Rodeo Sweetheart (5 page)

T
he moon hung low in the velvet night sky, a shiny silver orb against a sea of black. Sam trudged through the shadows toward the north paddock, her boots silent on the dewy grass. Despite the late hour, adrenaline pulsed in her veins and her hands shook. She shoved them into the back pockets of her jeans as she walked.

Maybe she was crazy. Riding a steer was nothing like riding a bull, as steers were significantly smaller, but it was all she had access to for practice. She’d sat on a bull once before on a dare—for about two seconds at a friend’s ranch as a young teenager. Of course, that was before her friend’s father ran outside, yelling at them for taking the risk and looking much scarier than the bull. After watching the competition at the local rodeo each year, Sam figured her brief stint couldn’t even come close to being the same.

She rounded the corner of the barn, and the outline of the steer’s narrow horns inside the paddock siphoned into view. Cole, dressed in dark denim from head to foot, waited by the fence, one boot hung lazily on the bottom rail. A long rope
was coiled over his shoulder. He straightened as she approached. “You ready for this, kid?”

Sam nodded. Only Cole could get away with such a nickname. He’d started work at the Jenson farm right after he graduated high school, when Sam was a child, and stayed on full-time these past twenty years. Now he was more like a big brother than a hired hand. “Of course I’m ready. Bring it.”

The tremor in Sam’s voice almost cancelled out the confident words, but to her relief, Cole didn’t seem to notice. “That’s what I like to hear.” He opened the paddock gate and motioned for Sam to go through first.

She strode into the pen, keeping a wary eye on the steer. The miniature beast looked up from inside the makeshift chute Cole had concocted, and blinked lazily, grass dangling from its flabby lips. At this rate, riding would be a breeze—downright boring, even. But once Cole tied that rope around the steer’s hindquarters…Sam swallowed. “Where’d you get him?”

“A friend with a cattle ranch a few miles west owed me a favor. He said we can borrow Lucy here for as long as we’d like.”

“Lucy?”

“Short for Lucifer.” Cole winked.

Sam’s stomach flipped.

“I know he looks calm now, but this here is a flank strap.” Cole gestured with the fleece-lined leather rope he uncoiled off his shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll get him bucking good.”

That was the problem. Sam forced a smile, hoping the evening shadows hid her apprehension. She couldn’t back down now, not after Cole had gone to all that effort to bring the beast. Besides, kids rode steers in rodeos all the time—it was considered a junior event. If some 4-H preteen could do it, Sam could, too.

She just wouldn’t think about her father’s last bull ride in the process.

“What do we do first?” Sam crossed her arms, hoping to keep her pounding heart from bursting through her long-sleeved T-shirt. Too bad Cole couldn’t have found a steer with shorter horns.

Cole started toward the animal, which backed up a step. “I’ll tie the flank strap and bull rope on him, and you hop on.”

“And then what?”

“Hang tight.” Cole grinned, his teeth a white splash against dark stubble.

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t about to mount a giant cow with horns. Sam took a deep breath as Cole straddled the fencing between the rail and the makeshift pen and went to work securing the flank strap. Cowboy up, as her father always said. She could do it—for him, for the farm. Winning the rodeo competition was her only immediate chance at earning enough money to buy Noble Star from Kate’s dad. Without the stallion, the farm would continue having to front as a tourist trap. Going from trail rider to bull rider would be hard enough with months of training—and Sam only had a few weeks. There was no time to waste.

“All set.” Cole gave a final tug on the rope and sat back on the fence. The steer snorted his disapproval. “Need a leg up?”

She ran her hands down the front of her jeans.
Get on the steer, Sam.
She took a steadying breath, trying to envision the finish line—Jenson Farms, back the way it used to be. “Sure.” She climbed the fence before she could change her mind, and hooked one leg over the top rail. Holding on to Cole’s arm for balance, she brought in her outside leg and eased onto the steer’s leathery back. Heavy muscles twitched under her weight.

Sam gripped the bull rope around the steer’s neck and held tight, just as Cole advised. “Any last words of wisdom?” Her voice shook again and this time she didn’t care.

Cole shrugged. “Don’t fall off?”

“Thanks.” Her nervous laugh punctured the weighty silence resting on her shoulders and she rotated her neck. She could do this. It was a new adventure, one she probably would have pursued long before now if things had turned out differently for her family. No reason to be scared—as long as those horns stayed up there with the steer’s head where they belonged.

