A Dark & Stormy Knight: A McKnight Romance (McKnight Romances) (32 page)

“You wanna know what I do?” Zach’s voice
was testy. “I look at the conformity. Is the bull built right? How does he
kick? Does he spin? That’s what I know about bucking bulls. Then I look at the
cows. I look at their build and their temperament. If they’ve got some
aggression to ‘em, I figure they might put out a good bucker. But that ain’t
all a bull needs to be rank. He’s gotta have the will to buck, and that’s
something I can’t judge.”

“Hell, Zach. No one can. Not until
someone gets on their backs.”

“Yeah, I know. But we spend two years
getting to that point. And that’s another place I could use help. I need
someone experienced telling me which ones have real potential. We sell half of
our three-year-olds every year because I don’t think they’re going to be good
enough. If they’re not good enough for the arena, they sure ain’t no good as
breeding stock.” Zach’s voice got tight. “And I make mistakes.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Sol said. “You
can’t—”

“No. I make
bad
mistakes.”

Sol looked closer at Zach. His brother’s
mouth was drawn tight, and his forehead was furrowed. “What do you mean? ‘Bad’
mistakes?”

Zach’s sigh started on an audible inhale.
The exhalation seemed to come all the way from his toes. “Does the name Rock ‘n
Roller ring any bells?”

Sol blew a puff of air from his lips. “Of
course it does. He’s in the lead for the PBR’s Rookie Bull of the Year.”

“Yeah, well . . . we bred
him.”

Sol jerked upright in his seat. “What?”

“And then I sold him.” Zach’s tone was
grim.

“Ah, Christ.” Zach was right. That was a
major screw up. Stock contractors prayed for a bull like Rock ‘n Roller, and
those prayers mostly went unanswered. To have one in their hands and then to
sell him . . . No wonder Zach was having a crisis of confidence.

“I need you, Sol. I’ll breed ‘em and you
can figure out if they’re any good.”

Aw, hell.

But Zach’s proposition intrigued him.
Maybe there was something he could do besides get bucked off.

“Lemme think it over,” Sol said.

“Okay. And after you think it over, say
yes.”

Sol smiled. It wasn’t a pity job after
all. This was something he could do that would make a real contribution to the
ranch. It sounded like it might be exactly what he needed.

###

“What’s this?” Sol hefted the duffel bag
he’d found tucked beside the hay they’d brought for the bulls and tossed it
onto the ground in front of Zach.

“It’s your gear. What else would it be?”

“I know it’s my gear,” Sol said. Since he’d
intentionally left it in the barn, he didn’t like finding it in the truck,
tempting him. “What’s it doing here?”

“Gideon threw it in. Said you’d need it.”

That drew Sol up short. Why would Gideon
involve himself with whether or not Sol rode? If Gideon were there, Sol would
have thrown the bag back in the truck and told his brother to mind his own
damned business. Gideon wasn’t there, of course, so instead, Sol thought about
why his brother had done something so out of character. Was this one of those
things Gideon pulled out of his ass that turned out right, no matter how
outlandish it seemed on the surface?

What the hell. It was here; the bulls
were here; he might as well ride. He left Zach checking the bulls and went to
pay his entry fee.

At the secretary’s office, he ran into
Terry.

“Hey, buddy,” Terry said. “I didn’t know
you were here.”

“Yeah, we brought some stock. I figured
as long as I was here . . .”

“Great. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get to
try out one of your bulls.”

Sol opened his mouth to answer but got
distracted by two young cowboys, both of whom looked a good decade younger than
Sol and Terry. Something in their smirks made him feel like the butt of some
joke. The young bucks turned away from them, but Sol heard him ask his friend
in a voice tinged with disbelief, “Those old men gonna ride?”

His friend shook his head as though he
found it unbelievable they let old geezers like Sol and Terry get on a bull.

Terry hiked an eyebrow then stepped up
behind them, laying one hand on each man’s shoulder. “It ain’t the years, boys.
It’s the miles. You haul ass forty thousand miles a year from rodeo to rodeo,
and we’ll see how good you look. Get back to me in about three years.”

“Oh, hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend
you.”

But they weren’t sorry. They were only
humoring the senior citizens. Sol could see it in their stride as they walked
away.

His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “Smart-ass
idiots.”

“They’ll learn,” Terry said. “We did.”

Waiting until Sol came home on Sunday was
the sensible thing to do. After all, what was a couple of days compared to
twelve years? Besides, Georgia couldn’t just take off for Mesquite. That was a
five-plus-hour round trip. Who would take care of Mama? Who’d feed Daddy and
Grams? She couldn’t ask Bethany. Her sister had taken care of Mama when she was
at her worst, right after the stroke, and she’d kept on until the school year
was over. She’d done her share.

Having made that decision, Georgia went
home to her parents.

