a’ junk now.”
For Dallas, these trucks were almost her undoing. It was hard work not to let her sorrow show at being back at Lightning Rock now that her father was gone. Her stomach felt like it was jumbled up in a giant knot and tears of sorrow had been trying to push through ever since she first turned down that familiar dirt road. If she didn’t get out of here quick, she’d end up bawling in front of Nick Brand, and that didn’t suit her at all.
Dallas turned away from the trio of old trucks. “Ready to head back?”
She was relieved when Nick gave a slight nod of his head; she got the impression that he had seen enough to get a sense of the place: it was a mess.
On the way back to the Bronco, Nick said to her, “I was really expecting to deal with your brother. Won’t he want any of his father’s trophies?”
“You won’t see Brian within a hundred miles of this place,” Dallas said bluntly. “He hated Pop almost as much he hated life on the rodeo circuit. Blames Davy for all of his problems. Last I heard, he was working for Lowe’s in the garden department.”
Dallas smacked a bug that had landed on her arm, flicked it off, while she continued talking. “I always knew that I would be the one to tie up the loose ends of Davy’s life. I’m his daughter, and I loved him like crazy, so...that’s that...”
For the rest of the walk back to where they had parked, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t until they were back inside the Bronco that Nick asked, “What’s on your agenda for the rest of the afternoon?”
“Practice.” Dallas made a quick U-turn and stepped down on the gas. “You can watch if you want.”
* * *
He wasn’t the only man who wanted to watch Dallas practice barrel racing. A small group of cowboys were hanging on the fence or leaning on the fence, which surrounded the practice arena. Nick positioned himself on the opposite side of the fence and waited for Dallas to start.
“You Angus’s boy?”
Nick turned slightly to the left to see if the question had been posed to him. An older man with severely bowed legs, deep wrinkles carved into his face and a thick black mustache peppered with white stood next to him.
“I am.”
The cowboy offered his hand. “Tom Ketchum.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Your father and I go way back.” Tom joined him at the fence. “You take after him.”
Nick caught a glimpse of Dallas walking out of one of the many Bent Tree barns leading a sleekly built blue roan gelding over to the arena. She swung into the saddle and started to work the mare to warm her muscles. Once Dallas started to ride in the arena, all eyes were on her.
“She draws a crowd,” Nick said to Tom.
“That she does.” Tom chuckled. “I’ve trained her off and on since she was a kid, and it’s always been that way.”
The more Nick watched Dallas ride, the more he wanted to watch. She had that “it” factor—that intangible quality that makes the world stop and take notice without ever really knowing why.
“One of those cowboys a boyfriend?”
Tom rested his boot on the bottom slat of the fence. “Dallas isn’t the kind to get pinned down. She’s never let anything interfere with barrel racin’.”
Dallas cantered by, and even though he knew that she saw him, her focus was entirely on her horse.
“She’s ready, Ketch.”
Tom pulled a stopwatch out of the pocket of his blue-and-white-checkered shirt.
“Watch this,” Tom said to Nick.
Dallas cantered out of the arena, made a small circle and then halted at the arena entrance to wait for Tom’s signal. Dallas’s horse pranced in place, anxious to race toward the first of the three barrels placed in a triangle pattern. Once Tom gave her the signal, the rowdy cowboys quieted while Dallas galloped full throttle toward the first barrel. As Dallas rounded the first barrel, Nick heard her yell “Ho” to the mare. Once around the first barrel, Dallas urged her swift-footed gelding to gallop the short distance to the second barrel.
“Ho!” Dallas’s voice was sharp and crisp and commanding.
“Now she’ll head for the money barrel,” Tom explained.
Once Dallas rounded the third barrel, all the cowboys started to cheer and wave their hats in the air. Tom stopped the stopwatch and looked at the time.
“I’ve seen her do better.” He shook his head before he gestured for Dallas to go again. “Give her more leg when you go around the last barrel, Dallas! You’re losing a ton of time letting her drift so much!”
Now Nick understood why Dallas drew a crowd—she was a dynamic, risky rider who was sexy as hell to watch.
“Can I give you a word of advice, son?” Tom asked without looking at him directly. “Never try to corner somethin’ that’s meaner than you.”
Nick hadn’t been the only man to stay until Dallas was done with her barrel racing practice. In fact, most did stay. There was something magnetic about the cowgirl—she had that unexplainable “it” thing that made a man want to follow her with his eyes.
Later that night at his hotel room, Nick reflected on his odd fascination with the barrel racer. He had always been attracted to tall women—he hadn’t gotten his father’s height, so he tended to date women who were a little taller than he was. He liked his women leggy, with a healthy bust and a reasonable family pedigree so she would fit in easily at the country club. His parents had doted on him as the only boy, and he had been, for years, an unabashed playboy. After he barely squeaked out a diploma in business from Princeton, he’d spent the better half of his twenties yachting with his friends and spending time in Europe and Dubai.
He’d dated women from all over the world, but he couldn’t recall a woman like Dallas registering on his radar screen. She was the total opposite of what typically attracted his attention: she was short, stocky, flat chested and had a mass of untamed brunette hair. She was—unkempt. It made him wonder if the fascination would stick. Would Dallas Dalton still be as interesting to him tomorrow as she had been today? Only time would tell.
* * *
“Howdy-ho!” Dallas called out to him the next morning.
“Good morning.” Nick held up his hand in greeting.
The cowgirl walked toward him wearing a brown tank top, cutoff shorts that hit her midthigh and her cowboy boots.
“I decided just to bite the bullet and make camp here for a bit.” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder toward a rickety paddock where her horse was trying to reach a piece of grass located on the other side of the fence. “Unless you mind, I’m gonna bunk here