“Ready?” Cole hopped from the fence to the dirt, patchy with mud from a recent rain, and reached over to unlatch the chute’s gate.

Yes. No. Never. She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.

Her world exploded.

Hooves thundered. Dirt pelted her face. Sam’s arm wrenched against the bull rope, yet her fingers refused to let go. She clung tighter with her legs and forced her eyes open. Sky, earth. Sky, earth. It was like riding a hairy, out-of-control rocking chair. How could her dad have ever done this for fun?

The steer snorted, his horns twisting to the left and then to the right. Sam bounced hard against his thick neck. From her peripheral vision, she glimpsed Cole clapping his hands. “You’re doing great!”

She was? Maybe she could do this after all. Her biceps screamed in protest and Sam winced as mud slung in her face. She instinctively twisted away from the dirty onslaught just as Lucy turned—in the opposite direction.

Sam hit the ground hard, mud oozing into her ears and down the neck of her shirt. She raised her hands to protect her face, but Lucy, free of her burden, had harmlessly trotted back toward the chute.

Sam lowered her hands, aware of a fiery ache in her quivering right arm and thighs, aware of Cole yelling for her not
to get up yet, aware that had she been thrown just a few feet farther to the left, she would have landed on the paddock rails.

But mostly, she was aware of Ethan Ames standing on the other side of the fence, his face a mixture of shock and amusement.

Ethan wasn’t sure if he should offer his hand, laugh or run away. He was tempted to do all three. But the stable hand he recognized from the trail ride yesterday beat him to his first instinct, and pulled Sam out of the dirt.

“What are you doing here?” Her wary eyes met Ethan’s as she slapped at the mud clinging to her jeans.

Ethan braced both arms against the top rail dividing them. “The better question is why are you riding a bull?” Dirt speckled Sam’s honey-colored hair, but he wasn’t about to point that out.

“That ain’t a bull, greenhorn.” The stable hand spit in the paddock dirt. “That’s a steer.” He held Sam out in front of him by her shoulders. “Are you okay, kid? That was some fall.”

“I’m fine, Cole.” Sam wrestled out of his concerned grip, a dark red flush working up her neck. She met Ethan at the fence and glared. “Why are you up this late?”

Ethan checked the Rolex on his wrist, visible by the light of the moon. “Late? It’s not even midnight.”

Sam’s eyes snapped. “Guests aren’t supposed to be roaming the property all night long. This isn’t a country club. People could get hurt.”

“Hurt like when they fall off a bull?”

“It’s a steer,” Cole reminded.

“Bull, steer, cow, whatever.” Ethan shrugged. “Why were you riding it?”

Sam hesitated.

“Trying to ride it, I guess I should say.” If she wouldn’t be honest, he couldn’t help teasing her a little.

Sam’s head jerked. “You want to give it a shot, if it’s so easy?”

Ethan laughed. “No, thanks. I value my life.”

“I do, too.” Sam’s voice quieted and she turned to stare toward the main house. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

Cole broke the ensuing silence. “Hey, kid, I’m gonna go put this steer up for the night.”

“Wait, what if my mom—?” Sam’s voice broke off and her eyes widened, flickering from Ethan, to the animal, to Cole.

Ethan frowned at the exchange. What was Sam worried about? More importantly, what was she so concerned about him knowing?

Cole strode toward the steer, which was now attempting to pull grass through the bottom rail of the paddock. His long horns knocked against the post and Ethan shuddered. What on earth could have possessed Sam to mount such an animal—practically in the middle of the night? There were obviously secrets here—maybe ones his father would be interested in. The faster this sale went through the faster he could break out on his own and leave Ames Real Estate and development in his dust.

“I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.” Cole tipped his hat at Sam before reaching the animal. His low voice murmured softly through the night air, and the steer remained calm long enough for Cole to tug a rope around his neck and untie the one around his hind legs.

Something was definitely not right with this picture, and it had nothing to do with a steer-whispering stable hand. Ethan turned back to Sam. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

“It’s none of your business.” She grabbed the fence and
began climbing over. Ethan sidestepped to avoid getting hit in the face with her swinging boot when she reached the top.

