Rodeo King (Dustin Lovers Book 1) (10 page)

After downing half his beer, Caleb
reached for the phone, got within a few inches of the damned thing, then
clenched his hand into a fist and pulled back, letting it fall with a thud to
the table in the kitchenette of his studio unit.

Damn it to hell and back.
He stood and moved to the window, staring out blindly at the sun-dappled
parking lot.

Three times he’d tried calling Rosemary’s
cell. The first call had gone to voicemail. So had the second. On the third
she’d picked up, and he’d gotten out a fast, “Don’t hang up, Rosie,” before the
disconnect beep clicked in his ear.

Stubborn, pigheaded woman.

Caleb raked his fingers through his
hair, blowing out a harsh breath. He loved her so much he ached with it. He
also knew damned well if she didn’t want to take his calls, she wouldn’t,
regardless of how many times he hit the redial. His stomach knotted. He’d
really fucked up this time. After earning back her trust, he’d destroyed it
with one small hesitation, instead of giving her the answer she’d deserved
immediately. That he loved her and Carson, and there was no way in hell he was
leaving them. Ever.

But you didn’t do that, dumbass.

Yesterday, knowing he risked having the
door slammed in his face, he’d borrowed Nash’s truck and drove to her house,
hoping to talk to her. She hadn’t been there. One of the neighbors, a busybody
he remembered from his pre-rodeo days, informed him Rosemary and ‘that wild
gal-pal of hers’ had left for who-knew-where.

Since it was the peak of summer, and
knowing Rosie, he figured they’d gone to the lake. So he’d spent several hours
trolling up and down the road along Cruller Lake, a retired gravel pit the
nearby town of Raymond had filled with water. No luck finding her car.

He’d finally given up and driven back to
the Bronco Inn, stopping by the liquor store on the way. Damned if he’d eat his
heart out any longer. Rosemary Carmichael more than lived up to her flaming red
hair.

Memories of those silken strands tangled
in his fingers as he kissed her, held her, made his body go tight with desire
and his heart ache with longing.

Jesus
, he missed her.
Every tiny thing about her, including her temper.

Caleb limped back to the table and
dropped into his chair. Hanging his head, he rested his forearms on the edge of
the table, his half-empty beer no longer holding any appeal. Getting shit-faced
on suds wasn’t the answer, although a few days ago it’d seemed like a good
idea. Which was why only eleven longneck bottles of amber remained in the
fridge. He’d started with a case.

He rubbed at both eyes, then winced.
“Son of a bitch!” Cupping his hand over his right eye, Caleb probed carefully.
He didn’t have to look in a mirror to know the damned thing was still swollen
and probably colored a nice shade of purple. It throbbed like a mother, too.
Mason Carmichael had a mean left hook. At least he hadn’t socked the same side
of Caleb’s face, from the night he’d first hit town.

They’d gotten into it last night outside
of DeeDee’s, when Caleb stumbled through the doors just drunk enough to not
give a damn, and demanded Mason tell him where Rosemary had gone. Two sore ribs
and a black eye later, Caleb had staggered back to the motel and stocked up on
ice, digging in his shaving kit for the ace bandage he’d used off and on as
extra support for his ankle. After a shitty job of wrapping it around his ribs,
he’d passed out half on and half off the bed.

Today he felt every ache, each
fist-pound Mason had delivered, not to mention residual pain on his bruised
knuckles from the punches he’d somehow managed to land on his hardheaded
ex-buddy. Mason might have done more damage, but Caleb had left him with plenty
to think about, including a nose that was most likely broken.

“Bastard deserved it,” he said aloud,
studying his ruined knuckles. He rose and grabbed the longneck, dumping the
rest of it down the sink in the kitchenette.
No more beer.
He’d take a
shower and go out for a burger, maybe hit that diner outside of Hawthorn and
clear his head.

Except thinking about Hawthorn made him
relive the hours leading up to the moment his life went to total shit.
Groaning, Caleb sank back onto his chair and pushed his face in his palms,
uncaring of the pain in his eye.

What was he going to do?

