Loving A Cowboy (21 page)

Truth was, he didn’t like to be alone. It was why he traveled with Lonnie and gave the man a key to his house. Hell, he’d even contemplated getting a dog and taking it on the road with him, but he figured it wouldn’t be fair to the dog—but it would relieve the loneliness that swamped him at the oddest moments, the knowledge that no one in the world cared a fig about him.

Oh, there were rodeo fans who asked for an autograph and wanted to pose with you for a picture. But that connection was fleeting and based on your accomplishments, not who you were deep inside. No one knew who he was deep inside. Libby had come closer than anyone once and decided not to stay around. He’d changed some since then, but he was basically that same scared kid who wondered if he’d live another day and if anyone would care if he didn’t.

But he no longer carried anger inside him at the hand he’d been dealt—money had a way of easing that. He no longer cared what others thought of him. Again, money helped to cure that. But deep, deep inside he still wondered what was so lacking in him that no one could love him. Really love him. Not the infatuation that Libby professed then and now, an infatuation that seemed to have more to do with rebelling against her father than with him.

Did he like being alone? Hell no.

“It has its benefits.” Like no one asking that question.

“Guess you get to do whatever you want, whenever you want.” She shifted in the bed and laid her head on his shoulder, her silky hair sliding across his skin. “No one to answer to.”

“That’s one of them.”

“I hate being alone. I think it has to do with losing my mother. Having people around reassures me that I’m not going to lose anyone. Like when there’s a big snow forecasted, I’m on pins and needles until Doug and my dad are home, and then I could care less if it snowed and snowed, as long as they are there, safe with me.”

“Losing your mom was tough, I know.” Of course, he’d never had a mother to lose because he didn’t count the woman who birthed him and then stayed drunk most of her waking hours. A woman he had to take care of more than she ever took care of him.

“Do you wonder about your mother?” She nestled her body closer to his, but no amount of warmth would relieve the coldness he felt at that question.

“No.” Especially after she’d tried to contact him once he’d acquired some money on the rodeo circuit. Made him regret not changing his name.

“I didn’t realize that my mother and your mother went to school together.”

He had. Their mothers were the same age and grew up in their hometown. Of course it was likely they had known each other. But Libby wouldn’t have known how old his mother was because he had never told her. “How did you figure that out?”

“My daddy told me. He knows her. I think he may know where she is.”

Chance’s heart rate sped up. He sat up, shifting Libby away from his body. “Well, he can just keep that knowledge to himself. She tried to contact me once. No doubt needing some money. I’m not interested in renewing acquaintance with a woman who walked out on her ten-year-old son and left him to a man who had no right to be called a father.”

“Chance, I—”

Chance could feel the old anger swelling in his belly. “I’m going to get some air.”

* * *

Libby set the plate of griddle cakes down in front of the two men—who were yammering away about rodeo stats, good rides, and whom they had to beat—and Billy, who had stopped in to chat with his favorite rodeo riders.

She’d never seen Chance so animated as when he was talking rodeo. This was what he loved. Not a person—a sport. Maybe because the sport had been truer to him than any person had.

Libby wasn’t all that hungry, so she leaned against the counter and watched them dig into the griddle cakes, all three barely missing a beat between mouthfuls.

She’d been wrong to bring up Chance’s mother last night. His whole mood had changed, and not for the better. Some things cut deep, and this, she figured, cut the deepest. She should have realized how acutely his mother’s abandonment still hurt, given how she had struggled, still struggled, with accepting the death of her mother. Even though her mother had died of cancer, Libby’s young mind had blamed her mother for leaving her. Shouldn’t her mother have seen the symptoms sooner? Couldn’t she have gone for some type of experimental treatment? Shouldn’t she have taken better care of herself? It wasn’t rational, and as Libby grew older, she’d understood her mother hadn’t had a choice.

What drove a mother to abandon her son, though? From all she knew, which wasn’t much, Chance’s father had been a brutal man prone to beating both mother and son. So much so that when his mother left, Chance had to go into foster care after a trip to the hospital. How could a mother have abandoned her son to face that? Maybe Chance was right. Maybe Deidre Cochran had only wanted money when she tried to reconnect with him. That must have just driven the knife into Chance all the deeper.