“Fine. I’ll just go back to my cabin.” Ethan walked backward two steps.

“Thank you.” Sam landed on the ground and rubbed her right shoulder, which was more than likely bruised from her fall. She’d taken quite a hit. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

“No problem.” Ethan turned, walking faster. He decided to take one last stab in the dark—literally. “I’m sure I can find out from Mrs. Jenson in the morning what all this was about.”

Sam’s hand snagged the back of his shirt and tugged, pulling Ethan to an abrupt halt.
Bingo.
He controlled his smile before turning around to meet her anxious expression.

“You can’t ask her.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.” Exasperation laced Sam’s tone but Ethan stood his ground. If Sam confided in him, he’d be one step closer to friendship. One step closer to getting the information his dad needed before Jeffrey sent for backup—namely, Daniel.

The thought of Daniel weaseling his way into Sam’s life sounded so much worse than Ethan doing the same. At least Ethan had no intentions of manipulating Sam’s emotions. He just wanted to be friends, get the info his dad needed, and get back home to start his new life. Daniel, however, would prey on her emotions, attempt to mix business with pleasure and get something for himself from the deal. Ethan had to find out what Sam was up to first. His cousin had already taken enough from him, including Jeffrey’s respect.

He didn’t want Daniel anywhere near Sam.

He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you want your mother to know?”

“I just don’t. Are you going to tell her?”

“Maybe not, if you’ll do something for me.”

Sam crossed her arms. “What do you want out of this?”

What
did
he want? A gentle breeze caressed Ethan’s neck and he shivered. He wanted to leave the real estate business, wanted to get as far away from his father as he could. He wanted to find what he was really good at and make an honest living, rather than be a pawn in his father’s devious plans. He wanted independence, respect—and, watching the wind tease tendrils of hair around her dirt-streaked cheeks, what he really wanted was to kiss Sam.

He’d settle for two out of three. “I want to learn about ranching.”

She snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious.” Ethan straightened his shoulders, trying to imitate the way he’d seen Cole standing earlier—straight back, cocked hip, loose leg. Seeing the ranch from an insider’s perspective would provide Ethan ample opportunity to discover any issues about the property his dad hoped to find. He’d do his job, make his father happy and get out of Dodge—or, rather Appleback—of his own will, and not because he was being replaced by Daniel. And maybe he could even show Sam how to enjoy life a bit and put a smile on her face. Everyone won.

Until your father buys Sam’s beloved ranch.

Ethan quickly squelched the thought and held out his hand. “You teach me about horses and running a farm, and I’ll keep your secret.”

Sam shook on their deal. “You’re rotten, you know that?”

Yes, Ethan did. Some days, he knew it all too well. That’s why he needed to be free of his father’s influence. He tightened his grip when Sam tried to pull her hand away. “One last condition.”

Sam raised her eyebrows. Good thing looks couldn’t actually kill. “What else could you possibly want?”

“I want you to tell me why you were riding that bull.”

“Fine.” She sighed.

“Promise?” He shook her hand again so she couldn’t back out of the new condition. Weren’t handshakes as good as a signed contract back in the Wild West days? He shook it harder.

“Promise.” She wrestled her hand free and rubbed it.

“So why were you?” Ethan tilted his head, eager to hear what could possibly make a woman desperate enough to hop on a wild animal in the middle of the night with only the moon for a seatbelt.

“Why was I what?” Sam smirked and Ethan’s smile slid off his face. “I promised to tell you why I was riding a bull. I never promised to tell you why I was riding a
steer.
” She abruptly strode toward the barn.

Ethan ran his hands down the length of his face, once again not sure whether to laugh, go after her—or run far, far away.

A
sudden pounding on the cabin door shook Ethan from a sound sleep. He groggily sat up in bed and moved to look out the front window. The sun was barely up—so why was he? The knocking continued.

“Coming!” He wiped at his bleary eyes. Daniel stirred under the covers from his bed across the room but didn’t wake. Ethan threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and yanked the door open with a scowl.

Sam stood on the front porch, hands tucked in the back pockets of her jeans, wearing a blue-and-white flowered button-down shirt that brought out her eyes. “Morning, sunshine.”

Her smile, pretty as it might be, was much too bright this early on a Monday. “What do you want?”

“That’s no way to greet your boss.”

