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The chute opened, and Starry Night catapulted into the arena, his back legs kicking out before his body cleared the gate. Porter held his seat and spurred, ignoring the ache in his shoulder when he raised his right arm high above his head. Starry Night’s hooves hit the dirt hard, then the horse spun right, the move meant to unseat his rider. Not a chance. Porter wasn’t going down that easy. He clenched his thighs against the bronc’s girth and ignored the fire licking his strained muscles. Sweat stung his eyes, and his fingers grew numb from the stranglehold he had on the rope.
Porter braced himself for another spin and was caught off guard when the bronc reared. Only a superhero could have maintained his balance. His backside slid toward the horse’s rump, and he clung to the rope like a man dangling off a cliff. But he was no match for Starry Night’s power and he quit spurring. The bodies in the stands became a blur of color and the roar of the crowd faded to a muted drone. He’d lost this skirmish with the bronc, but the battle wasn’t over until the dismount. He spotted an opening, but before he was able to release the rope the horse planted his front hooves in the dirt and sent Porter sailing into the air.
His injured shoulder hit the ground first, taking the brunt of his weight. For a split second his vision dimmed, then a bright light flashed inside his head, blinding him. He crawled to his hands and knees, the right side of his body numb, which messed up his balance. Halfway to his feet he pitched forward and did a face-plant in the dirt.
The ground reverberated beneath him as Starry Night continued to buck. When the pickup men released the flank strap, the bronc trotted out of the arena as if he was taking an afternoon stroll. Porter got to his feet and stumbled to the rails, where a helping hand yanked him to safety. He bent at the waist and gasped for air, willing the throb in his shoulder to subside.
“What did you do to tick that bronc off?”
Breathing hard enough to generate electricity, Porter wasn’t sure if he imagined the feminine voice next to his ear or not. Dizzy with pain, he glanced to his right and discovered a pair of neatly pressed suit pants hugging slim hips that gave way to slender thighs and black high-heeled pumps. What woman in her right mind dressed in business attire to attend a rodeo?
He straightened, his six feet towering over her. He studied her teal silk blouse, slender, pale neck and smoky almond-shaped eyes. Other than the black eyeliner and pink lip gloss, she wore no makeup on her flawless skin.
She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“You kind of look familiar.” He racked his brain for a name. She wasn’t a buckle bunny who traveled the circuit, but he couldn’t remember where he’d run into her before.
“Wendy Chin.”
He snapped his fingers. Dixie’s friend. “You rode bulls with my sister a few summers ago.”
“Rode a bull.” She held up one finger—the oval-shaped nail as petite and delicate as her body.
“I remember you now. Your parents own the Yuma flower shop on Main Street.”
“You’re a hard man to track down,” she said. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Sure.” He had no idea what Wendy Chin wanted from him, but he wasn’t about to turn down an invitation to chat with a pretty woman. Dixie insisted that her girlfriends were off-limits—not that Johnny had paid any attention to the warning. He’d married Shannon, but Porter and the rest of his brothers had heeded their sister’s demand.
“Be right back.” Porter walked over to the empty chute where he’d left his gear bag and removed his vest, spurs and riding glove, then slipped the duffel over his good shoulder and returned to Wendy’s side. When the announcer’s voice blasted through the sound system, introducing the next cowboy, he motioned for her to follow him to the livestock pens, where it would be easier to hear over bawling cows than loud music.
When they stepped outside, she said, “Let’s get out of the sun.” They crossed the gravel lot to a storage unit with an overhang wide enough for the two of them to fit under. For a woman who’d been born and raised in Arizona, her skin looked like fine porcelain instead of thick leather.
“Why have you been searching for me?” he asked.
“You work for Del Mar Rodeo.”
“I knew my family was excited that I’d finally landed a permanent job, but I didn’t expect Dixie to broadcast the news to her friends.”
“Dixie didn’t tell me.”
Wendy’s sober eyes told him that their chat had a purpose and it wasn’t to catch up on old times. “Why does it matter to you that I work for Del Mar?”
A tinge of pink swept across her cheeks. “I’m your copilot to Grand Junction, Colorado.”
He banged his palm against the side of his head, thinking dust must have clogged his ears. “Copilot?”
“I work for American Livestock Insurance, and Del Mar Rodeo is our biggest client. We do a ride-along once a year with one of the stock haulers.”
“Neither Buddy nor Hank mentioned that I’d have a passenger on this trip.”
“It’s not a big deal. I just need to document the number of hours you drive each day, how many breaks you take and how you care for the animals.”
If it wasn’t a big deal, why hadn’t he been told she’d be going on the trip with him?
Look on the bright side.
There was a bright side?
It’ll be fun to have a companion on the trip. “I’m picking up the trailer at seven Monday morning.”
