A Cowboy Comes A Courting

He took a good look at the woman who’d affected him so. Truth be told, Skye looked a little tipsy. There was a dazed, uncertain look clouding those big blue eyes. Her lips parted slightly as she sucked in a deep breath. The action stretched the material of her T-shirt against her generous curves, making his mouth go dry and his body ache with a new awareness.

He reconsidered that second kiss.

But before he gave in to temptation, he had the good sense to look up and catch Gus’s eye. His mentor, the man he respected more than anyone else in the world, was watching him with the guarded expression of a hawk about to swoop down and attack.

Giving what he hoped was a nonchalant smile, Tyler tipped his hat in mock salute. “Thank you, ma’am. If that doesn’t bring me a little luck, I don’t know what will.”

Then, without a backward glance, he strode away, carrying with him the memory of Skye’s good-luck kiss.

Until Diablo demanded his full attention.

Moved from the holding pen into the bucking chute, the bull looked raring to trample any fool who dared to climb aboard. That fool being himself, Tyler mused. When his turn was announced, he settled himself onto the bull’s back. Tuning out the noise of the arena, he slipped his gloved hand through the handhold, palm upward. Then, once, twice, he wrapped the end of loose rope across his hand, strapping himself to eighteen hundred pounds of molten energy. As he prepared for his ride, the bull’s loose hide twitched restlessly beneath him.

Tyler knew that the fury called Diablo was about to be unleashed.

Not wanting to delay the inevitable, Tyler nodded to the gate tender. The gate burst open. Diablo took a fraction of a second to glance around. Then, with a roll of his eyes, the bull arched his back and threw himself sideways out of the chute.

Struggling for balance, Tyler dug in his spurs and tried to center himself on Diablo’s back, avoiding the worst of the seesaw bucking action. As the bull rounded for another jump, Tyler squeezed the rope in a death grip, trying his best not to get thrown off. The urge to grab ahold and hang on for dear life nearly overwhelmed him. Somehow, he had the presence of mind to keep his free hand up and out of the way as required.

Like the devil himself., Diablo tried a new method to pull him under. He made a sharp turn to the left and began to spin. The world swirled around him, faster and faster until Tyler felt as though he were about to be sucked into an invisible whirlpool of motion.

Then just as quickly as he began, Diablo stopped his spin. He kicked his heels and began to buck once again. With a snort and a bellow of indignation, the bull tried to toss him off his back. Tyler felt every hop, every bounce, every jolt in his clenched, aching muscles. His spine felt as though it were being raffled apart.

Then, just when he thought he could endure no more, the horn sounded. His eight seconds of hell were over.

Tyler released his grip on the bull rope. With his free hand, he loosened the tight wrap around his riding hand. A final buck sent him flying off the back of the bull. He landed hard, the breath knocked out of him. He lay stunned on his back, wondering if he’d ever be able to move again.

Nearby, Diablo snorted. He lowered his massive head and pawed the dirt, preparing for a final charge.

Tyler forced his aching body to move. Rolling over onto his side, he hopped up and scrambled for the fence.

Two clowns jumped into the line of fire. Running, hollering and whistling, they distracted Diablo long enough for Tyler to make it to safety.

A cheer rose from the arena.

Tyler knew he’d had the best ride of the night. If only his braised muscles would let him enjoy the moment

A small group of well-wishers gathered around him. His gaze darted around, seeking the face of the woman he knew he’d be better off forgetting. With a sigh of relief, he spotted her in the crowd. Slowly, he made his way to Skye’s side.

“Best ride of the night,” she said, sounding only slightly impressed.

He shrugged, resisting the urge to brag. “Yeah, well, tonight’s just the qualifying rounds. Tomorrow’s the finals.” Leaning his aching weight against the fence for support, he angled a glance at her, his gaze lingering on her full lips. “I guess I couldn’t talk you into coming tomorrow night, could I? I sure could use a lucky charm.”

She frowned. “Lucky charm?”

He nodded. “It was your kiss that brought me good tuck.”

“Tyler., I hardly think—”

“Hey, don’t knock a cowboy for his superstitions,” he said, grinning. “So what do you say, care to join me for another night at the rodeo?”

