The Cowboy’s Daughter Page 2

  Trent being in Last Stand was a complication her family didn’t need. Her father’s temper would explode if he found out that it had been his idol who’d knocked up his daughter. His health was fragile enough as it was. But more important, she was afraid Alissa would get hurt if she found out Trent hadn’t wanted her.

  “I was thinking about going down in August,” Kelly said. “Alissa won’t be starting kindergarten until next year, but if I want to get her into a good school down there, it would help if she attended some more preschool classes this summer. I could book her for a July session, and that way I can get things in order here so the move to Texas would be seamless.” And it gave Trent plenty of time to get out of Last Stand and go back to wherever he called home nowadays.

  “Nonsense. Go now. It’s not like you’re packing up a house. I’ll ship you your things. Take a few big bags and get on a plane and go. Be with your sisters and help your parents. Don’t let Alissa miss out on her first rodeo.” Candace gave her a disapproving look. Kelly had deliberately not gone to a rodeo since she and Trent had hooked up. Too many memories, both good and bad, got dredged up.

  She just wished Trent hadn’t been such a douchebag when she found out she was pregnant. He made her feel like a gold-digging buckle bunny by not returning her calls or acknowledging his part in the consequences.

  But not being at the ranch right now was gnawing away at her. She wanted to see her family again. She wanted to pitch in and help and maybe heal her damaged relationship with her parents for good. Was she going to let a one-night stand keep her from that?

  Hell, no.

  She probably wouldn’t even see Trent up close and personal. There was no reason to point him out in the crowd to Alissa. She could handle seeing him in the arena from a safe distance in the rodeo stands. And after a nice day watching the events, she would go back to the ranch and continue on with her plans for a portrait studio. Her fingers itched to look at the ideas she had drawn up when she should have been working on one of Candace’s wedding projects.

  Kelly wondered if she’d have the temperament to run a business on her father’s land where they would go head-to-head every day over every little thing. Maybe a better idea would be to stay until the business was up and running and then hire a photographer and manager she could trust. Once there was some new money coming in, Kelly wouldn’t have to feel obligated to stay. She and Alissa could come back home. Home to New York. They’d made a new life here, free of bull riders and bullheaded men. With some business experience under her belt and some extra money for rent, there was no reason why Sullivan Portraits couldn’t have a West Coast and an East Coast location. It didn’t have to be in Manhattan.

  “You’re all right handling everything here without me?” Kelly asked, already knowing the answer.

  “When are you leaving?” Candace said.

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  Chapter Two

  Trent Campbell leaned against the rodeo stand and looked around, trying not to see himself in every corner of the arena—a younger version of himself. One that didn’t walk with a limp or have constant pain in his side and hip. Closing his eyes, he could hear the crowd and the excitement in the air. A grudging smile pulled up his lips. Maybe he was also looking for a sultry strawberry blonde with eyes like hot chocolate and a sweet, kissable mouth.

  Kelly.

  Trent sighed. He never got her last name, but she had been in the stands six years ago. And later that night, she had been in his bed. Then life happened, and his phone got stolen with all his contacts. And just like that, she was gone.

  She walks in beauty, like the night.

  His physical therapist had made him listen and memorize poetry. Some lines stuck with him more than others. He had never seen Kelly again, but some days, she haunted him like the poetry did.

  “You doing okay, kid?” his manager, Billy King asked, coming up behind him.

  “Bittersweet memories,” he replied. Kelly was B.A.—before the accident. All the good things in his life happened B.A. He was wondering if there was life A.A.—after the accident. So far, he wasn’t impressed.

  “You should still be using your cane.”

  “I don’t need it.” Trent fought to keep his voice mild, but all he wanted to do was snarl.

  “Have you been out to the ranch yet? The barn is up and the pen is finished. And they’re putting the final touches on the studio. It looks great. Just like you requested.”

