No Ordinary Cowboy

Tony? Her heart slammed against her rib cage. It had been two years since she’d stood this close to Tony Bravo, and his masculine scent—a hint of soap, cologne and pure male musk—brought back memories of the clandestine hours she’d spent in his arms in the months prior to her brother’s death.

She licked her lips nervously, and his brown eyes narrowed.

“You okay?” He gave her shoulders a little shake.

“I’m fine.” The heat from his touch sent tiny shivers racing down Lucy’s spine as she lost herself in Tony’s gaze. The man had the sexiest eyes—dark chocolate irises that blended seamlessly with black pupils beneath long lashes. She could easily fall into the bottomless depths and never find her way out. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.”

He released her and removed his hat then ran his hand over his short black hair. “You here alone?” he asked.

The guarded question didn’t surprise her. Not after her father had directed the sheriff to bar Tony from the church during her brother’s funeral.

“Yes, I’m by myself.” She sucked in a deep breath, immediately regretting the action when another whiff of Tony’s tantalizing scent went straight to her head. “Are you competing today?”

“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and a tiny ache gripped Lucy’s heart. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d woken in the wee morning hours to find Tony watching her with the same hint of a smile curving his lips. Michael’s death had torn them apart, and when Lucy had needed Tony the most, he’d disappeared. After the shock of her brother’s passing had worn off, she acknowledged that things had worked out for the best between them. If Tony learned what she’d done—rather, didn’t do—the night Michael had died, he wouldn’t want to be with her anyway.

“How’s the Pony Express business?” he asked.

“Fine.” The moment felt surreal as they chatted about mundane things, when it felt like only yesterday that they’d been madly in love and crazy for each other. “How’s the border patrol business?” Tony was one of the good guys—an agent for the Yuma Border Patrol Station.

“Good.” His gaze drifted down her body, stalling on her breasts before descending to her toes and reversing direction. Was Tony recalling the times she’d waited for him in his motel room when he and Michael traveled the circuit?

“How’s your mother?” Lucy asked. Maria Bravo worked as a waitress at the Fiesta Travel Stop between Yuma and Stagecoach.

“Fine.”

Okay. Everything and everyone was fine. There was nothing left to say, but Lucy couldn’t summon the strength to move her feet toward the exit. “Is your mother still volunteering with Meals on Wheels?”

Tony nodded.

“I’m glad she’s keeping busy,” Lucy said. Tony’s father, a U.S. Immigration and Customs agent, had been killed in the line of duty when Tony was a baby. Antonio Bravo had gotten caught in the crossfire of a botched drug deal near the border. Rather than return to her hometown of Nogales, Mexico, Maria, a Mexican immigrant at the time of her husband’s death, had become a U.S. citizen and had raised Tony in Arizona.

Conversation stood at a standstill.

“I’d better go,” Tony said. “I’m first out of the chute this afternoon.”

“Good luck with your ride.”

“I drew Swagger. Should be interesting to see who struts their stuff better—Swagger or me.” He settled his hat on his head and touched a finger to the brim then disappeared among the milling cowboys.

Lucy made it to the exit then did an about-face and returned to the stands, finding a seat on the bleachers near the chutes. Memories pinched her heart, but she couldn’t make herself leave—not after running into Tony. She’d believed she’d put their short affair behind her, but seeing him today had unsettled her and awakened a need for answers—answers she feared would open Pandora’s Box.

“Ladies and gentlemen, now that the chuck wagon competition has ended, we’re ready for the final event of the day. And don’t forget the barbecue and music jamboree following the rodeo.”

A group of young women wearing pink leather shorts and fringed halter tops strutted in front of the crowd waving signs that advertised the local restaurants competing in the barbecue cook-off.

“Folks, Tony Bravo is up first in the men’s bull-riding event. Bravo hails from Stagecoach, Arizona.”

The stands erupted in applause and boot stomping, and there were sexy whistles from a group of buckle bunnies near the chutes. What woman wouldn’t find Tony’s tanned skin, jet-black hair and muscular physique sexy?

“Turn your attention to chute seven. Bravo’s coming out on Swagger, a five-year-old Charbray from the Swanson Ranch near Alpine. Only one cowboy has ridden Swagger this year. Let’s see if Bravo tames this wild bull.”

Hands clasped tightly in her lap, Lucy watched Tony prepare for his ride. He adjusted his protective face mask and zipped his Kevlar vest. Not long ago he and her brother had chosen not to wear the gear. They’d believed themselves invincible—Michael’s death had proved one of them wrong.