And what did Libby want from Chance? His love. She’d had it once and thrown it back because she was too scared to make the sacrifices that would have been necessary. She hadn’t believed in herself. But Chance was right. She hadn’t believed in him, either. She’d been wrong about him. But right about herself. It had taken some time for her to grow up. To be willing to take chances. Willing to make sacrifices. She guessed losing her mother at such an early age had felt like sacrifice enough. She couldn’t risk losing anyone else in her family, and she had believed she would have lost her father if she had chosen Chance. Now she knew differently. Her father didn’t want to lose her any more than she wanted to lose him.

Chance was strong, resilient, yet tender and vulnerable. Someone who needed her even if he would never admit it. If only he could believe in her love.

“You going to your interview today?” Chance looked up at her from his seat at the table, his expression quizzical, as if he wasn’t sure where her mind had gone.

Billy was arguing with Lonnie about how saddle bronc riding was harder than bull riding, with Lonnie provoking the youngster with proclamations about bull riders’ “expertise.”

“Yup. This should be the last round,” Libby answered, hoping Chance didn’t guess what she’d really been thinking about.

“Better eat up, then. We managed to save you three griddle cakes. And it wasn’t easy.” Chance gave her a weak smile. “You’ve turned into a decent cook, Libby.”

“I’ll say.” Lonnie’s smile was bigger, more sincere.

“These were as good as my mom’s,” Billy chimed in.

“Thanks, guys.” And thanks to the
Fanny Farmer Cookbook
. “But I’m not all that hungry.”

Chance frowned. “Won’t do to go all the way to Denver on an empty stomach.”

“What are you three going to do today?” Time to change the subject.

“After stopping in to thank Billy’s mom for all her help, we’ll be going over to the Forrester’s to do some practicing.”

“Should you be getting on a horse with your foot not fully healed?”

Chance didn’t reply, just stared at her, eyebrows raised, while Lonnie snickered and Billy looked wide eyed.

Libby turned to rinse the griddle pan in the sink, the warm water pouring over her hands as she scrubbed. Chance was getting ready to go back on the circuit, and she would lose him for good. This would just be an interlude in her life, a short break to remind her of what could have been. No wonder she had lost her appetite.

* * *

“So, Miss Brennan, Libby, you’re fresh out of graduate school. Tell me some of the things you’ve learned that will help you in this job.”

The young woman, not much older than Libby, who asked this question certainly didn’t look like the owner of a rodeo stock company. But her last name was Prescott, and Prescott Rodeo Company was one of the biggest suppliers of rodeo stock in the West. Dressed in tight, form-flattering jeans, a short-sleeve, flowing white blouse accessorized with turquoise jewelry, Mandy Prescott looked like something out of
Vogue
magazine, albeit a western version.

Focusing on the question, Libby related how school had expanded her horizons and thinking so that when faced with a problem, instead of one or two possibilities, she now saw five or six possible solutions and had the tools to critically evaluate the pros and cons. “Every solution has trade-offs. You have to be aware of those trade-offs and understand which ones are most important to you or your client.”

Mandy Prescott smiled. “Good answer. Now what problem has intrigued you with regards to this job?”

Libby talked about the need to keep attendance robust and some ideas on how to do that, including featuring more information about the stock that would costar at the show.

“Impressive, and being a stock supplier, I’m all for that.” Mandy leaned closer to the resume she held in her hands. “I see you’re from Wyoming, as am I. Are you related to Sam Brennan of Brennan Motors?”

“I’m his daughter.”

Mandy sat back in her chair. “We buy all our pickups from your daddy. Nothing like that F-150. Your father has always given us a fair deal. He’s such a nice guy.”

“Thank you,” Libby said because she didn’t know what else to say, but she couldn’t deny the sense of pride that filled her.

A few more questions in a definitely friendlier tone, and the interview was over.