Indecision flickered in her blue eyes.

Tyler’s breath caught. He’d be damned, but he almost believed she was tempted. As the male in him considered the possibilities time with Skye might offer, the sensible side of him panicked at the thought of her saying yes. He wasn’t looking for an emotional involvement. He had enough problems in his life to deal with already. Tangling with Gus’s daughter was one mistake he didn’t need to make.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Tyler,” she said finally. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a lot of things on my mind right now. What with the trip home, cleaning up the ranch house, my thesis—”

“And Ralph,” he reminded her.

A tinge of embarrassed color touched her cheeks. “Yes, of course...Ralph, too.”

“Just my luck. Find my lucky charm, only to learn it belongs to someone else,” he said, with the exaggerated sigh of a man who knew he’d been given a reprieve. He straightened from the fence, flexing his shoulders, trying not to cry out with each painful movement. “Oh, well, I guess I’ll just have to tough it out without you.”

“Don’t worry, Tyler,” she said with a shake of her head. “I have a feeling you’re the kind of man who can land on his feet...no matter what the circumstances.”

Tyler looked at her in surprise and was struck with the uncanny feeling that, with her refusal, he’d been luckier than he’d first thought.

Despite the years they’d been apart, Skye knew him all too well.

Chapter Two

“His lucky charm,” Skye muttered, rattling a stack of research papers in her fisted hand. “What does he think I am? A Kewpie doll?”

Silence was her only answer in the empty house. After years of living in the city, she had to reacquaint herself with the quietude of the country. Her nearest neighbor was Jack, an old family friend who managed the ranch and looked after her father’s horses. He lived in a small house a few miles from the ranch house. Too far for a pop-in visit whenever she got lonely. It wasn’t any wonder that, with nothing else to distract her, her mind wandered to Tyler’s unforgettable image.

“Why am I wasting my time thinking about Tyler Bradshaw?” she growled. “I’ve got work to do.”

After a day of unpacking and settling in, she’d had an early dinner then taken a cold shower to cool off. She’d dressed in the most comfortable outfit she could find—a blue tank top and a pair of short white cutoffs—and seated herself at the dining room table to put in a few hours of work on her paper.

The problem was...she couldn’t concentrate.

A soft breeze stirred the air, lifting the lace curtains, doing little to relieve the stifling heat. Skye lifted a cube of ice from her iced tea and pressed it against the back of her neck. In all her years of living in Texas, she couldn’t remember a summer being quite so hot. She felt as though she were melting from the inside out, like a mushy ice cream bar.

Water from the ice cube dripped onto her research papers, splotching the printed ink with a big, fat drop.

Skye moaned and rose from the table, taking her glass of tea with her. Tossing the ice cube in the kitchen sink, she returned to the living room, plopped herself down onto the frayed chintz couch and picked up the TV’s remote control. Mindlessly, she flipped through the meager offering of channels on the tube. Baseball, reruns, news...and the rodeo.

“Switch the channel,” she told herself. There was nothing at the rodeo to interest her. Nothing, and no one. She lifted the remote control, her finger poised on the channel button, ready to turn off this spectacle of male machismo, but she couldn’t find the strength to do it.

Last night had been the first time in years that she’d been to a rodeo. She’d forgotten how they intrigued her, in a discomforting sort of way. Like a bypasser unable to stop gawking at the scene of an automobile accident, she just couldn’t turn away.

While in college, she’d divorced herself from the life her father loved. She’d logically, morally and intellectually convinced herself that cowboys and the rodeo in which they lived exemplified all that was wrong with the world. They were risk takers. They were reckless and vain, so caught up in winning a purse and proving they were the best, that they forgot the families who loved them and were waiting for them at home.

Skye sighed, knowing that the root of her own troubled childhood was showing. That the resentment toward her father and the life he’d chosen over her mother and herself was influencing her judgment. But she couldn’t help herself. In her heart, the rodeo and emotional pain would always be irrevocably interwoven.

Which didn’t make her sudden interest in the rodeo and, in particular, a certain cowboy any easier to understand.

“Skye, Skye, Skye,” she murmured to herself. “You’ve got enough trouble in your life. Don’t go looking for more.”