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She stood on tiptoe, propping both hands on Tyler’s shoulders for balance, feeling the heat of his skin and the strength of his muscles through the thin fabric of his western shirt. The touch warmed her hands, warmed her body. Up close, he was all male, hard planes and chiseled angles. Scents mingled—spicy aftershave, rugged leather and hardworking sweat—making her dizzy with the combination. Before second thoughts could stop her, she puckered up to give him an innocent peck on the cheek. Wether it was an accident, or a well-calculated dastardly act, she would never know. Instead of the chaste kiss she’d meant to give him, Tyler lowered his head and turned just in time to collect a full-mouthed smack on the lips.
For a pint-size woman, Skye packed a kiss with a major league wallop. Soft, warm and supple, her mouth seemed made to fit his. Tyler’s lips sizzled at the impact. He felt the shocked inhalation of breath against his mouth. She swayed slightly. Before she could escape, he grabbed a hold of her tiny waist and held on tight.
The kiss, by his standards, was innocent enough. No tongue and cheek action. No plundering of the virginal mouth. Just an innocent pressing of his lips to hers. But the way his blood was heating and his body was thrumming, he’d have thought he was on his way to a blissful night in heaven.
Heaven would have to wait.
He felt the insistent weight of her hands against his shoulders and realized Skye was trying to push him away. Reluctantly, he did as she’d requested. He released the grip he had on her waist, instantly missing the sweet heat of her body as she slipped away.
If they weren’t in the middle of a crowded rodeo, fast becoming the center of attention, he’d have pushed for a second helping of this unexpected treat. But he valued his life too much to risk the wrath of Gus Whitman. He’d rather face an ornery bull, than an irate father.
He took a good look at the woman who’d affected him so. Truth be told, Skye looked a little tipsy. There was a dazed, uncertain look clouding those big blue eyes. Her lips parted slightly as she sucked in a deep breath. The action stretched the material of her T-shirt against her generous curves, making his mouth go dry and his body ache with a new awareness.
He reconsidered that second kiss.
But before he gave in to temptation, he had the good sense to look up and catch Gus’s eye. His mentor, the man he respected more than anyone else in the world, was watching him with the guarded expression of a hawk about to swoop down and attack.
Giving what he hoped was a nonchalant smile, Tyler tipped his hat in mock salute. “Thank you, ma’am. If that doesn’t bring me a little luck, I don’t know what will.”
Then, without a backward glance, he strode away, carrying with him the memory of Skye’s good-luck kiss.
Until Diablo demanded his full attention.
Moved from the holding pen into the bucking chute, the bull looked raring to trample any fool who dared to climb aboard. That fool being himself, Tyler mused. When his turn was announced, he settled himself onto the bull’s back. Tuning out the noise of the arena, he slipped his gloved hand through the handhold, palm upward. Then, once, twice, he wrapped the end of loose rope across his hand, strapping himself to eighteen hundred pounds of molten energy. As he prepared for his ride, the bull’s loose hide twitched restlessly beneath him.
Tyler knew that the fury called Diablo was about to be unleashed.
Not wanting to delay the inevitable, Tyler nodded to the gate tender. The gate burst open. Diablo took a fraction of a second to glance around. Then, with a roll of his eyes, the bull arched his back and threw himself sideways out of the chute.
Struggling for balance, Tyler dug in his spurs and tried to center himself on Diablo’s back, avoiding the worst of the seesaw bucking action. As the bull rounded for another jump, Tyler squeezed the rope in a death grip, trying his best not to get thrown off. The urge to grab ahold and hang on for dear life nearly overwhelmed him. Somehow, he had the presence of mind to keep his free hand up and out of the way as required.
Like the devil himself., Diablo tried a new method to pull him under. He made a sharp turn to the left and began to spin. The world swirled around him, faster and faster until Tyler felt as though he were about to be sucked into an invisible whirlpool of motion.
Then just as quickly as he began, Diablo stopped his spin. He kicked his heels and began to buck once again. With a snort and a bellow of indignation, the bull tried to toss him off his back. Tyler felt every hop, every bounce, every jolt in his clenched, aching muscles. His spine felt as though it were being raffled apart.
Then, just when he thought he could endure no more, the horn sounded. His eight seconds of hell were over.
Tyler released his grip on the bull rope. With his free hand, he loosened the tight wrap around his riding hand. A final buck sent him flying off the back of the bull. He landed hard, the breath knocked out of him. He lay stunned on his back, wondering if he’d ever be able to move again.
Nearby, Diablo snorted. He lowered his massive head and pawed the dirt, preparing for a final charge.
Tyler forced his aching body to move. Rolling over onto his side, he hopped up and scrambled for the fence.
Two clowns jumped into the line of fire. Running, hollering and whistling, they distracted Diablo long enough for Tyler to make it to safety.
