Rodeo Daughter

Below, a broad smile on her face, her arms spread wide, Mandy stood atop the prancing palomino. While the crowd roared in approval, horse and rider raced for the gate.

All too soon the last dirt clod settled to the ground. By the time a rodeo clown stepped into the arena, doffed a ten-gallon Stetson and latched the gate, Mitch’s feet were in motion. With every step he took closer to the barn, his plans firmed. He would attend the dance and talk shop with the law clerks who lingered around the punch bowl. But first, he’d enter a bid in the silent auction. One high enough to win a dance with the star of tonight’s rodeo.

* * *

HEART PUMPING, limbs trembling from the exertion, Amanda slid from Brindle’s saddle, patted the horse soundly and slipped him a couple of well-deserved sugar cubes. The big palomino snorted in pleasure, and she gave him a hug. Together, they had nailed it. Delivered the performance of a lifetime. So what if the ride hadn’t been quite flawless? The applause from the grandstand proved that no one at the Saddle Up Stampede cared if she’d lost her hat halfway through the second cloverleaf. Or nearly lost her footing as she rode out of the arena.

“Be sure you walk him until he cools off.” She handed Brindle’s reins to a waiting stable hand. “Then give him an extra measure of oats and a long rubdown.”

Lucky horse. His work was done. Hers, not so much.

The sawing screech of an out-of-tune fiddle drifted across the parking lot, a reminder of the country dance that would end the evening’s festivities. Her pulse still racing on the high of a near-perfect ride, Amanda spun on a boot heel. The barn, where cowboy hats bobbed on a sea of plaid shirts above straight-legged Levi’s, beckoned.

At a gingham-covered table, she asked about the winning bid for the first dance.

“Great show, Amanda.” The auctioneer beamed. “You musta’ made an impression on Mitchell Goodwin.” He pointed to the dark-haired man who strode toward them from the cashier’s booth.

Mitch? Now, that was a name she hadn’t expected. Memories rose like smoke from the campfire she and Mitch had once cuddled beside. They’d gazed at the stars and talked for hours, and ended up falling in love.

Frowning at her exaggerated version of puppy love, Amanda swallowed a wave of nostalgia. At sixteen, Mitch had been all knobby knees and elbows. Tonight, there was nothing awkward about the man whose long strides brought him ever closer. Laugh lines around his mouth enhanced his broad smile. Her own lips curved upward as she noted his familiar straight nose and high cheekbones, and her breath hitched when their eyes met. His were so deep that, for a moment, she let herself get lost in their azure depths, the way she had one summer night as they stood in line for the Ferris wheel. How had she ever forgotten eyes such a vibrant blue? Or the way his quick smile had once thrilled her heart? She’d kept a diary that summer, each page crammed with inky script, their initials entwined along the edges.

She gave him her best smile. “It’s good to see you, Mitch.”

“Mandy.” His focus never wavered as he extended a hand. “It’s been too long.”

She’d left the nickname behind the day she’d walked away from professional rodeo, but mentioning that now seemed petty. Slipping her fingers into his warm grasp, she was surprised by the pinprick of heartbreak that lingered after all these years. The urge to move closer faded.

Mitch had always had an uncanny way of reading her thoughts. Now, he stepped back, relinquishing his hold. “Well, you’ve certainly come a long way since rodeo camp.”

His slow, appraising glance skimmed over her like a caress.

“I always knew you would. You put on a great show tonight.” His smile widened into a teasing grin. “I guess you hear that all the time.”

“Not so often anymore, but you always did say the nicest things.”

Her sarcasm surprised Amanda almost as much as the embarrassed look that passed quickly over Mitch’s face. Her throat tightened, and she cleared it. His smile had dredged up memories of the kisses they’d shared…and the hurt that had followed. She raced to think of a topic that might steer the conversation away from painful adolescent memories.

“I guess you stuck with the plan and went into law.” She gestured toward the crowd of bar association members who stood around in tight knots, waiting for the dance to start. “What’s your specialty?”

“I’m with the district attorney’s office.”

His answer explained the air of authority he carried on his wide shoulders. She nodded, understanding why they hadn’t run into each other. So far, her work hadn’t required a visit to the courthouse’s criminal division.

