Rodeo Sweetheart (4 page)

Sam tugged on Piper’s reins, urging the paint to follow. There was the point, however, that Ethan could have gotten angry with Sam for venting about his mother, and didn’t. That showed something decent lurked in the heart underneath that polo shirt of his. Regardless, she’d have to watch her mouth around the tourists from now on. Her unedited remarks could easily come back to bite her—and the ranch’s business.

Piper snorted as Sam released him next to the other horses in the field. His black patches gleamed in the noon sun, re
minding Sam of Noble Star’s midnight-blue coat. She’d better quit wasting time thinking about Ethan and focus on finding a way to earn money to purchase the stallion. She needed a plan, and fast—before someone else realized the stallion’s worth and beat Sam to it. He could very well be the ticket for getting them out of their financial crisis.

The wind lifted Sam’s hair and cooled her neck. She soaked in the breeze, tilting her face to the sun, and then turned back to the group of riders just in time to see Ethan look quickly away from her.

Sam started back toward the tourists, purposefully heading away from Ethan. If she wasn’t careful,
he
could very well be the ticket for messing up her plans—and her heart.

T
he alarm clock on the nightstand glowed three o’clock in bright green digital numbers. Sam sat up in bed, wide-awake. She should have been out the moment her weary shoulders hit the mattress, but her mind kept racing with the events of the day. The trail ride. Ethan. Mrs. Ames scaring the horses. Chores, both inside the house and out. Ethan. Answering the tourists’ endless questions about ranch life. Helping Cole finish mucking out stalls. Ethan.

His creeping into her thoughts was even more annoying than the fact that she couldn’t sleep.

Sam clicked on the lamp, and then slowly slid to the floor. Sitting cross legged, she reached under the bed. The navy dust ruffle was, ironically, covered in dust, and she sneezed. Who had time to vacuum under the beds when there was so much else to do? Wishing for a housekeeper was ridiculous when they were having trouble even paying their mortgage, but Sam couldn’t help but wish anyway. Her searching fingers found the edge of the cardboard box and she tugged it free.

Shiny gold medals stared back at her as she peered over
the rim. This was foolish, going through her father’s box of rodeo awards in the middle of the night. She hadn’t pulled the box out in months, not since Angie finally took them down from their display in the den. Her mother had put the box in the storage shed, but Sam had snuck back outside and grabbed it hours later. She could understand her mother needing to pack it away, needing closure, but the contents of the box represented her dad. Painful as it was to sift through the mementos, Sam at least wanted the option of doing so.

She ran her fingers over an engraved belt buckle. BULL RIDING CHAMPION, 1990. Another medal. SECOND PLACE TEAM ROPING, 1985. Several ribbons nestled inside the box, along with her dad’s bull-riding gloves and his favorite black cowboy hat. A local newspaper article about his tragic death lay on the very bottom, and Sam quickly covered it up with the hat. It was too late at night for that level of emotion.

She picked up the flyer advertising the annual Appleback Rodeo, dated over two years ago, and smiled. Bittersweet memories. Every year, the town of Appleback hosted a two-week series of events, starting with the Appleback Street fair, ending with the infamous rodeo, and offering a string of cooking and eating contests, concerts and everything else one could imagine in between.

Sam absently traced the lariat border design on the flyer. Once upon a time, she had dreamed dreams similar to her father’s. As a child she loved riding, roping and all things adventurous. One of her favorite childhood pictures was her and her dad on horseback, Sam wearing nothing but a diaper and a big baby grin. Wade Jenson taught Sam to ride not many years later, and she barrel-raced in local junior rodeos until she turned sixteen. Even after her dad quit the rodeo circuit, his tips and tricks still seemed to subconsciously leak out of
his sentences.
Heels down, Sam. Don’t look at your rope, look at your target. You’ll never earn the title of Rodeo Sweetheart with that form. Let go of that saddle horn, girl, what are you afraid of?
Sam eventually felt more comfortable around horses than people—a fact she proved by skipping her prom to tend to a new baby foal, and standing up more than one date in favor of helping her dad trailer horses to a new client.

