“Why, Daddy—” she batted her lashes “—I’m an expert at it. Thanks to you, I’m now dictated to on a daily basis.”
“Don’t be fresh.”
She laughed, knowing she was the only one of his kids who could get away with smart-mouthing him.
Or, usually get away with it.
Leaning forward, she kissed his temple. “You should be more grateful to have me here. Admit it. Sparring with me gives you another reason to get up in the morning.”
He grunted and turned a page in the file, but she saw the tic in his cheek and knew he had fought back a smile.
“Come on, let’s get some of your paperwork taken care of. My handwriting has to be better than your chicken scratches.” With a notepad and pencil from the desk held ready, she prepared to take notes. “Go slowly, and I’ll write in longhand.”
They went through one batch of paper after another. Carly jotted memos to be typed up by his secretary and directions to be passed along to various members of his staff, including her oldest sister, Lizzie, who had temporarily taken over as acting president of Baron Energies.
With the flood of papers finally corralled and roped into neat piles, Brock sat back and eyed her as if seeing her for the first time that day. “What are you doing around here, anyhow? Aren’t you planning to do some traveling soon?”
“Home to Houston, you mean?” she said, deliberately misunderstanding. “Are you already tired of me hanging around?”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m talking about competing. You’re keeping up with your skills, aren’t you?”
“Of course. But you know what they say about all work and no play. I’m not competing this weekend.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want to sign up anywhere. Not for barrel racing, anyhow. I’m ready to give it up.”
“Don’t be absurd. You’ve barely gotten your saddle broken in.”
“You can hardly say that when I’ve been competing since the age of four.”
“Yes, and you haven’t done badly,” he said grudgingly. “You’ve got what it takes to go all the way to the top, if you’ll just settle down and focus. But you won’t get far competing only part-time.” His eyes narrowed. “And backing off isn’t going to help. You need to put everything into it if you want to be the best.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I don’t care about being the best. Maybe I’m bored.”
“Bored, hell. You can’t walk away from this—rodeo’s in your blood. In your genes.”
“I know. I didn’t say I’d give up rodeo, just barrel racing. My heart’s not in it anymore.” She made a mental bet on how long it would take him to go ballistic once he heard her next statement—probably about half a second. But it would be guaranteed to get him off her back about not competing lately. “I’m going to try bull riding.”
He barely allowed her to finish her sentence. “And do what?” he demanded, gesturing at his elevated leg. “Crack yourself up, like I did? Don’t be foolish. You leave that event to the boys and stick to your barrels.” Raising his chin, he glared at her.
She lowered her chin, so like his, and stared back.
Only the sudden rapid click of high heels on the foyer floor made her break eye contact with him.
Brock’s wife, Julieta, entered the living room. “Hello, you two. How’s the patient?”
Brock made a derisive sound.
She smiled. “Carly, I’ll take over now, if you have things you want to do before supper.” She slid the plum-colored suit jacket from her shoulders. “I’ll go up and change as soon as I run a few items of business past your father.”
Carly nodded. Julieta must have picked up on the tension in the room. She gave the woman credit for providing her with a graceful escape.
She gave Julieta credit for a lot of things. As well as being Brock’s third wife, she managed the public relations department at Baron Energies. She was good at her job, good at handling folks—and her husband. Knowing his wife went into the office every morning while he sat confined to the ranch had to help keep Brock’s crankiness level...well...cranked up. But it didn’t keep Julieta from taking care of business.
“See you in a bit.” Carly smiled at Brock in farewell. He nodded.
As she took the stairs to her room, she held back a laugh. Who knew how long that stalemate between them would have lasted if Julieta hadn’t walked in.
She didn’t care. No matter what, she wouldn’t have backed down on the statement she’d made about bull riding.
Once, she had thought she would never get enough of barrel racing, of the thrill of commanding her mount, honing her skill, increasing her speed. But since she’d left the ranch, with each year that had gone by, her interest and enthusiasm had waned by ever-increasing degrees. Though her eyes stayed on the prize, the motivating spark was gone.
And she needed a spark. A lure. A challenge. She needed something to make her feel whole again.
Like Brock, she needed a reason to get up in the morning.
* * *
“IF THIS DAMNED contraption doesn’t turn out to be the death of me, that girl will,” Brock Baron said, slapping his hand on the arm of the wheelchair.
His wife placed her briefcase next to the piles of paperwork on the couch. “And why is that?”
“She’s a worry to me in general. Always has been. You’re well aware of the reasons, including the fact she hasn’t spent more than a handful of weeks on this ranch since she finished high school.”
“A slight exaggeration.”
He shrugged. “Fair enough. But there’s no denying she’s the least settled of any of the kids.”
“She is settled, Brock. Just out of the area.”
And out of his range of influence. That didn’t sit well with him at all. Not for any of his offspring, and especially not for Carly.
Now that his being laid up had caused her to spend some time at the Roughneck again, he’d had the chance to confirm his fears. “She’s as wild as she ever was, and I don’t see her wanting to change.”
“In view of all the time you two have spent together, coming home probably hasn’t helped that.”
“Meaning what?”
“As you always tell me, she’s the child who most takes after you in temperament.”
He couldn’t deny that. To borrow a phrase, she was a chip off the old Baron block. But he’d never tell his wife—or anyone—that Carly’s ways made him hold a soft
