse standing in the hitched-up trailer.

“Okeechobee lost their opening act and I took the job, baby girl. You know how it is. I have to take advantage of every opportunity.” Tom speared her with a calculating glance. “If you’d give up this foolish notion and join the team again, I wouldn’t have these problems.”

There it was. Eight years, and her dad still hadn’t forgiven her for walking away from the Markette Ropin’ Team. Well, he wasn’t the only one who bore a grudge. She held up a hand.

“You’re the one backing out of our deal. Don’t even try to lay this on me.”

She eyed the man who should be standing with his hat in his hand, gratitude showing in his lined face for the easy paycheck he would earn putting on a roping-and-riding exhibition at the charity fundraiser. Hoping to impress him with the clout she wielded as the newest member of the bar association, she’d given him the job. But her father didn’t appear grateful, much less impressed. If anything, he looked as if he couldn’t wait to hit the road. And if he cared one whit about the predicament his leaving would put her in, it didn’t show in the jaunty angle of the Stetson he’d perched on his head.

“By the time the show starts, three thousand people will be sitting right up there. Waiting for you, Dad.” Amanda gestured toward the grandstand, which would be filled to capacity in less than a week. “How can you let them down?”

She didn’t bother to ask how he could let her down. The fact was, neither of her folks had ever won a Parent of the Year award or shown any interest in her outside the rodeo ring. Their neglect had shaped her decision to specialize in family law, where her focus was always on the best interests of the child.

“Guess they’ll have to settle for someone else.” Tom Markette pushed himself away from his truck and reached out as if to hug her goodbye.

Amanda crossed her arms. “What, you think rodeo stars are hiding behind every palmetto bush? Or waiting in the barn till I call their number? No such luck.”

And where did that leave her?

She was in charge of entertainment for this year’s stampede. Come Saturday night, an empty arena was not an option. Not with her practice in its infancy and her reputation at stake. Not with every paralegal, attorney and judge in the county expecting the thrill and excitement of the best that rodeo had to offer. Not with at-risk kids up and down the east coast of Florida dependent on the money the event would raise.

“Ahh, Mandy. You always did worry too much. Royce and the rest of the crew’ll still be here, won’t they?”

They’d do some pole-bending rides, give a calf-roping demonstration. She’d lined up a live band and a country dance. All of which were small potatoes compared to the best roping-and-riding exhibition in the business. He was the headliner and the reason they’d sold so many advance tickets.

“Dad,” she said pointedly, “you signed a contract. You’re legally obligated to be here.”

“Yeah, well, so sue me, baby girl. I won’t be.” He laughed easily, his smile so charming Amanda caught herself wanting to please him, to persuade him to stay, to be proud of her.

Old news.

She stifled a groan. He had her over a barrel and he knew it. She’d no more sue her own father for breach of contract than she’d pick up the reins of the life she’d left behind. The only surprise was that, this time, she’d actually expected him to keep his word. She’d never forgive him for breaking it…again.

Her father tipped his hat back and gazed at her thoughtfully.

“All right, here’s the deal. I already unloaded Brindle. Left him in a stall right over there.” He thrust a thumb over his shoulder toward the Boots and Spurs stables. “I’ll leave him with you through the weekend. I’ll even swing by to pick him up on Sunday.” Her dad made it sound as if he was doing her a huge favor. “You can take my place, ride him in the show.”

Amanda stared from behind dark sunglasses. Was he crazy? Sure, she’d helped him design the roping and riding act he’d performed ever since injuries forced him out of the chase for the next big purse, the next gold buckle. But she’d put herself through college and law school since then.

“Dad, I haven’t been riding. Not in months. I’ve been too busy getting the practice off the ground. I have clients who are counting on me.”

Including one who had hired her that very morning. The custody battle between an admittedly prodigal mom and the father who’d had sole custody of their four-year-old deserved Amanda’s full attention. She needed to dig into the heart of the case, figure out why no other family law attorney in town would touch it. She sensed this one could be a game changer, that success would give her prominence on the highly competitive playing field.

Her father clapped his hands, eager to hit the road. Heading for the truck’s cab, he spoke as if he hadn’t listened to a word she’d said.

Which, Amanda realized, he hadn’t.