“Boss?” Ethan hit his ear with the palm of his hand, certain he’d heard wrong. His boss was his father, and Jeffrey Ames was thankfully nowhere in sight. What was Sam talking about?

“Well, maybe not boss, technically, because you’re not
getting paid.” Sam smirked. “But you are here to learn, so you’re sort of like my apprentice—which means I’m in charge. Which means you need to get ready. We’re behind schedule.”

“Impossible. The sun just came up.” Birds chirped from a nearby tree, and Ethan felt like throwing his pillow at them. He never fully woke up until consuming a massive amount of coffee—preferably Guatemalan dark roast, but he’d made do yesterday at the main house with the generic brand. Looked like he’d have to do it again.

Talk about living off the land.

“Ranchers get up before the sun, partner. Welcome to farm work.” Sam quirked an eyebrow. “Of course, if you’d rather back out of our agreement…”

Agreements. Steers. Secrets. The previous night rushed at Ethan like a sports car on the autobahn and he groaned. No wonder he felt so exhausted. He’d gone back to bed after his midnight bargain with Sam, but had lain awake for at least another hour reliving his sudden rash of good luck. It was the perfect setup for getting his father off his back and putting his plan for future freedom into action. “You’re not getting out of it. I’ll be ready in two minutes.” He closed the cabin door, leaving Sam to sulk on the porch. He refused to let her out of their deal—not when there was so much to lose.

Daniel sat up as Ethan flicked on the lamp and pulled a pair of socks from his dresser drawer. “What’s going on, man? Breakfast isn’t for another hour or more.”

Ethan hesitated, hopping on one leg as he tugged his sock over his foot. He hated to tell Daniel the details of his arrangement, but Jeffrey would tell him eventually anyway. Besides, Daniel didn’t have to know Ethan’s true motivation for getting close to Sam—just the same reason that Jeffrey would
hear. “I have a meeting with Sam.” Hopefully that sounded vague enough to hide his growing feelings for her.

“Meeting, or date?” Daniel grinned, and then squinted outside. “Is the sun even up?”

“Meeting. Definitely just a meeting.” Ethan slid into his loafers, thought better of it and grabbed his running shoes instead, the ones he’d ridden in two days ago. He hadn’t packed cowboy boots—at the time, he hadn’t imagined ever using them. Looked like he’d have to find a pair if he was going to be doing ranch work. At least these tennis shoes could get dirty with little consequence. He wrestled them on without untying the laces.

“What kind of meeting is worth a dawn appointment?” Daniel yawned and flopped back against his pillow. “You’ve got it bad, dude.”

“You’re dreaming—literally. Go back to sleep.” Ethan automatically grabbed his watch, then realized there was no point in wearing it, not to do stable work. What exactly had he gotten himself into? This idea seemed much smarter in the middle of the night, staring at Sam’s desperate blue eyes.

Sam didn’t even bother to hide her smile as she watched Ethan grapple with the pitchfork inside Piper’s stall. “You have to scoop it, Ethan. Not stab it.” Across the pen, Piper flicked his tail as if agreeing.

“This is disgusting.” Ethan swiped his hair off his forehead with one shirtsleeve. Sweat glistened on his hairline.

Sam couldn’t help the bubble of satisfaction fizzing in her stomach. She leaned back against the stall wall and let it hold her weight. Served Ethan right. If ranching was so easy, every city slicker would hustle down from the North and give it a whirl. Ethan deserved a good dose of reality. And if that came by pitchfork and manure, then all the better.

“You do this for every stall in the barn?” Ethan dropped a load from his pitchfork into the wheelbarrow and wrinkled his nose.

“Every single day. Cole helps, usually. But this morning I told him we’d handle it.” Sam grinned.

“We?” Ethan stopped shoveling and stared, resting one arm atop the long wooden handle of the fork. “You’ve done nothing but point.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to learn about ranching.” Sam adjusted the rim of her cowboy hat in an exaggerated air of indifference. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Quit the sarcasm. It’s too early in the morning.” He went back to scooping, watching Piper as warily as Piper watched him. “Couldn’t you have taken her out of the stall for this?”

“Him. And there’s no reason to. He only uses this one corner.”

“Who teaches them that?”