The chute door opened and the reddish-brown bull jumped into the arena. Tony struggled to maintain his balance, his right arm flailing in the air, snapping back and forth as if connected to his body by a rubber band. Swagger kicked sideways and Tony slid off balance but managed to right himself before the next buck. Lucy counted the seconds in her head. Four…five…six— Shoot!

Tony catapulted over the bull’s head and she flinched when he landed on his right shoulder and bounced across the dirt. The bullfighter waved his arms, attempting to distract Swagger, but the bull wasn’t finished swaggering. As Tony struggled to his feet, the animal charged. Tony dove to his right, barely avoiding a collision. Lucy expelled the breath she’d been holding in a loud gasp when Swagger trotted out of the arena.

“There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Tony Bravo gave his best effort but Swagger keeps his bragging rights. Better luck next time, cowboy.”

Lucy headed for the parking lot. Now that she’d asked Shannon to find rodeos for her to ride in, she’d better show the cowgirl that she meant business. First on her agenda—find a mechanical bull to practice on.

Lucy’s father had purchased her brother a high-tech bucking machine that he and Tony had trained on in the barn at the Durango Ranch. On a few occasions during high school, Lucy had hidden in the hayloft and spied on the boys. Sweat had stung her eyes and hay dust had filled her lungs, but the discomfort had been worth it when Tony removed his shirt and she’d gotten an eyeful of his rippling muscles.

After Michael died, her father had instructed Pete, the ranch foreman, to get rid of the bucking machine. One day while Lucy was in Yuma running errands, she’d driven past Tony’s pickup on Main Street and noticed the equipment in the truck bed. She wondered if Tony still had the machine. If he did—could she convince him to allow her to use it?

* * *

A WEEK LATER, Lucy still hadn’t heard from Shannon, but she’d moved forward with her fundraising plans, hoping Wrangler would eventually agree to promote her cause. She’d spent the morning in her small office in the barn, working on her company website. She’d added a PayPal form and a pledge counter so visitors would see how close she was to reaching her goal of $20,000. Once she knew for certain that she’d be competing in the rodeos, she’d upload the new pages.

Nothing left to do but wait until Shannon contacted her; Lucy decided to head into Stagecoach for a root beer at Vern’s Drive-In. She wished one of her girlfriends from college lived nearby, but after graduation they’d taken various jobs across the country, and Lucy had returned to Stagecoach. Before her brother had passed away, she’d dreamed of working in Chicago and renting an apartment near Michigan Avenue. She’d wanted to experience living somewhere other than the hot, dry desert.

The drive-in was deserted when Lucy arrived, but once the sun set the place would be hopping with teenagers. She left her truck running and walked up to the order window. Vern’s daughter, Sherry, had taken over the business years ago when her father retired to Palm Springs.

“Howdy, Lucy. What can I get for you?”

“A large root beer, please.”

“You want a frosty mug or a to-go cup?”

“To-go.”

“Comin’ right up.” Sherry disappeared for a moment before returning with the drink.

Lucy handed over two dollars then tossed her change into the tip jar. “Thanks, Sherry.”

“Sure thing. See you next time.”

Back inside her truck, Lucy angled the air vents toward her face and guzzled her drink. Once she’d quenched her thirst, she backed out of the parking spot and turned onto the highway. The drive between the ranch and Stagecoach was nothing less than boring—rocky brown landscape dotted with green cactus. Mesmerized by the wavy heat lines radiating off the pavement, Lucy slammed on the brakes when an animal shot across the road in front of the truck.

“Maddie!” Blast that dog. The purebred boxer charged across the desert. Lucy pulled off the road and turned on the truck’s flashers. She rummaged through the glove compartment until she found the whistle, then got out of the truck and blew hard.

The brown speck in the distance skidded to a stop. A stare-down ensued.

“Come back, Maddie. It’s too dang hot to chase you.”

The seven-year-old boxer had been a shadow of her old self since Michael died. No one had witnessed the accident, but everyone assumed Maddie had been riding in the bed and was thrown clear when Michael’s truck flipped and landed in the ditch. Not long after, Maddie had found her way back to the ranch and barked nonstop until she’d woken the family.

Lucy blew the whistle again. Maddie trotted forward then stopped and sat. What kind of game are you playing, girl?