rodeos, never telling his parents how he was spending his spare time. When Brodie started to win, he didn’t count on the news being in the papers.
His father was furious and grounded him. Tom Hayes believed in strict discipline and lying was definitely against the family rules. Brodie caved into the pressure and agreed to apply to Texas A&M. He majored in agriculture economics, much to his father’s disapproval.
In college he rodeoed on the weekends and he told his parents. They didn’t like it, but as long as he was in college they didn’t complain. And Brodie had turned eighteen so his decisions were his own. As he kept winning he knew what he wanted to do with his life. Tom’s wishes were for Brodie to go into the army, but Brodie knew that life wasn’t for him.
His parents pressured Brodie every way they could, but at nineteen he quit college and followed the rodeo circuit. He made friends who became his family. Colter Kincaid had also decided the rodeo was the life for him. To Brodie, Colter and another cowboy named Tripp Daniels were like his brothers. They always would be.
His parents finally accepted his rodeo ways, as they called his life, but they had very little contact during those years. His father relented enough to fly to Vegas when Brodie won the national finals. They had a congratulatory beer together before his father left for Washington. He died two months later.
Claudia, his mother, moved to Dallas to be near her sister, Cleo. They were an unlikely pair. His mother was a social butterfly, enjoying teas, luncheons and charity functions. Cleo, who had married beneath her, as his mother had so often said, had been a cook in a large restaurant until she retired. Claudia had never approved of Cleo’s lifestyle—Cleo had been married three times and she loved to dance and go out and have fun. That was what had caused the problem today.
Brodie had lunch with them once a week. Cleo was a great cook and he always enjoyed the meal, but his mother was in one of her moods. Cleo had a new boyfriend and they went square-dancing several nights a week. Claudia was upset because that left her alone at night. She wanted Brodie to tell Cleo how bad this man was for her. He didn’t even know the man and he had no intention of doing any such thing.
When he refused, his mother had become suddenly short of breath. Claudia had had rheumatic fever as a child that left her with a heart murmur. After Brodie’s birth, she began to have more and more problems with her heart. Two years ago, she’d had a mild heart attack, and today he’d feared the same thing was happening.
He’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the emergency room and the doctor said Claudia didn’t have a heart attack, just an anxiety attack. In the end, his mother had gotten what she’d wanted—Cleo would stay home to take care of Claudia.
His mother had always been clingy and needy and it seemed to have gotten worse with age. Soon he’d have to talk to her about her fear of being alone. He wasn’t looking forward to it. The bruises were still too raw from today’s confrontation.
He’d rather face a bull from the bowels of hell than have a conversation with his mother. He knew he had a chance of surviving with the bull. Claudia had a way of ripping him to shreds with just a few well-chosen words.
He frowned as he saw a Jeep parked in his driveway. He didn’t recognize it, then he saw a woman walking toward the vehicle. A blonde in white shorts that showed off long, slim legs and a tank top that bared tanned arms. Her hair was clipped behind her head and those feminine curves were in all the right places. Touchable places.
His day just got better.
THE WHITE FOUR-DOOR TRUCK rattled loudly so Alex knew it was a diesel. The large grill guard and all-terrain tires indicated the truck was for heavy-duty jobs. A man and his truck. In Texas, it defined who he was. This truck said Brodie Hayes was one tough hombre. A woman raised in Texas knew to never mess with a man’s truck or his life. Alex was about to break one of those rules.
The dogs trotted from the barn and scurried to her, sniffing at her feet again. She hardly noticed them as she watched one booted foot slide to the ground. She held her breath as she waited for the rest of the cowboy to emerge from the truck. Tight-fitting Wranglers molded his long legs, a gold belt buckle glistened on a tooled leather belt, a starched white shirt framed his broad shoulders and a Stetson rested perfectly on his dark head. She found herself staring into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. The bluest eyes in Texas, she thought, her pulse hammering wildly in her ears.
He removed his hat. “Howdy, ma’am. May I help you?”
Ohmygod. He had a dimple in the carved structure of his left cheek—an incredibly sexy dimple. His black hair curled into his collar in an unruly, wanton way. The heat of the sun was hot, but this sensual type of heat was much hotter. It burned through her body all the way to her toes and she curled them into her sandals.
Looking at his picture was one thing, but seeing him in the flesh was quite another. A neon sign seemed to blink in her mind. Cowboy. Dangerous. Stay away.
For the first time she was physically attracted to a man just by looking at him. She always thought that type of reaction was crazy when her girlfriends had giggled about it. Of course she’d found men handsome, but she’d never sleep with them just because of that. Brodie Hayes was different. With the crook of his finger…she drew in a deep breath. Weak and pliable she wasn’t.
“Ma’am?”
His voice was deep with a true Texas drawl that tightened her toes even more and sent her pulse into orbit. But somehow she managed to find her vocal cords.
“I was looking for the Circle C Ranch.” As a private investigator, she was used to thinking fast.
He shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
“I must have gotten the directions wrong.” She hated to play stupid, but sometimes it worked. “I’ll call my friend to see where I turned wrong.”
He just dipped his head in acknowledgement.
She’d hoped for some sort of conversation or introduction, but none came so she walked toward her car. She had no intention of leaving though. Getting in, she waited until he disappeared inside. Large oak trees shaded the house and the dogs trotted to one and lay down. A light breeze stirred the stifling heat.
A plan formed in her mind. If she could get something with his DNA on it, then Brodie wouldn’t have to know about Helen Braxton. It would save him some heartache. Counting to ten, she got out, marched to the front door and knocked.
He opened it immediately and her heart did a nervous flip-flop. If they could package masculinity, Brodie Hayes’s picture would be on the bottle. She was getting tired of that female reaction. He probably encountered it every day. He was just a man. Get over it, she told herself. She had a job to do.
“I’m sorry to bother you again, but my cell’s not working. May I please use your phone?”
“Sure.” He opened the door wider and she stepped into his home. She followed him through a foyer into a large den with a stone fireplace, hardwood floors and overstuffed leather furniture. A large plasma TV almost covered one wall and plaques, trophies, belt buckles and numerous items from his rodeo days were displayed in a large glass case that covered another wall.
She was taking in her surroundings, but trying to be discreet when he handed her a cordless phone.
“Thank you. I don’t know what’s wrong with my cell. I can’t get a signal.”
“That