When Wade passed away, the thrill seeker in Sam died along with him. She watched herself—and her life—slow down until it nearly stopped. Afternoons galloping bareback across meadows were suddenly spent soaping up saddles and hosing down horses. The chores had to get done, but she could have snuck away for some fun once in a while. Could have—but didn’t. Fun meant danger, and that first year after Wade’s death, Sam couldn’t even mount a horse without thinking of her dad. It seemed wrong to be the same person she always was when he wasn’t there to see it, wasn’t there to offer his advice and big congratulatory hugs.

Sudden tears stung her eyes and Sam’s grip tightened on the advertisement in her hands. The annual rodeo was coming up in August—only a few weeks away. A couple of years ago, she would have entered the barrel racing or roping competition as usual, and would have already been practicing for months.

The writing on the flyer blurred before her eyes, and Sam blinked rapidly to clear the moisture clouding her vision. Her life wasn’t about the rodeo anymore, couldn’t ever be again. Even if she wanted to compete, Angie would never allow it. At twenty-four, Sam was obviously long past grounded as a means of discipline, but putting disappointment or fear in her mother’s eyes was far worse than any childhood punishment. Things changed, and Sam had to change right along with them.

She started to put the flyer back in the box, but the bold
numbers on the bottom stopped her hand midreach and Sam’s eyes widened. Things changed, all right. The grand prize a few years ago for the bull-riding competition was the exact amount she needed to buy Noble Star. Add two years’ increase, and it was more than enough to get the breeding farm in the black.

The paper rustled as she stuffed the flyer in the box and shoved the entire thing under the bed. Maybe obtaining Noble Star wouldn’t be a matter of luck after all, but rather, divine providence. Surely it wasn’t coincidence about the money being the amount she needed. Was God finally going to offer assistance to get the Jenson family out of their financial crisis?

It’d be about time He stepped in.

Sam slipped beneath the cotton sheets and lay staring at the ceiling, arms crossed behind her pillow. Her heart hammered, and this time it wasn’t from bad dreams, a busy day or thoughts of Ethan.

She had a plan.

The sun streamed through the miniblinds, scrawling patterns of light across the worn bedspread. Ethan grunted into his pillow but made no motion to move. He couldn’t if he tried. He needed an ice pack. Or maybe a hot compress. Anything to ease the soreness that glazed his muscles with a constant, annoying ache.

He closed his eyes, then blinked them open at a snicker. Daniel sat on his bed a few feet away, pulling on his ridiculous boots and grinning. “You should have played darts at the lodge by the main house with me yesterday instead of going on that ride, man. I warned you.”

Ethan pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing against the pain. He refused to look like a sissy in front of his
cousin—but the grimace probably gave him away. “Yeah, right. You said be careful, riding a horse would make me sore. You didn’t say riding a horse would make me feel like I’d been trampled by one.”

Daniel shrugged as he stood. “I’m heading to the main house for breakfast. You coming, or do you prefer to limp around here instead?” His boots clomped on the wooden floor.

“I’ll be there. Go ahead without me.” Ethan slowly eased off the bed. “It’ll take me a minute.”

“Might be lunchtime before you make it.”

“Very funny.” Ethan winced. No wonder all the cowboys in those books he’d read as a child walked with such a wide stance. It was the only way to compensate. He swaggered toward the dresser and winced as he pulled out a pair of jeans.

Daniel tugged a cowboy hat down on his head and swiped his room key off the nightstand. “I’ll save you some bacon.”

“Why are you wearing all that stuff anyway?” Ethan gestured toward Daniel’s Western gear, and his biceps quivered. Probably from that death grip he had on the saddle horn yesterday, despite making fun of his mom for doing the same. If Vickie felt even half as sore as he did, she’d probably already changed her mind about “appearances.” He hated to agree with his dad on, well, anything—but this time, Jeffrey had a point about not all of them having to keep up the charade at every moment. Ethan would be more likely to see his dad hanging out the moon roof of a limo than he would ever see him aboard a horse.