As if in response, his cell trilled.
Thinking it might be Rosemary, Caleb grabbed for it.

“Yeah, hello!”

“Caleb Johnson? This is Lenny Folsom
with the State Rodeo Commission. You spoke to one of my associates the other
day. Bill Knowles.”

He’d never felt less like talking rodeo
in his entire life. “Yeah, that’s right. Nice to hear from you, Mr. Folsom—”

“Oh, just call me Lenny. Listen, I
understand you never gave Bill an answer about the job offer. It’s a choice
one, for sure. And something my team thinks you’d be great at, what with your
knowledge and experience. Pays great, too. Did Bill mention the salary?”

Caleb rubbed his free hand over the back
of his neck and tried to concentrate on something other than his mounting
melancholy and images of Rosemary, naked and warm in his arms three mornings
ago, before he lost everything that mattered to him. Which, he suddenly
realized, did not encompass goddamn bull riding.

“I must be nuts,” he mused softly.

“Beg pardon?” The voice in his ear—Lenny
something-or-other—sounded perplexed and a bit irritated. “Mr. Johnson, have
you made a decision? We need your answer. The current announcer is leaving next
week. Retiring to Las Vegas with the wife and a thirty-foot fifth wheel. We’d
need you in Cheyenne for initial training. Start you right on the circuit full
time during the season, then rotating between our corporate offices off-season.
Lots of great travel. We could offer you a spot on the board as a junior member
and keep you in the loop. Full bennies, too.” Lenny paused. Then added, “Mr.
Johnson?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Caleb thought
furiously. If he took this job he’d have to be guaranteed Rosemary and Carson
could travel with him when he hit the road. He’d request his local base to be
Cheyenne, an easy drive from Dustin. “Listen, Lenny. Can I ask you something? I
got a family here. They’d have to be included in my travel allowance, and—”

“You? A family? Since when?” Lenny’s
voice held amazement. “I remember you on the circuit, Johnson. You were a
tomcat.”

“Not any longer,” Caleb replied firmly.
“I got a little boy. Five years old. And my girl’s going to marry me soon.”
I
hope and pray.
“I have to do right by them and that includes not leaving
them behind.”

“Well, I don’t know, son.” Papers rattled
in Caleb’s ear. Then Lenny sighed. “Let me see what I can do. But you gotta
understand, it’s a big deal being offered a job like this. The Commission folks
do want you but they make all the final decisions.”

“I understand. And if I were a single
guy I’d jump on it. But I can’t be the only one who’s got a family.”

“Well, now, son, you might just be. You
know how rodeo is. Damned few get themselves tied down.”

Right about then, just as Caleb opened
his mouth to refute Lenny Folsom’s opinion, his cell beeped in with call
waiting. He pulled it from his ear and glanced at the display in time to see
Rosemary’s number flash.

Holy shit.

“Mr. Folsom, I’ve got an urgent call to
take.” Caleb disconnected before the man could utter a single squawk, and hit
the button. “Rosie? Rosie!”

A rapid beep sounded in his ear. She’d
already hung up. “Damnfuck it!” His head ready to explode from the rush of
emotion coursing through his body, he frantically pressed buttons. It went
instantly to voicemail.

Frustrated beyond belief, Caleb let out
an angry yell, then whirled around and pitched the phone across the room.
Breathing heavily, and not feeling one damn bit better, he watched it bounce
off the wall and skitter across the thin-carpeted floor.

***

Rosemary tucked her cell into her beach
bag and stifled a sigh. Lifting her damp hair off her sweaty neck, she
re-twisted the heavy curls and tightened the bright pink octopus clip that was
supposed to secure the thick mass atop her head. When it flopped back over her
shoulders, she yanked out what was left of the clip and stared at it. The
spring mechanism was shot. “Ah, hell!” She tossed it aside.

“Now what?” Susan peered over the top of
her sunglasses inquiringly. She sat up and reached for the bottle of suntan
lotion they’d been sharing. “Here, make yourself useful and load me up.”

