He wanted to find her. Tell her about the meeting with Stan and allay her fears, given the man’s offer had been way too low. In this economy it would be tough to find qualified buyers who could meet the likely price. That would relieve him of the conflict between Mandy’s interest and JM’s—and make Mandy a happy woman.
He headed back toward the holding pens as he searched in the distance for any sign of a feminine form.
Rounding the corner, Ty heard the yelling even before he reached the pens. The commotion was coming from the parking lot. He glanced at his watch. The gates would have just opened.
With clipped steps, he passed by the corrals and spied a few cowboys running toward the lot. Ty was just about to follow when Harold swung in on his horse, spraying up dirt and gravel.
“Ty,” he called. “We’ve got trouble. A bull got loose.”
“Loose?”
Harold nodded. “Bring a rope.” He motioned toward a horse tied to fencing, a horse that looked like Willow. A rope was hanging off the saddle.
At least Mandy wasn’t on her horse trying to capture the bull. Bulls were dangerous animals. They’d gore a horse or a human—it didn’t matter to them. Charging was their way of defending themselves, and anything was fair game.
It had been a while since he’d done any fancy roping, but he’d been good enough to handle his father’s herd back in the day. He’d do better though if he was mounted, like Harold.
Willow backed up when Ty’s rump settled in the saddle. No doubt she’d been expecting Mandy’s weight on her back. But he’d seen the mare in action. She was a trained cutting horse, and she took commands well.
He reined the horse around and headed at a fast trot toward the parking area and the shouting. As he came out into open space, he saw two cowboys fanning hats in the direction of a large black bull. But the bull wasn’t paying any mind. He was staring at something or someone up against a cement wall.
Harold, his rope in hand, was yelling for somebody to get one of the bullfighters.
Ty nudged his horse closer. And blood drained from his body.
It wasn’t just something or someone that bull had pinned against the wall. It was Mandy. She looked stoically composed for being in the sight line of an angry bull, except her face was as white as bleached cotton.
Like a jackhammer on steroids, Mandy’s heart pounded against her ribs as she glanced at the snorting bull pawing the asphalt. Breathe, she reminded herself. Careful not to meet the bull’s gaze, she didn’t dare look away either, settling instead for watching him out of the corner of her eye as she leaned against the rough cement wall for support. Her legs were weakening, and her hands felt like a thousand needles were pricking her.
The rope clutched in her sweaty fingers was the slim hope she had of distracting the beast. She weighed her odds as movement caught her eye, and she forced herself to look up and away—and right at Ty Martin mounted on Willow. Harold came charging in on his horse right behind Ty.
Both men let go a whoop, and as the bull’s head swung in Ty’s direction, the two men swung their ropes—and missed. Within a heartbeat, Ty had regrouped and swung again, this time catching on the black bull’s smallish horns. A flick of the bull’s head, and the rope was dislodged. In a blink, the bull’s attention refocused on her. And then his head lowered.
“Run right.” Ty’s voice thundered over the clacking of hooves, and Mandy realized he’d maneuvered Willow between her and the bull.
Her feet felt like lead weights, but she followed his directions, aware that Willow was now blocking the sight of the bull as she ran alongside her horse.
From behind she heard Harold whooping and the clattering of several pairs of hooves against the hard pavement.
She could feel her chest squeeze as her legs continued to propel her. She gasped for breath.
“Stop,” called Ty.
Willow pulled up with such abruptness, Mandy was almost past the horse by the time she could come to a halt. Ty leaned over and threw an arm out to encircle her. He freed a stirrup for her use, and she fitted her foot in and grabbed on to him and slung her leg over Willow’s rump. Atop her horse, behind the saddle, she wrapped her arms around Ty’s warm body clothed in soft cotton and leaned her head against his back while she took a deep, lung-filling breath that pulled in Ty’s scent.
“You okay?” Ty called, urging Willow into a trot.
“Yes,” she shouted, all too aware there was still danger. “We’ve got to get him. Before he hurts someone.”
Two more mounted cowhands had ridden into the parking lot. The agitated bull was now prancing between some cars. Whatever few people had been out in the lot had scattered for shelter, and one of the cowboys had gone to the lot entrance to stop any additional vehicles from coming in.
It took several attempts and much whooping and circling, but finally Ty and Harold were able to get a rope around the bull’s neck. They pulled it taut between them, and the bull stopped in his tracks.
Who knew the man could rope?
“Yes, I can rope,” Ty said as he twisted back to look at her as if he’d read her mind.
“You ready, Ty? We can’t afford any slack with this one,” Harold called.