A Cowboy Comes A Courting. Christine Scott
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.”
The bull riders were announced.
Skye cursed the grainy screen of her ancient television. After last night, seeing the action firsthand, the fuzzy picture seemed sadly lacking in comparison. Dropping the remote control on the coffee table, she leaned forward in her seat and squinted at the tube.
Tyler was fourth in the lineup. The first rider touched a gloved hand to the bronco’s back and was disqualified. The second rider had a decent ride, not perfect, but good enough to put him in the running. By the third rider, Skye shot a nervous glance at the telephone and toyed with the idea of calling Ralph. She dismissed the idea out of hand. Ralph had called late last night He’d been vague and distant, his mind obviously on the dusty tomes he was researching, not on her. She’d ended the conversation with a curt goodbye, telling him when he was really interested in what she had to say to call her back.
Only, he hadn’t.
The thought of calling him now grated on her conscience. It would be tantamount to surrendering her feminine pride. Once and for all, Ralph Breedlow had to learn to appreciate her.
She refused to play second fiddle in any man’s life.
“Our fourth rider of the night is veteran bull rider, three-time World Champion, Tyler Bradshaw.” A cheer arose from the arena at the announcement.
Riveted to the TV screen, Skye bit her lip as she waited for the bull to burst out of the chute.
“He’ll be riding Tornado this evening,” the announcer continued. “Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. This bull likes to dance to the twist.”
The gate swung open and the bull carrying Tyler hopped out. It was a thick-bodied, short-legged, mottled Brangus, a bull that was half Brahma, half Angus. Its horns had been lopped off to protect the rider, but its long, square head looked menacing enough to cause damage.
She couldn’t see Tyler’s