Daniel tapped the brim of his hat. “Hey, I think I look good. Or at least, the girls I met at the lodge last night thought so.” He winked.

“So that’s why you stayed out so late.” Mystery solved. Ethan shook his head and pulled on a green polo.

“Nothing wrong with mixing a little business with pleasure.” Daniel paused at the front door. “Aren’t you doing the same? I know you took that trail ride to check out the owner’s daughter—Sarah, or whatever her name is.”

Ethan worked to keep his expression neutral. “It’s Sam—and hardly. I went riding so my mom wouldn’t be alone.”

Daniel’s eyebrow twitched. “Right.”

“Believe what you want. I have no interest in Sam.” Her full name hovered on Ethan’s lips and he couldn’t but smile at her ire if he were to say it. Somehow, he suspected she could sense it even from across the ranch.

“Of course not. You always grin real goofy when you’re not attracted to someone.” Daniel rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.” Ethan grabbed a pair of socks. It wasn’t true—was it? Sure, Sam was pretty, and there was something different about her, something that went beyond the Western attire and massive chip on her shoulder. But Sam wasn’t his type. So what if he’d wanted to tease her a little on the ride? There were worse motivations to have—and his had nothing to do with attraction. He was an Ames. An Ames wouldn’t date a cowgirl.

Apparently, they just bought out their land.

Ethan brushed aside the sudden burst of conscience. It wasn’t his plan, it was his dad’s—not like Ethan had much of a choice. He never had, and at this rate, never would.

Daniel shook his head. “Send me a postcard from your vacation in denial, dude. I’m going to breakfast.”

The front door had just shut behind him when a knock sounded. Ethan finished buckling his belt and opened the door. Jeffrey Ames waited with a frown on the other side. “Morning.” Ethan fought back a sigh and moved aside for his father to enter.

Jeffrey strode inside the cabin with his usual air of dignified expectation. “What’s wrong with you, boy?”

Ethan shut the door. “What do you mean?”

“You’re moving like a robot.”

“Sore muscles from the ride yesterday.” Ethan eased onto the bed and reached for his loafers under the nightstand.

Jeffrey’s frown deepened. “Your mother is fine.”

“Mom does Pilates and yoga three times a week.” Ethan slipped his feet inside the leather shoes, hoping his lowered head hid the shock he felt claiming his expression. His mom had always been a fitness guru, but he’d figured she’d be at least a little sore like he was. Was he that much of a Wild West sissy? He quickly stood, hoping to put an end to the conversation. “I was just heading to the main house to eat.”

“I’ll join you. But first, we need to talk.” Jeffrey shoved his hands in his pockets of his slacks and jingled the loose change. The corners of his lips tightened beneath his mustache—the closest Ethan had ever seen his dad come to a real smile. “There’s been a new development.”

Ethan bit back a groan at the overused pun. “What’s that?” Better not to encourage him with a forced laugh. Humor and Jeffrey Ames went together about as well as fast cars and speed limits.

Jeffrey’s eyebrows furrowed. “I had a brief conversation with Angie Jenson yesterday. It seems like we’re going to need more ammunition than we thought in order to convince that Jenson woman it’s in her best interest to sell.” His lips quirked. “To us.”

“I don’t get it. Why are you smiling? How is that good news?” Other than the fact they could possibly give up now and go back to New York. But for some reason, the thought of leaving so soon seemed more disappointing than alluring. Ethan frowned. Must be that country air getting to him. He needed Starbucks, a massage and a good couple miles on his
treadmill. That’d get him back to thinking more like a businessman and less like John Wayne.

“It’s good news because her daughter is the reason she’s hesitating, and I now know who is going to help fix that.” The twinkle was back in Jeffrey’s eyes, and worry churned in Ethan’s stomach.

“Who?” He didn’t want to ask, but he and his father had played the cat-and-canary game for so long now, Ethan just automatically fluffed his feathers.