Before she had a chance to mention her own practice, the band finished their warm-ups and ran through the opening bars of “Arkansas Traveler.” On the plywood stage, Mark Jansen, president of the bar association, stepped to the microphone. Throughout the barn, chatter quieted, except when someone in the back yelled “Let’s hear some music!” The call echoed off the rafters.

Jansen grinned, waiting until a spate of laughter died down before promising to keep his remarks brief. After assuring everyone that their contributions would appear in the next edition of the Bar News, he revealed the amount they’d raised for charities catering to at-risk children. The evening’s total was impressive enough that several wolf whistles punctuated a round of applause.

“That’s four thousand more than we raised last year. In this economy, you’ve truly outdone yourselves.” He signaled the band. “And now, our own Mitchell Goodwin will lead tonight’s star performer, Mandy Markette, in the first dance. Ya’ll join in, y’hear.”

Her hand tucked in Mitch’s grasp, Amanda followed the good-looking attorney out onto the straw-covered dance floor. She’d barely turned to face him before the fiddle player led them into a slow rendition of “Rodeo Moon.”

“Shall we?” Mitch bowed ever so slightly.

With a reminder that the night was all about charity, Amanda plastered on a broad smile and ignored her misgivings about stepping into Mitch’s arms again. She told herself they certainly wouldn’t fit together as well as they had one long-ago summer. She was a different person from the girl he’d known back then. Plus, in the intervening years Mitch had grown several inches taller. At six-feet-something, he now towered over her compact frame.

But two measures into the waltz, Mitch slipped his arm around her waist. The gentle press of his hand sent familiar tingles up and down her spine.

Struggling to hide a rush of heat, Amanda pressed her cheek to his chest. His woodsy aftershave mingled with a faint powdery smell she couldn’t quite identify. Whatever it was, it triggered a wave of longing for the home her childhood on the road had never included. She inhaled deeper while the singer belted out a song that made the rodeo circuit sound far more romantic than the life she’d known.

All too soon, the notes of the first number faded. Mitch’s smoldering eyes met hers, and Amanda knew with one glance that he wanted to continue their time together. When he motioned toward one of the barn’s big doors, she barely hesitated. She ducked outside, feeling giddy, while he grabbed two cups of punch from a table decked out like a chuck wagon. They moved into the shadows beyond the light that spilled from the door, not stopping until they’d left the acrid odor of several cigarette smokers behind. In a quiet spot, they leaned against a hitching rail.

“I can’t believe you’re really here. I’d planned to ask your dad about you after the show, but seeing you is so much better.” Concern dimmed the light in Mitch’s eyes. “He ever straighten up? Become the father you needed him to be?”

Amanda stifled an angry reply. No matter how much she’d changed, some things remained the same—and her dad was one of them. After her mom died, he’d dumped Amanda in rodeo camp and toured the country, preferring to rope and ride alone than help her deal with her grief. Meeting Mitch had been the only bright spot that terrible summer, and her dad had been the topic of more than one conversation between them.

She rolled her eyes. “He’s still up to the same old tricks. He backed out of the Saddle Up Stampede at the last minute, conned me into riding in his place. How about yourself? Did you go back to Camp Bridle Catch the next year?”

“Nah, that was the last in a long line of summer camps. It was all college prep and internships after that.”

Their lives couldn’t have been more different. For her, the next few years had been about winning a gold buckle in Las Vegas.

Amanda drained the cup Mitch handed her and set it aside. Talking to him brought back all her old hurts. It was as if she’d been asleep for years and had now been shaken awake, her adrenaline pumping for a fight. The urge to give Mitch a piece of her mind warred with the desire to grab him and hug him. She wasn’t sure where to start. In the end, she decided to rip the bandage off by tackling their breakup.

“I waited for you in the stables like we’d planned that last day of camp. You never showed.”

Mitch propped his arms on the top rail beside hers. “I couldn’t. My parents were furious—and probably embarrassed—that Ben and I had gotten into a fight. They refused to listen when I tried to explain. Instead, they marched us to the car. We were halfway to the Grand Canyon before I got a chance to state my case.”

“You never called. Never wrote.”

“I wanted to. I scoured the internet for the Markette Ropin’ Team. What little information I could find was always about where you’d been, not where you were headed. I’m sorry we never got to say goodbye.”