“Well, turn around.” As Susan presented
her back, Rosemary slapped on lotion, rubbing it in with some of the aggression
she was feeling, then rubbing harder when her best friend grumbled under her
breath.

“Hold
still,
” Rosemary snapped.

“You’re taking off a layer of my
freshly-tanned epidermis. Boy, you’re mean when you’re sex-deprived.” Susan
grabbed the lotion out of Rosemary’s hand. “I’ll do it myself.”

“I’m not sex-deprived,” she denied.

Liar.

“Pissed-off, then.” With a smug look,
Susan finished coating one arm. “Or just generally pissy.” She waved the bottle
toward the lake, shimmering under endless blue skies. Children shrieked in the
distance; birds cawed above, and a light breeze took the edge off the summer
heat. “It’s gorgeous here, Rosie. Carson’s having fun, you’re wearing my
sexiest bikini, and at least twenty guys have eyeballed you, most with their
tongues hanging out.
Carpe Diem
and all that.” She plopped on her
stomach and stretched out, a sleek cat soaking up the afternoon rays. “So stop
wallowing and enjoy.”

“I’m
not
wallowing.” Abruptly
Rosemary stood, brushing sand off her arms and legs. “You can carp their diem
for both of us.”

She didn’t want to be here. Even though
she knew it was unfair to make Carson leave so soon, her heart wasn’t in it.
Turning slightly, she assured herself that her son still sat at the edge of the
blanket with his trucks and sand pail.

Slathered in the highest SPF sunscreen
available, wearing his uncle’s ‘go to hell’ camo bush hat and bright green
board shorts, Carson looked adorable. As always. He toyed with a plastic
shovel, occasionally digging up sand and pouring it in his pail. He seemed to
be having fun, and earlier she’d seen him splashing around with a few kids his
age, but for the most part her boy was quiet. Too quiet. From the serious
expression on his little face, she knew sooner or later he’d come out with it.
And she’d bet money he’d start asking questions about his daddy.

Trouble was, Rosemary had no answers for
him . . . or for herself.

She’d escaped town in a big, angry huff,
refusing Caleb’s phone calls, ignoring the voicemail he’d left on her cell. In
the more sensible part of her brain she knew her attitude smacked of
unfairness, but she couldn’t help it. The man just scrambled her emotions. And
all her insecurities had surged front and center as soon as he’d said ‘Rodeo
Commission.’ Like waving a red flag before an enraged bull.

I never gave him a chance to explain
anything.
Not her most shining moment. Not very mature,
either. So she’d given him a call, only to discover he wasn’t answering his
cell, and his voicemail wasn’t engaging. She couldn’t leave him a message. A
hard lump formed in her throat along with a sense of
déjà vu
. . .

Because six years ago she didn’t have a
cell number for him, either. No way to let him know he was going to be a daddy.
His folks had moved, their house sold to an elderly couple with a bunch of
cats. Rosemary had no idea where the Johnsons had relocated.

How helpless she’d felt, sitting on the
bed in her room with her parents silent and furious downstairs. She’d rocked
back and forth on the edge of the mattress with her cell phone in one hand,
pressing against her still-flat stomach with the other. Tears, so thick she could
barely breathe, had dripped everywhere as she tried to plan out the most
uncertain future she’d ever had to face. Seeing for herself how miserable her
mama was, married to a man who didn’t want to be tied down, Rosemary had made
the decision to just let Caleb go.

“Rosie?”

She jerked out of her stupor. “Huh?”

While she’d been standing there with bad
memories churning, staring depressingly out at the lake, Susan had sidled up
beside her, and held out a chilled bottle of water. “Here. Drink some. Then I
think we should head back to the cottage.”

They’d rented one of the lakeside
cottages, snaring a summer weekend special. The tiny three-room cabin was
rustic but at least had running water and some semblance of power, although
they’d popped a breaker twice when Susan had forgotten to shut off the
coffeemaker before blow-drying her hair.

“I’m not thirsty.” But Rosemary took the
water anyway and drank a few gulps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Then gained Carson’s attention as he raised his head to look around. “Come get
a drink, honey.”