The Bull Rider's Valentine

“We’ll see.” Again, his expression changed, as if he were hiding something.

Ronnie had to ask. “Is Sam the only reason you came?”

He hesitated briefly before saying, “It’s enough of a reason.”

His lack of a real answer worried her.

“Are you and Sam close?”

She’d yet to wrap her brain around the incredible coincidence that her half sister was the daughter of his mom’s best friend. She’d met his parents a few times, naturally, just like he’d met her dad and sisters when they’d visited Mustang Valley. But never his mom’s best friend and certainly not Sam.

“Not especially close,” he said. “I’d see her at holiday dinners and birthday parties. But her mom is a good friend to mine. She helped us a lot after Allan passed.”

Ronnie hadn’t known Nate’s brother; he’d died from cystic fibrosis before she and Nate met. But Nate had frequently talked about Allan and the mark both he and his absence had left on Nate’s life.

“Sam and her parents aren’t getting along too well these days,” Ronnie said. “Did your mom mention that, too? According to Sam, it’s because they don’t support her decision to skip college and become a professional barrel racer.”

“They also weren’t crazy about her running off in search of your dad without mentioning a word to them.”

Ronnie hadn’t been crazy about Sam finding their father, either. Not in the beginning. Learning he’d been involved with a younger woman and had a child with her took a lot of getting used to.

“Trust me,” she said. “The news was a shock to all of us.”

“She’s lucky.” For the first time since Ronnie had reclaimed her hand from his, Nate looked at her. “Not all biological families are as accepting as yours.”

“None of what happened was her fault. We weren’t about to hold the mistakes our respective parents made against her.” A thought occurred to Ronnie. “Did your mom know about my dad? Did you?”

“No. We were as surprised as anyone.”

At that moment, Sam emerged from the stables astride Ronnie’s horse, Comanche. The handsome, muscular gelding might not be Sam’s first choice, but no one could deny the pair made an impression as she trotted him toward the arena. One of the ranch hands, who happened to be in the vicinity, opened the gate for her.

Fortunately, no one else was practicing at this time of day. In another six weeks, when school let out for winter break, Powell Ranch would be packed from morning until evening.

“You ready?” Sam hollered from her position at the south end of the arena.

Nate took out his phone and opened the stopwatch app. “All set,” he hollered back.

Sam studied the cloverleaf course while adjusting her weight in the saddle.

“Take your time,” Ronnie muttered under her breath. “Don’t rush.”

Comanche stared straight ahead, nervously prancing in place. He knew his job and was eagerly awaiting the signal from Sam. The next second, she gave it. Trotting him in a tight circle, she suddenly spurred him into a full-speed-ahead gallop and made for the first barrel.

Ronnie glanced briefly at Nate to confirm what she already knew—that he was timing Sam’s run.

How often had he done the same for her when she’d been practicing? She couldn’t begin to count. During the years they’d been together, he’d supported her tirelessly and without fail.

Until the day she’d miscarried and their world had changed.

Her fault. Entirely. He’d tried hard to make things right by proposing two months later on Valentine’s Day. In her mind, she saw the small, red velvet box and the glittering heart-shaped diamond ring. So very pretty. She’d needed all her willpower to tell him no.

As one would expect, he’d been crushed and unable to accept that their relationship was too broken to fix. But Ronnie had, and two days later, she’d left him and the place they’d shared in Abilene behind, convinced a quick and clean parting was best for both of them.

Sadly, she’d been mistaken. Those dozens of voice mail messages he’d left had been filled with pain and anguish. And for months afterward, mutual friends had had nothing good to report, saying Nate had stopped competing, dropped out of sight and broken the terms of multiple endorsement contracts. By the following year, their mutual friends had had no idea where he was or what had happened to him.

Ronnie had tried telling herself the same thing would have happened regardless of how delicately she’d handled the breakup. Sometimes, she almost believed it. Mostly, she regretted her actions. Nate had done nothing wrong, was, in fact, a great boyfriend and had been deserving of far more from her. She’d been the one consumed by grief and guilt. The one who’d wanted out.

“Whoo-hoo!” Sam gave a loud hoot as she rounded the last barrel and galloped for the finish line.

Head stretched out and tail flying, the Comanche ran for all he was worth. Crossing the finish line, Sam slowed the horse as they passed through the gate, then brought him back around.

Ronnie didn’t have to wait for Nate’s announcement. Instinct, honed from years of competing, followed by years of teaching, told her Sam’s time was in the money.

“Sixteen-point-three-six seconds.” He showed her the phone. “Not bad for a pattern this size.”

“From what Sam has told me, that’s very close to Big John’s time pre-injury.”

“Meaning she can do as well on Comanche as Big John.”

Ronnie pushed off the arena fence. “If she wants. Which she doesn’t.”

“Put yourself in her shoes. What was it like when you competed on a horse that wasn’t yours? It can be intimidating.”

Before Ronnie could respond, Sam trotted over, Comanche’s sides continuing to heave from his exertion. With nimble ease, she jumped off, the reins loosely clutched between her fingers. “How’d we do?”

Nate told her.

She frowned. “Better than I thought.”

“Then why are you mad?”

“I’m not.”

Except, she was. If Ronnie were to guess, she’d say the horse’s more than decent performance hadn’t bolstered Sam’s argument that she needed Big John in order to qualify for Nationals.

Nate pocketed his phone. “You were a little slow changing leads on that last barrel.”

Ronnie had also noticed the lag but refrained from commenting. She and Sam regularly engaged in this same argument. Sam always blamed the horse and did again today.

“It’s not my fault. I have to cue him twice before he changes leads.”

“Maybe you need to practice more. The partnership between horse and rider doesn’t happen overnight. It can take months, years even, to perfect.”

Something else Ronnie had tried to tell Sam, without much success.

“You’re right.” The teenager flashed Nate an apologetic smile. “I can’t help getting impatient.”

What? Ronnie blinked. Had Sam really just agreed with Nate when all she ever did with Ronnie was fight? Increasingly so these last weeks as the competitive season drew nearer and nearer to an end.