The Return (BookShots Flames), Page 3

  He needed her to talk to her uncle more than he needed to save face. Blowing out a harsh breath, he started the climb back up again.

  The knock came less than a minute later. Ashley decided to let him sweat it out a little bit. Heading to the kitchen, she poured herself a big glass of ice tea before sauntering back to the door.

  “Yes?” she said as she pulled open the door wide enough to fit her face.

  He looked as though he’d just bit into a big ol’ piece of humble pie with a side of lemon. “All right, I’ll agree to your terms on one condition: you have to talk to your uncle first.”

  “Nope.”

  His eyebrows crashed together. “What do you mean, ‘Nope’?”

  “Just what I said. I’m not gonna let you ditch me halfway through something again. I will talk to my uncle after you help me prepare for and enter three competitions.”

  “Three?” he exclaimed, clearly appalled. “That’s making a gigantic leap from fair turnabout to veritable blackmail. You know I can’t afford to wait that long.”

  “It’s closer to ransom than blackmail. And I think it’s as fair as you’re ever going to come across from a spurned ex-girlfriend.”

  She smiled sweetly before taking an indulgent sip of tea. Oh, how wonderful it felt to have the upper hand with him at last. More than that, she was almost giddy to have a plan after all this time, and she didn’t care how much he wanted to fight it. She was going to do this whether he joined her or not—though he would join her. She knew him so well that she was sure he’d never walk away in this situation. He wouldn’t be quite as good as her old mentor, but he was the next best thing.

  She held up a finger as she swallowed and then added, “I wasn’t even finished. You must set up all three events, accompany me to each one of them, and be available to smooth any snags along the way. Oh, and introduce me to your contacts.”

  With each demand, his jaw seemed to clench harder and harder. “In case you didn’t hear me the first time,” he said, “I can’t afford to wait that long, let alone travel to three different venues. I’ll help you enter and compete in one competition, and that’s the best I can do.”

  Grinning amiably, she shook her head. “Three competitions. I’ll cover the cost of entry, travel, and expenses, but otherwise, Mack, you owe me. The first one is for ditching me, the second is for breaking my heart, and the third is for the conversation with my uncle.”

  “But—”

  “Non-negotiable. Take it or leave it.”

  She could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He wanted to argue—it was written all over his face—but obviously her determination was coming through loud and clear.

  He stood there for a moment, probably cursing her three ways to Sunday. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Fine. Are you sure you have the funds to cover all the expenses? Travel, rooms, and fees aren’t going to be cheap.”

  “I’ve got it covered.” When he raised a skeptical eyebrow, she said, “My mama had a small life insurance policy.”

  He nodded once, then crossed his arms, stretching the plaid cotton tight across his biceps. “I see. Well, you’d best go change. I’m not giving my final word until I see you ride.”

  Huh. That was something she hadn’t expected. She opened the door a little wider as she cocked her head to the side. “Now?”

  Pasting a hard smile in place, he swept an arm out toward the barn. “No time like the present, princess.”

  Ugh—how she hated that nickname. The other kids had called her that when she’d won her first Miss Sunnybell pageant years and years ago. It had been nothing more than mindless teasing, but it always set her teeth on edge. She refused to show her annoyance then, and she refused to do so today. She turned and set her drink down on the hall table with a resolute snap, then brushed off her hands and smiled.

  “Sure thing, cowboy. Let me get my boots.”

  Chapter 6

  Draping his arms over the fence, Mack waited for Ashley to emerge from the barn; he was stewing all the while. He may not have been able to negotiate with her at the house, but he fully intended to tear her riding apart. There was no way she was ready for something as serious as a competition. It was the kindest thing to do, since no one wanted to look like a fool in front of a whole crowd of people.

  Yep, he was saving her from herself.

  At last she emerged, sitting pretty on a chestnut mare. She must have had an extra pair of pants in the barn, since her paint-stained sweatpants had been swapped out for a pair of snug-fitting boot-cut jeans that showed exactly how long and slender her legs were. She at least looked the part—not that that counted for anything.

  He followed as she walked the horse around to the other side of the barn, where a metal fence enclosed a well-tended dirt paddock. He blinked when he realized that three blue barrels were already in place. She had a practice course?

  “All right, cowboy, you running the stopwatch?”

  Beginning to feel as though she’d somehow set him up, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through to the proper app. “Ready when you are,” he said, his finger hovering over the Start button.

  In a moment, she was off, spurring the horse forward with an economy of moves and obvious control. The pair sprinted toward the first barrel, and Mack watched in astonishment as the horse hugged it tighter than an Italian sports car hugged mountain curves. Ashley spurred on the mare to the second barrel, cutting around it and then galloping toward the third.

  She looked every bit as in control as some of the top racers he’d seen over the years. Her expression was focused, her concentration complete. Her communication with the horse was so natural it was clear that they’d done this a thousand times before.

  In a matter of seconds, she was racing back toward the gate, her hair streaming behind her like a victory flag. She looked flat-out gorgeous, even more so than when she had been in high school—which was saying a whole hell of a lot. Back then she’d been just about the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d feel the same pressed up against him now, or if that sensation would be better, too. He watched the way she moved in that saddle and swallowed.

