The Bull Rider's Son

“He’s just another bull under my care.”

Her gaze was automatically drawn to his scar. She’d seen the pictures posted on their mutual friends’ Facebook pages. The gash, requiring forty-four stitches, traveled from beneath his right ear, down his neck to his chest. Miraculously, Wasabi’s hoof had just missed an artery. Otherwise, Shane might have bled out.

“I’m glad you’re all right.” Her voice unwittingly softened.

Shane responded with a heart-melting smile. No surprise he’d inspired a legion of female fans during his years on the circuit. Was that the reason for Bria’s mother’s secrecy? It wouldn’t surprise Cassidy.

“Not my day to die,” Shane said matter-of-factly.

“All the same, it was a terrible fall. How can you bear to look at Wasabi?” Cassidy still shuddered when she passed the well house, even though the accident involving her and her father happened twenty-five years ago. Like Shane, she’d walked away when things might have gone horribly different.

He shrugged. “He was just doing his job. Like any bull. I didn’t take it personally.”

More charm. He could certainly lay it on thick. And Cassidy was far more susceptible than she liked.

She abruptly stood. “I need to go.”

Reaching for his cowboy hat, he also stood and waited for her to leave first. “Drop by anytime.” The invitation was innocent. Not so his tone, which hinted at something else altogether.

When she spoke, her tone was all business. “If you need something, let me know.”

“How about having dinner with me?”

She blinked. He didn’t just ask her on a date, did he? “I beg your pardon?”

“Your dad mentioned a couple good restaurants in town. I could use someone to show me around. Help me get the lay of the land. Seeing as we’ll be working together—”

She shook her head. “Benjie, my son, has homework tonight.”

“You could bring him along.”

“Thanks, but no. He has enough trouble with school as it is. I’d never get him to finish his homework if we went to dinner first.”

“Maybe another night this week.”

Did the man never give up? “We’ll see,” she said, planning to stall him indefinitely.

Outside the trailer she allowed herself two full seconds to gather her wits before heading to the arena in search of her sister. Should Shane come searching for her, he’d find Cassidy doing exactly what she said, helping with the riding lesson.

Fortunately, Liberty was there, talking to a student’s mother. She finished just as Cassidy approached and met her halfway.

“What’s wrong?” Liberty asked.

Cassidy shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Not a ghost. The brother of one, perhaps. “I was talking to our new bull manager.”

“Shane? Do tell.”

Cassidy planted her hands on her hips. “What does that mean?”

“He’s a nice-looking guy.”

“We work at a rodeo arena. There are a lot of nice-looking guys here.”

“But none of them have ever left you flustered. Didn’t you two date once?”

Cassidy ignored the question. “I’m not flustered. I’m annoyed. I have a lot to do and can’t afford the time it takes to babysit a new employee.”

“Right.” Liberty laughed gaily before turning on her heel and leaving Cassidy to stew alone.

She hated it when her baby sister was right.

Chapter Two (#u2fadd239-0b52-51a4-83b3-261aa682455d)

Seven-point-three seconds into his ride, the young cowboy came flying off the bull’s back. He dropped to his knees as the buzzer sounded, then pitched forward onto his face. Recovering, he pushed to his feet, grabbed his fallen hat and dusted off his jeans, a fierce scowl on his face.

Cassidy couldn’t be sure if he was mad at himself for failing to reach the full eight seconds required to qualify or if he was in pain. Perhaps a little of both. He hobbled slightly on his walk of shame from the arena. Behind him, a trio of wranglers chased the bull to the far end and through a gate. A fourth wrangler swung the gate shut on the great beast’s heels.

Score: bull one, cowboy zero.

“Better luck next time,” a buddy hailed from the fence where he’d been watching.

A second pal slapped the cowboy on the back while a third offered him a bottled water and hearty condolences.

Moving as a group, the two dozen participants from the Tuesday night jackpot slowly made their way to the open area where either their families, friends or pickup trucks waited.

Cassidy switched off her handheld radio and tucked her clipboard beneath her arm. She, too, was almost done for the evening.

Bull-riding jackpots, along with bucking horse, calf roping and steer-wrestling competitions, were popular events at the Easy Money. Especially in the weeks preceding a rodeo. If a participant performed well, he could earn enough winnings to cover his entry fees and perhaps a little extra. If not, well, at least he got in some good practice.

Tonight, Shane had worked closely with Cassidy’s father, learning the ins and outs. He also studied each bull, noting the personalities and traits of those new to him and re-familiarizing himself with those he’d previously ridden.

Cassidy knew this for a fact because she’d taken her eyes off him only long enough to perform her tasks of calling out the participants’ names and communicating with her sister in the announcer’s booth. Even now she had to look away for fear of Shane catching her staring at him with doe eyes. Again. He had already, twice.

Damn, damn, damn. Why did her father have to hire Shane Westcott of all people? She should have said something when she’d had the chance. But, then, she would have had to tell her father why, and that was out of the question.

Okay, Shane was competent at his new job. Cassidy noticed he took time to converse with each cowboy, offering tips and pointers and, more importantly, listening to the cowboy talk about his ride.

Shane entered every piece of information into a small spiral notebook he constantly removed and replaced in his shirt’s front pocket. No fancy-schmancy handheld electronic device for him.

Somehow, Cassidy thought that fitting. Shane didn’t strike her as a high-tech kind of guy. No wonder he and her father got along like twins separated at birth.

They also dressed alike, though Shane’s shirt fit his broad shoulders better and his jeans hugged his narrow hips with drool-worthy closeness.

Stop looking at him!