Oh, no, no. This was not something Natalie could do after all. She changed her mind, started to stand, but she chose the wrong moment. She was stuck. She couldn’t pull Robby left or right. Not while the crowd was this worked up, not at the climax of the rodeo. She stretched her leg, trying to ease the stiffness, and watched as Lucky Welch made the eight seconds and jumped from the bull to land on both feet. The bull made a move, Lucky ducked behind a clown, and it was over. The crowd roared. The scores to be announced, but finally the day’s events ended. A human surge began exiting the rodeo. Robby, who’d never been to a rodeo, finally felt overwhelmed by the crowd and clutched at Natalie’s hand. Daniel, a rodeo veteran at just five, headed for the edge of the arena. Patty was right behind.
Natalie panicked. If she saw Lucky, and he was alone, she’d approach him, she really would, but if she—
Suddenly, Lucky was heading straight for her with a swagger that screamed pure cowboy. His belt buckle was even bigger than his confident strides. He wiped dust from his hat, smiled, and Natalie thought maybe he had the whitest teeth she’d ever seen. Another bull rider walked beside him.
Natalie stopped in her tracks. Lucky stopped, too, and caught her eye. “Do you want an autograph?”
Oh, no! He thought she was a buckle bunny.
In a way, his assumption knocked down the defenses she’d so carefully erected while she was watching him. Unfortunately, she forgot to consider that the other side might not have a safety net. “No,” she blurted, “I don’t want an autograph. I want help with Marcus’s son.”
Chapter Two
L ucky had spent a lifetime learning how to harness control, and he wouldn’t lose it now. Even if a buckle bunny was trying to tarnish his brother’s memory.
The cowboy next to him looked at Lucky with a relieved expression, said, “I think this one’s for you,” and took off for the cowboy ready room.
The threat of paternity suits was a real issue to the boys on the circuit. Most played hard and all too often got mixed up with women who wanted bragging rights and/or a piece of the purse. Well, this gal had really missed the boat. What kind of woman showed up six months after a bull rider’s death and…?
Lucky backed up. The noise of the crowd had boomed only a moment before, but now he didn’t hear a thing. He could only look at the woman and the little boy by her side. She looked right back at him, young, curvy, blond, her eyes wide with fear. To his dismay, something registered, a glimpse of a memory.
No, it couldn’t be.
“Tisha?” It had been over three years since he’d last seen her. She looked different, but then hard living had a way of changing people.
It had certainly changed Marcus.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. Tears disappeared, replaced by anger.
Marcus had dated Tisha Crosby for just over a year. She’d wiped out his bank account and his heart. Marcus hadn’t been the same afterward. Maybe this was why. Lucky didn’t know that much about kids, but the boy could be the right age. Plus, he had the look—the Welch look. Thick, dark brown hair, piercing brown eyes and the square chin that made shaving a time-consuming venture. Something akin to fear settled in Lucky’s stomach.
Looked like the family roller coaster was about to switch into high gear again—thanks to Marcus.
The woman—it must be Tisha—clutched at the boy and pulled him close. Regret washed over her face, replacing the anger. Well, at least she cared for the boy. From what Lucky remembered, she’d been a cold, calculating woman. Not everyone saw past the beautiful facade she presented. Marcus hadn’t.
“Never mind,” she whispered. “We were wrong, so wrong, to come here. Come on, Robby, let’s get out of here.” She stumbled between two people. Robby—eyes wide—tried to hurry and keep up with her.
“Wait!” Lucky was at her side in two seconds.
“Leave us alone. It was my mistake.” She held up a hand, stopping him, and somewhat regaining her composure. “We want nothing to do with you.”
He started to follow her, and he would have, if he hadn’t seen the tears streaming from the boy’s eyes.
Lucky didn’t want the boy—his nephew maybe?—to be afraid of him.
“Everything all right?” Three men, strong farmer types, materialized in front of him, blocking him. Their words were directed at the woman; their granite gazes were aimed at him. Lucky stopped. As for Tisha, she wasn’t taking the time to answer. Just like that, he lost track of Marcus’s son. The woman had him by the hand and was hurrying him through the crowd.
“I just need to talk to her,” Lucky said. He took one step then halted as the men angled for a block. They looked meaner than the bull he’d just ridden.
“It looks like she doesn’t want to talk to you,” the biggest one said.
“Tisha!” he hollered. He took a step and then noted that, if anything, the three men had moved closer. He considered his options. Three against one was more than he bargained for, especially when some blond-haired woman, her purse all primed to bash him upside the head, joined the fray.
“Tisha,” the blonde spat. “You think she’s Tisha?”
“Isn’t she?” Lucky croaked.
“No, that’s Natalie. She happens to be Tisha’s cousin, but that’s all the resemblance there is.”
He saw the woman then, leaving the front gate, with the little boy. He could see now that her uneven gait wasn’t fatigue, the earlier stumble was not clumsiness. She stopped by a small car parked in a handicapped spot. Yup, the limp was real.
He’d have to rethink this encounter, which might have been his all-time low.
The next time he said a prayer, he’d have so much to say it might take him a year to get to “Amen.” Especially since he had no intention of sharing this information with his family until he was sure. It wasn’t the first time Marcus had been accused of fatherhood. But this time, the child looked like a Welch, and somehow Tisha was involved.
He nodded at the three men before they could move any closer, skipped the ready room and, still in his gear, headed for his truck. Intuition told him Robby was indeed Marcus’s son. More than intuition told him his mother would never understand Lucky not sharing the discovery with her immediately. In essence, he was robbing her of precious days of grandmotherhood.
But gut feelings were not always reliable. Otherwise, Lucky would hold a few more titles and have a lot more money and a whole lot fewer broken bones. He’d look into this Natalie woman and wait before telling his mother, even though keeping the secret might be a crime he’d pay for later.
Once Lucky had opened the truck’s door and climbed behind the wheel, he dialed his lawyer—not that he expected the man could be reached on a Saturday night. After letting the phone ring until it went to voice mail, Lucky left a quick message for him to call, hung up and stared out the truck’s windows. Without exception, the festive mood of the rodeo carried over to the dirt parking lot. Exhausted-looking children clutched treats, toys and their parents’ hands. Adults laughed, took sips of soda and reached for the ones they loved.