Jeffrey clamped his large hand on Ethan’s shoulder, his diamond-and-gold ring digging into his collarbone. “You are.”

S
am still hadn’t gotten used to eating her breakfast at a table full of strangers, but it beat sitting alone in her room. She scooped a spoonful of eggs on her plate and tried to ignore Daniel, who sat to her left, Ethan, who sat to her right, and Jeffrey, who chugged coffee directly across from her. Talk about a bad way to start her Sunday—sandwiched between two preppy, clueless tourists. Daniel had been trying to get her attention ever since he sat down, and Sam could have sworn she even saw him flexing beneath that striped Western shirt. Strangely enough, Ethan hadn’t spoken a single word to her yet—just kept darting glances at his dad across the table. Jeffrey in turn would cough and send pointed glares right back.

Men could be so weird.

Sam peppered her eggs and focused her attention on the other end of the large table. Her mom nibbled delicately at a piece of bacon while the same flirtatious man from yesterday—Mike—chatted her up. His troublemaking, ball-kicking son, Davy, sat ignored to his left, building a waffle sculpture on a plate covered in syrup. The sculpture wobbled
on its liquid foundation, and if Sam’s predictions were accurate, it would go sloshing into Mike’s lap any minute now. It would serve him right.

She blew out her breath in an impatient huff. At least the group of vacationing, giggly college-aged girls were absent from breakfast this morning—the ones she’d seen Daniel eye more than once. It also appeared that their resident honeymoon couple was sleeping in. Sam really missed the mornings when Sunday breakfast consisted of just her and her parents—not a host of strangers and hired help. Sure, the food was better now than the cold cereal or lumpy oatmeal they used to have before rushing off to church, but it had been family. Familiar. It had been home.

A concept that apparently died along with her dad.

Sam gave a tired smile to Clara, the newly hired cook, who hovered over Sam’s shoulder with a fresh pot of coffee.

“Refill?”

“Yes, thanks.” Sam inched her cup closer. She needed the caffeine after last night’s 3:00 a.m. stroll down memory lane. If her family went to church anymore, she’d probably have yawned through the entire service. But the work—and the animals—couldn’t wait, and with the addition of a busy new dude ranch came the loss of a church home for Sam, at least until they could afford to hire more help. But despite the fact she couldn’t quit yawning, the emotional journey last night had been worth it. She knew how to get the money to buy Noble Star. She just needed a fresh supply of courage—and someone to help her.

Clara stretched over with the coffeepot. “Not a problem, Ms. Sam.” The hot liquid bubbled into the mug.

“You can just call me Sam.” She lowered her head and breathed in the hearty aroma of the brew. One sip of that strong concoction and she’d wake up for sure.

“Okay.” Clara moved to refill Daniel’s cup. Her tight black curls and ebony skin heightened her youthful appearance, but Sam knew Clara had to be closer to a grandma’s age herself. She nodded at Daniel. “Coffee?”

Daniel shook his head, his mouth full of toast. “I’ve reached my limit.” Crumbs sprayed on his nearly empty plate and Sam winced. And he wondered why his charms weren’t working on her.

“I’ll take a refill.” Ethan twisted in his seat to offer his mug. His eyes caught Sam’s and he smiled.

Sam decided to blame the accompanying jitters in her stomach on the greasy bacon, and forced a tight-lipped smile in return before focusing once again on her food. The eggs were suddenly tasteless in her mouth despite the salt and pepper she’d heaped on them. She was probably too nervous too eat. She really needed to talk to Cole about her plan before the day got fully started. If he refused to help her, she’d be right back to square one.

The fact that Ethan’s presence radiated on Sam’s right side like a portable heater had nothing to do with her lack of appetite. Nothing at all.

“Samantha?” Ethan’s quiet voice sounded in her ear.

She dropped her fork with a clatter. “It’s Sam. Why is that so hard for you? I don’t call you Evan, or Eric. My name is Sam. You want me to start calling you Elvira?”

