Rough Rider (23 page)

Janice backed the stock trailer slowly up to the gate where Dirk, Wade, and Cody stood ready to unload the last shipment of heifers. They'd hauled three stock trailers full of cattle they'd brought in from a big Wagyu outfit in Idaho.

“I still don't know how you maneuver this great big thing,” remarked Wade's fiancée Nikki.

“Years of practice,” Janice said. “I was driving a tractor before age ten, and a truck and trailer by fifteen.”

“Do you think you could teach me?” Nikki asked. “I might be a silent partner, but I really do want to learn about ranching.”

Janice was surprised at how eagerly the Georgia native had embraced the ranching life, especially given that only a few months ago Wade had wanted to sell out. Nikki's investment in Flying K Wagyu had changed everything. It seemed that Dirk's dream of turning the ranch around would finally come to fruition. Nikki's twelve hundred acres in the Ruby Valley would provide mild winters and plentiful grass for Dirk's cattle, and the free lease had allowed him to expand his herd with two more bulls and fifty cows and heifers. Most importantly, Nikki's involvement had helped to end the long estrangement between the Knowlton brothers.

“Sure,” Janice replied. “I'm happy to teach you anything you want to know. We can practice driving in the pasture once the snow melts.”

She put the truck into park and shut off the ignition and then hopped down into the mud. The trailer shook as the men dropped the ramp to unload the cattle. The next few minutes passed in organized chaos as the lowing cows trotted off the trailer to join the rest of the herd.

Janice observed Dirk and her son with a smile. Cody had always been energetic, but he seemed to positively bloom whenever in Dirk's company. Although she'd tried her best to fill the roles of both mother and father to Cody, it wasn't until observing him and Dirk together that she'd realized how sadly insufficient she had been.

The boy had become Dirk's shadow over the past couple of months. Dirk had shown infinite patience in teaching Cody how to ride, gather cows, and handle a rope. Although she'd been a little hurt that Cody had asked to ride with Dirk when they'd made their road trip to Idaho, she realized the time together would only strengthen their growing bond.

He now stood by the gate with prod in hand, intently watching and mimicking Dirk's every move. “Hey, Mama!” he greeted her with a mile-wide grin. “Mr. Dirk has something real important to ask you.”

Dirk scowled. “This isn't exactly the right time, Cody.”

“Oh yeah?” Janice looked from Cody to Dirk. “And why's that?”

Dirk replied, “Because it's not the kind of thing you discuss in the middle of a cow pasture.”

“Really? Then where do you suggest we discuss this thing?”

“How about over dinner tomorrow night?”

“Sure,” Janice replied. “I've got a lasagna made up that I was planning to pop in the oven. What time do you want to come over?”

Cody and Dirk exchanged a conspiratorial look. “Wade said he and Nikki would watch Cody so we can go out.”

“Out?” Janice repeated in surprise. It had been weeks since they'd gone anywhere without Cody. “You sure you two don't mind?” Janice asked Nikki.

“Not at all. Why don't we just keep him for the whole night?” Nikki replied with a wink.

“Think maybe you could put on that little black dress?” Dirk suggested.

“Sure,” Janice replied. The last time she'd worn it was their dinner at the Sacajawea. It was also the last full night she and Dirk had spent together. They'd only had stolen opportunities for intimacy since her mother had moved up to Helena. The memory of that night sent a ripple of lust through her. Dirk's expression said he remembered it too.

* * *

“You ever gonna tell me what this big secret is?” Janice asked Dirk over dessert at Sir Scott's Oasis, another steak house test-marketing Flying K's American Kobe beef. “Cody looked like he was about to burst when we left tonight.”

Dirk chuckled. “He gets that trait from you, not me.”

“How is it going between you two?” Janice asked.

Dirk sobered. “He's a great kid, Janice, and a credit to both of us. I just wish to hell I could have been part of his life sooner.”

“I do too, but all we can do now is make the most of the time we have.”

She deeply regretted that they'd lost all those years that they could have been a family, but there was no point in dwelling on past mistakes when they had a future to build.

“Speaking of building… Mama called this morning to say she and the ol' man found a condo they like in Lake Havasu City. They want to sign the house over to me and remodel the bunkhouse for their summertime use. Which now leads to my big question…” He reached into his coat pocket.

