“On a good day,” Ty joked.
“We heard you were in town.” The man came around from behind the counter carrying a pen and piece of paper. “Name’s Henry Parkman.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, the wife would sure love to have your autograph.”
“No trouble.”
It felt good being asked. The requests for autographs had tapered off since he’d lost at Nationals. Ty preferred to think it was because he hadn’t been competing of late, not that he’d fallen from grace.
As he scribbled his name on the notepad, Henry Parkman produced his cell phone, held it at arm’s reach, leaned in close and snapped a picture of him and Ty.
“For the wife.” He grinned sheepishly. “Anything special I can help you with today?”
“Just browsing.”
“Holler if you need me,” he said to Ty, returning to his place behind the cash register.
Ty gravitated to the back of the store where the saddles and a rather impressive assortment of lariats hung on the wall. Though he wasn’t in the market for another one, he removed several from the wall display and tested them for weight and flexibility.
For reasons he chose not to address, he avoided the Iron Grip Ropes—though it probably had something to do with the face smiling at him from the rope’s cardboard wrapper. Garth Maitland. The man who’d beat out Ty for the championship last December.
“Mr. Boudeau?” The cracking voice belonged to a teenager who bore a striking resemblance to Stick. “Hi.”
“Hate to bother you, sir,” he said, his exceptionally large Adam’s apple bobbing as he talked, “but could I trouble you for an autograph?”
“Are you by chance related to Stick over at Cowboy College?” Ty asked as he signed the kid’s ball cap with a black marker.
The teen’s eyes went wide. “He’s my cousin.”
“Well, he’s a pretty good worker. But don’t tell him I said so.”
“I—I won’t,” the kid stammered, and made a beeline for the door.
Ty wasn’t in the market for a new pair of boots, either, but he checked out the selection just for something to do. The front-door buzzer went off every few minutes as customers came and left. Deciding he could possibly use a new leather belt, he picked one out and headed to the counter.
While he completed his purchase, the door buzzer went off again. Bidding the store owner goodbye, he turned…and came face-to-face with Adele.
“Oh!” She drew back. “Hello. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Just seeing what the town has to offer.” He glanced at the attractive young woman beside Adele, whose stylish clothes and painful looking four-inch heels were more suited to a stroll down Hollywood Boulevard than Main Street in Markton. “I’m Ty Boudeau.”
“This is my friend Reese Carter. She’s engaged t-to…” Adele stammered, then recovered. “She lives on the ranch next door.”
Ty’s chest suddenly constricted, and he cautioned himself not to jump to conclusions. Markton boasted more than one rodeo family; Seven Cedars had more than one neighbor.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, and shook the hand Reese offered. “Are you ladies in the market for horse pellets?”
“We were just killing a little time before going for lunch at the Spotted Horse.”
“They serve food?”
“Surprisingly good food.” Reese smiled brightly.
She sure didn’t look as if she’d grown up on a ranch, not with her high heels and the designer sunglasses propped on her head.
“Well, it was nice running into you.” Adele looked ready to bolt, and clamped on to her friend’s arm. “See you later at the ranch.”
“Would you like to join us for lunch?” Reese asked.
“I’m sure he’s busy.” Adele cut in before Ty could answer.
Because she seemed in such an all-fired hurry to get away from him, he answered, “I’d like that very much. Appreciate the invitation.”
Adele’s mouth, usually lush and pretty, tightened.
Finding her discomfort amusing, Ty followed the ladies to the door and held it open for them. They crossed the street at the corner and went up half a block to the saloon entrance.
Inside, Reese informed the hostess her fiancé would be joining them.
“I’ll show him to your table.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Reese peered past the hostess, her face alight. “Here he comes now.”
Everyone looked over to see a handsome cowboy making his way toward them, his swagger confident.
The same anxiety that had gripped Ty that first day at Cowboy College, the one he thought he’d successfully conquered, returned with a vengeance. Too late, he realized his mistake—he’d misread Adele completely. At the least, he should have asked Reese her fiancé’s name before barging in on her and Adele’s lunch date.
Then he wouldn’t be stuck sitting across the table from the man who had beat him in team and tie-down roping last December, stealing the title of World Champion and the Iron Grip sponsorship deal from him.
EACH BITE OF TY’S Swiss-cheese-and-mushroom burger tasted like paste and sat in his stomach like a lead ball. He couldn’t fault Garth Maitland for his unappetizing meal. The guy had been nothing but decent all during lunch. He always was, even when Ty lost to him at Nationals.
Until then, Ty and Garth had been friendly rivals, getting along well, real well even, when they weren’t competing. Not the same could be said when they were in the arena. Both of them were out to win, and a mutual liking and respect of each other’s abilities went only so far. After losing the title, Ty had kept his distance from Garth. Not because he resented the man; Garth had won fair and square. The problem was Ty’s, who felt he was staring his personal failings square in the face each time he looked at Garth.
The lunch conversation, stilted at first, soon settled into a congenial rhythm, carried mostly by his companions. Ty injected a comment every now and then just to keep anyone from noticing his discomfort.
Except one person did.
“I’m sorry,” Adele whispered under her breath, when Garth and Reese were busy speaking to each other and momentarily ignoring them. “I tried to—”
“Not your fault,” Ty whispered back. They were seated together in the booth, the only positive thing about lunch as far as he was concerned. “It’s okay.”
“Really?” She appeared genuinely distraught.
He flashed his best interview smile, hoping to reassure her. “Really.”
She’d tried to avoid this disaster earlier at the feed store. He had no one to blame but himself.
“What brings you to Cowboy College, Ty?” Reese asked, her demeanor curious but friendly.
Instantly, silence descended on the table. Adele gnawed her lower lip. Garth’s eyebrows raised in curiosity.
Ty got annoyed—with himself and the situation. Okay, he’d lost the world championship title and a profitable sponsorship deal. To the man with whom he’d just eaten lunch. No reason for everyone to act as if he had an incurable disease.
“I apologize if I said something wrong.” Reese looked contrite.
“You