Ethan held up both hands in defense, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

“I bet.” Sam tossed her napkin on her plate. She needed to find Cole, now—before she lost her opportunity to talk to him alone and before she completely snapped and threw a piece of bacon in Ethan’s face. Never in her life had anyone so adamantly insisted on calling her Samantha. That was her
father’s right, and no loafer-wearin’ city boy was going to take that away.

“It really was a slipup. Look, I was going to ask if you wanted to take a walk. Show me around the ranch or whatever.”

Sam studied Ethan. His cheeks pinked the longer she stared, and the expression in his eyes didn’t quite match his tone. He looked guarded—almost annoyed. She glanced across the table at Jeffrey, who beamed and nodded at his son.

Something was up. Sam shoved her chair away from the table. “Sorry, I’ve got things to do.”

“Sam!” Angie looked up from the other end of the table in surprise. “Don’t be rude.” Mike smirked and Sam wished she could shove her mother’s glittering diamond ring in his face.

“Duty calls, Mom.” Sam gulped a mouthful of coffee, then wished she’d let it cool just a moment longer. Refusing to water down her dramatic exit with a wince, she stoned her features, bumped her chair under the table with a scrape and stalked toward the back door.

The satisfying slosh of waffles and syrup, followed by Mike’s squeal, sounded just before the door slammed shut behind her.

Rejected. Ethan excused himself from the breakfast table and hustled—well, limped was probably more accurate—outside before his dad could finish his breakfast and come after him. Ethan refused to stick around for a lecture on failure from his father. Before breakfast, his dad had directed Ethan to strike up a friendship with Sam in order to make Sam’s mom see her having a good time. One of the reasons Angie was considering selling the ranch over Sam’s objections was because she wanted her daughter to have a chance to live her life and not be burdened by a failing business. It was also his
chance to get inside information about the ranch. Any pitfalls, any problems, any information that could be useful for their securing a low offer on the property was now Ethan’s job to report.

Ahead of him, Sam blazed a trail to the barn as if her boots were on fire. It was surprising the grass at her feet didn’t puff up in smoke as she passed. Ethan hesitated. He’d never been the type to pursue a woman scorned—Shakespeare definitely had that one right—and that’s exactly what he’d done to Sam with his incessant teasing.

But Shakespeare hadn’t met Jeffrey Ames, and any minute now, his father would be about five steps behind Ethan, demanding to know why he wasn’t trying harder to weasel into a friendship with Sam.

Ethan kicked at a rock in the dirt with his loafer. Take a walk? Pretty lame. Not really surprising Sam turned him down after that ridiculous attempt. He really hadn’t meant to say her full name, it just slipped out while he was mentally rehearsing his next line.

A rehearsal that led to a less than successful opening curtain. Why was she so picky about her name, anyway? Samantha was a beautiful name. He understood she was a tomboy, a cowgirl, but that shouldn’t be enough to make her hate her full name. It didn’t make sense.

Sort of like how what happened at breakfast wouldn’t make sense to his dad. Ethan could just hear his response now.
Daniel wouldn’t have that kind of problem with a woman. Daniel could get any girl he wanted. You should learn from your cousin.
Yeah, right. One day Daniel and Jeffrey both would wake up and realize there were more important things in the world than money and manipulative games. One day they’d come to the same conclusion Ethan eventually had
come to—that they wanted something more from life than just a trust fund, a successful if borderline shady business and empty relationships.

If you could even call them relationships. Ethan lifted his face to the morning sun and let the warm summer breeze dry the sweat on his forehead. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe his parents lived in marital bliss. He purposefully tuned out the details he didn’t want to know.

His parents were glued together only by money, and if that ever changed, they’d probably head to divorce court faster than a Ferrari off the line. Ethan wanted something more solid than that, something to really stand on. No wonder he’d never felt a true connection before with the girls in his past—as much as he loved his mother, they all seemed like carbon copies of her. Materialistic, superficial.

