“This is Thursday. Right?”
Susan nodded.
“Our Wheelchair Rodeo program ends on Saturday morning, and the Gold Buckle Gang will be arriving on Saturday afternoon. It’s a program for—”
“Kids who use crutches or braces,” she said softly, pinching the area above her nose as if she were getting a headache.
“How did you know that?”
“I read it in the flyer,” she said. “On the plane.”
He wasn’t sure if she was really interested in the Gold Buckle Gang program or if she was getting a headache. He narrowed his eyes as he watched her.
“Make sure you don’t miss the big game on Sunday night. We use a beach ball and the batter uses a big plastic bat. We have shortened bases and the cowboys do some clowning around and get the kids laughing and—”
“Sounds like fun,” she said. “But I’ll probably be gone by then.”
She sounded remote, disinterested. He wondered why. “It is fun, but it also serves a purpose. The kids develop balance and maybe exercise different muscles, or maybe rely a little less on their crutches. Or maybe they just get to laugh a little more than usual.” Clint grinned. “Wait until you see the horseshoe toss, and the relay races and some of the other events we have at the end of the program that make up the Gold Buckle Rodeo. We give out gold and silver buckles for the winners.”
“Buckles?”
“It’s a western thing. Rodeo winners have always received belt buckles—like this beauty.” He gripped the big gold buckle he sported and tapped it. “National Championship Bullfighting—2006.” He was proud of that, and he’d won the competition four times in a row. The competition was getting tougher and tougher every year, but he still had the moves.
He smiled at Susan. “Maybe we’ll get you to play a little beach ball–baseball with the kids.”
But he doubted she would. Miss New York City seemed to be even more distant.
“No. I can’t,” she said abruptly. “I didn’t know that a program would be starting and the kids would be here. For some reason, I thought I’d be here in between programs.” She took a deep breath and looked out the window. “Like I said, I’ll be leaving on Saturday. I have to get back home.”
She was getting downright frosty, but he still pushed. “Well, you’ll be staying at least a couple days. You’ll enjoy the ranch and the kids. The kids are the best.”
She didn’t answer, then sighed. “I’m suddenly very tired, Mr. Scully. It was a long flight.”
Just before she turned her head to look out the side window, he could swear he saw moisture in her eyes. Now he felt bad.
“Susan, did I upset you somehow?”
“Oh, no. No. You didn’t. Like I said, I’m just tired.”
That was just an excuse. Something was wrong. She seemed really tense when he talked about the kids. Something was going on.
Clint concentrated on the road ahead, knowing that he’d somehow put a damper on Susan Collins’s arrival in Wyoming.
He usually stayed far away from women like her—rich, successful, city women who had plenty of money but no heart. Women who were just like his former fiancée, Mary Alice Bonner. Hell, Susan looked like she could teach Mary Alice a few things.
But for some reason, he wanted to—needed to—see Susan Collins smile. He wanted to get her to relax, to get rid of the burden weighing her down.
And if anyone could do that, it was Clint Scully.
Chapter Two
Susan didn’t want to get involved with the kids. She was afraid it would hurt too much.
She was just supposed to help design a logo and a line of merchandise for the ranch, and that was all she intended to do.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care. Quite the opposite. She hadn’t been thinking clearly when she’d agreed to come here—she wasn’t sure she could bear facing a group of children whose pain so reminded her of her beloved sister’s.
To this day, she could remember the smells and sounds of the hospital where she visited Elaine, who’d died way too young.
As soon as Emily was available, she’d meet with her to discuss what Winners Wear could offer. Then she’d take her scheduled flight out of Mountain Springs on Saturday morning. Bev had bought her an open-ended airline ticket, thinking that she’d decide to stay and relax and enjoy the spa.
She’d be leaving in two days.
With that decided, she glanced at Clint to see if he was still alive. He walked slow. He talked slow. He even drove slow.
Anyone could see that on this wide-open road without a car or a cop in sight, he could go at least seventy.
She checked her watch. “Clint, how far away is the Gold Buckle?”
“A couple of hours.”
“Oh.”
He could easily cut that time in half if he’d just step on it. Then again, she doubted that the huge, rusty pickup could go much over the forty miles an hour at which he was currently cruising.
She stole another quick glance at Clint. She had to admit he was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy way. He had a lazy, sexy smile with a little dimple at the corner of his mouth.
Clint Scully was intriguing.
Maybe it was because he was the first actual cowboy she’d ever met. Certainly, it wasn’t because his jeans hugged his strong thighs, or because his legs were so long that he could barely fold them beneath the dash. Or the fact that he smelled like fresh air and warm cotton.
Her cheeks heated, and she rolled down the window a little more. She reached up and swept the hair that had escaped her French braid off the back of her neck, trying to catch some much-needed air.
She stole another glance at Clint and saw the laugh lines around his eyes. His hands were tanned and strong. She studied the sharp crease of his long-sleeved, blue-checkered shirt. His light brown hair stuck out from under his white cowboy hat and brushed the back of his shirt collar. Her eyes strayed farther south.
He sure did fill out those jeans.
“Something wrong?” he asked, glancing over at her and grinning.
“Um…no. Just admiring your truck.”
That was a lame recovery, but she’d die of embarrassment if he ever guessed that she was checking him out. She decided to change the subject.
“Why did those cowboys at the airport know you?”
“They’ve probably seen me working the rodeo events. I’m a bullfighter.
