Читать книгу Her Cowboy Lawman - Pamela Britton - Страница 9

Chapter One

Lauren Danners leaned against one of the five wooden columns that supported the rodeo’s announcer’s stand and tried not to hyperventilate. In front of her—a mere two feet away—a young steer tried to jump out of a rodeo chute. A flurry of voices called, “Watch out, watch out,” around her, but she didn’t look away. She had eyes only for the young boy intending to sit atop the steer—her ten-year-old son.

Please, God. Don’t let him get hurt.

“You know you could always watch from the grandstands,” said a man wearing a black cowboy hat and a commiserating smile. “You could put your head between your legs up there if you feel like you’re gonna vomit.”

She pulled herself out from beneath a haze of panic to note the man had a gold star pinned to the front of his polo shirt, one with the word Sheriff clearly etched into the metal.

“Bren,” someone said, another cowboy, this one older and with a bushy gray mustache that matched the hair beneath his ratty old cowboy hat. “I would have thought for sure you’d be helping out.” He nodded toward the bucking chutes.

“Nah. They’ve got things under control.”

The man beside her sounded like a cartoon character of a Texas lawman. Low drawl. Deep voice. Slow words. But they were in Via Del Caballo, California. A long ways away from Texas.

“You new around here?” asked Bren.

She could barely see Kyle between the half dozen men helping him mount his first rodeo steer. Her son hadn’t looked once in her direction. Not once. She didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved because clearly he’d decided to focus on the task at hand. That was good, because if he’d glanced at her with fear on his face and terror in his eyes, she would have run over to him and ripped him off the dang cow...or steer...or whatever it was called.

“Just moved here,” she admitted, recognizing the words for what they were. A lifeline. A way to distract her from the fact that her son was about to do something she really didn’t want him to do but that his uncle thought would be “good for him.” And now her brother was the one up in the grandstands watching from a distance while she was the one about to throw up.

“He’ll be okay,” said the man next to her. “The steers aren’t half as bad as bulls. That’s why they use them for the junior rodeos. The most they’ll do is buck a few times and maybe run off.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. Run off. With her son strapped to his back. Good Lord, she didn’t need that visual.

“Look, Officer...”

“Sheriff Connelly,” he said, holding out his hand. “Brennan Connelly.”

“Lauren Danners.” She took the hand, and she wasn’t so preoccupied that she didn’t notice how firm his grip was. And that his tan arms had tight cords of muscle running along the length of them, and that dark hair spotted the surface, the ends bleached blond from the sun. Good-looking didn’t even begin to describe him.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Danners.” He tipped his hat, something she’d only ever seen men do in movies.

“Same here.” She smiled as brightly as she could. “But please don’t take this wrong. I appreciate your friendliness, I really do, but talking means I have to open my mouth and I really am afraid I might spontaneously vomit all over the front of you and that would only add insult to injury where this day is concerned.”

His smile grew. A couple feet away, the steer Kyle tried to mount had settled down and the sudden quiet made her stomach turn even more. She’d been hoping they’d let the steer go. That he’d get to try riding another one, a calmer one. Maybe one that was so old it could barely get out of the gate. Obviously not. She stood on a raised wooden dais, one that allowed spectators to peer down into the rodeo chutes, and against her better judgment she took a few steps forward, bringing her so close she could smell the steer and the sweat of the men around her.

“Easy there, Sparky.” Bren placed a hand on her shoulder. She barely noticed. The rodeo announcer told everyone to put their hands together because a local kid new to riding steers was about to make his debut, which meant...

The gate opened.

Kyle.

Her son, her baby boy, shot through the air. He didn’t ride for one second, much less eight, arms akimbo, limbs splayed as he landed on his backside. She knew this because she’d jammed herself up against the edge of the chute without even realizing it, her son in a heap practically at her feet. Then and only then did he look around for her, his eyes catching her own, the grin beneath the metal face guard attached to his helmet unmistakable.

“That was great!”

She turned around and the man behind her caught her. She struggled for a moment because she really did think she would be sick, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“Don’t ruin this for him,” he said softly. “Just breathe. The sickness will go away. He’s all right.”

