why every roughstock producer’s dream was a bull like that. Even Monte Edgewood, Boone was beginning to suspect. But only the top-scoring bulls in the country made it. Devil’s Tornado seemed to have what it took to get there.
“I wouldn’t pull him yet,” Monte said quickly, making Boone smile to himself. Monte had needed a bull like Devil’s Tornado.
And Boone needed Monte’s status as one of the reputable roughstock producers.
After more rodeos, more incredible performances, everyone on the circuit would be talking about Devil’s Tornado. That’s when Boone would pull him and start collecting breeding fees, because it wouldn’t matter if the bull could make the National Finals. Boone could never allow Devil’s Tornado to go to Vegas.
But in the meantime, Devil’s Tornado would continue to cause talk, his value going up with each rodeo.
If the bull didn’t kill his next rider.
Or flip out again like he did in Billings, causing so much trouble in the chute that he’d almost been pulled.
Devil’s Tornado was just the first. If this actually worked, Boone could make other bulls stars. He could write his own ticket after that.
But he could also crash and burn if he got too greedy, if his bulls were so dangerous that people got suspicious.
Monte finished his beer and stared at the empty bottle. “I don’t have to tell you what a competitive business this is. You’ve got to have good bulls that a cowboy can make pay for them. But at the same time you don’t want PETA coming down on you or those Buck the Rodeo people.”
Boone had seen the ads—Buck the Rodeo: Nobody likes an eight-second ride!
Monte looked over at him. “When I got into this business, I promised myself that the integrity of the rodeo and the safety of the competitors would always come first. You know what I’m saying, son?”
Boone knew exactly what he was saying. He looked out the window to where Devil’s Tornado stood in his own small pasture flicking his tail, the sun gleaming off his horns, then back across the table at Sierra Edgewood. Boone had better be careful. More careful than he had been.
Chapter Two
Sundown Ranch
Asa McCall heard the creak of a floorboard. He turned to find his wife standing in the tack room doorway. His wife. After so many years of being apart, the words sounded strange.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Shelby asked, worry making her eyes dark.
“I’m saddling my horse,” he said as he hefted the saddle and walked over to the horse. The motion took more effort than it had even a few weeks ago. He hoped she hadn’t noticed, but then Shelby noticed everything.
“I can see that,” she said, irritation in her tone as she followed him.
Shelby Ward McCall was as beautiful as the day he’d met her forty-four years ago. She was tall and slim, blond and blue-eyed, but her looks had never impressed him as much as her strength. They both knew she’d always been stronger than he was, even though he was twice her size—a large, powerfully built man with more weaknesses than she would ever have.
He wondered now if that—and the fact that they both knew it—had been one of the reasons she’d left him thirty years ago. He knew damn well it was the reason she had come back.
“I’m going for a ride,” he said, his back to her as he cinched the saddle in place, already winded by the physical exertion. He was instantly angry at himself. He despised frailty, especially in himself. He’d always been strong, virile, his word the last. He’d never been physically weak before, and he found that nearly impossible to live with.
“Asa—” Her voice broke.
“Don’t,” he said shaking his head slightly, but even that small movement made him nauseous. “I need to do this.” He hated the emotion in his voice. Hated that she’d come back to see him like this.
Shelby looked away. She knew he wouldn’t want her to see how pathetic he’d become. He wished he could hide not only his weakness but his feelings from her, but that was impossible. Shelby knew him with an intimacy that had scared him. As if she could see into his black soul and still find hope for him. Still love him.
“I could come with you,” she said without looking at him.
“No, thank you,” he added, relieved when she didn’t argue the point. He didn’t need a lecture on how dangerous it was for him to go riding alone. He had hoped to die in the saddle. He should be so lucky.
He swung awkwardly up onto the horse, giving her a final look, realizing how final it would soon be. He never tired of looking at her and just the thought of how many years he’d pushed her away from him brought tears to his eyes. He’d become a doddering sentimental old fool on top of everything else. He spurred the horse and rode past her and out of the barn, despising himself.
At the gate, something stronger than even his will forced him to turn and look back. She was slumped against the barn wall, shoulders hunched, head down.
He cursed her for coming back after all the years they’d lived apart and spurred his horse. Cursed himself. As he rode up through the foothills of the ranch his father had started from nothing more than a scrawny herd of longhorn cattle over a hundred years ago, he was stricken with a pain far greater than any he had yet endured.
His agony was about to end, but it had only begun for his family. He would have to tell them everything.
He tried not to think about what his sons and daughter would say when he told them that years ago, he’d sold his soul to the devil, and the devil was now at his door, ready to collect in more ways than one.
J.T., his oldest, would be furious; Rourke would be disappointed; Cash would try to help, as always; and Brandon possibly would be relieved to find that his father was human after all. Dusty, his precious daughter, the heart of his heart… Asa closed his eyes at the thought of what it would do to her.
He would have to tell them soon. He might be weak in body and often spirit, but he refused to be a coward. He couldn’t let them find out everything after he was gone. Not when what he’d done would put an end to the Sundown Ranch as they all knew it.
Sheridan, Wyoming, rodeo
IT WAS FULL DARK and the rodeo was almost over by the time Ty Coltrane made his way along the packed grandstands.
He’d timed it so he could catch the bull riding. No one he’d talked to had seen Clayton, nor had there been any word. But Ty knew that if Clayton was anywhere within a hundred-mile radius, he wouldn’t miss tonight’s rodeo.
Glancing around before the event started, though, he didn’t see the old bull rider. He did, however, see Dusty McCall and her friend, Leticia Arnold, sitting close to the arena fence.
Dusty didn’t look the worse for wear after her bucking bronc performance earlier today. He shook his head at the memory, telling himself he was tired of playing nursemaid to her. She wasn’t his responsibility. He couldn’t keep picking her up from the dirt. What if one day he wasn’t around to