  “Not yet.” The moment Trent walked onto the Three Sisters Ranch, his career as a professional bull rider was over, and his new career as a business owner would begin. Mentally, anyway. Physically, a Mexican fighting bull named Corazon del Diablo had taken care of that five years ago. “I want to get through the rodeo first.”

  “You’re going to be able to hit the ground running. The schoolhouse is just about done. My crew is installing the carpets once the paint is dry on the walls. Make sure you talk up your school at the rodeo. You want to bring in the local boys and girls first. They’ll be your bread and butter. Who wouldn’t want to learn how to ride a bull from a professional bull rider?” Billy clapped him on the back. “Your name is still good around here.”

  Around here, yeah? Most people seemed to have forgotten him when he was riding a hospital bed instead of a bull. And the years of rehab while he learned to walk again had driven away everyone else. To be fair, he hadn’t been the easiest person to be around. He practically became a hermit. It had been just him and Billy for five years straight. Still, he got the occasional fan letter and in local rodeos like this, he was a big draw. Even if he couldn’t ride a bull.

  “You need to order the equipment and the gear. Not to mention bucking stock. We’ve got a tight budget.”

  “I’ve got a plan, Billy. You don’t have to micromanage me.” This time, Trent couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. He knew Billy was only trying to help, and that Billy was worried about him sinking back into the deep depression that had hooked him recently.

  While Trent was recovering, he had a goal and he had thrown himself into it wholeheartedly. The doctors said he couldn’t walk? Bullshit. The doctors said he couldn’t ride? Watch him. But once he had done that, taking his recovery as far as he could go, there had been nothing left. Who the hell was he, if he couldn’t ride a bull? It was all he had ever wanted to do since he saw his first rodeo. He missed the adrenaline, the feeling that he was living on the edge, the roar of the crowd, the excitement. Everyday life was dull and colorless in comparison. There was no poetry in the mundane world.

  Billy had offered to hire him as a talent scout, but Trent didn’t want to leech off him. Billy was the closest thing he had to a father. His own father had left his mother when he was a baby. Trent didn’t even know the man’s name. And his mother had long since drunk herself to death, shortly before his sixteenth birthday. If it hadn’t been for Billy, Trent’s dream of becoming a rodeo cowboy would have lasted eight seconds, if that.

  “Sorry,” Trent grumbled out.

  “It’s okay, hoss.” Billy gripped his shoulder and shook it good-naturedly. “I’m going to get the schedule of events and hammer down what they want you to do. You up to riding into the arena?”

  “Of course.”

  Billy rolled his eyes. Of course, it hadn’t been a consideration a year ago. The answer would have been: No. Hell, no. Are you crazy? But Trent had put himself through agony and countless hours of failure. He could get up into the saddle and stay there. Dismounting was still a challenge, though. Sometimes his leg wouldn’t hold him, especially if the horse wasn’t well trained. Riding wasn’t fun and he didn’t enjoy it anymore, and oh yeah, it hurt like a bitch. But he’d damned well ride into this arena, holding the Texas flag. He didn’t care if he had to ice his hip and keep off his feet for two days afterward. There was some shit you just had to do.

  “Should I put you on the roster as well?” Billy said, sardonically.

  Trent smirked. “Don’t tempt me.” His
eyes cut to the empty holding pens and the stalls. It would hurt. The fall would really set him back unless he landed just right, and even then, it was risky. He had no illusions he could stay on for eight seconds, unless the bull was having an off day. Still to feel that energy one more time, it might be worth it.

  “I’ll break your other leg,” Billy muttered and walked away.

  Looking around one last time, Trent nodded. He didn’t have anything to prove. His body had limitations. It wasn’t a crime to admit that.

  Close the book on this chapter of your life, already.

  “It’s done.” Pushing away from the stands, he forced himself to walk slowly away, concentrating on every step. This was his decision. Rodeo was in his blood, even if he couldn’t compete anymore.