She clung to him even though she’d just met him, even though a part of her felt outrage that he wouldn’t let her go, even though it took all her strength to do as he asked and breathe.

“Look. He’s getting up.”

She turned. Sure enough, Kyle slowly stood, his beige protective vest, his green shirt and his jeans all covered in mud. In the arena, the steer had already left through the exit gate. Her son waved to the crowd, who applauded in response, and she could swear she heard her brother yell, “Attaboy, Kyle!” all the way from the grandstands.

“I don’t think I can do this again,” she muttered.

She made sure that Kyle really was okay before turning back to the man who stared down at her. She had to have been distracted earlier because this time it hit her. The size of him. The breadth of him. The gorgeous golden-brown color of his eyes. Those eyes gave her such an odd sense of déjà vu that she took a step back, almost falling over the top of the chute.

“Whoa.” His hands caught her shoulders. “Careful there.”

“Sorry.” She forced herself to smile. “I’m a little light-headed.”

Because you almost tossed your cookies.

Nope. Not because of that. She was long past the age of swooning over handsome men, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t acknowledge when one took her breath away. This one did. And he seemed so familiar somehow. As if she’d known him all her life. She’d had the same sensation when Kyle had been born and she’d stared into his eyes for the first time.

“Mom! Are you proud of me?”

It was as if fate had turned on the stereo of her inner musings and called up the voice of her son. Kyle had crawled back over the chute, cowbell clanging, bull rope dangling, a grin she’d seen only on Christmas morning plastered across his face.

“I stayed on for at least a minute.”

She almost laughed. She was too aware of the man standing next to her. Kyle suddenly became aware of him, too, drawing himself up. She’d seen that reaction before. She rarely brought men home, but when she did, it was as if Kyle bristled invisible hair.

“You did great,” Sheriff Connelly said, tapping the top of her son’s helmet.

Kyle jerked the plastic cap off his head, hazel eyes never wavering from Sheriff Connelly. The crowd of men who’d helped had since moved on. They bustled around the next rider as the announcer droned on about something she couldn’t quite catch. Her son’s hair stuck straight up, but instead of the scowl she expected to see, all she spotted was something close to stunned surprise.

“You’re Brennan Connelly.”

Whoa. Wait. What? She knew the name. Her big brother had told her all about the man who’d walked away from the sport of rodeo to join the military. The world champion turned lawman.

“I am,” he said with an easy smile.

“Your poster is hanging on my wall.”

That’s why he looked so familiar. That’s why she’d been taken aback by the eerie sensation that she’d met him before. She had met him before. In her son’s bedroom. Every night she saw this man’s face when she kissed her son good-night, a much younger version, more lean, less...friendly looking, but still devastatingly handsome. If she were honest, she’d gone back to her own bedroom and...

No, no, no. Don’t go down that road. Not now. Not with the real thing standing here in front of you.

“My poster?” Bren asked, including her in his grin. “How the heck did you find one of those?

“I ordered it online. My uncle Jax told me about you. About how you lived close by and about how you won the world championship, but that you walked away from it all right after and became a Green Beret. I looked you up, watched your ride on the internet. It was awesome.”

Green Beret? No wonder the man oozed testosterone.

“These days he coaches our high school rodeo team,” said the same old man who’d greeted him earlier. He patted Bren on the back. “Taken them all the way to the national finals four years in a row. Almost won the whole shebang this year. We would have, too, if Will’s hand hadn’t slipped out of his wrap.”

“You teach kids how to ride?”

It was Kyle who’d spoken and she recognized the tone in his voice. She knew what was coming next, moved to intercept the words. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff Connelly. Thanks for helping settle my nerves.”

“You were nervous?” her son asked before turning back to Brennan. “Can you teach me?”

“Of course he can,” said the gray-haired man Lauren suddenly wanted to kill. He had skin as worn as his blue jeans, but the blue eyes were still sharp as a tack. “Been teaching kids for years.”

“Now, Samson,” Bren said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “This nice young woman doesn’t want my help.”