Janice's heart leaped into her throat when he pulled out a small velvet box.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah. I asked Cody yesterday. Rest assured he has given me his full blessing.” Dirk popped the box open. “I know I'm ten years late and it's not as big as I would have liked—”

“It's perfect,” she whispered. She licked her lips as her gaze met his.

“Will you marry me?” he asked. “Be my partner and my lover for the rest of my life? I can't promise you much, Red, but I need you. Hell.” He laughed. “All I
can
guarantee you as a rancher's wife is a lot of hard work.”

“I've never been afraid of hard work, and I want to help you, Dirk. Your dreams are my dreams now. For better or for worse, right?”

His hands shook as he slipped the ring on her finger. “Yeah, Red, that's one promise I
can
make.” He brushed his lips over her face. “For better or for worse, but for damn sure never for granted.”

Three months later

Surrounded by close friends and family in the kitchen of the ranch house, a beaming Cody inhaled a lungful of air, puffed out his cheeks, and then squeezed his lids shut on a long, hard gust. When he opened his eyes again, they widened to comic proportions to discover all ten birthday candles still blazing. “I didn't get none of 'em?” he cried in dismay.

“Guess you better try harder,” Dirk replied with a mischievous grin.

Janice hadn't known until that instant that Dirk had switched out the birthday candles. His good-natured teasing and growing relationship with Cody warmed her heart, but today was a particular joy.

“You've both done wonders for Dirk,” her misty-eyed mother-in-law murmured beside her. “I haven't seen this side of my son in years and didn't think I'd ever see it again.”

“They've been good for each other,” Janice replied. In the few short weeks since she and Dirk had wed in a private ceremony at the Sacajawea, Cody had come to idolize his “stepfather.”

“Yes, they have been,” Donna agreed. “He loves that boy, Janice.”

“And Cody idolizes him in return. Dirk wants to go ahead with a legal adoption if Cody agrees. I think he plans to ask Cody later today.”

“Adopt his
own
son?” Donna looked aghast. “Aren't you going to tell him the truth?”

“We're not. At least not yet. It was Dirk's decision, not mine,” Janice explained. “He said Cody's been through enough. We won't withhold anything he asks about, but we both want him to adjust gradually.”

“If you think that's best…” Donna's expression revealed her doubts.

“We believe it's the best way,” Janice affirmed and then looked back to Dirk and Cody.

“You better take a bigger breath this time,” Dirk coached the boy.

Wade, an obvious co-conspirator, was capturing it all on video as Cody huffed and puffed and then made his second valiant attempt to blow out the candles. This time he kept his eyes open. The candles sputtered only to reignite before his incredulous face.

“Hey! Wait a minute!” He flashed an accusatory look at Dirk and then Janice. “Is this some kinda trick?”

“What do you mean, Cody?” Dirk deadpanned.

Janice covered her mouth in an attempt to suppress the burst of mirth that bubbled in her chest, only to lose the battle when Dirk winked at her. A full-bodied chuckle erupted from her, echoed by Dirk's baritone rumble.

“Hey! It is a joke!” Cody cried. “How do we put these out? I want some of Grandma's chocolate cake.”

“Tell you what, partner, why don't we let the women figure that out while we head out to the workshop?”

“What's in the workshop?” Cody asked.

Dirk handed him a jacket. “It's a surprise.”

“What is it?” Cody asked, bright-eyed, eagerly thrusting his arms into the new Carhartt jacket he'd wanted—the one just like Dirk's.

“A birthday present,” Dirk insisted. “You'll find out what it is when we get out there. Here. You should wear this too.” He thrust the black Stetson Wade and Nikki had gifted Cody onto the boy's head.

“What
kind
of present?” Cody cajoled.

“The kind that's a secret. Dang, boy. You're as bad as your mother.” Dirk sent a mock glower Janice's way.

“Why don't you go out there too?” Donna suggested to Janice. “You won't want to miss this. Nikki and I can serve up the cake.”

“So you know what this surprise is?” Janice asked Donna.

“I do. Justin and Dirk built it together.”

“What did they build?” she persisted.

Donna shook her head with a laugh and shooed Janice out the door, tossing her jacket after her. Janice chafed her arms and then pulled it on, following the fresh tracks in the snow to the workshop behind the house. She was only seconds behind the men, arriving just as Dirk instructed Cody to cover his eyes.

“No peeking,” Dirk commanded. He and Justin rolled back the workshop's double doors. “OK. You can open now.”