  He was opening up a bull-riding school, leasing the land from a local ranch that was in trouble. Last Stand had given him so much, he was glad to give back a little. Billy had forced him to invest half of his purse every time he won. Good thing, too. It paid his medical bills that weren’t covered by insurance and had allowed him to live modestly while he recovered.

  But it wasn’t a bottomless well. He needed to make some money and the idea of a school had broken through that black fog of depression like nothing else had. He had enough left to set up the school and start training youths. Trent hoped to obtain a few small business loans to keep him afloat while more students came in, so he could continue on with the lease. It was going to be a struggle, but if he could ride a horse after being stomped on by a two-thousand-pound bull, he could do anything.

  At least, he hoped so.

  Getting into his car, Trent adjusted the seat to better support his back. He popped two aspirin and washed them down with the last of the water in his water bottle. It was warm from being in the car, but the late June heat hadn’t made it unbearable. He missed his truck. It had a cooler for beverages in the center console. But he’d had to sell it. Maybe he’d get another one now that he could get in it without a crane and four guys pushing.

  He didn’t want to go back to the hotel yet, so he turned onto Hickory and passed the statue of Asa Fuhrmann outside of the library and nodded respectfully at it. Asa was a hero of the Texas Revolution who’d died so the people of this town could hold off Santa Anna’s troops. Trent noticed the statue had taken some damage and wondered what had happened.

  Driving though Main Street was like driving back through time to his high school days. While there were a few new stores and buildings, the feel of the place was the same. He turned down Laurel and passed the high school. Parking in the lot, he could hear the sounds of the football team practicing.

  He was considering getting out of the car and walking down to the field to take a look at this year’s team, when he heard the whoop of a police siren. Glancing into his rearview mirror, he saw the squad car behind him. The officer got out of his car and sauntered up to his driver’s side window.

  “There a problem, Officer?” he drawled, hiding his smirk.

  “You mean aside from the fact that you didn’t use a telephone to let us know you’re in town or stop by and say hello?” Pete Velasquez, one of his high school buddies, leaned his arm on the hood of the car and peered in at him.

  “I hate talking on the phone, and I just got here.”

  “Have you eaten lunch yet?”

  Trent’s stomach growled. “Depends. Is your wife cooking?”

  “Every day.” Pete patted his stomach. “That’s why I got fat.”

  “You can just have one bowl of pozole, you know.”

  Pete shook his head. “I don’t need that type of negativity in my life. That’s crazy talk. You coming or what?”

  “Best offer I had in a long while.”

  “Let’s see you eat one bowl,” Pete muttered and got back into his squad car.

  Trent followed his friend home, even though he knew the way by heart. Pete lived on the corner of Honeysuckle and Hickory in his mother’s duplex. Trent had spent many nights on their couch growing up, and still dreamed about Pete’s mom’s frijoles de la olla. Pete had tried his hand as bullfighter for a while, but gave up and became a cop instead. He joked it was safer chasing armed criminals than ornery bulls. He might not be wrong.

  Pete looked him up and down as he got out of the car. Trent was careful not to wince in pain and forced himself to walk so it looked effortless. He set his jaw and walked up the three small stairs to the porch, only having to hold the railing once. He usually wasn’t this bad, but the long car ride from Houston had almost done him in.

  “You look better than last year.” Pete held the front door for him. “We were worried about you. I tried to call you, but the phone kept ringing and eventually we figured your answering machine was full.”

  “I don’t have an answering machine.” Trent walked inside the house. “The nineties called—they want their technology back.”

  “Voice mail, whatever.” Pete waved his hand in dismissal.

  “Trent?”

  He looked up just in time to receive a bone-crushing hug that had nothing on Corazon del Diablo. Only this time, he relished it and returned the hug with enthusiasm.

  “Oh mijo, it’s so good to see you.”

  “Hi, Mrs. V.,” Trent said, appalled at how husky his voice sounded.