“I want your help,” said her son. “I really need to learn how to ride, but my mom won’t let me practice because she thinks all bull riders are dumb. Actually, she thinks everything to do with the rodeo is dumb. I’ve been trying to tell her that isn’t true, and that I could get a scholarship or something for college if I’m good enough and that I could make lots of money. Ouch.” Her son jerked away from her. “Mom.”

She hadn’t even realized she’d dug her hands into her son’s shirt.

Earth, just swallow me whole.

When she spotted the amused twitch in Bren’s eyes, she felt her face flame with color, too.

Dumb, huh? his grin seemed to ask.

“Kid’s right,” Samson interrupted with a firm nod. “There’s intercollegiate teams that compete for titles. Sure, it’s not as glamorous as, say, football or basketball, but it’s a good, clean sport.” The man all but wagged a finger at her. “You don’t hear about no bull riders beating up their girlfriends or making money on fighting dogs. Rodeo’s an honorable sport that’s known for turning boys into men. Just look at Brennan here. Rodeo team in college. Went pro for a couple years, then went off to serve his country.”

Oh, dear Lord.

“I know.” She glared at Kyle, silently telling her son they’d have words later. Kyle had the grace to look slightly abashed. “But he’s never ridden anything in his life. We just moved to my brother’s ranch outside of town and now Kyle thinks he’s a cowboy, and I told him it takes more than petting a horse to make you a cowboy. Now he’s got it in his head that he can be a bull rider, and my brother encourages it all. The man all but blackmailed me into entering him today, something I didn’t want to do, because I think he needs to learn how to ride a horse before he can ride a steer, and clearly I was right about that because he didn’t stick on for more than a second today.”

“It was longer than a second,” Kyle protested.

She was rambling, feeling stupid and out of place and, yes, guilty thanks to the look of recrimination on the old man’s face.

“Who’s your brother?” Bren asked.

The question threw her for a moment. “Jax,” she said. “Jax Stone. He owns Dark Horse Ranch.”

She should have known the name would be recognized. If she knew anything about Via Del Caballo, it was that it was a small town and everyone seemed to know everybody.

“That’s that newfangled therapy ranch at the old Reynolds place, isn’t it?” Samson asked. “For army vets.”

“Actually, it’s for veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder, and he only bought a portion of the Reynoldses’ place. He didn’t buy it all.”

But he could have. Her brother could afford to buy pretty much whatever he wanted, like her son’s new bull-riding vest and the helmet, which had been a birthday present to Kyle last month. She’d wanted to kill her brother at the time, only she’d spotted the pride and joy and excitement on her son’s face, emotions she hadn’t seen since before Paul had died.

“I’ve heard a lot of good things about Jax Stone,” Bren said. “Been meaning to drive over to his place and introduce myself.”

“You could do that today,” Kyle said excitedly. “He’s here at the rodeo.”

“I’m sure Mr. Connelly has more important things to do than meet my brother,” Lauren said gently, forcing a smile.

“Actually, I don’t.”

She should have known he’d say that.

“Mom, pleeeease?” Kyle begged. “Let’s go over there right now, ask him what he thought about my ride.”

The announcer’s voice grew loud again and they all turned to watch as a steer burst from the chutes, its rider clinging to its back. One jump, two, three. The steer bucked left and then right, the kid never once losing his grip.

“That’s Pete Hale, one of Bren’s students,” Samson said. “Gonna make it big if he keeps this up.”

The air horn blew. The boy made it look as if he hopped off a carousel horse. Kyle’s hand found her own. She glanced down, and she saw it then. The hope. The desire. The need to be good at something when he’d only ever been bad at sports. Too short for basketball. Too skinny for football. Perfect for riding steers.

Don’t ruin this for him.

She’d been angry about Bren Connelly saying that, but he’d been right. If her son had seen how badly she’d been affected by his ride, he might have realized just how much she didn’t want him riding. He’d give it up for her. He was that kind of kid. Always had been—even before Paul’s death.

Damn it.

“All right. Let’s go.”

“Awesome!” Kyle cried.