The moment Cody's hazel eyes popped open, Dirk swept out his arm. Surrounded by a pile of wood shavings was a bucking barrel, the kind beginner bull riders train on.

“Cody, meet your first bull. Your grandpa and I named him Twister,” Dirk said, “but you can call it anything you like.”

“You're really gonna teach me to ride bulls?” Cody's voice was breathless. His eyes shone.

“Said I would, didn't I? You can start on the barrel and then when the new calves are big enough, we'll put you on a few of them.”

“Really?”

“Yup. C'mon, partner. We'll go over all the particulars about ropes and rosin later. Right now I know your teeth are itching to get on this thing. Up you go!”

He hoisted Cody onto the barrel. “Hold out your left hand. This is your bull rope.”

Dirk spent several minutes explaining the bare basics before wrapping the rope around Cody's hand. “Your hips and heels are your anchor,” he explained.

Dirk positioned the boy's hips forward over his hand and then pressed Cody's booted heels into the sides of the barrel. Dirk's ice-blue gaze met and held Janice's.

“The single most important thing I've ever learned about bull riding is that it's just like life. It's all about finding your balance.”

Order Victoria Vane's next book
in the Hot Cowboy Nights series

Sharp Shooter

On sale June 2015

Read on for an excerpt from the next book in the Hot Cowboy Nights series by Victoria Vane

Sharp Shooter

Mojave Desert, Southern California

Lying on his belly behind an outcropping of rocks, Reid squinted into the scope of his rifle. He was sweating like a pig in his dirt-encrusted ghillie suit and didn't even want to
think
about how he smelled after three days in hundred-plus temps. He shifted his body. His legs were numb from hours of observation, but he still felt the gravel chewing through the suit and into his skin.

“You got plans after this,
hermano
?” asked his spotter, Rafael Garcia. They'd met during basic eighteen months ago and had done two tours together. Six months after returning, they'd both earned the coveted Scout Sniper hog's tooth they proudly wore around their necks.

“Nothing special,” Reid answered. “You?”

“Oh yeah. Big plans, considering this is our final weekend of freedom and the last chance to score some ass. You need to come along this time.”

Reid squinted through his riflescope at the village below where the USMC had re-created a near perfect model of their mission theater, complete with hundreds of Arabic speakers who wandered the streets and haggled in the staged marketplace. It was quiet below; maybe too quiet.

“No can do, Raf. I've got phone calls to make and a ton of shit to take care of before we deploy.” In truth, he was still licking his wounds.

What pissed him off most wasn't so much getting dumped, as he'd half-expected that, but her chosen method. After two years together, she hadn't even allowed him the satisfaction of tearing up a letter. That's what really sucked. Rather than a letter or even a phone call, she'd sent a Dear John text on New Year's Eve:
Can't wait for U anymore. :-( So sorry Reid. Take care. Tonya.

Five months later, he still wasn't over it. After seeing so many guys dumped during deployments—and now having experienced it himself—he'd banished any thought of women from his mind.

“C'mon,
hermano
,” Garcia cajoled. “You've still got all next week to take care of that shit. You gotta get some while the getting is still good. We're looking at eight straight months of
chaqueta
.”

“
Chaqueta
? Jacket?” Reid translated with a frown.

“No, man.” Garcia grinned, fisting his hand and mimicking jacking off.

“You speak English as well as I do. Why can't you just use it?” Reid asked.

“You're not in Wyoming anymore. You need to learn some Spanish. Hispanics are the fastest growing minority. Especially here in So Cal. Who knows? We may even outnumber you
gringos
before the end of the century. Just think of it as broadening your cultural horizons.”

“Yeah? Well, I think my cultural horizons are gonna expand real soon, considering where we're headed.”

“And the
hijos de puta madres
over there will kill you for touching their women. Shit, they don't even let you look at them. For the next eight months, we'll all be doing
puñetas
.”

Garcia was right. The coming months would be almost monastic. No sex. No booze. A supreme test of both celibacy and abstinence. Most of the grunts would spend the next week drinking till they puked and fucking anything that moved. He didn't judge, but that didn't mean he wanted to be part of it.

“Tell you what,
ése
,” Garcia continued, as he raised his binoculars, “if you go this weekend, I'll even take you someplace where your cowboy ass will feel right at home.”

“In Southern California?”

“Yeah. We have rednecks in
tejanos
out here too.
Mierda
,” Garcia swore softly. “Insurgent sighted at two o'clock. He's got an RPG shouldered.”