Amanda nodded, finally understanding why Mitch had left her alone and confused and, after an hour, madder than a wet cat.

“What was that all about, anyway? I never understood why you and your brother got into it like that.”

“Guy stuff.” Mitch shrugged. “Teen guy stuff,” he corrected. “Ben made some crack about my hot girlfriend. Before I knew it, he was on the ground and I was standing there, daring him to get up.”

Amanda laughed when Mitch gently elbowed her ribs.

“Oh. So, your brother thought I was hot, did he?”

His quiet “You still are” made her heart beat double time. Not quite ready to pick up where they’d left off as teenagers, she reminded herself that she didn’t know the man he’d become. She changed the subject.

“How’d you wind up in Melbourne? I thought you’d settle in Savannah near your folks.” As a teen, Mitch had talked about joining the family law practice.

“I did for a while. Almost made partner in Goodwin & Sons before…” Mitch’s shoulders straightened. “Things changed. Dad’s firm specializes in defense work. I got one of his clients off on a technicality. Turned out the guy was guilty. The next time he robbed a liquor store, somebody got hurt. I took a job with the state attorney’s office and moved here soon after.”

“Oh.” Amanda sighed. “That must have been rough.” His plans had changed as much as hers had. Back when they’d known each other, she’d wanted nothing more than to become a champion barrel racer and earn her dad’s approval. She’d accomplished one, realized she’d never have the other, and moved on. Once she’d passed the bar, she’d narrowed her search for a new home to places as far off the professional rodeo circuit as she could find. Melbourne, with its growing need for family law specialists, fit the bill.

Mitch gestured toward a faint glow that rose above the distant town. “I’ve been here almost six years. And in the interest of full disclosure, I’m a single dad. Divorced. But my ex-wife has been out of the picture for a long time. So.” He paused a beat. “How ’bout you?”

How about her?

For the past ten months, ever since she’d hung her shingle outside a converted house in the town’s quaint business district, she’d been too busy for relationships, significant or otherwise. A home-school education meant college and law school had demanded every ounce of her concentration. On the rodeo circuit, she’d been the new girl in a different town every week. The locals hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat so, other than that summer, her love life had been practically nonexistent.

But on a warm August night after she’d aced a difficult performance, dredging up her entire history wasn’t on her agenda. Especially not with a tall, handsome man standing at her elbow. She studied his face and rediscovered the tiny dip in his chin that she used to trace with her fingers.

They spent hours reminiscing before she asked, “What do you do in your free time?” She kept her voice light enough to disguise a deepening interest, adding, “Besides attending charity events.”

“Between chauffeuring my daughter around and my work schedule, my spare time is at a premium… Why waste it?”

She couldn’t agree more. As his arm slipped around her waist, Amanda stepped forward. Ever so softly, Mitch brushed his lips across hers. She sighed into his kiss, letting her eyes drift closed. The gentle pressure of his mouth stirred her hunger for more, and when his tongue swept against her lips, she opened to him.

Tasting the sweet punch they’d sipped, Amanda smiled without breaking contact. She rose on tiptoe, her hands languidly stroking Mitch’s broad chest. In response, the teasing flutter of his kisses deepened. She melted against him as music rose from the barn and floated in the air around them.

Amanda breathed in the heady blend of Mitch’s aftershave mixed with the same indefinable something extra she’d noticed earlier. The strangest sensation of coming home filled her being. She gave herself over to the thrill of the moment, the press of Mitch’s hands against her back. She skimmed her fingers over the rough embroidery of his shirt, then buried one hand in his hair. Desire tugged at her core, turning her breath so ragged she barely heard the band leader announce the final dance of the night.

Sounding as breathless as she felt, Mitch groaned and broke their kiss. He gazed into her upturned face.

“We need to put in an appearance,” he murmured. The long fingers of one hand gently tucked an errant lock of her hair into her braid. “How ’bout we pick this up later?”

“Yeah,” Amanda whispered. They weren’t kids anymore, and she placed her hand in his outstretched one, content to follow the evening wherever it led.

By the time they stepped into the barn’s spill of light, the crowd inside had thinned to several dozen couples who swayed to the slow strains of a country ballad. Wait staff circulated among the tables, collecting dishes and utensils. Last call had long since passed. Behind the bar, the bartender loaded boxes onto a dolly.