“You’ll be fine. I haven’t changed the routine since the last time you saw it.” He winked at her and slid onto the driver’s seat. “Brindle knows it so well, all you’ll have to do is hold on and let him do his thing. And who knows? Maybe you’ll enjoy it so much, you’ll chuck this life and come with me next time.”

The big diesel engine sprang to life. The camper and trailer it towed lurched forward. Amanda’s protests sputtered to a halt as the dust clouds settled in its wake.

With less than a week before the mini rodeo that was really more an exhibition than a competition, it was too late to find a replacement. She was stuck with the job. It wasn’t as if she’d never been on a horse before. She had. She even had her own gold buckle to show for the years of sacrifice and training, years she’d spent trying to earn her father’s love.

“Don’t go there,” she whispered.

There were other places she needed to be, though, things she needed to do. She made a list and started checking off the items one by one on her way to the stables. Knowing the first order of business was to clear her calendar, she tugged her cell phone from her back pocket and left a message for her secretary.

The familiar scents of hay and horseflesh filled her nose as Amanda stepped from bright sunshine and stifling heat into the relative cool of the stables. From the third stall down on the left, a horse nickered. A large pale head leaned out over the door. Amanda ran a hand over the horse’s neck and felt the palomino quiver.

“Hey, big guy,” she whispered to her dad’s second-best mount. “It’s been a while. You remember me?”

The horse snorted and nudged her shoulder, looking for a treat.

“That’s a good boy,” Amanda said. She might have put the rodeo scene behind her, but some things never changed. She pulled the expected handful of carrots from her pocket.

Blowing soft wet kisses, Brindle lipped them from her open palm.

“You ready for a little run?” she asked the horse.

Spangles glinted from the saddle her dad had tossed over one wall of the chest-high pen. A pile of blankets, bridles and other tack sat beneath it. Amanda straightened the fringe on a costume of soft caramel buckskin she hadn’t seen in years. She shook her head. Her father had thought of everything, eliminated every reason why she couldn’t take his place.

Well, except that maybe she was so out of practice she’d have trouble sitting in the saddle, much less standing on top of it while Brindle thundered across the arena. She gave a final thought to the case that had landed in her lap earlier that morning, and sighed. There was a ton of work to do in the two weeks before she and her client made their first courtroom appearance.

But all that would have to wait until Sunday morning, when the performance she’d never wanted to give was behind her.

* * *

MITCHELL GOODWIN LIFTED the miniscule teacup from the wooden table in the playroom. Shifting uncomfortably on the narrow painted bench, he raised the tiny piece of china, tipped an imaginary toast to his hostess and pretended to drink.

“Yum.” His cup rattled into its saucer. “Hailey, that hit the spot. Thank you so much.”

Across the table, a frown clouded a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Mitch noted the purse of rosebud lips, and leaned forward.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“You forgot to crook-ed your pinkie, Daddy. Mrs. Birch says it’s a rule.” Four-year-old Hailey Goodwin demonstrated. “Now your turn, Daddy.”

Beneath the tiny picnic table, the pointed toe of Mitch’s left boot pinched. He flexed his ankle to stave off a muscle cramp brought on by the longer-than-usual tea party. Cup in hand, finger properly bent this time, he took another sip.

“Wait! Your cup is empty. Put it down here.” Hailey pointed to a doll-size serving tray. “I’ll pour some more.”

Hoping to goodness that the exorbitant tuition he paid to Mrs. Birch’s Angel Care covered a lot more than lessons in etiquette, Mitch held out his cup as his daughter poured make-believe tea from a tiny china pot.

“Did your class sing the A-B-C song, honey? Did you practice your letters?”

“Would you like a cookie, Daddy?” Hailey held out a small plate filled with plastic wafers. “They’re coconut. Mrs. Birch says they’re the bestest kind.”

Uh-oh.

Mitch’s smile froze. When he’d stocked up on treats for the evening, coconut hadn’t been on his shopping list.

“The best, huh? Last week, you asked for chocolate chip.”

“Did you buy some?” Her eyes going wide, Hailey stared over his shoulder at the door to the kitchen.

“There’s a brand-new box on the counter. I bought them especially for you and Betty Jean.”

Hailey’s fists landed on her sturdy little hips. “Why does she have to be here, Daddy? I want you to tuck me in, same as always.”

