Callahan Cowboy Triplets. Tina Leonard
brother Jace said. “I’m telling you, that one wants to kill you.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” Tighe grinned and knocked on the wall of the pen. “If Dante stayed on him for five seconds, I ought to at least go ten.”
Jace looked at Tighe doubtfully. “Sure. You can do it. Whatever.” He glanced around. “I think I’ll go get some popcorn and find a pretty girl to share it with. You and Firefreak just go ahead and chat about life. May be a one-sided conversation, but those are your favorite, anyway.”
Jace wandered off. Tighe studied the bull, which never broke eye contact with him, his gaze wise from the scores of cowboys he’d mercilessly tossed, earning himself a legendary status.
“I’m a real believer in the power of positive thinking, old son,” Tighe told his horned adversary. “And I’m positive that tomorrow my name will live on as the first cowboy to ever pin a bull’s-eye on you and hit it dead center. See, I figure it was destiny that I finally drew you. And what you don’t know is that I’ve got a secret training regimen. You think you’re tough, but you don’t know tough until you’ve spent a couple years being ridden by Callahan tots. You only have to do your job for eight seconds, throw off a cowboy or two. Me? My job can go on for hours. I’m tough as nails, my spotted nemesis.”
Firefreak’s response was to throw a hoof his way, crashing into the wall of the pen, which thundered under the blow. Tighe tipped his hat and turned to go.
“Hi, Tighe,” a feisty little darling he knew too well said, and Tighe stopped dead in his tracks.
“Sawyer Cash, what are you doing here?” He glanced around. If Jace had seen Sawyer—the new nanny bodyguard at Rancho Diablo and daughter of Storm Cash, their neighbor and a man they weren’t too sure they trusted—he would have run up the red flag of danger. Jace had never mentioned it, but Tighe was pretty sure his brother had a thing for the petite redhead.
“Hi, Tighe,” River Martin said, coming to join Sawyer, and Tighe felt his heart start to palpitate. Now here was his dream, his unattainable brunette princess—even though he liked to tell his family he secretly had River in the bag—smiling at him, as sweet as cherry wine. “We heard you’re going to ride a bull tomorrow, so the girls and I decided to come out and watch. Your sister, Ash, is here, too, but she’s chatting up some cowboys. Said she wasn’t interested in watching you meet your doom.”
This wasn’t a good sign. A man didn’t need his concentration wrecked by a gorgeous female—and right now, Tighe had a twist in his gut even a few beers wouldn’t chase off. Nor did he want said gorgeous, unattainable female to see him get squashed by a few tons of angry luggage with horns. A man needed to seek his holy grail and stare death in the eyes in order to realize that he was but a speck on this earth, and if the woman he adored didn’t reciprocate his feelings, well, there were worse things. Like getting stomped into dust by a rank bull.
Dante’d had his five seconds on Firefreak without the woman he loved witnessing his ultimate crash into reality.
But River was smiling at him with her teasing eyes that sent him over the moon, so all Tighe could say was, “Nice of you ladies to come out.” To witness my humiliation. I was riding on guts and bravado, and somehow that particular cocktail of courage has suddenly left me stone-cold.
River said, “Good luck,” and Tighe shivered, because he did believe in magic and luck and everything spiritual. And any superstitious man knew it was taunting the devil himself to wish a cowboy good luck when the challenge he faced in the ring was nothing compared to the real challenge: forcing himself to look into a woman’s sexy eyes and not drown.
He was drowning, and he had been for oh, so long.
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER, Tighe was sitting in his truck and considering spending the night there. He’d had an offer to bunk in with some rodeo buddies, but he was in the mood to be alone.
Actually, he was in the mood to hunt up River, but pride wouldn’t allow him to chase that little goddess down. He was woefully aware he’d gotten something of a reputation among his six siblings for being a love-starved schmuck, which was odd because he’d previously held a pretty impressive record for being catnip to the ladies. Galen, the eldest, was a medical doctor, but really enjoyed touting his skills as a diviner of the heart, never more than when he was ribbing Tighe about the state of his brunette heartburn. His twin, Dante, left him pretty much alone because he knew he’d been darn lucky to catch River’s best friend and fellow nanny bodyguard, Ana St. John. Jace thought he knew things but didn’t—though that didn’t stop him from snickering at Tighe’s unrequited longing. Sloan, married to Kendall and the proud father of adorable twin sons, cut him some slack because he knew how much it stank when a man couldn’t seem to reel in the woman of his every waking thought. Falcon was happily married now and enjoying life with his baby girl, so he considered himself fortunate and offered no decent advice. Their sister, Ashlyn, was full of witty ripostes about Tighe’s lackluster attempts to woo River, but she’d been chasing the prince of her pining, Xav Phillips, for a couple of years now, with all the luck of a sleep-struck princess.
“I’m on my own,” Tighe muttered, and then a voice said, “Hi, Tighe,” and he about jumped out of his boots.
“Hi, River,” he said, his throat suddenly thick like a tree trunk and about as useful for talking. “Where’s Sawyer?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Torturing Jace.”
“It’s good for him. Pretty sure she’s up to the job.” He wished he could kiss her, but how would she react? “I need to head off and find a motel. Did you need something?”
She shrugged, and the gesture made her breasts move under her blue, short-sleeved dress. “You can stay with me,” River said, and he had to tighten his jaw so it didn’t crash to the parking lot.
“Stay with you?” he repeated.
“Mmm-hmm.” She smiled at him, and it was all he could do not to shout, hell yes! and jump into the canyon of lost sense. “I’ve got my own room at Sherby’s,” River said.
Sherby’s was a quaint B and B outside Santa Fe. He knew Sherby and his wife, Anne—they were great rodeo fans and had done a fair bit of horse trading in their day. Good, honest folk. “I’m not sure Anne would care for me lodging with you, River.”
“We won’t tell her I’ve got double occupancy.” She winked at him, cute as a doe, and Tighe’s blood began a pounding unlike anything he could ever remember feeling—not even when he was in Afghanistan with Dante and they were trying to keep from picking grit out of their teeth and bullets out of their appendages. He had the scar from one he hadn’t managed to avoid, which had lodged itself in his biceps, right under the lightning strike tattoo all the Chacon Callahan siblings wore: the sign of their bond.
“I’m not sure where there may be a vacancy,” Tighe murmured doubtfully, trying to hang on to whatever fragments of good sense he possessed.
“And you probably won’t find one now. Everything is full.”
Dante and he had never worried much about where they were going to stay. One or the other of them always made a reservation, or they slept in their trucks. Might have been an awkward lifestyle with anyone else, but he and Dante had been each other’s shadow all their lives, and especially on the rodeo circuit. No one knew Tighe like Dante did.
In fact, it had been a little lonely since Dante had gotten married. Not that he wasn’t extremely happy for his knuckleheaded twin—but Tighe did miss his shadow on occasion.
“Come on,” River said, “get your stuff. I promise not to lay a hand on you, big guy.” She turned and walked off, leading the way, hips swaying, the lure of the wild loudly calling to Tighe, and all he could think was Rats. Kinda wish she wasn’t so good at keeping promises.
Riding Firefreak for the full eight seconds was more likely than him catching that hot angel.
He grabbed his duffel and