The Bull Rider's Homecoming (8 page)

“I've surprised you,” she said flatly.

“A little.”

She shifted her weight and looked past him. “I'm new at this, so please excuse my awkwardness and feel free to say no.” Her cheeks were on fire now, but she maintained that serene, distant expression that made Trace think she was dying a little inside.

“I thought you were rusty.” She frowned, but before she could say anything, Trace reached out and took her wrist, gently easing her a couple steps toward him, and to his relief she didn't pull back. “When is your auction?”

“Sunday. I'm looking for some furniture for the store.”

Those lips. Right there. He wanted to kiss her again, but was smart enough not to do it.

“But the only caveat is...” Annie held his gaze in a way that made him believe that she knew how tempted he was by her mouth. “I have to be careful of my girls. I don't want them to suspect...well...anything.” The color in her cheeks was subsiding, but they were still stained pink. “Nothing can happen that might give them ideas—”

“Like me kissing you in the driveway?”

“Yes. Something like that.”

“They didn't see, did they?”

“No. Thank goodness, because I would have had a lot of explaining to do.”

Explaining she wasn't ready to do. He could see that. He wondered where she saw this thing between them going, and decided that she probably didn't know. She was well aware of the fact that he was pulling up stakes and following the circuit as soon as he was healed, so it wasn't like she didn't have full disclosure on that aspect.

Annie pulled back and he let her go, his hand falling loosely back to his side.

“You honestly want to go?”

He smiled a little. “What do you think?”

She gave a small nod instead of answering. “I need to get back to town and pick up the girls. I'll see you Sunday? Eight thirty maybe? I'll drive.”

“Wouldn't it make more sense for me to drive? I have a truck.”

“So do I. Grady's.”

“Sounds good, Annie. See you then.”

* * *

A
NNIE
'
S
HANDS
WERE
shaking when she turned the key in the ignition. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror as she pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway and was surprised at how cool and in control she appeared. Like a woman going after what she wanted. The only problem was that she didn't have a clear view of what she wanted, but she'd figure it out. As far as the girls were concerned, Trace was a friend of their uncle Grady's, who was making friends with their mom.

Would there be benefits involved in this friendship?

Way too early to be thinking that way, but still, the very idea of experiencing what Trace had to offer made her breathing go shallow. “No benefits” would be the sane way to go, but there was something about Trace that had her edging away from sanity and logic. Or maybe she was simply edging closer to something that she'd been subconsciously looking for and had just now found.

Take. It. Easy.

He's only here for a short time. Don't get in over your head.

It wouldn't be hard to do, getting in over her head. But she was an adult, who could make her own choices and deal with the consequences, as long as they didn't touch her daughters. Trace understood that, which was another reason she was going out with him. He got it.

Annie picked up the girls and they stopped at the drive-in hamburger place, newly opened after being closed for the fall and winter. Annie loved hot dogs with the works, but they were too hard to eat while driving, so she ordered the same as the girls—a junior hamburger—which allowed her to indulge in extra calories in the form of her first milkshake of the year.

“We should do this more often,” Kristen commented from the backseat as she dug fries out of her bag.

Annie glanced at her daughter in the rearview mirror and smiled. They did
this
once or twice a month, and that was what kept
this
special.

Emily had been surprised when Annie had asked about Sunday babysitting, but she loved getting the hours whenever possible, thus boosting her retirement income. “We'll have a craft day,” she said.

“They'll love that.” And Annie was so very glad she hadn't told the girls she'd been thinking of taking them to the auction. That way there were no explanations, no hurt feelings. She might want to stretch her wings, go on a date or two, but not at the expense of her kids' happiness.

“We find out what our play parts are on Monday!” Katie announced as Annie pulled up to the mailbox next to the driveway. “We got to write down what we wanted to be on a list, but Mrs. Lawrence said we might not get the part we want. I want to be a butterfly because they're prettiest, but Shayla wants to be a bunny.”