  Only Pete’s mother and Billy called him son. He wished he had known his father. He wished his mother was still alive. Or that she had been sober more than drunk while she was. Growing up, he’d wanted a large family like Pete’s. And looking around the comfortable house, he realized he wanted what Pete had—a wife, kids, a loving family…a steady job. Trent gave a weak chuckle.

  She thrust him away at arm’s length and looked him over as well. “Thank the Lord, you’re all right. You had us worried. No word for months. It was like you dropped off the planet. Come inside, eat.”

  “Hi, Trent.” Pete’s wife, Serena, leaned up against the kitchen doorway.

  He brushed a kiss on her cheek before sitting down at the table. “Thank you for having me.”

  Pete snorted. “You think you’re a guest? You’re doing dishes afterward, because I have to get back to work.”

  Mrs. V. put a large basket of tortillas on the table. Trent could feel the warmth coming off them. When was the last time he had a home-cooked meal? Probably the last time he was here.

  Serena served a platter of pulled chicken and steak and Mrs. V. followed up with a plate of shredded cheeses and grilled peppers and onions.

  “Do you need any help?” he asked Mrs. V., as Pete was already digging in.

  “No, start without us. I just need to grab the condiments.”

  She didn’t have to tell him twice. He took a tortilla and piled on everything on the table. He even managed to roll it so he didn’t spill it all down his shirt after the first bite.

  Once the first fajita went down, Trent started making another one. Pete caught his eye and laughed. “Just one, huh?”

  “Why have you stayed away so long, mijo?” Mrs. V. asked.

  “It’s been a tough road trying to learn to ride again. A lot of PT. I was off the grid for a long time, just concentrating on my recovery. After that—” Trent shrugged. “It became habit not to be attached to my phone or even one place for very long.”

  “How long are you staying? Just for the rodeo?” Serena asked.

  Trent took a deep breath. “Actually, I’m opening up a bull-riding school in Last Stand.”

  Serena squealed and came around the table to hug him. “I’m so glad.”

  “That’s great news,” Pete said. “Where’s it going to be?”

  “I’ve leased some land over at the Three Sisters Ranch.”

  “Oh,” Serena said, wincing. “Good luck with that. The old man is challenging, to say the least. He’ll be all up in your Kool-Aid.”

  Shrugging, Trent added a dollop of salsa to the fajita. “He can’t be as ornery as a bull.”

  “He’s close,” Mrs. V. said. “He drove his poor da
ughters off, one by one.”

  “I didn’t know he had daughters,” Trent said.

  “They were about four years younger than us,” Pete said.

  “One of them lives in New York,” Mrs. V. said. “Another one is in Africa or someplace, and the last one works at a dressage ranch in Kentucky. I speak to Sarah, their mom, in the grocery store. The ranch has been struggling for a couple of years. I heard that they’re allowing a game hunter to come in for the hogs and white tails. I think he’s going to set up a lodge on the back forty.”

  “I can work around that,” Trent said. “The school is up by the road so there’s easier access. According to Billy, all I need are students.”

  “Are you going to have bucking stock?” Pete asked.

  And that.

  The thought made the hair on Trent’s neck stand up. Picturing himself in the chute was one thing. Facing down a bull again was another. He forced himself to meet Pete’s eyes and shrugged. “Yeah, eventually. Right now, I’m just taking beginners. I’m getting training units for practicing technique.”

  “Training unit?” Pete asked, his mouth full. His mother smacked him. “We used to use a fifty-gallon drum on a spring.”

  “These are a little more sophisticated than that.”

  “Well, la di da.” Pete rolled his eyes.

  “Are they like the mechanical bulls in the bars?” Serena said.

  “No,” Trent said, amused. “But maybe if things go well, I’ll get one of those and take them around to fairs to drum up business. Anyway, I got a sweet deal on helmets and flak jackets with my name and logo on them. I haven’t decided if I want to sell them separately or include them in the price of tuition.”

  “Why not both?” Mrs. V. asked.