The moment she walked in, her father shot
her a significant look. She got another from Grams in the kitchen. Her mama was
subdued and didn’t speak.

Was her mama actually considering what
Georgia had said, or was she pretending the incident at Bethany’s hadn’t
happened? A third possibility was that she was giving everyone the silent
treatment. Georgia chose to believe her words had sunk in, though a lifetime of
experience suggested the last option was more likely.

With the odd silence pervading the house,
bedtime was too far away. Georgia retreated to her room and tried to read, but
her mind kept jumping to how she was going to approach Sol when he got home.
She emerged to make a light supper from the leftovers Bethany had sent home
with her parents. Despite Grams’ attempts to breach the uncomfortable atmosphere,
conversation fell flat. Georgia retreated again.

In her room, she stared at her open book
and thought about what Sol might be doing at that moment. The rodeo would be
well under way. If he was there strictly as a stock contractor, he and Zach would
be at the bull pens, maybe talking to whoever else had supplied rough stock as
they checked their bulls over. Or maybe one of them was riding a pick-up horse
in the arena.

Then again, maybe Sol had entered the
bull riding. She wished she’d thought to check if his equipment was still at
the ranch. If it was in the barn where he normally kept it, she’d know for sure
he’d be safe and sound when he got home on Sunday.

Suddenly, Sunday seemed as though it was
a million years away.

When it was time to get her mother ready
for bed, she emerged only to discover her mother had lain down half an hour
earlier. She started toward her parents’ room to help her mama into her
nightgown, but her father stopped her. “I’ll get your Mama to bed, honey. You
take it easy tonight, okay?”

“Okay.” Her mother’s motor skills had
improved enough that he shouldn’t have too tough a time. “Thanks.”

Her father headed toward his bedroom.

“And Daddy?”

He stopped and looked at her. “Yes?”

She took a deep breath. Her gaze fell to
the floor. “I’m sorry for ruining your anniversary party.”

He stepped closer to her. “You didn’t
ruin anything, honey,” he said, stroking her hair once before he caught her
chin and brought her face up. “We’re going to be fine. You’ll see.”

She tried to smile at him, but she wasn’t
sure she pulled it off. “Daddy?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

She bit her lip. What she wanted to ask
seemed too personal. Something one didn’t ask a parent, but the question burned
inside her. “Why did you come home to Mama?”

Her daddy seemed to look beyond her, at
something she knew she wouldn’t be able to see even if she turned. He was still
there, still with her, but he was also somewhere else—some
when
else—for
several long moments.

A couple of steps took him to his
recliner. “I came back to tell her we were moving to Nashville.”

It took a few seconds for that to sink
in. “Nashville?” she asked on a breath.

“We’d cut a demo and sent it out. Two
different recording companies wanted to sign us, cut a single, maybe send us on
the road as an opening act.” A soft smile curled his lips. “I think they
mentioned Alan Jackson.”

She knew better. He didn’t
think
they’d mentioned Alan Jackson. That wasn’t something her daddy would forget. He’d
been an Alan Jackson fan all of her life. Opening for him would have been a
dream come true.

How different her life might have been.
When she stepped next to his chair, he reached up and caught her hand.

“So why didn’t we move?”

His smile turned wry. “Your mama wouldn’t
go.”

She let that sink in for a moment. “So
you gave it all up? Why?”

“Because she’s my wife. Because I made a
commitment to her. To you girls. Because I knew what it would do to her if I
left again. And because sometimes you have to choose.”

He kept hold of her hand as he got up,
and she went with him into the garage. His guitar case leaned in the corner
where it had for nearly a decade. He laid it on his workbench and opened it. On
the bottom was a CD. He handed it to her.

“Listen to it sometime. And I hope you
understand.”

Looking at the silver CD inside its clear
plastic case, she realized she held her daddy’s dreams in her hand. She didn’t
think she was ready to listen to it yet.

“Do you think . . . ?”
Georgia took a shaky breath. She hadn’t let herself remember the way Sol had
avoided her for the past week, but it had been lurking in the back of her mind.
He’d never done that—not in all the time they’d been divorced—and it scared her
more than she wanted to admit. “Do you think it’s too late for me and Sol?”

A soft smile pulled at her father’s lips.
“If it’s too late, then Sol’s a bigger fool than I think he is.”

She hadn’t known how much she needed to
hear something encouraging until that moment. She smiled again at her father,
but she could feel her chin crinkling and her eyes growing moist. She sniffled,
just a little, before saying in a breaking voice, “Thanks, Daddy.” Then she
turned and fled back to her room while she could still control the waterworks.

###

Georgia’s mother refused to get out of
bed for breakfast. When Georgia tried to insist, her daddy said, “Let her be,”
so it was just the three of them, which was a lot more comfortable than supper
had been the night before.