“Fuck. Can't see him.”

This was the final test of a grueling, sleep-deprived seventy-two hours, and he was about to fail. Reid pulled back from his scope to blink the dust out of his eyes, then scanned for his target again. “Sighted,” Reid confirmed with relief. “Got the son of a bitch in the crosshairs.”

“Too slow,
hombre.
He's already taking cover. Looks like he's going to launch from behind that concrete wall.”

“The hell he is.” At twelve hundred yards, it was the longest shot Reid had ever attempted, but his bipod supported the deadliest weapon he'd ever fired. The M82A3 with fifty-caliber rounds could certainly handle the distance and even a concrete wall. Hell, it could probably take out a fucking tank from a mile away.

“Wind call?” he asked.

“Steady at seven miles per hour. No cross breeze,” Garcia replied.

Reid doped his scope.

“Push it left point two,” Garcia instructed.

“You sure about that?” Reid had estimated point three. He was rarely off, but Garcia knew his shit. He'd proven to be the best spotter in their class.

“Yeah, I'm sure. You gotta trust me.” Garcia echoed his own thoughts, but Reid was accustomed to relying on his instincts. It was hard to turn that over to someone else. “Tell you what,” Garcia continued, “if you miss the mark, you're off the hook. If you hit, you're the designated driver.”

To any other guy that kind of bet might provide incentive to miss, but Garcia knew him too well. Reid took pride on
never
missing a shot and had an entire trophy room of big game back in Wyoming to prove it.

“All right by me.” Reid made the necessary adjustment and honed in once more on his target, a silhouette behind a concrete wall that stood over half a mile away.

One shot. One kill.
The scout sniper mantra. It was time to take it.

Reid inhaled slow and deep. Exhaling, his finger tightened on the trigger. He held the next breath for a three count and then slowly and deliberately squeezed. The recoil rammed his right shoulder. The discharge blasted his ears. Three seconds later, half the concrete wall disintegrated before their eyes.

“
Mierda!
” Garcia lowered his spotting scope with a grin. “That thing's a fucking cannon. So, are we gonna take a taxi or do you wanna drive?”

* * *

“I don't know why I let you drag me here. You know as well as I do that I'm gonna hate this place.”

Yolanda pouted. “C'mon,
chica
. When was the last time you had any fun? You've had your nose buried in your books for months, and now you're gonna be working all summer in the middle of nowhere. Just give it a chance, OK?”

“There's plenty of other places we could have gone besides a redneck club,” Haley groused.

“But this place has the biggest dance floor in California. Four thousand square feet to shake your booty.”

“You're the dancer, not me.” The club scene wasn't Haley's thing. At all.

“Don't be such a wet blanket. It'll be fun.”

Haley cast a disparaging eye over the line of girls in their cowboy boots and ass-squeezing Daisy Dukes. “The place is a bit testosterone-challenged, don't you think?”

Yolanda laughed. “Don't worry about that. In a couple of hours, it's gonna be swarming with horny marines.”

“Great.” Haley rolled her eyes.

“You're the one who mentioned testosterone,” Yolanda said, grinning.

Although they'd been best friends since junior high school, she and Yolanda had vastly different priorities. Haley didn't even try to keep up with her best friend's revolving-door love life.

“Rarely.” Yolanda winked at her. “There's a lot more to life than books, Haley, but don't take my word for it. It's time you discover for yourself.”

“What's the point?” Haley argued. “I don't have time to date.”

“Who says anything about dating?” Yolanda replied. “We're just here to have a good time, right? It doesn't have to lead to anything.

“Look,” Yolanda continued, “if you don't want to be accosted by horny marines, just stay out on the floor. You don't even need a partner. They play mainly line dances here, and most of those guys are too macho to line dance.”

“I'm just going to make an ass of myself.”

“It's why we came early,” Yolanda countered. “So you can take advantage of the lessons. If you don't catch on,
no problema.
They'll mix it up later with some freestyle hip-hop. C'mon. At least give it a chance. It'll be fun.”

“Yeah, barrels of fun,” Haley mumbled.

They moved slowly up the line.

The big, bald, unsmiling bouncer held out his hand. “ID.”

“You'd think they'd be a bit friendlier,” Haley groused as both girls fished out their wallets.

Yolanda presented her license and promptly received an over-twenty-one bracelet.

“Pay to the right,” he said. “Next.”