  He’d bet money on the latter.

  When she pulled up beside him, breathing hard and smiling big enough to betray her beauty queen roots, he looked down at the numbers frozen on the phone’s screen.

  He gave a low whistle, not even trying to disguise his appreciation. “Where in the hell did you learn to ride like that? And where the hell did you come by a top-tier barrel racing horse?” He felt as if he’d been swindled by a grade A pool shark.

  Dismounting, she patted the horse’s flank. She looked so damned pleased with herself that he almost smiled. “Our old neighbor, Loretta Hayworth, was a champion barrel racer back in the day. I used to watch her and marvel, and one day she offered to teach me. She was a sweet lady, and I learned so much from her. I have no idea why she took to me, but I’m glad she did.”

  Despite the fact that it had led him to this predicament, he was glad Loretta had, too. It was clear that Ashley had a natural talent for the sport.

  “And the horse?” he prodded.

  Her smile was soft and sweet, and tugged at his heart. It was the same smile that had kicked him square in the chest the very first time he’d laid eyes on her. Something about it made him want to wrap his arms around her. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Where the hell had that come from?

  Oblivious to his reaction, she said, “That was Loretta’s doing as well. Mia here is the descendant of her champion racer. She knew that I’d had to sell my horse to pay off some medical bills, and when she decided to move to the senior living facility near her son in Austin, she offered to sell her to me. I didn’t have the money, of course, but she wouldn’t hear of my protests. She said Mia was mine for two hundred dollars, so long as I promised to take good care of her.”

  Mack shook his head, amazed. “She must be one hell of a woman,” he said. The hors
e was probably worth tens of thousands of dollars.

  “She was,” Ashley said quietly, and he knew without asking that Loretta had passed as well. “It was the best gift she could have given me. As Mama got worse and worse, I’d come out every night after she went to bed, weather permitting, and Mia and I would race.”

  Ashley’s gaze met his, and he could see the strength behind her pretty doelike eyes. “It was an escape from reality, pure and simple,” she said. “When we were out here, the rest of the world was dark and quiet, and I could believe that nothing existed beyond the lights of this small paddock. It was just Mia, me, the dirt, and the barrels. It was the rhythm of our bodies, the sound of the wind in my ears, and the exhilaration of flying away.”

  She gave a little laugh as she looked back toward the barrels. “I feel like I could ride this course blindfolded. Heck, with both of us blindfolded, despite all the changeups I do to keep her guessing.”

  For the second time in less than five minutes, he found himself leaning toward her, wanting to comfort her even though the darkest times had passed for her.

  He wished he could say the same for himself.

  The thought brought him back to reality in a hurry. He was only here because he was scraping the bottom of his barrel. He needed her help, and she had been happy to exploit that. A sobering thought, no matter how good a rider she was.

  Clearing his throat, he took a step back. “Well, thanks for the demonstration.”

  Dismay creased her brow as she stared back at him, obviously having expected something more effusive from him. Good. He wanted her to feel as vulnerable and off-center as he. Hopefully she’d think twice before trying to force his hand in the future.

  Taking advantage of her surprise, he said, “I’ll be sure to think it over and get back to you sometime tomorrow.” He may have already consigned himself to the agreement, but she didn’t have to know that yet.

  With a tip of his head, he turned on his boot heel and strode to the truck, purposely not looking back. All the while he could feel the heat of the Texas sun on his chest and the chill of her stare on his back as he walked.

  If he got to work ASAP, he could get this whole thing over and done with in a couple of weeks. The trick was going to be not killing each other in the process.

  Chapter 7

  Sweat poured down Mack’s face in rivulets, dripping onto his already soaked shirt and splashing onto the black rubber mat beneath him. He grabbed his water bottle and took a few gulps, ignoring the angry protest of both muscle and bone—not to mention his spine.

  No pain, no gain. It was an overused saying in sports, but he’d found it to be true through the years. You couldn’t be a bull rider unless you thrived on it, pushing yourself over and over through broken bones, muscle tears, sprains, concussions…and thoracic compression fractures. All of which he’d sustained in one fell swoop two months ago.

  He still refused to believe that Doc Simpson’s dire predictions would become reality. The man was the most reasonable doctor in bull riding, having once been a rider himself, but he had been full of warnings and had a list of can’t-dos a mile long.

  Mack hated—hated—being sidelined like this. Despite Doc’s estimates, Mack was certain that rest, rehab, and power of will would see him on the back of a bull again in four months, six months tops. This was just another case of mind over matter.

  Which was why he hadn’t told anyone about the numbness in his hands.

  Talking about it would only make it more real, and for now he could convince himself that it was only a fleeting side effect. The truth was, that was the injury that worried him most. He could grit through the pain and agony of returning to the arena, but if he couldn’t get his grip back, he wouldn’t be worth crap on the back of a bull.

  Setting down the now-empty water bottle, he swiped a towel over his face and lay back flat on the bench. He had to make himself believe that things would work themselves out as his body healed. He refused to acknowledge any other alternative.