“Hailey, remember your promise.” An hour of dolls and stories were his part of the bargain. In exchange, Hailey had promised to behave for the babysitter. Lifting his cup again, Mitch blew out air that he hoped his daughter took for a cooling breath and not an exasperated sigh. Life wasn’t fair, and little girls—even ones without mothers—couldn’t have their way all the time. “We talked about this,” he reminded his daughter when her glower continued. “Betty Jean will help you say your prayers, but I’ll kiss you good-night before I leave, and again after I come home. You’ll get lots of kisses.”

“And cookies?” Hailey asked, the picture of innocence.

Mitch bit back a laugh and shook his head. There were a few consolations to having a wife who’d abandoned her newborn to run off with another man. Karen hadn’t stuck around long enough to teach their daughter the fine art of manipulation.

“You know the rules.” Too much sugar and Hailey wouldn’t sleep well. “Just one.”

Dark curls spilled onto her face, nearly hiding the gleam in her eyes. “If I’m extra good, can I have more?”

His daughter drove a hard bargain. Someday she’d make a good lawyer, just like her father, and his father before him. His resolve weakening, Mitch answered, “Two. But only if you play nice with Betty Jean.”

“I will, Daddy,” Hailey said solemnly.

The storm that had gathered in his child’s face dissipated. This time, Mitch didn’t bother to try to hide his relief. His attendance at the bar association’s charity event was not optional. The district attorney might not stand at the gate with a clipboard or check names off a list, but the man would soon name his successor. As his protégé, Mitch expected to get the nod. Now was not the time to slip up by skipping an important appearance.

Besides, he practically had an obligation to speak with the star of tonight’s show, didn’t he? Sure, he’d been only sixteen that summer he’d worked as a counselor at Camp Bridle Catch. But he hadn’t forgotten the long days in the saddle, any more than he’d forgotten the green-eyed girl who’d stolen his heart the night they’d slipped away to a carnival in town. He tapped a finger against his lips, recalling the wonder of that first kiss, and the others they’d shared during long nights around the campfire. Though their love hadn’t survived past the summer, he’d followed her meteoric rise on the rodeo circuit. When she’d suddenly retired eight years ago, he’d wondered why. Tonight, he’d finally have a chance to ask Tom Markette about his daughter.

Strictly as one old friend asking about another, of course.

Mitch shot the cuff of a suitably Western-style shirt and checked his watch just as chimes signaled the arrival of the babysitter. Hailey’s little-girl laughter rang through the room. Their tea party abruptly forgotten, she charged toward the front door.

In the entryway, where stick-figure artwork crowded the walls, Mitch motioned Betty Jean into the air-conditioning that made life on Florida’s east coast bearable. The college student was familiar with their routines, so once Hailey calmed down enough for him to get a word in edgewise, he made quick work of the necessary instructions.

“There’s leftover spaghetti, mac ’n cheese, chicken tenders or fish sticks for supper.” He rattled off the list of Hailey’s current favorites. “Cookies for dessert. She can have a couple.” He waited until Hailey’s back was turned to signal that three would be okay.

“I’ll be home before midnight,” he whispered, wary of last-minute objections.

He needn’t have worried.

Betty Jean pulled bottles of glittery nail polish from her backpack, earning herself a big tip and his daughter’s instant devotion. Soon, the girls were chatting like magpies as they cleared away the tea things to make room for a manicure station. And when Mitch bent to deliver the promised good-night kiss, Hailey barely offered her cheek with a, “Bye, Daddy, see ya later,” before asking the babysitter which polish matched her outfit.

Seeing his child engrossed in the girlie stuff he didn’t quite understand, Mitch rubbed at an empty spot in his chest. For the moment, he shoved the feeling aside. But weaving his way through rows of cars parked on a grassy field twenty minutes later, he couldn’t avoid second-guessing his plans for the night. Now that his ex-wife had breezed back into town demanding not just a place in their child’s life, but full custody, should he have stayed home, tried harder to be both mother and father to his little girl?

The heel of one cowboy boot caught a divot in the grass, and his other foot came down hard. The move jarred Mitch, and he smiled, thinking it might have knocked some sense back into him. He was a prominent attorney. He’d worked hard to make a good home for Hailey. While he couldn’t guarantee the judge’s ruling, he could definitely prove he was a better parent than the woman who hadn’t called or visited her child in four years.