Every girl but Sam, that is.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and continued his slow trek to the barn. He could move out and avoid the drama, but his parents’ house was big enough for him to be out of the way, and it was rent-free. If he hoped to break away from the family business one day, he’d more than likely be cut off financially and would need a decent amount of cash saved—in a place his father couldn’t access. All the more reason to save money now.

A horse whinnied from the other side of a nearby fence, and Ethan squared his shoulders in determination. His plan A in reaching Sam might have been a bust, but that didn’t mean plan B couldn’t succeed. If he needed to amp up the flirty image, so be it. Ethan hated the pretense—it reeked of Daniel—but if it would get his father off his back, then it’d be worth it. Plus he’d like to see her smile more. No twenty-four-year-old should have to work so hard just to stay afloat.

He just needed to remember not to use her full name.

Ethan turned up the collar on his polo, cracked his neck and strode inside the barn with a slightly crooked smile.

“Crazy city slickers.” Sam ran the grooming brush over Wildfire’s back in short, firm strokes. Loose hair flurried in her face like miniature red snowflakes, but she didn’t care. Who did Ethan think he was, asking her to go for a walk while his father grinned from the sidelines? The invitation was probably a joke, some “let’s tease the cowgirl and make her think I’m interested” ploy so he and his dad could laugh behind her back later. Like she’d ever be interested in some New Yorker who didn’t know which end of the horse went first.

Sam brushed faster. The only bright spot on this cloudy morning was that Cole had agreed to help her out. The loyal stable hand had assured her he’d have a steer in the north paddock by eleven o’clock that night for her to practice riding, and that her secret was safe with him. Apparently Cole hated dealing with the downfalls of the new dude ranch business as much as Sam and was game for her plan—absurd as it must have sounded.

She looked up as a dark figure, silhouetted by the sun, strolled inside the barn. The cocky gait seemed familiar, and within moments Ethan’s features became distinguishable.
Great.
He was back for round two. She kept brushing and refused to acknowledge his presence.

Ethan stopped in front of Wildfire’s stall and hooked his arms over the closed gate. “Mornin’, again.” He smiled and Sam couldn’t help her eyes darting to meet his. She quickly ducked under Wildfire’s neck to groom his other side. It put her closer to Ethan but at least her back was to him.

“You missed one of the guests swimming in waffles.”
Ethan’s voice sounded smooth and rich over Sam’s shoulder, much like the syrup that must be clinging to Mike’s pants right about now. Too bad those waffles couldn’t have fallen in Ethan’s lap, too.

She dropped the grooming brush in the bucket in the corner behind her. “Sounds like fun.” She bent and snatched a comb from the same tub, and began picking through Wildfire’s tangled mane. “Is that all you came to tell me?” She felt more than saw Ethan’s startled response, and couldn’t but grin.

“No, I, just—well…” Ethan’s voice trailed off and he coughed. “I thought maybe I could help out, if you were too busy to take a walk.”

Sam turned to face him, the blue comb dangling from her fingers. Even Wildfire snorted, as if shocked. “You want to do chores?”

“Sure.” Ethan straightened his slumped position on the gate and smiled. “Why not?”

“Why not?” Sam laughed as she turned back to Wildfire’s mane. “Because you have no clue what you’re doing. Because you could get hurt. Because this is your vacation and you shouldn’t be working. Because—”

“Okay, I get it.” Ethan held up both hands. “But I don’t mind. I can learn.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Sam tossed the comb in the bucket and clipped the lead rope that she’d draped over the stall door to Wildfire’s halter. “Excuse me.”

Ethan backed away from the gate as Sam and Wildfire walked through, giving Wildfire’s back legs a wide berth. “Then what about a walk later tonight? After dinner?” His tone held a hopeful edge.

Sam clucked to Wildfire and led him down the barn aisle. His shoed hooves clacked on the hard floor. “Again, thanks—
but no thanks.” Sam refused to feel even slightly sympathetic or look back at Ethan standing alone in the barn aisle. She had zero interest in being a pawn for some rich boy’s family to manipulate with their weird games. She had chores to do, a ranch to save and a bull to ride.

Starting with a steer tonight at eleven o’clock.