A cheer rose from the arena.
Tyler knew he’d had the best ride of the night. If only his braised muscles would let him enjoy the moment
A small group of well-wishers gathered around him. His gaze darted around, seeking the face of the woman he knew he’d be better off forgetting. With a sigh of relief, he spotted her in the crowd. Slowly, he made his way to Skye’s side.
“Best ride of the night,” she said, sounding only slightly impressed.
He shrugged, resisting the urge to brag. “Yeah, well, tonight’s just the qualifying rounds. Tomorrow’s the finals.” Leaning his aching weight against the fence for support, he angled a glance at her, his gaze lingering on her full lips. “I guess I couldn’t talk you into coming tomorrow night, could I? I sure could use a lucky charm.”
She frowned. “Lucky charm?”
He nodded. “It was your kiss that brought me good tuck.”
“Tyler., I hardly think—”
“Hey, don’t knock a cowboy for his superstitions,” he said, grinning. “So what do you say, care to join me for another night at the rodeo?”
Indecision flickered in her blue eyes.
Tyler’s breath caught. He’d be damned, but he almost believed she was tempted. As the male in him considered the possibilities time with Skye might offer, the sensible side of him panicked at the thought of her saying yes. He wasn’t looking for an emotional involvement. He had enough problems in his life to deal with already. Tangling with Gus’s daughter was one mistake he didn’t need to make.
“Thanks, but no thanks, Tyler,” she said finally. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a lot of things on my mind right now. What with the trip home, cleaning up the ranch house, my thesis—”
“And Ralph,” he reminded her.
A tinge of embarrassed color touched her cheeks. “Yes, of course...Ralph, too.”
“Just my luck. Find my lucky charm, only to learn it belongs to someone else,” he said, with the exaggerated sigh of a man who knew he’d been given a reprieve. He straightened from the fence, flexing his shoulders, trying not to cry out with each painful movement. “Oh, well, I guess I’ll just have to tough it out without you.”
“Don’t worry, Tyler,” she said with a shake of her head. “I have a feeling you’re the kind of man who can land on his feet...no matter what the circumstances.”
Tyler looked at her in surprise and was struck with the uncanny feeling that, with her refusal, he’d been luckier than he’d first thought.
Despite the years they’d been apart, Skye knew him all too well.
Chapter Two
“His lucky charm,” Skye muttered, rattling a stack of research papers in her fisted hand. “What does he think I am? A Kewpie doll?”
Silence was her only answer in the empty house. After years of living in the city, she had to reacquaint herself with the quietude of the country. Her nearest neighbor was Jack, an old family friend who managed the ranch and looked after her father’s horses. He lived in a small house a few miles from the ranch house. Too far for a pop-in visit whenever she got lonely. It wasn’t any wonder that, with nothing else to distract her, her mind wandered to Tyler’s unforgettable image.
“Why am I wasting my time thinking about Tyler Bradshaw?” she growled. “I’ve got work to do.”
After a day of unpacking and settling in, she’d had an early dinner then taken a cold shower to cool off. She’d dressed in the most comfortable outfit she could find—a blue tank top and a pair of short white cutoffs—and seated herself at the dining room table to put in a few hours of work on her paper.
The problem was...she couldn’t concentrate.
A soft breeze stirred the air, lifting the lace curtains, doing little to relieve the stifling heat. Skye lifted a cube of ice from her iced tea and pressed it against the back of her neck. In all her years of living in Texas, she couldn’t remember a summer being quite so hot. She felt as though she were melting from the inside out, like a mushy ice cream bar.
Water from the ice cube dripped onto her research papers, splotching the printed ink with a big, fat drop.
Skye moaned and rose from the table, taking her glass of tea with her. Tossing the ice cube in the kitchen sink, she returned to the living room, plopped herself down onto the frayed chintz couch and picked up the TV’s remote control. Mindlessly, she flipped through the meager offering of channels on the tube. Baseball, reruns, news...and the rodeo.
“Switch the channel,” she told herself. There was nothing at the rodeo to interest her. Nothing, and no one. She lifted the remote control, her finger poised on the channel button, ready to turn off this spectacle of male machismo, but she couldn’t find the strength to do it.
Last night had been the first time in years that she’d been to a rodeo. She’d forgotten how they intrigued her, in a discomforting sort of way. Like a bypasser unable to stop gawking at the scene of an automobile accident, she just couldn’t turn away.
While in college, she’d divorced herself from the life her father loved. She’d logically, morally and intellectually convinced herself that cowboys and the rodeo in which they lived exemplified all that was wrong with the world. They were risk takers. They were reckless and vain, so caught up in winning a purse and proving they were the best, that they forgot the families who loved them and were waiting for them at home.