  Of course, no matter how fast he healed, it wouldn’t be fast enough to change the head honcho’s mind at Sagebrush.

  With that thought, Ashley sprang to mind, the self-satisfied smile she’d flashed him after her demonstration crystal clear in his memory. Damn barrel racing. He needed her, but the idea of being her lackey made every part of him cringe. He’d worked and trained half his life to earn the right to ride with the big dogs, and here he was, playing soccer mom to his old high school girlfriend. She had him by the short hairs and she knew it.

  At least she was good. Damn good, he amended, giving credit where it was due. It would be doubly humiliating to attempt to mentor a novice, so there was at least that. Carefully pushing to his feet, he fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Ashley’s number in his messages. A full day of radio silence had been enough. It was time to get down to business.

  The soft buzz of Ashley’s cell phone might as well have been a siren. She jumped at the sudden noise, nearly dropping her paintbrush. Tossing it into the can, she dashed across the room, glad there was no one around to see her making a fool of herself.

  She was never this high-strung, but dang it, Mack was taking his sweet time getting back to her. It’d been over twenty-four hours since he’d left her porch, and she’d probably checked her stupid phone ten times an hour.

  She was not the type to obsess like that. But sue her—she was stoked. And nervous. And worried and thrilled and a thousand other emotions.

  It felt so right to be pursuing racing. She hadn’t realized how right until she’d seen the look of appreciation in Mack’s eyes yesterday after her run. As much as she’d wished him out of her life over the years, she was ridiculously glad he’d come to her yesterday. She could suffer his company for a few weeks if it meant finally rediscovering her true passion.

  After all, the timing made it feel as though it was meant to be. In the moment that she was finally taking the gigantic step of painting over the mural that she and her mother had created together, this opportunity had fallen straight into her lap.

  That wall reminded her of the pain and sadness she’d suffered over the past few years, even though the loving memories of her mother were wrapped up in it. When they’d painted it together, the mural had been a way for them both to accept the future with their hearts wide-open. Knowing that her mother would be increasingly confined to the house, her bedroom, and even her body, they’d set out to bring the world to her. The image they’d chosen was a scene from her mother’s favorite place: the old watering hole near her childhood home.

  It had brought her mom peace and a quiet joy to gaze at the mural when those four walls had been her entire world. It hadn’t been easy for her mother to express her feelings in those last days, but Ashley could see the happiness flicker in her eyes whenever she had looked at their artwork.

  After the funeral, Ashley hadn’t wanted to go into the room. But once she brought herself to go in there, she hadn’t wanted to leave. She just stared at the mural, wishing that her mother was still with her.

  The problem was, it had reached the point where it was hard to remember her mother when she had been healthy, before this room—and, in Ashley’s mind, this mural—held the memories of illness and pain.

  The fact that Mack had shown up on her doorstep at the exact moment when she was finally putting that part of her past to rest seemed important. Serendipitous. It was an opportunity she had no intention of squandering.

  Grabbing her phone off the counter, she read the text.

  Be ready in an hour.

  The grin that stretched her lips had nothing on the joy bubbling up inside her. Oh, Mack, I’ve been ready for years, she thought as she rushed to clean up the mess of paintbrushes. She just hadn’t known it until yesterday.

  Chapter 8

  “Come on, princess. What are you, preparing for the evening wear competition over there?”

  Mack was rewarded with a fierce scowl as Ashley straightened and cramm
ed her hat over her braided hair. “For your information, my sock was bunched in my boot. Mia and I spent the last half hour warming up while we waited on you to get here, and it worked its way down.”

  He let his lips slide into a lazy smile. His entire goal for the morning was to rattle her in order to see how she would perform under pressure. Obviously he was off to a good start. “Ah. God forbid you ride through something as epically uncomfortable as bunched socks.”

  Not that he minded the view when she bent over to fix them. There was a reason she’d been the reigning beauty queen all those years. However prickly her personality could be, she was flat-out gorgeous from every angle.

  Setting a hand to her denim-clad hip, she said, “Don’t get your britches in a bunch. I know it’s hard for a bull rider to understand, but most people prefer to be comfortable when riding.”

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “By all means, don’t let me get in the way of your comfort. Do you need a manicure while we’re wasting time? A cool glass of lemonade for your parched throat?”

  “How about a pair of earplugs?” she promptly countered, one eyebrow raised in challenge. She swung up onto her horse as gracefully as a ballerina before adding, “Or you could stop yammering and let me ride.”

  Even though he was annoyed to be here in the first place, he found himself stifling a smile. Not bad. She’d been much easier to fluster back in high school. He remembered her being sweet as strawberry pie with an aura of innocence that made him feel guilty about lusting after her like the randy teenager he was. It was why he’d ultimately made his bonehead move with Shelly, who had been about as sweet and innocent as Mack himself back then, and twice as willing.

  “All right,” he said, stepping back and motioning toward her practice area, “let’s see what you can do. Without the element of surprise clouding my impression this time, I’ll be able to see what your weaknesses are.”