She busied herself with laundry then
grocery shopping. The three of them ate a light lunch of tomato soup and
grilled cheese. When her daddy took a tray in to her mama, Georgia decided she
needed a nap. She dreamed of bull riding wrecks and blonde buckle bunnies
simpering about how brave Sol was. In both cases, she stood in the background,
a ring with a rock the size of a mustard jar on her hand that wouldn’t come off
no matter how hard she pulled. She tried to get Sol’s attention, but he acted
as though she were invisible. Salty residue streaked her face when she woke up.

The laundry was done, groceries were bought
and put away, supper was in the Crock-Pot, Grams had gone somewhere with
Delores, and her mother was sulking in her room. Georgia thought about her
daddy’s CD, but for reasons she couldn’t explain, she still wasn’t ready to
listen to it yet. She could go to the ranch to see Eden, but she didn’t want
her daughter to ask why she was as antsy as a cat stuck on a roof in a rising
flood. Maybe she should drop by The Lariat to see if Tommy and Missy’s
soap-opera lives could distract her for a while.

Relieved to have a plan, she left her
daddy puttering around the house and drove to the bar. Tommy’s car was there in
its regular spot, but when she walked in, she discovered Lydia sitting at the
bar, flirting with him.

Georgia sighed and joined them. They both
seemed happy to see her, but after their initial greeting and Tommy serving her
a Baileys on the rocks, they went back to flirting, which was really more of a
two-person activity. She felt like the proverbial third wheel until Lydia
excused herself for a trip to the ladies’ room.

“You want to come with?” Lydia asked.

“No thanks. I went before I left home.”
Oh, Lord. Could she sound any more like a mother?

A few minutes without Lydia gave her the
chance to ask Tommy how things were going with Missy.

“She tried to come home a couple of days
after the drive-in,” Tommy said.

“She did?” Some people had more nerve
than sense.

“Yeah. I even let her in the door for
about ten minutes. But then I realized it would be too hard to make it work. I’d
need to know where she was every minute, and we’d both end up miserable. Who
wants to live like that?”

She nodded. There were worse things than
riding bulls, she supposed.

“I don’t think I’m really over it yet,
though,” Tommy said.

“These things take time.”
Please don’t
let twelve years be Sol’s magic number.

“I guess I’m impatient.” Tommy leaned his
folded arms on the bar. “When I’m over it, I think I’ll want her to be happy.”
He gave her an evil grin. “I don’t. I hope someone does to her what she did to
me. But it won’t be me. I’m moving on.” The evil grin widened. “And I think
your friend Lydia might be the one to move on with.”

“I hope that works out for you.” But she
wasn’t so sure that repetition compulsion wasn’t rearing its ugly head. Then
again, Lydia wasn’t as bad as Missy. Maybe it was about pointing yourself in
the right direction.

Tommy straightened and gathered some
empty soldiers someone had left at the end of the bar. “How are you and Sol
doing?”

She chewed on her lower lip before
answering. “I’m not sure.”

“Didn’t you tell him the truth about our
date?” He tossed the empty beer cans in the recycle bin.

“Yeah. He didn’t believe me.”

Tommy laughed. “I’m surprised he hasn’t
been in here, then, looking for round two.”

“Well, he kind of thinks I’m getting
engaged to a guy in Dallas.”

Tommy laughed so hard, he had to grab the
bar to keep from doubling over.

“It’s not funny. He hasn’t spoken to me
for a week.”

Tommy wiped tears from his eyes. “And
that’s not a good thing?”

“No.”

“Are you getting engaged?”

“Not to Daniel.”

There was a speculative look in Tommy’s
eyes. “Not to Daniel,” he mused. “Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

He looked at her for a minute as though
deciding whether he should share his insight. “You know, being a bartender is
like being a cross between a shrink and a father confessor. I hear what people
say, and then I see what they actually do.” He shook his head. “You can deny it
all you want, but I think I was right. You’re still in love with Sol.”

“Oh, God.” Georgia wanted to pound her
head on the bar. She settled for burying her face in her hands. “What am I
going to do?”

“Tell him,” Tommy said. As if it were
that simple.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. But Sol’s
reaction
could
be, and that was what scared her. A simple,
straightforward no. It seemed almost illogical to think he would turn her down
after the years he’d spent in pursuit, but he’d never refused her calls before.
And having Sol move on just as she was figuring things out seemed like the sort
of nasty trick life played on people. A romantic corollary to Murphy’s Law.

But Tommy was right. She needed to tell
Sol. Whether he said yes or no, it all started with her telling him she still
loved him and wanted to be with him. Waiting until tomorrow suddenly seemed
like one more stupid decision in an already long line of stupid decisions.

She slid off her bar stool.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?”
Lydia said as she sat down. “You just got here.”

“I know. But I just remembered something
I need to do.” She picked up her purse. “Tommy, please, don’t . . .”

He read her mind and winked. “The
sanctity of confessional.”