The Bull Rider's Son

As if reading Cassidy’s thoughts, her mother said, “You weren’t the reason I divorced your father.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Really?”

“He was a drunk. If you hadn’t divorced him, he’d have driven the arena into bankruptcy. I may have been ten, but I remember. Everything.”

The smell of alcohol clinging to him like a layer of heavy sweat. Finding him passed out in the back of his pickup truck behind the barn. Or on the living room couch if he managed to stagger inside. Once in the middle of the kitchen floor. Twice in the chaise lounge on the back patio when her mother had banished him from the house.

Worst of all were the outbursts, which, to this day, still rang in her ears. The yelling. The fights. The breaking down into gut-wrenching sobs, his and her mother’s. The constant apologies.

“He regrets the accident.”

Cassidy wheeled on her mother. “He could have killed me. And himself.”

“I’m not defending him.”

“Sounds like you are.” She wiped at the tears springing to her eyes, angry at herself for letting her emotions get the best of her.

“What’s important is that you weren’t hurt. Either of you. Just scared. No less than I was, trust me.”

Memories surfaced. They were never far away. Especially since her father’s return.

One night, shortly before her parents’ marriage imploded, her father fetched her from a friend’s house when her mother couldn’t get away. The people lived less than a mile away. Nonetheless, he shouldn’t have been driving. Cassidy refused to go with him at first. When he raised his voice, she acquiesced rather than have him cause a scene in front of her friend.

Misjudging the distance, he ran the truck into the well house. Granted, they weren’t going fast, twenty-five miles an hour at most, and the well house suffered the most damage. There was a small dent on the truck’s front fender. Cassidy’s seat belt saved her from injury.

When the truck rolled to a stop, she jumped out the door and sprinted the entire way to the house, yelling at her mother to make her father leave. Two weeks later, her mother did.

At first Cassidy had been glad. Good riddance. Then, seeing how miserable her mother and brother were, she was consumed by guilt. The feeling intensified when, two years later, Ryder left. When she was older, she’d wondered if her reaction to the accident had driven her mother into the arms of another man within days after her father left. Learning that was all a lie had affected Cassidy more than she let on.

“I put up with the drinking and the bad business decisions,” her mother continued. “But I couldn’t let him endanger my children. Once the trust is gone, there’s no getting it back.”

“You trust him now. At least, you act like you do. You let him purchase the bulls when you swore we’d never own them again.” And that purchase had led her father to hiring Shane.

“There’s no letting or not letting,” her mother said. “We’re partners. An arrangement requiring give and take on both sides.”

“What did he give?” From where Cassidy stood, her mother had done all the compromising.

“He agreed to put money aside for Benjie’s college education.”

Cassidy was taken aback, especially when her mother named the amount.

“His own personal money,” her mother added. “Not the arena’s.”

She quickly recovered. “He can’t buy my affections. Or my forgiveness. And he can’t buy off his responsibility for what happened.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he’s simply doing something nice for his grandson? He does love the boy. And Benjie adores him.”

He did, which rankled Cassidy to no end. “I’ll tell him no.”

“You can’t stop him. It’s his money. He can do with it what he wants. And when the time comes, Benjie can accept it, with or without your consent.”

Cassidy liked that less.

During these past six months her life had been slowly spiraling out of control. First her father returned. Then both her siblings met their future spouses. Lastly her father had hired Shane.

Cassidy vowed anew to keep her son from his uncle’s path as much as possible. The benefit would be twofold. In addition to keeping the identity of Benjie’s father a secret, she’d quell this wild and inexplicable attraction to Shane. Anything else was unacceptable.

* * *

“ATTA BOY,” SHANE CROONED. “Steady now.”

Wasabi swayed from side to side, but managed to remain standing—which was a good thing. If the bull collasped onto all fours, his massive weight could compress his lungs and cut off his breathing. It was imperative that every move be precisely executed, every step accomplished at the exact right moment or Wasabi might die.

“We’re done,” Doc Worthington said, visibly relaxing as the tranquilizer took effect.

Getting the bull sedated had been a tricky process, to say the least. With few choices, and to be as humane as possible, the Becketts’ vet had used a tranquilizer gun, aiming the feather-tipped dart at Wasabi’s muscular hind-quarters. The bull hadn’t felt a thing.

Turned out, the initial dose hadn’t been strong enough, and the vet had to administer a second one, which had worried Shane. Stress and excitement could cause the tranquilizer to run through the bull’s system at an incredible rate. Shane had once seen a bull require five doses.

Now, he carefully monitored the entire procedure from his place beside the wizened country vet. So far, so good, and his respect for the older man grew.

Two of the arena’s most capable wranglers had been recruited to act as spotters, along with Mercer. If Shane appeared to be in any trouble during the bull’s massage therapy, they’d jump right in. Shane was glad for their presence. Despite his show of confidence, this type of therapy was relatively new to him. A phone call yesterday with the bovine sports medicine specialist had yielded some helpful advice.

The older veterinarian considered Shane a bit crazy to take this on, especially since he had limited experience.

Yes, there were risks. In more ways than one. Shane might get injured, or, worse, he could make a fool of himself in the eyes of his new employer and possibly lose his job.

“You ready?” Mercer called from the sidelines.

“Let’s do it.” Taking a fortifying breath, Shane crawled through the fence rails.

“There’s still time to tie him up.”

“I don’t want to upset him more than he already is.”

Shane didn’t have long. Twenty minutes at most before Wasabi came out of the sedation. No telling how the bull would react. Dazed and disoriented, he’d likely attack the nearest object with horns or hooves. In this case, Shane.

Straightening, he surveyed his surroundings before slowly approaching Wasabi. A small crowd had gathered to watch from a safe distance, Cassidy among them. Their gazes briefly connected before Shane looked away. He couldn’t afford any distractions, and Cassidy was a big one.

Since their encounter in the trailer four days ago, it seemed as though she’d made it her mission to avoid him. Often, like at last night’s bull riding jackpot, he’d sensed her presence, only to turn and find her staring at him or, more often, quickly averting her head.

She was obviously drawn to him, if nothing else, out of curiosity. And the feeling was mutual.

Why, then, did she run for the hills every time he approached? Her behavior just piqued his interest further, and Shane wasn’t a man to be put off indefinitely.

“Watch it,” Mercer hollered when Wasabi opened his bleary eyes and swung his head clumsily to the side. Mercer, along with the two wranglers, had formed a circle around Wasabi and Shane. “Maybe you should dose him again,” he said to the vet.