“She
has
a bunny...” Kristen said, her voice trailing off hopefully.

Annie chose to busy herself sorting through the mail rather than say no to the less than subtle hint that a bunny would be a welcome addition to their household. “I hope you are butterflies, because you can help make your costumes.”

“Out of glitter and stuff?” Katie asked.

“Definitely glitter.”

The girls instantly started planning what color costumes they wanted. Annie set the mail on the seat beside her and started down the driveway. Butterfly costumes and butterflies in her stomach.

Chapter Eight

It'd been a long time since Trace had cut himself shaving, but he nicked himself good less than an hour before Annie was due to pick him up. Cursing under his breath, he stuck a small piece of tissue on the wound and then shook his head at his reflection.

Why are you so freaking nervous? You're going out with a woman. You know...like you've done many times before?

But this was Annie and he had a make-it-or-break-it feeling about this first date. When was the last time he'd felt like that?

Maybe the high school prom.

High school. Yes—that nailed it down perfectly. He felt like a high school kid getting ready for a date. Ridiculous, but true. And it wasn't like it was a real date. It was a farm auction.

He grimaced at his reflection as he slapped tonic on the uninjured part of his face. Actually a farm auction was his idea of a great first date—especially when neither of them had any idea where this was going. Annie knew he was leaving; he knew that she put her daughters first in her life, but there was no denying the attraction between them. Exploring that attraction seemed like a good idea, as long as they were on the same page.

He had a feeling that he was Annie's way of sliding back into the dating world. A way to spread her wings and gain confidence with someone she liked, who wouldn't put pressure on her to take matters any further than she wanted. If she had started dating someone local, the girls would find out, but he was a friend of her brother's. The guy who was farm-sitting for a relative. They were probably safe enough from gossip. Probably. Small towns could be brutal.

He sat on the bed and slid his feet into cowboy boots. He'd spent a lot of time speculating as to Annie's motivation and agenda, but his own...no, he was clear on that. He wanted to spend time with an attractive woman. He liked Annie. And he needed to treat her well, or Grady would skin him. He smiled a little as his heel finally slipped into place in the boot. Maybe that was why Annie seemed to feel safe with him.

Trace was ready early and he found himself pacing near the front door as he waited for Annie to show up. The dogs sat in a row, their heads turning in unison to watch his progress across the floor and back again. Finally he let them into the yard, where they would spend the day, his head coming up as he heard a deep rumble in the distance.

Straight pipes. He hadn't heard that sound in a long time.

A few minutes later a classic Ford F-250 turned into the driveway, its exhaust pipes growling. The truck had at least a four-inch lift and a weathered decal at the top of the windshield, pronouncing it to be a FORD. The rig was a teenage boy's fantasy and Annie looked darn cute behind the wheel.

“Grady's truck?” he asked when she rolled down her window.

“'Fraid so. He tricked it out in high school, and even though he promises to make it more adult every time he comes home, he never seems to get the job done.”

“Sure you don't want to take mine?”

She looked tempted but shook her head and he understood. She wanted to have control. He could understand that. “Get in if you dare.”

He dared. He went around to the passenger side and got in. Annie smiled over at him and put the beast into gear as he fastened his seat belt. She was wearing dark jeans and a simple white shirt under a short denim jacket. Her light brown hair was loose around her shoulders instead of in its usual ponytail and she smelled really, really good. There was also a touch of self-consciousness in her smile and he felt the same. In an odd way it was like meeting her for the first time.

She waited until they were on the county road before she chanced a glance at him. “I'm not going to lie. I'm nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because this seems kind of official. A date and all that.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “So it's a date. We're tough. We can handle it.”

Annie laughed. “I guess.” She slowed as a rabbit darted across the road ahead of her then stepped on the gas. The pipes rumbled. There was something about a small woman driving a big truck that Trace liked. A lot. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but a big tote bag was in the way, so instead he eased back in his seat and told himself to relax. His nerves were thrumming just like they did before a ride, and that was simply nuts. Annie kept lifting her chin, as if giving herself a pep talk, so Trace decided to come clean.