“It’s a natural instinct that most animals have.” Sam watched Ethan work a moment longer, than sighed. “All right, fine. I’ll shovel the next one.” She didn’t feel guilty, exactly—just wasn’t used to standing around without purpose. She reached for the pitchfork.

“No way. I asked for this, remember?” Ethan refused to relinquish the handle.

She tugged back on it. “I can manage—apparently better than you can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pulled harder.

“It means I’m used to hard work.”

“And I’m not?” Ethan’s expression tightened.

Sam gripped the handle with both hands. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it.” Ethan let go and Sam stumbled backward several steps. “You sure do lose your balance a lot.”

She quickly regained her stance and pointed the pitchfork at him. “At least I’m not afraid to try.”

“Look, I know what you’re thinking.” Ethan waved both hands in the air. “The rich city boy never had to do anything but learn how to feed himself with a silver spoon. Right?”

Sam opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. He was dead-on—and why should she think differently? He flaunted his self-importance. Kate had warned her the Ameses’ first day at the ranch to watch out for tourists. She’d been joking, of course, but Sam would be better off taking the remark seriously. Ethan was the exact image of the stereotypical, heartless guy, searching for a new hobby that he would inevitably tire of. But what if he tired of it before his vacation ended and broke his end of their deal? Angie would be devastated, Sam would have to quit the competition, and there went any chance of buying Noble Star or bringing back the breeding business. Sam’s home would forever be a tourist trap.

No, as much as she wanted to throw the pitchfork at Ethan and walk away, she had to keep him happy. There was too much at stake. She gritted her teeth. “Why don’t we start over?”

“With the stall?” Ethan’s eyes widened in alarm.

“No, not with mucking out the stable. With us. With this.” She gestured between them.

“What’s the catch?” Ethan’s caramel-brown gaze turned cautious.

Sam rested the pitchfork against the gate. “No catch. I just think if we’re going to be around each other, the least we can do is be civil about it.”

“Civil, as in, no more sarcasm?”

“I make no promises.” The corners of Sam’s mouth twitched into a grin.

Ethan’s eyes shimmered in amusement as he held out his hand. “Fair enough. Truce?”

“Truce.” Sam slipped her palm against his and a spark ignited
at contact. She quickly pulled it back, wondering if he felt it, too. From the way Ethan wrung his hand once before reaching to pick up the wheelbarrow, she could only assume he had.

“Which way?” He gripped the handles and maneuvered the full barrow toward the door.

Sam opened the gate and pointed toward the far end of the barn. “Outside and to the right is a compost pile. You can’t miss it.”

Ethan squeezed past Sam through the opening. The lingering look he shot over his shoulder before he headed down the barn aisle made her breath hitch.

Sam secured the gate and paused a moment to give Ethan a much-needed head start.

Couldn’t miss it, indeed.

Never in his life had Ethan imagined he’d be dumping horse manure into a compost pile. Even more than that, he had never imagined he’d be doing it with a ridiculous smile on his face that wouldn’t quit. Good thing Sam stayed in the barn or else she’d think he was nuts.

Ethan turned the empty wheelbarrow away from the compost pile and back toward the stable. That electric spark he felt when Sam shook his hand wasn’t imaginary—it was real. Which meant he was either losing his mind—or falling for the enemy. His dad would panic for sure if he knew Ethan had felt something, really felt something, at that contact.

Truce. He snorted. Making that kind of agreement with Sam was more dangerous than continuing the sarcastic battle of wills they’d had before. He’d much rather shoot barbs than sparks.

Ethan straightened his shoulders as he pushed the wheelbarrow down the stable aisle. It didn’t matter whether Sam’s touch made his entire arm feel as if he’d been struck by light
ning. It didn’t matter if she was intriguing, sweet and spicy all at the same time. It didn’t matter, because she was an obstacle, the barrier to navigate on the way to his dreams. If he’d learned anything worthwhile from Jeffrey Ames, it was that goals on the road of life were never reached by stopping to pick wildflowers along the way.

Ethan cracked his neck in one quick motion and schooled his features as he handed over the wheelbarrow handles to Sam. Her eyes, wide and luminous beneath the brim of her hat, made his stomach flip—eyes the exact color of the periwinkle wildflowers in the meadow behind the barn. He drew a steadying breath. This was ridiculous. He was Ethan Ames. No way would he be bested by some tomboy in boots.

Even if she had him thinking about wildflowers.