“That’s good to know.” Libby’s smile was wistful.
“Well, Libby, you have it all. Cat, you have most of it. I, well, I could be left with nothing.”
“Question is, would you settle for great memories?” Cat asked.
Libby reached over and patted Mandy’s hand just as the food arrived. “It’s another dilemma, isn’t it?”
*
“That one is Painted Glory,” she said, talking to Ty as she pointed to a pinto horse on the outside of the band of horses milling in the holding pen of the Washington rodeo. “He likes to whirl to get riders off. The one walking toward us is High Jinks,” she said of the bay horse.
Ty had flown her to the rodeo, and the flight had been, gratefully, uneventful. They arrived a few hours before the gates opened so they could touch base with Harold, who had everything under control. Her mother hadn’t accompanied Harold this time because she and Mrs. Jenkins were still in the throes of cleaning out the ranch house.
The event committee easily agreed to a contract for next season given Prescott had been putting on the small county rodeo for the last thirty years. Mandy convinced Ty to first check into their room at the nearby hotel so she could reassure herself that the room contained double beds, because she wasn’t ready to surrender, even if she was thinking about it—a little too much. They then headed back to the fairgrounds.
As they had time to kill before the traditional kickoff meeting, Ty mentioned he’d like to know more about the livestock, and Mandy obliged.
Reaching the fence, the bay gelding nuzzled Mandy, and she patted the horse on the wide white line that ran down the center of his face. “He’s a favorite. Been to the NRF five times and named saddle bronc horse of the year two years ago.”
“Most of these are wild horses?” Ty stood beside her, close beside her. He’d taken to wearing one of two options—a white Prescott shirt or black Prescott T-shirt, paired with jeans. Today he’d chosen the white shirt because they likely wouldn’t have time to return to the hotel room before the event opened. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing forearms that were getting tanner with each passing day.
He looked like every other rodeo hand and worked liked one. If she hadn’t known he was a lawyer, she’d never have guessed it now.
“Some. Others, like High Jinks here, are just spoiled horses. Owners let them get the upper hand, and now the horses won’t let anyone ride them. After High Jinks bucks someone off, he prances around the arena like a prince. He knows he’s done his job.” She gave him another pat, and the horse, as if cued, moved out.
It was difficult not to think about the finely sculpted body under that shirt, under those jeans. She’d seen all of him, more than once, and unfortunately, his naked image seemed to be burned into the sockets of her eyes, because try as she might, she couldn’t stop seeing it.
A stocky black mare nickered as the bay returned to the herd. “That’s Black Rum. I’m especially proud of her because she was born and raised at our ranch. Been to the NRF four years in a row. She usually bucks with the rank horses because she’s so hard to ride. She’s unpredictable in the arena, but around the ranch, she’s a gentle soul. Harold may be breeding her next year, which is a tough call since it will take her out for a season. We’re still discussing it.”
Ty had leaned back against the fence. His Stetson shaded his eyes from a sun that sat low in the bright-blue sky, and a mild breeze ruffled hair exposed under the brim.
“You love these horses, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. They are part of the family.” The family Ty was ready to break up. “I would be crushed to lose any of them.”
Ty touched her forearm, and heat climbed to her neck. “Let’s wait and see what the numbers say,” he said.
All he had to do was gather her in his arms and promise not to take Prescott away from her, and she’d be all his. The thought scared her. Because he’d only want her for a while and she…well, she just might want him forever.
“I don’t need the numbers—and neither should you. We are profitable. We are happy. End of story.” Or it should be.
She glanced at him, but Ty kept his focus on the horses. She wished she knew what he was thinking. Knew if any of it mattered to him. If she mattered to him. At least her happiness.
After Abilene, he’d given her a wide berth until last night. How was she going to sleep, even in her own bed, and not succumb, when a kiss from him made her act like a sex-starved female? Twice she’d come close to having sex with him, and even knowing it wouldn’t mean more to him than any one-night stand, she wasn’t sure she didn’t regret, just a little, the fact they hadn’t.
Sex would only complicate things. Sex would magnify every action and reaction. Sex would change everything. Everything except the fact he could still sell her company.