She could pay her mortgage, maybe pay it off sooner that she needed to. Maybe she could even buy a bigger house.
And she could pay medical bills, her mother’s medical bills from her recent cancer treatments and her brothers’ from their sports injuries.
It seemed like a good plan. She’d just have to stay away from Reed and all the distractions that came with him.
Easy, right?
Reed wondered why Callie seemed so nervous.
When he’d put his hand on her shoulder, he’d thought she was going to jump as high as Cowabunga.
He’d just felt as if he’d known her forever, which was true. He remembered her shyness that first day of school at the huge building his ancestor Charlie Beaumont had erected for grades kindergarten through twelve. Everyone growing up in Beaumont went to that brick monstrosity on the hill. The next nearest school was in Waterville, a three-hour drive away.
That first day, Callie had clung to the wall like a coat of paint. Reed had taken her hand and led her to a seat because, as a member of the First Family of Beaumont, that’s what he did.
Reed wondered if Callie remembered that.
They’d kept a friendship brewing until a month before high school ended. They’d been inseparable that short summer until he’d left for the PBR.
He’d gone on the circuit; she’d stayed.
Could they pick up where they’d left off?
That was unrealistic. That bull had left the chute.
Callie never talked much about her problems. However, gossip had swirled when the story about her father taking up with a rich, older woman, Tish Holcomb, and leaving his family with a lot of credit card debt got around town.
In contrast, Reed’s life was an open book. He was usually in the spotlight due to his world ranking with the PBR. To him, there wasn’t a question that was off-limits, other than the name of who he was dating.
There were always a lot of women hanging around him whenever he went out or whenever he was autographing. Truth be told, he’d rarely dated. He was too busy keeping his rank. Every minute of his life was devoted to becoming a better bull rider.
He loved traveling with his brothers on the circuit—they had a lot of laughs and traded riding tips—but he definitely wanted to win the PBR Finals. To expedite his goal, he jogged. He worked out. He rode practice bulls, and while other riders, including his little brother, Jesse, were partying, Reed was doing yoga and pushups in his hotel room.
If he’d partied like Jesse, he couldn’t ride the next morning. Maybe it was because Jesse was two years younger.
It was Reed’s turn to win the Finals. He wanted to get out from under Luke’s shadow. Maybe he’d catch a break and Luke wouldn’t return to the PBR after his honeymoon.
No. He’d rather beat him fair and square.
Luke was riding high. He’d married the woman of his dreams, Beaumont Sheriff’s Deputy Amber Chapman just after the World Finals in Vegas last November. With seven months of marriage under his belt, Luke was riding high with Amber.
Reed constantly wondered when it would be his turn to fall in love with a special person, like Luke had. No matter how much he loved riding bulls, he’d give it all up in a heartbeat to start a family.
He longed to model his kids’ childhoods with the one he’d had. He and his brothers had had the whole Beaumont Ranch as their playground. They’d ridden horses, bikes, ATVs and various ranch equipment. The cowboys who worked the ranch had told them stories about the “golden days” of the Beaumont Ranch.
Those had been the carefree days...before his mother had died.
When Valerie Lynn was kicked in the head by a horse over three years ago and died, his family had never been the same. His father, Big Dan, had developed an alcohol problem and was now a ghost of his former robust self.
Big Dan hadn’t wanted the ranch repaired and fixed to the way it had been. He’d wanted it left the same as the second his beloved wife died. It had been left the same, until Hurricane Daphne hit soon after. Then Big Dan was about to lose the ranch to taxes.
That was when the Three Musketeers had stepped in, pooled their money and become the owners of the ranch.
He marveled at the comfortable silence between Callie and him. Any other woman would find it necessary to fill the quiet with mindless chatter.
Reed was simply content to ride through Beaumont with Callie, seeing old haunts and marveling at new construction—new to him at least.
His stomach growled and Callie laughed. “I think you’ll like Poppa Al’s Restaurant, Reed. Their specialty is chicken parm. It’s delicious.”
“Chicken parm sounds good to me,” he said.
They both got out of the car and, as he retrieved his crutches, he cursed the famed Cowabunga under his breath for his damaged knee.
“What’s the matter?” Callie asked. “You doing okay?”
“I’m sick of these crutches already. I could go without them, but it hurts like the devil. Hell, it hurts like the devil with them.”
“Then use the crutches, Reed.” Callie jogged a few steps ahead and opened the door to make it easier to pass through.
He walked through. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
A man came out from behind the bar, took Reed’s hand and began pumping it. “Well, if it isn’t Reed Beaumont, the great bull rider! It’s about time you visited my place.”
It took a split second for Reed to recognize Alphonse Giacomo. They’d played football together on the high school team. According to the Beaumont Bulletin, which he read online to keep current with the happenings of his hometown when he was on the road, Al had gone on to play professionally, but an injury had forced him to retire.
“And Callie Wainright!” He pulled Callie into a big bear hug. “It’s good to see you again. My Susan was just talking about hiring you to keep our books straight. She doesn’t trust me to do it correctly and thinks we’re going to land in federal prison. That’s my wife, five feet three inches and one hundred twenty-five pounds of total worry.”
They all laughed.
“Have her call me.” A business card appeared in Callie’s hand and she held it out to Al. He took it and slipped into the pocket of his checked pants.
“We’ll call you for sure, Callie.”
“So, you’re Poppa Al?” Reed asked, adjusting his crutches.
“Guilty as charged. I only wanted to open a spumoni stand, but look at this!” He spread his arms wide to show how big his place was. “I can hold two wedding receptions at the same time—or one huge one.”
Al looked from Callie to Reed and back again. His thick black eyebrows rose as he rubbed his hands together in glee. “So, are you here to book your wedding?”
“Uh...um...” Callie began, a blush starting on her neck then settling on her cheeks. “No.”
Reed just laughed. “We’re here for your chicken parm.”
“You’ll love it,” Al said. “I make it from scratch. And I’ll make you an antipasto to share. It’s on the house. Now sit. Sit in the first booth. It’s very romantic.”
Al disappeared through swinging metal doors and Reed turned to Callie. “Shall we sit in the romantic booth?”
Callie shrugged.