“I'm nervous, too.”

She gave him a curious look. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

A frown creased her forehead. “Somehow I figured a guy like you would have groupies. Grady used to.”

“I'm not a big groupie guy, and having groupies isn't the same as going on a first date.”

“Huh.”

Fifteen minutes later Annie followed a line of cars into a driveway leading to a farm and parked in a field that was already filled with cars and trucks. When she turned off the engine, the world suddenly seemed a whole lot quieter.

“Next time we take my rig,” he said with a wry smile.

“Then next time you do the asking,” Annie replied, reaching for her door handle.

“Touché.” And he kind of liked that she was talking about next time.

They ordered hot dogs just before the auction began and Trace watched in amazement as Annie loaded the bun with everything on the condiment table.

“You're not going to be able to eat that thing,” Trace said. “It's going to explode on you.”

“Watch me,” she said, a glint of challenge in her eye. She lifted the sagging bun to her lips, opened her mouth...then set the hot dog back in the cardboard container, reached for a plastic knife and cut a small piece, which she popped into her mouth.

“Hey. No fair.”

“I broke a rule?”

“I think so. Since when do people eat hot dogs like that?”

“I hope the hot-dog police don't come after me.” Her eyes sparkled as she spoke.

“You never know,” Trace said before taking a bite of his own hot dog—the regular way. “We might not want to hang around, just in case you get reported.”

“All right. I overloaded and I don't usually eat hot dogs this way,” Annie admitted. “I didn't want to risk dripping mustard on my new blouse. But I do love a lot of stuff on my dog.”

“Obviously.”

They finished eating and then wandered through the farm implements and antiques. Annie stopped to inspect almost every piece of furniture, running her hand over the wood, studying the lines, looking for damage.

“Have an idea of what you want?” he asked, thinking again that this wasn't a bad way to have a first date. If it went bad, she could focus on the business at hand—buying furniture for her store. But it didn't feel as if it was going bad. It felt as if a steady vibe was growing between them, especially when they accidentally—or not so accidentally—touched.

“I've always wanted an old wagon,” Annie said as they passed several old buckboards and utility wagons parked in a row. “By the time I get to the point that I can afford to spend money on something as frivolous as that, they'll be hard to find.”

“We used to have old wagons on my father's ranch.”

“Your family ranch?”

“It never felt like that,” he said softly. “It was my father's ranch. I only lived there for a few years and I didn't really spend a lot of time there. I spent more time at the neighbors'. They took me under their wing and I learned to bull ride there.”

“Did your dad watch you ride?”

“Only a couple of times. Local events. It would have looked bad if he hadn't gone.” He gave Annie a serious look. “But you know what? That's the past. It's gone and I've moved on. Right now I'm here with you and I like it.” Which made him just a little edgy. Being with Annie seemed pretty darned perfect—right now. When it was just the two of them in a different world than their own.

They finished the preview, then got bidding paddles and took their seats. The auction started not too long after that. Annie leaned forward as the first lot came in, then settled back when the bidding started. Trace leaned back, too, his thigh pressing lightly against hers as he stretched out his legs. Annie didn't move away until a bureau she'd had her eye on was brought up for bid.

Trace had never bid in an auction, but he could tell that Annie had. She looked relaxed, but her body was taut as she waited until the proper moment to enter the fray. She lost the first piece she bid on, but she won the next three.

“All I need to win now is that lot of three chairs.”

“Good luck,” Trace murmured. He enjoyed watching her, the way her chin rose when an opposing bid was acknowledged. She would be a terrible poker player, he decided. He also wasn't going to tell her that.

Annie lost the chairs and had started to pull her jacket back out of her giant tote bag, when an old wheelbarrow was brought in. She stilled, then took her paddle back up again.

“A wheelbarrow?” he asked. It wasn't old enough to be an antique. It was just...ugly.