His thoughts settled, he stopped by the Boots and Spurs barn, where a band was setting up for the dance following the rodeo. Making his way past scattered hay bales and picnic benches, he dutifully checked out the silent auction part of the fundraising event. This year’s prizes ranged from a dance with one of the rodeo stars to riding lessons. Since Hailey would enjoy the latter, he scribbled down a bid before dropping a generous check in the donation box.

Then it was on to the arena, where he plunged into a milling throng. He bought a bag of freshly roasted peanuts from a vendor, and worked his way toward the stands, chatting with people he knew, greeting some he didn’t. He traded nods with Randall Hill, the county’s district attorney, before taking a seat in the reserved section. Mitch had barely settled into it when a cowboy on a gray horse raced onto the dirt track, quickly wove between several flagpoles, and sped back the way he’d come.

Top-notch entertainment?

Maybe not, Mitch decided as he cracked a few peanut shells. By the end of his summer at rodeo camp, he’d ridden nearly as well. He smiled, remembering how Mandy had taken pity on his inexperience and given him a few pointers on calf roping. He’d spent the next six weeks head-over-heels for her. His thoughts drifted to the stolen hours they’d spent in each other’s arms. The innocence of those days helped keep his fears about the looming custody case at bay. Or so he told himself, until the arena emptied and he realized he’d been so lost in thought he’d missed the warm-up acts.

“We’re sorry to hafta tell ya’ll that Tom Markette can’t be with us tonight,” a voice drawled over the loudspeakers. “But we got a real treat for ya. Takin’ his place is one time-member of the Markette Ropin’ Team and a champ-een barrel racer in her own right…Ma-a-and-y Mar-ket-t-te.”

Mitch searched the ring below. Had he heard correctly? Or had the flood of memories about his first love tricked his ears into deceiving him?

As he watched, an elaborately costumed blonde calmly made her way to the center of the arena astride a large and equally bedecked golden horse. Mitch’s gaze narrowed in on the rider as the pair turned, giving him his first good look at the woman Mandy had become. Gone was the coltish figure of that long-ago summer, replaced by womanly curves. Horse and rider stood still for several long seconds, until a hush fell over the crowd.

Then, without warning, Mandy let loose a rebel yell. Dirt sprayed from the horse’s hooves. The big palomino raced through a dizzying series of figure eights. Coming out of a final turn, the rider called, “Hee-yah!”

Instantly, the horse beneath her surged into a full gallop.

Mitch stared, unwilling to move, hardly daring to breathe. His heart pounded while Mandy danced in the saddle, sometimes standing, sometimes leaning so far over her long braids brushed the ground. When she wheeled for the final run, everyone in the crowd surged to their feet. Mitch scrambled to his, glad for the extra few inches that let him see over those in front.

Below, a broad smile on her face, her arms spread wide, Mandy stood atop the prancing palomino. While the crowd roared in approval, horse and rider raced for the gate.

All too soon the last dirt clod settled to the ground. By the time a rodeo clown stepped into the arena, doffed a ten-gallon Stetson and latched the gate, Mitch’s feet were in motion. With every step he took closer to the barn, his plans firmed. He would attend the dance and talk shop with the law clerks who lingered around the punch bowl. But first, he’d enter a bid in the silent auction. One high enough to win a dance with the star of tonight’s rodeo.

* * *

HEART PUMPING, limbs trembling from the exertion, Amanda slid from Brindle’s saddle, patted the horse soundly and slipped him a couple of well-deserved sugar cubes. The big palomino snorted in pleasure, and she gave him a hug. Together, they had nailed it. Delivered the performance of a lifetime. So what if the ride hadn’t been quite flawless? The applause from the grandstand proved that no one at the Saddle Up Stampede cared if she’d lost her hat halfway through the second cloverleaf. Or nearly lost her footing as she rode out of the arena.

“Be sure you walk him until he cools off.” She handed Brindle’s reins to a waiting stable hand. “Then give him an extra measure of oats and a long rubdown.”

Lucky horse. His work was done. Hers, not so much.

