the world are you talking about?” Cosette demanded.
“John’s family follows the rodeo. That’s how they make their living.” Dennis shrugged. “His mom’s a cowboy preacher, and his dad and brothers are bullfighters and barrel men, going back generations. They’ve got a little motor home that they go from town to town in.”
“Rather a gypsy-ish lifestyle, isn’t it?” Jane asked, and Daisy’s heart sank. Just hearing this description of John’s home life made her realize that he might, conceivably, never darken the doors of Bridesmaids Creek again.
“Yep,” Dennis said, “and he’s not coming back. Not anytime soon, anyway.”
There was no way she could let that happen. Not after she’d finally come to her senses, after all the many moons of not realizing what a catch Squint—John—really was, hiding under all that brown-eyed, gentle bear exterior. Daisy swallowed hard, realizing the people sitting around the table were studying her, waiting silently for her to speak up.
Maybe it did serve her right to have John desert her for good after the many times he’d tried to win her. But she wasn’t the kind of woman who gave up—in fact, there were some who said that adversity only strengthened her will.
“You realize, Daisy, there won’t be a race run or a swim swum for you,” Jane said gently. “I’m afraid you threw away your three chances.”
“She didn’t throw them away,” Cosette said, her eyes softening as she looked at Daisy. Daisy felt this was very sweet of Cosette, especially as much of Cosette’s hard luck was Daisy’s fault. “She merely misplaced her three chances. Magic is never gone forever.”
Daisy paused. Of course. She was a Bridesmaids Creek girl, even if she’d come to town late, at the age of three. The magic would still work for her—it had to.
Because John made love to her like no man ever could, and it might have taken her way too long to realize it, but she knew in every corner of her heart that she was in love with him.
“I’m going to need help,” Daisy said softly. “I could really use some assistance in figuring out the right way to convince John that leaving Bridesmaids Creek wasn’t his best decision.”
They all took that in.
“We’re always here for one of our hometown girls,” Dennis said solemnly, and the ladies nodded, and Daisy felt warmed just by being designated a “hometown” girl. Maybe forgiveness was possible after all. She sure hoped so.
Now she just had to convince John that his home was here, and not the place where he’d grown up.
Rodeo.
* * *
JOHN FOUND HIS parents and brothers just outside of Santa Fe. Their small silver mobile home rumbled under turquoise-colored skies, with a truck—his brothers’—following closely behind. If not for cell phone contact, he would have missed them.
Mary and Mack Mathison waved at him as he pulled alongside their white truck, which hauled the silver Airstream mobile home they’d bought too many years ago for John to remember. His brothers Javier and Jackson saluted him, and he fell back into position, trailing behind the white truck lettered Mathison on both doors in black. Home sweet home.
This was it. He turned on some tunes, tried not to think about Daisy and told himself he was content to caravan as far away from Texas as possible.
“This could never have been her life,” John told the smiling bobblehead dog on his dash. “Daisy grew up with so much wealth, so much of everything, that she couldn’t possibly understand this kind of pared-down existence.”
The black-and-white bobblehead dog he’d named Joe, because it fit the J motif of his and his brothers’ names, neither agreed nor disagreed. In fact, Joe didn’t seem to be worried about much of anything other than the sunburn he was getting on his furry behind, courtesy of dash sitting. John watched the mountains of New Mexico fade away, thought about how beautiful it would be to see this highway on his motorcycle, with Daisy parked comfortably on the back, her arms around his waist, which she’d done all the way back from Montana. He got a woody just remembering her delicate arms around him, felt a dull hammer begin inside his skull.
“Holy Christmas,” John muttered. “I’m going to have to take up serious meditation to get her out of my head.”
He’d left his motorcycle in Bridesmaids Creek, under Sam’s care, with dire instructions that it was to be in the same beloved condition when he returned. Sam had agreed with a grin, saying smartly that of course it looked even better with Daisy polishing the seat, and would he mind—
“At which point I gave Sam such a glare that he shut clean up,” John told Joe, and Joe nodded in approval. Or maybe he didn’t nod in approval, but if he wasn’t nodding in approval, then what the hell good was a bobblehead dog to a man, anyway?
At the border connecting New Mexico and Colorado, his parents stopped the caravan at a roadside rest stop. He hadn’t expected them to stop so soon, as life on the road was about putting the miles between destinations. But they were more than happy to halt the train soon after he’d joined them, to welcome him back to the fold.
“What the hell, son?” Mack demanded, giving him a tight hug. “You took a year off my life showing up like that. I thought I’d seen a ghost.”
“Might as well be a ghost,” Mary said. “He hasn’t been around in four years.”
His brothers banged him on the back with enthusiasm. “We missed the hell out of you,” Javier said.
“We’ve been keeping Mack and Mary on the circuit,” Jackson said. “It’ll be good to have you back. You can help us keep them focused. They keep wanting to run off to New Zealand.”
“New Zealand?” John looked at his parents as they began checking over the ancient trailer. There was never much time for idle conversation. Everyone had their chores and responsibilities at each stop, where duties were parceled out and executed with a minimum of discussion. It was all business: check the equipment, use the facilities, stretch the legs and get back in the trucks.
As a child, John had carried along a soccer ball to kick with his brothers at the stops. He’d always wished they could stop long enough to have a real picnic at one of the shaded tables that usually graced a rest stop. On their birthdays, they did—but as a rule, the road was a demanding mistress, and must be gotten back to immediately.
“It’s my birthday,” he said suddenly, wanting his parents and brothers to cease their ant-like scurrying, and act as if him showing up in their midst after four years away was actually a big deal.
“Your birthday?” Mary frowned, thinking. “Is it?”
John nodded. “Yes.”
“Good heavens,” Mack said. “I think he’s telling the truth.”
“I’m a Navy SEAL,” John said. “I lean toward honesty.”
They stared at him, perplexed. “It’s just that we stay in our groove,” Mary said. “We don’t mean to seem uncaring.”
“I know.” John shrugged. “No big deal. Let’s