“Shhh,” she said gently, as if he were one of her kids, her eyes never leaving her prize.

Trace shushed and Annie bid. She won that thing, too. Cheap.

“I like to garden,” she said when she finally met his gaze. “I need a wheelbarrow.”

“That thing is not a wheelbarrow. It's a bunch of rust on a flat tire.”

“It's also five dollars and that's what rust-killing paint and a tire-patch kit are for.”

“I'll take your word on that.” Trace had no experience with either. He'd never owned a bike of his own nor had he ever painted anything. His skills outside the arena were lacking.

With the help of the guys who were monitoring the purchases, Trace loaded two small tables, a bureau, a single high-back chair and a rusty wheelbarrow into Grady's truck without feeling so much as a twinge from his shoulder. Things were knitting together well, which made him feel hopeful that he'd be able to practice soon.

“Nice truck,” one of the guys who'd helped them load said with a wink.

“Not mine,” Trace was proud to say. He couldn't wait to make fun of Grady's wheels to his face the next time he saw him.

And when would that be?

Either when Grady came home or when they met on the road again.

“What now?” he asked as Annie tightened one corner of the elastic netting covering her purchases.

“Lunch and then I thank you for a great time and go pick up my girls.”

“I get lunch?” he asked. “Two meals in one date?”

“The hot dog was a teaser. Besides, I'd love a beer before calling it an afternoon.”

Trace agreed, because he wasn't ready for the day to be over.

“I'm on the clock, though,” Annie said. “My sitter is booked until five this afternoon and then she has a function to attend. I can't be late picking up the girls.”

Yes. They did live different existences in that regard. He was free to come and go as he pleased, and he liked that about his life. Liked not staying still for long and being able to do what he wanted to do when he wanted.

That was something Annie needed to know about him—something he needed to make clear from the outset. She also needed to know that while he liked her kids, he was kind of intimidated by them. Not Katie and Kristen themselves, but the idea of kids. The possibility of messing up with them, of not knowing what to do. And then there was the stability issue. He knew from experience that kids needed stability to grow and thrive. What did he know about stability?

Absolutely nothing.

Annie drove them to a roadside pub on the outskirts of Dillon—a place he'd never been before. “They have great steak sandwiches,” she assured him as he held the door open for her.

And beer. They had a great selection of beer on tap. Annie ordered a short and he ordered a tall and they settled back in their chairs to wait for their food. Since there was only one other couple in the pub, their order came quickly. Annie ate half of her sandwich then pushed her plate aside.

“Still nervous?” he asked.

She looked at him in surprise. “Not a bit.”

“Then we can consider this a successful outing?”

“I bought a rusty wheelbarrow. Does it get any better than that?”

“Want to do it again?” Trace asked. “Maybe without the wheelbarrow?”

Annie's expression grew serious. “I've been wondering that.”

Honest. And direct. Trace ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, telling himself he really had no cause to feel disappointed. It wasn't like he had anything to promise but the here and now. When he pictured his life a year from now, there was no question as to where he'd be—on the road, riding bulls, following his dream. He couldn't imagine doing anything else—he felt like he might die a little if he gave up that part of his life.

At some point the bull riding had to stop, but when he imagined himself settling down, living as he was living now...the image didn't gel. He was going stir-crazy at Lex and Grady's place, even with his afternoons spent at the practice pen. He'd find a job that allowed him to be near the action—trucking bulls or working in some other capacity for a stock contractor.

He liked being with Annie, but he had to be true to himself. Which meant coming clean with her. He didn't want her to have any illusions as to how long he'd be around. “While you're making your decision, there's something you should know.”

She tilted her head politely, but he could sense the shift in her demeanor.

“No big secret. It's just that I'm not good at staying in one place for long. Never have been.”

“Is that a warning?” she asked softly, lifting her beer to her lips and watching him over the top of the glass.

“Full disclosure.”

She set the glass back down. “I like honesty.”

“It's the way I am,” he said simply. “I'm most comfortable when I'm following the circuit.”