“I’ll meet you at the pecan farm.” She frowned. “Is it okay to leave my car there until we return?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Wendy wove through the parked cars and hopped in one of those gas-efficient vehicles that looked as though it belonged in a Matchbox car collection. Not until she drove off did his arm begin to throb again. Unless he wanted Wendy to put in her report that his bum shoulder interfered with his ability to drive the rig, he’d better hightail it home and ice the injury.
No way was he losing his job over something a nosy claims adjuster—a pretty one at that—put in her report.
* * *
WENDY WAS STILL blushing after her talk with Porter at the rodeo. Why her friend’s brother made her nervous was anybody’s guess. Sure, he was good-looking—all the Cash brothers were handsome—but Porter wasn’t her type. According to Dixie, he didn’t want to grow up. He was more interested in partying and working only when he needed money to fill the gas tank or treat a buckle bunny to a night on the town. Wendy was Porter’s polar opposite. She was a go-getter and a stay-later at the job.
Even though they were different, Wendy had felt a tingle in her stomach when Porter’s gaze roamed over her body. She preferred serious, career-minded men, but there was something appealing about Porter’s laid-back attitude—not that she would ever do anything unprofessional with him.
As if you’d ever get the chance.
A girl could indulge in a fantasy or two, couldn’t she? Porter gravitated toward the well-endowed buckle bunny cheerleaders who screamed his name at rodeos. Voluptuous was not an adjective anyone would use to describe Wendy. Thanks to her Asian genes, her petite body lacked pronounced curves.
She pulled into the parking lot behind her parents’ flower shop and entered through the back door. “Hi, Mom.” Her mother was hard at work. “Are these the centerpieces for the ladies’ auxiliary banquet?”
“Where have you been? I thought you were helping me today.”
“I had to take care of a few things at the office.” Wendy hadn’t told her parents she’d be riding along with one of Buddy Davidson’s drivers because they’d worry. They agonized over everything—her safety, her diet, her job and her single status. Lately she’d begun wishing she didn’t live next to them. They shared a duplex that her parents had purchased in the ’80s. Although the low rent allowed her to put a substantial amount of money into savings each month, Wendy yearned for her privacy. Whenever she suggested she look for a new apartment, her parents became upset and changed the subject.
Wendy threw on an apron. “How many arrangements do you need to make?”
“Twenty-five.” Her mother pointed to the table against the wall. “I’ve finished ten.”
Wendy selected several sprigs of greenery and copied her mother’s design. When she finished, she held up the vase. “Good enough?”
“Perfect.”
They worked in comfortable silence for a half hour before Wendy spoke. “I’m traveling on business next week.”
“Where to?”
“Colorado. I’m documenting livestock drivers for our annual report.” No need to explain that she’d be monitoring just one driver. Her parents were old-fashioned and wouldn’t approve of her being alone with a man, even if that man was her friend’s brother.
“You’ve never done that before.”
“My boss believes it’s important that I have a good understanding of the transport process when I’m working claims for missing or injured livestock.” The less her mother knew the better. Wendy didn’t want word getting out that American Livestock Insurance was doing their own investigation into Del Mar’s missing bulls after the sheriff’s search had stalled out.
Buddy Davidson had been with American Livestock for fifteen years and had never had a bull go missing until a few months ago, when he’d filed claims for three. If that wasn’t suspicious enough, Wendy had interviewed Glen Fenderblast, Buddy’s ranching neighbor, and he’d said that Buddy had his eye on buying a bull named Happy Hour worth $1.2 million. The payout on Buddy’s missing roughstock would cover half the cost of the new bull. Before Carl Evans, Wendy’s boss, cut Buddy a check, he wanted to make certain that Del Mar Rodeo wasn’t trying to swindle its insurance company. The ride-along was their last chance to uncover any information that might be useful to the sheriff’s case.
Wendy had her doubts that Porter was involved in any illegal activity since he’d been hired right after Buddy had reported the lost bulls, but she had to be objective and look closely at everyone who worked for Del Mar Rodeo.
“Is there a promotion in this for you?” her mother asked.
Wendy had been promoted a little over a year ago, a fact that her parents frequently forgot. “I doubt Carl is ready for me to take over his job.”
As an only child and a daughter, she felt the weight of her parents’ high expectations of her. The constant pressure to climb the proverbial career ladder was overwhelming. She wanted more out of life than working twelve-hour days.
“Is the company paying for your motel room?”
“Yes.” Wendy finished a second arrangement and placed the vase on the table.
“When are you leaving?”
“Monday morning. I won’t return until the following Sunday.”
“You’ll check in with us.” It wasn’t a request or suggestion—it was an order.
“I’m twenty-six years old. I shouldn’t have to report my daily whereabouts and activities to my parents.”