“You should be hearing from us shortly, Libby,” Mandy said as she ushered Libby down the hall toward the exit leading to the garage elevators. “Say hi to your daddy for me. He’ll know Prescott Rodeo. Fathers are precious commodities.” Her smile was wistful.

There were a bunch of things she’d like to ask Mandy, like how a young woman ended up running a rodeo stock company, but she held back her curiosity. If she got the job, there would be plenty of time to get to know Mandy Prescott better.

* * *

Chance drove the pickup down the winding mountain road. He and Lonnie had decided to meet Libby in Denver for dinner. It would be a last hurrah before he told her he was going back on the road the upcoming weekend.

Would she leave right away? Would she stay—forever? She said she loved him. She’d said that before. That he had money now and was living comfortably shouldn’t be the deciding factor if someone loved you, respected you, felt you were the one. No, he couldn’t trust her words. And he’d never say them back to her, no matter what he felt.

He was fine with being friends with benefits. This didn’t have to end. And there was no reason she had to move out because he was moving on. Might be nice to have someone to come home to, to have Libby to come home to, for those times he was between rodeos. She could look after his place, if she was of a mind, in exchange for room and board. No strings. No regrets. Yeah, it could work, considering most of the time he’d be on the road, away from her. No reasons it couldn’t.

“You tell Libby yet that you’re going back on the circuit?” Lonnie asked as he cycled through the channels on the satellite radio looking for a favorite country tune.

“That’s what tonight is for, sort of.”

Lonnie leaned back and tipped back his cowboy hat. “And I’m along to provide a buffer?”

“Sort of.”

“Great.”

“You owe me. You’re the one that gave her my address.”

“And what exactly do I owe you? You had a caring nurse to look after you—and she did such a good job, you’re back on a horse in a month. Not to mention, I haven’t seen you this relaxed and happy…well, ever.”

Chance shook his head. “Don’t go reading into it. We are strictly friends with benefits. There can never be anything more between us. Besides, she wants white picket fences. I don’t hold with fences.”

“Didn’t you tell me she gave up a fiancé who would have given her those white picket fences?”

“Just like she gave me up because she didn’t think I would give them to her.”

“Maybe she’s grown up since then. Maybe white picket fences no longer appeal.”

“And maybe some people don’t change.”

“Like you, you mean? Stubborn old mule.”

“Like me.”

Chapter 17

The dinner had been scrumptious, and being escorted by two handsome cowboys, decked out in dress duds and cowboy hats, had been fun, but all night she’d felt she was losing Chance. He’d be hitting the trail and she’d be heading back home, waiting to see if she had gotten the Denver job, their time together over and their relationship little better than that of friends.

She loved him. Loved him from his stubborn head to his aching heart to his injured foot. And no matter how much she tried to be there for him, tried to show him she had changed, grown up, wasn’t the scared little girl she’d been at eighteen, he couldn’t see it, wouldn’t believe it, didn’t want to know it.

As Chance slipped behind the wheel of her car and Lonnie closed the door to the pickup he’d be driving back, Libby was determined to lobby for more time, time to see if his feelings for her would deepen, time to see if he could truly forgive her, time to see if he could trust her again.

“How was the practice at Forrester’s?”

He smiled. “Good. Foot was throbbing, but I didn’t feel a thing on the ride. Only after.” He nodded. “But that’s always the way. Must be the adrenaline or something.”

“So, you’ll be heading to that Utah rodeo with Lonnie, I expect. It will be four weeks. That was your timetable.”

His smile broadened as he turned the car onto the four-lane highway that would take them close to his home. “Right on schedule. Tom worked his magic and, despite some minor setbacks…” He chuckled, probably recalling the grill fire and Cowboy’s adventure. “Four weeks and I’m back. Longest four weeks of my life.”

Well, she’d try not to take that as an insult. After all, it was four weeks they’d spent together.

“So you aren’t afraid of reinjuring it?”

He shook his head while his eyes stayed trained on the road ahead. “Nah. Pick-up men know how to handle things when a cowboy has a leg or, in this case, foot injury. I’ll be fine, and besides, it’s only for a few seconds. A few crazy seconds.”