“Ladies and gentlemen, hold tight to your hats as we kick off our bull riding event!”
Shannon donned her Kevlar vest then put on her face mask and riding glove. She rubbed resin on the leather as rodeo helpers loaded Dead End into the chute.
“Up first this afternoon is talented cowgirl Shannon Douglas.” The fans hooted and hollered and a few waved pink posters with Shannon’s name on them.
A group of cowboys nearby stared. Most of her competitors welcomed her in the male-dominated sport, but there were a few who felt threatened by her presence.
“Shannon Douglas from Stagecoach, Arizona, is about to battle Dead End, a bull from the Kindle Ranch in Las Cruces, New Mexico. This cowgirl’s gonna have her hands full!”
Before approaching the chute, Shannon closed her eyes and pictured herself riding the bull to the buzzer, and then she imagined her dismount—a solid landing before making a break for the rails. Her sponsor didn’t care if she won, but Shannon did. She never entered the chute without believing she’d make the buzzer.
Showtime. When she straddled Dead End, the bull balked and attempted to rear so she lifted off his back.
“Looks like Dead End wants nothing to do with Shannon,” the announcer said.
The JumboTron showed a close-up of her and the bull. When Dead End became feisty again, forcing her off a second time, a collective gasp rippled through the stands. C.J. grasped her shoulder and whispered, “Thought I’d act like a concerned boyfriend.”
“Back away, C.J. You’re not helping.” She’d ridden her share of uncooperative bulls before, but something felt off about Dead End, and she worried the ride wouldn’t go the way she wanted.
Third time’s a charm. She eased onto the bull and secured her grip, then nodded to the gate man. Dead End bolted into the arena.
The first kick was powerful and thrust Shannon forward, but she hung on. Then the bull spun, and the arena became one big blur of color before her eyes. The seconds ticked off inside her head...four...five...
Dead End switched directions so quickly that Shannon didn’t have time to adjust and she fell into the well—the inside of the spin. She hit the ground hard, but sprang to her feet and raced for the rails, trusting the bullfighters to intercept Dead End if he gave chase. Helping hands grasped her arms and lifted her to safety.
“There you have it folks, Dead End won that round against Shannon Douglas. Maybe next time, cowgirl.”
Back in the cowboy ready area, C.J. said, “I’m taking the lead today.” He swatted her backside with his hat and the fans cheered as their interaction was displayed on the JumboTron.
“Folks, all-around cowboy C. J. Rodriguez is up next. As you know, he’s traveling the circuit with Shannon.” The announcer whistled. “They’re a pair of regular bull-ridin’ lovebirds.”
The audience cheered and it was all Shannon could do to keep smiling when C.J. put his arm over her shoulder and preened for the camera.
Chapter Three
“Your sister’s worried about you. You’ve been MIA for over twenty-four hours.”
The last thing Johnny wanted to do was confess his whereabouts the previous night to his brother-in-law. The memories of his rendezvous with Shannon churned his stomach after spending most of today at the Triple D with her father. Talk about uncomfortable—he hadn’t even been able to look his boss in the eye when asked if he’d watched Shannon ride at the Gila Bend rodeo.
“’Bout time Dixie worried a little.” Johnny climbed the farmhouse steps and strolled to the opposite end of the porch where Gavin Tucker sat on the swing. Leaning a hip against the rail he said, “Now she knows what I went through all those years keeping track of her.”
“Must be tough being the eldest,” Gavin said.
“At least you took one of my siblings off my hands.” From an early age Johnny had felt a sense of responsibility for his siblings. He recalled a middle school psychologist once telling him that he should start acting like a brother instead of father. He’d thought the woman was nuts, but he’d never forgotten that conversation and at times wondered if his need to protect and guide others was rooted in a suppressed desire for his own father to show interest in him.
“You look tired.” Johnny guessed nightmares were robbing the former soldier of sleep. Dixie had told him that her husband had been diagnosed with PTSD after he’d served in Afghanistan, and a few mornings when Johnny had left the bunkhouse before dawn he’d found Gavin asleep on the porch swing.
“Did Dixie tell you Shannon Douglas’s father offered me the foreman’s job at the Triple D?”
“She did. Congratulations. When do you start?”
“Not until the end of the month. I was over there today helping Clive train a cutting horse.”
“Are you quitting the rodeo circuit?”
“I’m cutting back on events until I get a handle on running the Triple D.”
The squeak of the screen door interrupted the men and Dixie stepped onto the porch. She smiled at Johnny. “I thought I heard your voice.” She joined her husband on the swing, curling up against his side. “Did you see Shannon yesterday?”
He wished he could blame his serious lapse of judgment last night on Dixie’s insistence he check up on Shannon at the rodeo. But he was a big boy, and no one had forced him to follow the lady bull rider into her motel room.
“Shannon didn’t make it to eight on her bull but she’s fine.” Uncomfortable with the conversation he pushed away from the railing. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”
“Wait. The other day you never said whether or not Charlene was moving into the foreman’s cabin with you.”
He might as well get this over with. “Charlene and I broke up.”
Dixie gasped. “What happened? You two have been together forever.”
Gavin kissed the top of Dixie’s head. “Think I’ll grab a bite to eat.” He disappeared inside the house.
“You’re not leaving until you tell me what happened.” Dixie patted the empty spot next to her.
When had his baby sister become so bossy? He sat down. “This feels weird—you listening to my problems.” In the past, he played the role of Dear Abby.
“I’m sorry about Charlene.” Dixie hugged him.
Through the years Johnny had been the hugger, consoling his siblings when their grandparents had been busy with the farm or their mother had been out of town chasing the next love of her life. Johnny had grown to resent his mother for putting her own wants and needs before her children’s and when Aimee Cash had passed away the day before his eighteenth birthday, he hadn’t shed a tear. How could he cry for someone he’d barely spent any time with?
“Why did you two break up?” Dixie asked.
He repeated his standard line—because it sounded good. “Charlene and I have been growing apart for a while.”
“It’s my fault.”
“How’s that?”
“You were worried about me when I got pregnant last summer, then I miscarried and I was such a mess that you wouldn’t leave me alone for a minute.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Dix. I ignored the writing on the wall.” And Shannon had been his wake-up call.
“What do you mean?”
“You put years into a relationship, then one day you look at the other person