“Then find a husband and get married so he can worry about you.”
Grrr...
“By the way, your father’s taking one of his suppliers to dinner tonight and he’d like you to join them.”
Not again. Wendy wished her dad would stop playing matchmaker. Even though her parents had been born in the United States, they clung to their traditional beliefs and wanted their only child to marry a hardworking, dedicated Chinese man so there would be no cultural clashes in the family. Wendy walked a fine line between two worlds, struggling to balance embracing the American way of life while still respecting her Chinese ancestry.
Unbeknownst to her parents, she had lost her heart in college to a classmate at Arizona State University. Tyler had been spontaneous, adventurous and exciting. They’d dated almost a year when Wendy found out by accident that he was engaged to a girl in his hometown of Tucson. The two-timing jerk had broken her heart and left her gun-shy when it came to serious relationships.
After graduating from college, she’d returned to Yuma and dated Asian men her father had selected for her. Polite, educated and dedicated to their careers, the men were everything her parents believed important. But none of them had made her heart stumble or her pulse quicken. Wendy wanted to marry a man she fell in love with, not a man her parents believed she’d be compatible with.
Wendy had grown up watching her parents toil in the flower shop seven days a week, year after year, and that wasn’t the life she dreamed of. She deserved more from a marriage than a working partnership. And she yearned for a man she could have fun with. The men she’d dated would never put their children or wives ahead of their careers. Wendy didn’t want to be number two in her husband’s heart. She wanted to be his top priority.
Porter’s image flashed before her eyes. He knew how to have fun. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit she was looking forward to traveling with him. But she wasn’t so naive as to believe anything could come of a week on the road with the cowboy.
“Make your father happy,” her mother said. “Go to dinner with him.”
Fine. “When do I need to be ready?”
“Seven-thirty. And wear that aqua dress you bought last spring. That looks nice on you.”
“Can you handle the rest of the arrangements if I grab a quick shower?”
“Go ahead. I’ve already done half of them myself.”
Feeling a tad guilty for leaving her mom with a table full of empty vases—but not too guilty since she’d been coerced into accepting a blind date—Wendy kissed her mother’s cheek and left the shop. As she drove across town, she lectured herself. As much as she anticipated the upcoming trip with Porter, she needed to keep her priorities straight and focus on finding information that would help locate Buddy’s missing bulls.
Time would tell if she uncovered any evidence that pointed to Porter. For Dixie’s sake—and maybe a little bit for her sake, too—she hoped her friend’s brother was on the up and up.
Chapter Two (#u6fbccd1d-9c9f-5dcc-9739-5ff48e9afe97)
“Porter!”
“In here!” Porter stuffed the last pair of briefs into the duffel bag resting on the bed in the bunkhouse. The door opened and in walked Johnny. “It’s Sunday night. Why aren’t you home watching TV with Shannon and Addy?”
“Mack said you were heading out on a weeklong run tomorrow, and we haven’t had a chance to talk in a while.”
“Checking up on me?” Because of their age difference, the eldest Cash sibling was more of a father than a brother to Porter.
Johnny tossed his cowboy hat on the table and gestured to the rodeo posters on the wall. “We had some good parties in here, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, we did. Then you and everyone else got hitched and left me all by my lonesome.”
“I doubt you feel lonely when you don’t have to wait in line for a shower and you can watch whatever television program you want.” Johnny picked up the remote and pointed it at the flat screen. The Nickelodeon channel came on. “You’re hanging out with the twins too much.”
“Mig and Javi are the only ones who visit me.” Conway and Isi were busy taking care of their new twin daughters and the boys had turned to Porter for attention.
Johnny ran his hand over the back of the sofa, and dog hair stuck to his fingers. “I guess Bandit’s been a regular visitor in here.”
“He only comes inside when it storms.”
“It hasn’t rained in over thirty days,” Johnny said.
“What do you care if I let the dog sleep in here? It’s not like you have to clean the place anymore.”
“You’re right. Better the dog in the bunkhouse than a bunch of buckle bunnies.”
“Hey, no matter what Conway says, I haven’t let a girl stay overnight in the bunkhouse since Isi and the twins moved to the farm. I know better.”
“We shouldn’t have let our Wednesday night poker game fall by the wayside.”
Porter emptied his sock drawer into the duffel. “If you guys would stop procreating, you might have a free day to play cards.”
“The love bug will bite you one of these days,” Johnny said. “You wait and see.”
“I’ve got more important things to do than worry about finding the right woman to settle down with.” Besides, how was he supposed to meet the perfect lady when he drove a stock trailer all day?
Johnny stared him square in the eye. “You think you’ll keep this job long-term?” He was really asking if Porter would grow bored of transporting bulls and quit as he’d done with previous jobs.
“You want an honest answer or you want me to make something up?”