Eager to return to Mitch’s embrace, Amanda moved toward the dance floor. At the sound of a familiar voice, her footsteps faltered.

“Hate to interrupt.” A decked-out cowboy stepped from the shadows near the door. “We’re pulling out at seven tomorrow. You need to be back from—” his eyebrows wiggled suggestively as he jerked a nod toward Mitch “—from wherever you’re headed, early enough to help with the horses and your gear.”

“Uh-huh,” Amanda said with an easy grin. “The same goes for you, Royce Jackson. Or did I not see you earlier surrounded by adoring fans?” Smothering a laugh, she turned to introduce one of the rodeo circuit’s most renowned practical jokesters to Mitch.

Only Mitch wasn’t smiling.

Gone was the adoring expression of the man who’d been kissing her only moments earlier. A stony look had taken its place. His hand relinquished its hold on hers, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

“Sorry. It’s later than I realized. I have to go. Thanks for the dance, Mandy, and…” Mitch had the good grace to stumble over his words. “Well, good luck.” He turned abruptly, strode across the barn and out the door without so much as a single glance over his shoulder.

“What was that all about?” Amanda stared after the man who was fast making a habit of abandoning her in drafty old barns.

Apparently, Mitch Goodwin hadn’t changed as much as she’d thought since she’d seen him last. Well, she had. And this time she wouldn’t shed any tears for Mr. Hot and Cold.

Chapter Two

Mitch’s swift, take-no-prisoners pace down the wide corridor of the Moore Justice Center slowed at the sight of the woman seated outside Family Courtroom 2. He turned away, his gaze sweeping the bare concrete walls and heavily trafficked carpet before he dared take a second look at a pair of trim calves and firm thighs. His chest tightened. There was no mistaking those legs. It didn’t matter if the last time he’d seen them they’d been encased in buckskin. He’d recognize them anywhere.

A silent oath escaped his lips as he glanced upward. Gone were the twin braids, replaced by a businesslike bun, but less than two weeks ago those honeyed strands had rested against his shoulder. Even though she leaned over paperwork now, her face hidden, he had no doubt.

The one woman he would’ve sworn had ridden out of his life forever was sitting on a wooden bench outside the very courtroom where he planned to argue the most important case of his life.

What is she doing here?

Mitch refused to believe she had just happened by. After five years with the state attorney’s office, he’d learned there was no such thing as coincidence. Something, or someone, had led her here at precisely—he checked his watch—nine forty-seven on August 13. Before the bailiff summoned him, he had to discover the reason. He settled on a line of questioning and let his feet take him where they wanted—straight to her side.

“Mandy.”

She looked up from the yellow legal pad in her lap, gray-green eyes widening.

“Mitch,” she exclaimed. Her full lips curved into a surprised-to-see-you smile.

He didn’t buy her act, not for a second. He was willing to bet good money she’d noted his arrival the instant he’d emerged from the stairwell. The same way he’d narrowed in on her presence. And in the seconds it took her to gather her paperwork and gracefully unfold a frame that barely came to his shoulder despite a pair of black stilettos, he wondered at the pretense.

She stuck out a hand. “Good to see you again.”

A whiff of alluring fragrance stirred through the justice center’s stale, cold air. The scent reminded him of green grass and daisies and how well she’d fitted into his arms while they’d danced. Without thinking, he rubbed the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger. When her eyes darkened, he released her hand and gave himself a stern warning to keep his distance. No matter how much he might be attracted to her, a footloose rider on the rodeo circuit had no place in his life. Not anymore.

Yet here she was.

Has she been called to testify?

Mitch brushed a speck of lint from his lapel, wishing he could just as easily knock off the devil perched on his shoulder. Because only a certifiably evil spirit would bring his single indiscretion into the courtroom where his daughter’s future was at stake. He should never have asked the rodeo performer to dance, never bent down to place his lips against hers, never tried to rekindle what they’d had as kids…but he had. He worried what that error would cost him.

“Mandy, we need to talk.”

One golden eyebrow arched. “Amanda,” she corrected as, across the hallway, heavy doors swung wide. “We will. But not now. I hear Judge Dobson is a stickler for starting on time. You already brushed the pole once. I’d hate to see him penalize you.”