The sawing screech of an out-of-tune fiddle drifted across the parking lot, a reminder of the country dance that would end the evening’s festivities. Her pulse still racing on the high of a near-perfect ride, Amanda spun on a boot heel. The barn, where cowboy hats bobbed on a sea of plaid shirts above straight-legged Levi’s, beckoned.

At a gingham-covered table, she asked about the winning bid for the first dance.

“Great show, Amanda.” The auctioneer beamed. “You musta’ made an impression on Mitchell Goodwin.” He pointed to the dark-haired man who strode toward them from the cashier’s booth.

Mitch? Now, that was a name she hadn’t expected. Memories rose like smoke from the campfire she and Mitch had once cuddled beside. They’d gazed at the stars and talked for hours, and ended up falling in love.

Frowning at her exaggerated version of puppy love, Amanda swallowed a wave of nostalgia. At sixteen, Mitch had been all knobby knees and elbows. Tonight, there was nothing awkward about the man whose long strides brought him ever closer. Laugh lines around his mouth enhanced his broad smile. Her own lips curved upward as she noted his familiar straight nose and high cheekbones, and her breath hitched when their eyes met. His were so deep that, for a moment, she let herself get lost in their azure depths, the way she had one summer night as they stood in line for the Ferris wheel. How had she ever forgotten eyes such a vibrant blue? Or the way his quick smile had once thrilled her heart? She’d kept a diary that summer, each page crammed with inky script, their initials entwined along the edges.

She gave him her best smile. “It’s good to see you, Mitch.”

“Mandy.” His focus never wavered as he extended a hand. “It’s been too long.”

She’d left the nickname behind the day she’d walked away from professional rodeo, but mentioning that now seemed petty. Slipping her fingers into his warm grasp, she was surprised by the pinprick of heartbreak that lingered after all these years. The urge to move closer faded.

Mitch had always had an uncanny way of reading her thoughts. Now, he stepped back, relinquishing his hold. “Well, you’ve certainly come a long way since rodeo camp.”

His slow, appraising glance skimmed over her like a caress.

“I always knew you would. You put on a great show tonight.” His smile widened into a teasing grin. “I guess you hear that all the time.”

“Not so often anymore, but you always did say the nicest things.”

Her sarcasm surprised Amanda almost as much as the embarrassed look that passed quickly over Mitch’s face. Her throat tightened, and she cleared it. His smile had dredged up memories of the kisses they’d shared…and the hurt that had followed. She raced to think of a topic that might steer the conversation away from painful adolescent memories.

“I guess you stuck with the plan and went into law.” She gestured toward the crowd of bar association members who stood around in tight knots, waiting for the dance to start. “What’s your specialty?”

“I’m with the district attorney’s office.”

His answer explained the air of authority he carried on his wide shoulders. She nodded, understanding why they hadn’t run into each other. So far, her work hadn’t required a visit to the courthouse’s criminal division.

Before she had a chance to mention her own practice, the band finished their warm-ups and ran through the opening bars of “Arkansas Traveler.” On the plywood stage, Mark Jansen, president of the bar association, stepped to the microphone. Throughout the barn, chatter quieted, except when someone in the back yelled “Let’s hear some music!” The call echoed off the rafters.

Jansen grinned, waiting until a spate of laughter died down before promising to keep his remarks brief. After assuring everyone that their contributions would appear in the next edition of the Bar News, he revealed the amount they’d raised for charities catering to at-risk children. The evening’s total was impressive enough that several wolf whistles punctuated a round of applause.

“That’s four thousand more than we raised last year. In this economy, you’ve truly outdone yourselves.” He signaled the band. “And now, our own Mitchell Goodwin will lead tonight’s star performer, Mandy Markette, in the first dance. Ya’ll join in, y’hear.”

Her hand tucked in Mitch’s grasp, Amanda followed the good-looking attorney out onto the straw-covered dance floor. She’d barely turned to face him before the fiddle player led them into a slow rendition of “Rodeo Moon.”

“Shall we?” Mitch bowed ever so slightly.

With a reminder that the night was all about charity, Amanda plastered on a broad smile and ignored her misgivings about stepping into Mitch’s arms again. She told herself they certainly wouldn’t fit together as well as they had one long-ago summer. She was a different person from the girl he’d known back then. Plus, in the intervening years Mitch had grown several inches taller. At six-feet-something, he now towered over her compact frame.