Haley received a scowl when she presented her ID. “Put out both hands.”

She complied and got a big black X on the back of each with a Sharpie. Great. If she wanted ink on her body, she'd have gotten a tat.

“We enforce the law,” he warned. “Try to drink, and we'll boot your ass. Pay to the right.”

She stepped to the counter already feeling like a felon.

“Twenty bucks,” the cashier announced without even looking up.

Haley presented her debit card.

The woman shook her head. “Cash only.”

“Cash? Who carries cash anymore?”

“No cash. No entry.”

“Just a minute. Let me find my friend.” Haley searched the crowd for Yolanda, but she'd already gone inside.

“You're holding up the line.”

“But I don't have any—”

“I got it.” A soft, whiskey-smooth baritone sounded from behind her.

Haley spun around to meet a solid wall of chest. Her gaze tracked north of the button-down Western shirt to meet a pair of sky-blue eyes shadowed by a well-worn Stetson. Built like a rock, with dimples to boot, this tall cowboy stirred interest in places she'd ignored for a very long time. She'd never gone for that type before, but when he gazed down at her with a heart-skipping grin stretching his mouth…
Holy cow…boy.

He stepped up to the cashier, flipped his wallet open, and handed the woman two twenties.

“I'll pay you back as soon as we get inside,” Haley blurted. “I have a friend—”

Blue Eyes shook his head. “It's no big deal. I got it. If it bothers you that much, you can pay me back later on with a dance.”

“Thanks for the easy terms, but I'm not much of a dancer.” Haley's mouth stretched into an involuntary smile. He really was hot and a charmer too.

His answering smile morphed into a crooked grin revealing even white teeth. The night was starting to look up. Her gaze tracked to his blue eyes again. Way up.

“That's a bit of a relief actually,” he said. “I manage a passable two-step, but that's about the limit of my repertoire.” He nodded to the gap that had broadened between them and the door. “Wanna go inside now?”

Haley tensed under the sudden contact of his big, warm palm on her lower back. It was a light touch that still set every nerve ending on alert. Discomposed by her own response, she fought the instinct to pull away. Forcing a breath, she willed herself to relax, and let him guide her toward the door.

Once inside, he offered his hand. “I'm Reid.”

She eyeballed him anew. A handshake? Was he for real? “You're not from around here, are you?”

“No, ma'am.” His annoyingly disarming grin lingered. She didn't trust how easily she responded to it, to him. “Born and raised in Wyoming.”

“Wyoming? So you're the genuine article and not one of those jokers?” She inclined her head to the throng gathered around the mechanical bull.

He shook his head with a scoffing sound. “I earned my spurs on the real thing.”

She glanced down at his boots, expecting to see them.

He chuckled. “I don't wear 'em unless I'm ridin'.”

“So are you going to show them how it's done?”

“I got nothing to prove. Besides, there's no comparison. A mechanical bull can't stomp you into the dirt or plant a horn in your ass.”

“Are you working on one of the ranches out here?”

“Nope. I've hung it all up for the U.S. Marine Corps.”

“You're a
marine
?” she repeated in dismay.

“Yup. Corporal Reid Everett of the Third Battalion First Marines.”

Damn. Damn. Damn.
Why did the only guy she'd taken any interest in since God knows when have to be a marine? The revelation instantly snuffed out any flicker of interest. A potential fling with a hot cowboy was one thing, but a jarhead was completely out of consideration.

“Nice meeting you, Reid.” She turned away.

He laid a hand on her arm, his brows meeting in a subtle frown. “Not quite the reaction I'd expected…”

“My father was a marine,” she explained.

“
Was?
”

“So I'm told,” she responded, tight-lipped. “I never knew him. I'm going to find my friend now.”

“Wait a minute. Wha'd I say?” He looked confused and maybe even a bit hurt, like she'd locked his wheels up and sent him skidding.

“It's not what you said. It's what you
are.
”

Just another
whore-mongering marine.
They were all just a bunch of horny dogs. Her own father had been one of them—impregnating her mother, never to be heard from again.

The grunts from Camp Pendleton had an especially long and well-earned history. She'd even done a research study on it for one of her college classes. Since the USMC established their base in 1942, the number of illegitimate births within a one-hundred-mile radius of the base had skyrocketed nine months after every major troop deployment. The data was undeniable.
Semper fidelis
certainly didn't apply to the women they left behind.