The stranger was probably midforties, if the lines on his face were an indicator, handsome in a boy-next-door kind of way, and wearing the denims and plaid shirt that marked him as a rancher—or rodeo supplier.
“Mandy? What are you doing here?” Ty asked. He sounded like she had just caught him up to no good. Her heart sank. Ty wore a black Prescott Rodeo Company T-shirt and a pair of leather chaps over dusty denims, with a cowboy hat covering his thick head of hair. The chaps were something new.
He might look the part of a PRC cowboy, but that was just an illusion. Just like their marriage. Ty was no more part of PRC than the stranger. Not if Ty could sell the company.
“I could ask you the same,” she said. “Hi, I’m Mandy Prescott…Martin.” She thrust out her hand. She still hadn’t gotten used to her full name.
Ty straightened. “My wife. Mandy, this is Cody Lane, livestock director for the AFBR.”
A rush of relief pulsed through her. The AFBR. Not a rodeo contractor. Someone who contracts for rodeos.
She shook his hand, the man’s grip firm and reassuring. “Pleased to meet you.”
As relief subsided, guilt took over. She’d actually thought Ty would sell her company—after all they’d done together these last four months. Only he wasn’t going to sell it. He was working to strengthen it.
“What brings you to Prescott, Mr. Lane?”
“Cody.” The cowboy smiled, showing a pair of fine white teeth. “Ty asked us to come by and take a look a while back, and since I was in Cheyenne at one of the tour stops, I thought I’d swing by.”
“Ty has rounded up some of our finest.”
“I was just giving Cody the rundown on some of these bulls, Mandy, but you know them as well as anyone.” Ty shot her an encouraging smile. Dusty boots, dusty chaps, dusty hat. Her cowboy husband. Just seconds ago, she’d been ready to believe the worst. Now she felt a warm glow suffuse through her. Was this love she’d been feeling lately? Was she falling in love with him?
The thought sparked along some invisible electric wire.
It took a beat before she could shift her gaze to Cody. Hoping the man hadn’t noticed and wondering if Ty had, she began to fill Cody in on each of the bulls, its pedigree, its bucking prowess, its stats, and its idiosyncrasies. As if cued, a few bulls started prancing around their pens, eager to put on a show.
“I wonder if someone’s around who’d be willing to give me a demonstration of these bulls’ abilities,” Cody asked when she’d finished.
“When you called this morning, I started rounding up some of the hands, just in case,” Ty responded. “We can stroll to the exhibition arena, and I’ll have the bulls moved over.”
Why hadn’t he told her someone from the AFBR was coming if he knew this morning? She supposed the important thing was they had an opportunity to showcase Prescott bulls for the AFBR. The fact Ty still operated, on occasion, like a lone wolf, well, that was a small price to pay.
Because if they got the AFBR contract, there could be no reason they’d have to sell, should sell. The fact Ty had pushed for this warmed her in ways that made her want to run into his arms and kiss him silly. But that would have to wait until after Mr. Lane took his leave. Still, she couldn’t keep her heart from floating.
It didn’t take long for the bulls to be shifted to the chutes in the small arena they used for bucking schools. Several cowhands, having heard about the demonstration, had wandered over to participate and watch. Mandy and Cody Lane hung by the back fence where they could get a good view of the action.
One by one the hands took a turn, and the bulls showed off, landing most cowboys in the dirt. Never one to miss a rodeo opportunity, Tucker was one of the last to ride. A bronc rider by trade, it took four seconds before he was unceremoniously dumped. Gratefully, Tucker had on his helmet, a safety measure insisted on by her mother if and when Tucker rode bulls.
One more bull left to ride, and it was the whirling dervish that had pinned her in the parking lot. Straining her neck to see who was getting set to ride him, her stomach lurched to her throat.
Donning Tucker’s helmet, Ty was taking instructions from the hands as he eased his strong chap-clad legs down and around the snorting bull.