But two measures into the waltz, Mitch slipped his arm around her waist. The gentle press of his hand sent familiar tingles up and down her spine.

Struggling to hide a rush of heat, Amanda pressed her cheek to his chest. His woodsy aftershave mingled with a faint powdery smell she couldn’t quite identify. Whatever it was, it triggered a wave of longing for the home her childhood on the road had never included. She inhaled deeper while the singer belted out a song that made the rodeo circuit sound far more romantic than the life she’d known.

All too soon, the notes of the first number faded. Mitch’s smoldering eyes met hers, and Amanda knew with one glance that he wanted to continue their time together. When he motioned toward one of the barn’s big doors, she barely hesitated. She ducked outside, feeling giddy, while he grabbed two cups of punch from a table decked out like a chuck wagon. They moved into the shadows beyond the light that spilled from the door, not stopping until they’d left the acrid odor of several cigarette smokers behind. In a quiet spot, they leaned against a hitching rail.

“I can’t believe you’re really here. I’d planned to ask your dad about you after the show, but seeing you is so much better.” Concern dimmed the light in Mitch’s eyes. “He ever straighten up? Become the father you needed him to be?”

Amanda stifled an angry reply. No matter how much she’d changed, some things remained the same—and her dad was one of them. After her mom died, he’d dumped Amanda in rodeo camp and toured the country, preferring to rope and ride alone than help her deal with her grief. Meeting Mitch had been the only bright spot that terrible summer, and her dad had been the topic of more than one conversation between them.

She rolled her eyes. “He’s still up to the same old tricks. He backed out of the Saddle Up Stampede at the last minute, conned me into riding in his place. How about yourself? Did you go back to Camp Bridle Catch the next year?”

“Nah, that was the last in a long line of summer camps. It was all college prep and internships after that.”

Their lives couldn’t have been more different. For her, the next few years had been about winning a gold buckle in Las Vegas.

Amanda drained the cup Mitch handed her and set it aside. Talking to him brought back all her old hurts. It was as if she’d been asleep for years and had now been shaken awake, her adrenaline pumping for a fight. The urge to give Mitch a piece of her mind warred with the desire to grab him and hug him. She wasn’t sure where to start. In the end, she decided to rip the bandage off by tackling their breakup.

“I waited for you in the stables like we’d planned that last day of camp. You never showed.”

Mitch propped his arms on the top rail beside hers. “I couldn’t. My parents were furious—and probably embarrassed—that Ben and I had gotten into a fight. They refused to listen when I tried to explain. Instead, they marched us to the car. We were halfway to the Grand Canyon before I got a chance to state my case.”

“You never called. Never wrote.”

“I wanted to. I scoured the internet for the Markette Ropin’ Team. What little information I could find was always about where you’d been, not where you were headed. I’m sorry we never got to say goodbye.”

Amanda nodded, finally understanding why Mitch had left her alone and confused and, after an hour, madder than a wet cat.

“What was that all about, anyway? I never understood why you and your brother got into it like that.”

“Guy stuff.” Mitch shrugged. “Teen guy stuff,” he corrected. “Ben made some crack about my hot girlfriend. Before I knew it, he was on the ground and I was standing there, daring him to get up.”

Amanda laughed when Mitch gently elbowed her ribs.

“Oh. So, your brother thought I was hot, did he?”

His quiet “You still are” made her heart beat double time. Not quite ready to pick up where they’d left off as teenagers, she reminded herself that she didn’t know the man he’d become. She changed the subject.

“How’d you wind up in Melbourne? I thought you’d settle in Savannah near your folks.” As a teen, Mitch had talked about joining the family law practice.

“I did for a while. Almost made partner in Goodwin & Sons before…” Mitch’s shoulders straightened. “Things changed. Dad’s firm specializes in defense work. I got one of his clients off on a technicality. Turned out the guy was guilty. The next time he robbed a liquor store, somebody got hurt. I took a job with the state attorney’s office and moved here soon after.”

“Oh.” Amanda sighed. “That must have been rough.” His plans had changed as much as hers had. Back when they’d known each other, she’d wanted nothing more than to become a champion barrel racer and earn her dad’s approval. She’d accomplished one, realized she’d never have the other, and moved on. Once she’d passed the bar, she’d narrowed her search for a new home to places as far off the professional rodeo circuit as she could find. Melbourne, with its growing need for family law specialists, fit the bill.