Mitch scoffed. “What are you talking about?” He understood her reference to the rodeo event, but he hadn’t taken a wrong turn in the law since he’d decided to put criminals in jail instead of freeing them.

“From what I hear, Dobson is the only family court judge in the county who hasn’t had dealings with you. He wasn’t too happy about canceling his annual fly-fishing trip to the Carolinas in order to hear this case.”

Her words thinned Mitch’s smile and straightened his spine.

“That’s privileged information,” he said, wondering what was going on, and determined not to let his confusion show.

“Yes.” She nodded. “I suppose it is.”

He tried not to watch as she bent to pick up a leather satchel. He lost that battle, though he won the war against letting her catch him. By the time she straightened, he was staring through a wall of plate glass overlooking acres of cattle pasture, as if he hadn’t noticed the swivel of her softly rounded hips.

She didn’t volunteer anything more and, wanting to maintain the air of control that served him so well in criminal court, he didn’t ask. Their silence continued when she fell in beside him. Despite their difference in height, she matched him stride for stride, cutting across the crowded corridor the same way they’d cut a swath across the dance floor.

As they made their way down the courtroom’s rows of churchlike pews, Mitch watched for her to peel off and take a seat among the witnesses and spectators. Instead, she kept pace until they reached the tables reserved for attorneys and their clients. Out of habit, he veered right. The misstep put him face-to-face with the woman he’d turned his back on before things could go too far.

Once more, she extended her hand. Once more, he wrapped it in his own.

“Amanda Markette,” she said smoothly. “Attorney for the plaintiff.”

“What is this, some kind of joke?” He stared at her, fighting a sudden urge to yank his fingers from her grip.

“Not at all, Mitch.” Her tight smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed. “Your ex-wife hired me after her last attorney quit. I’ve been playing catch-up ever since, though I’m sure I faxed official notification to your office.”

Mitch fought back a groan. Convinced he had right on his side, he hadn’t paid much attention to his secretary’s announcement that there’d been yet another change in his ex-wife’s revolving door of representation. But peering over Amanda’s shoulder, he spotted Karen at the plaintiff’s table. He had to admit she appeared sedate, settled. In fact, casual observers might mistake her for any one of a thousand suburban housewives…unless they caught the malice-filled glare she aimed his way.

Summoning his best don’t-give-a-damn expression, Mitch returned the favor, marshaling his thoughts as he took his place on the hard wooden chair at the defendant’s table. He snapped open the latches on his briefcase and dug out a raft of paperwork, flipping through it until he reached the fax containing a name he’d have recognized if he’d bothered to read it. Scanning quickly, he noted credentials that exposed a glaring hole in his ability to sum up a person’s character with a single look, a single kiss. Evidently, a lot more than Mandy’s—Amanda’s, he corrected—appearance had changed since the summer they’d spent together.

“All rise for the Honorable Jeffrey Dobson,” the bailiff announced.

Standing, Mitch squared his shoulders.

With a rustle of black robes, a white-haired man took his place behind the raised desk at the front of the room. He nodded briefly to those in attendance. Wood creaked and feet shuffled until everyone had settled back into their chairs. Mitch’s gut tightened as the bailiff read the petition for custody of Hailey. His mouth went cotton-dry at the thought of losing his little girl.

“Counselors?” the judge asked.

At the other table, Amanda stood and gave her name.

“Ms. Markette,” Judge Dobson murmured.

Then it was his turn. “Mitchell Goodwin for the defense, Your Honor.”

The man seated on the dais adjusted rimless glasses and draped a hand over his microphone. Blue eyes hardening in an unsmiling face, Dobson stared down.

“You’re familiar with the old adage that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client, aren’t you? You intend to be that fool, Mr. Goodwin?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Mitch snapped, though the only thing he was truly certain about was the need to protect his daughter.

* * *

AMANDA CROSSED ONE leg over the other, shifting just enough to keep Mitch in her peripheral vision. Thank goodness she’d been sitting down when he’d stepped through the stairwell door. One peek at his carefully tousled hair and sculpted features, one whiff of his woodsy cologne, and the same weak, loose-limbed feeling that had practically been her undoing at the dance had flared again. She’d nearly succumbed to it that night. Probably would have if he hadn’t suddenly abandoned her on the dance floor, leaving her with bruised lips and a crushed ego.