Mitch gestured toward a faint glow that rose above the distant town. “I’ve been here almost six years. And in the interest of full disclosure, I’m a single dad. Divorced. But my ex-wife has been out of the picture for a long time. So.” He paused a beat. “How ’bout you?”

How about her?

For the past ten months, ever since she’d hung her shingle outside a converted house in the town’s quaint business district, she’d been too busy for relationships, significant or otherwise. A home-school education meant college and law school had demanded every ounce of her concentration. On the rodeo circuit, she’d been the new girl in a different town every week. The locals hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat so, other than that summer, her love life had been practically nonexistent.

But on a warm August night after she’d aced a difficult performance, dredging up her entire history wasn’t on her agenda. Especially not with a tall, handsome man standing at her elbow. She studied his face and rediscovered the tiny dip in his chin that she used to trace with her fingers.

They spent hours reminiscing before she asked, “What do you do in your free time?” She kept her voice light enough to disguise a deepening interest, adding, “Besides attending charity events.”

“Between chauffeuring my daughter around and my work schedule, my spare time is at a premium… Why waste it?”

She couldn’t agree more. As his arm slipped around her waist, Amanda stepped forward. Ever so softly, Mitch brushed his lips across hers. She sighed into his kiss, letting her eyes drift closed. The gentle pressure of his mouth stirred her hunger for more, and when his tongue swept against her lips, she opened to him.

Tasting the sweet punch they’d sipped, Amanda smiled without breaking contact. She rose on tiptoe, her hands languidly stroking Mitch’s broad chest. In response, the teasing flutter of his kisses deepened. She melted against him as music rose from the barn and floated in the air around them.

Amanda breathed in the heady blend of Mitch’s aftershave mixed with the same indefinable something extra she’d noticed earlier. The strangest sensation of coming home filled her being. She gave herself over to the thrill of the moment, the press of Mitch’s hands against her back. She skimmed her fingers over the rough embroidery of his shirt, then buried one hand in his hair. Desire tugged at her core, turning her breath so ragged she barely heard the band leader announce the final dance of the night.

Sounding as breathless as she felt, Mitch groaned and broke their kiss. He gazed into her upturned face.

“We need to put in an appearance,” he murmured. The long fingers of one hand gently tucked an errant lock of her hair into her braid. “How ’bout we pick this up later?”

“Yeah,” Amanda whispered. They weren’t kids anymore, and she placed her hand in his outstretched one, content to follow the evening wherever it led.

By the time they stepped into the barn’s spill of light, the crowd inside had thinned to several dozen couples who swayed to the slow strains of a country ballad. Wait staff circulated among the tables, collecting dishes and utensils. Last call had long since passed. Behind the bar, the bartender loaded boxes onto a dolly.

Eager to return to Mitch’s embrace, Amanda moved toward the dance floor. At the sound of a familiar voice, her footsteps faltered.

“Hate to interrupt.” A decked-out cowboy stepped from the shadows near the door. “We’re pulling out at seven tomorrow. You need to be back from—” his eyebrows wiggled suggestively as he jerked a nod toward Mitch “—from wherever you’re headed, early enough to help with the horses and your gear.”

“Uh-huh,” Amanda said with an easy grin. “The same goes for you, Royce Jackson. Or did I not see you earlier surrounded by adoring fans?” Smothering a laugh, she turned to introduce one of the rodeo circuit’s most renowned practical jokesters to Mitch.

Only Mitch wasn’t smiling.

Gone was the adoring expression of the man who’d been kissing her only moments earlier. A stony look had taken its place. His hand relinquished its hold on hers, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

“Sorry. It’s later than I realized. I have to go. Thanks for the dance, Mandy, and…” Mitch had the good grace to stumble over his words. “Well, good luck.” He turned abruptly, strode across the barn and out the door without so much as a single glance over his shoulder.

“What was that all about?” Amanda stared after the man who was fast making a habit of abandoning her in drafty old barns.

Apparently, Mitch Goodwin hadn’t changed as much as she’d thought since she’d seen him last. Well, she had. And this time she wouldn’t shed any tears for Mr. Hot and Cold.