Skye sighed, knowing that the root of her own troubled childhood was showing. That the resentment toward her father and the life he’d chosen over her mother and herself was influencing her judgment. But she couldn’t help herself. In her heart, the rodeo and emotional pain would always be irrevocably interwoven.
Which didn’t make her sudden interest in the rodeo and, in particular, a certain cowboy any easier to understand.
“Skye, Skye, Skye,” she murmured to herself. “You’ve got enough trouble in your life. Don’t go looking for more.”
The bull riders were announced.
Skye cursed the grainy screen of her ancient television. After last night, seeing the action firsthand, the fuzzy picture seemed sadly lacking in comparison. Dropping the remote control on the coffee table, she leaned forward in her seat and squinted at the tube.
Tyler was fourth in the lineup. The first rider touched a gloved hand to the bronco’s back and was disqualified. The second rider had a decent ride, not perfect, but good enough to put him in the running. By the third rider, Skye shot a nervous glance at the telephone and toyed with the idea of calling Ralph. She dismissed the idea out of hand. Ralph had called late last night He’d been vague and distant, his mind obviously on the dusty tomes he was researching, not on her. She’d ended the conversation with a curt goodbye, telling him when he was really interested in what she had to say to call her back.
Only, he hadn’t.
The thought of calling him now grated on her conscience. It would be tantamount to surrendering her feminine pride. Once and for all, Ralph Breedlow had to learn to appreciate her.
She refused to play second fiddle in any man’s life.
“Our fourth rider of the night is veteran bull rider, three-time World Champion, Tyler Bradshaw.” A cheer arose from the arena at the announcement.
Riveted to the TV screen, Skye bit her lip as she waited for the bull to burst out of the chute.
“He’ll be riding Tornado this evening,” the announcer continued. “Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. This bull likes to dance to the twist.”
The gate swung open and the bull carrying Tyler hopped out. It was a thick-bodied, short-legged, mottled Brangus, a bull that was half Brahma, half Angus. Its horns had been lopped off to protect the rider, but its long, square head looked menacing enough to cause damage.
She couldn’t see Tyler’s face beneath the wide brim of his black cowboy hat. But she recognized the confident set of his wide shoulders, the narrow breadth of his jean-clad hips, and his long, sinewy legs covered in leather chaps. He exuded confidence wrought of experience. He almost made her believe bull riding was as easy as a stroll down the street.
Silently, Skye counted off the seconds in unison with the clock at the bottom of the television screen. Tyler held on with perfect form for the first two seconds. By the third, she knew he was in trouble.
The bull rounded into a sharp circle, looking like a dog chasing his tail. Round and round he spun Tyler, flopping him against his back like a rag doll. Then, he reversed his direction, snapping Tyler off his back and sending him sailing into the air.
Only, Tyler’s hand was hooked in the rope’s handhold. Unable to react fast enough, he was dragged across the pen by a bull who looked determined to kill him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it looks as though Bradshaw’s in trouble now,” the announcer’s voice whined.
“No kidding,” Skye hollered at the television.
Rodeo clowns hopped into the ring, trying their best to corner the runaway bull.
Tornado lived up to his name by lurching in the opposite direction, spinning around on his back hooves, his front hooves landing directly on the center of Tyler’s stomach.
Her heart thumping, Skye shot to her feet, gasping at the scene being played out on the television.
Another set of rodeo clowns jumped into the arena, rushing headlong into the bull’s path. For the next few minutes, she watched in horror as the men worked to subdue the out-of-control bull.
In a blink of an eye, she’d relived her worst childhood nightmare, a cowboy trampled by a bull. Of course, as a child, it had been her father who’d suffered the damage. Knowing it was Tyler, her father’s protégé, didn’t make it any easier.
After what seemed like an eternity. Tyler was released from his deadly bond with the bull. He lay limp in the sawdust and dirt, before the emergency paramedics whisked him out of the arena.
Skye paced the floor of the living room, half listening to the announcer’s account of the incident, cringing when they insisted on replaying each and every gory moment, not once, but twice. No word on Tyler’s condition, however.
Releasing a growl of frustration, she strode into the kitchen and snatched up the wall phone. Thanking the advances of modern-day technology, she punched in the number for her father’s cell phone.
Gus picked up on the fourth ring. “Gus Whitman,” he barked into the phone, skipping the usual polite greeting. He sounded as tense as she felt.
“Gus,” she said, unable to stop the quaver in her voice. “I was just watching Tyler’s ride.”
“Aw, honey.” Gus sighed, his tone softening. “I wish you hadn’t.”
“Is he okay? Have you seen him?”
“Just for a second, before they hauled him away.” Gus paused. “He didn’t look too good..But what do you expect from somebody who’s just been tossed around by a bull?”
Skye twisted the cord of the phone around her fingers, trying to swallow the lump of emotion in her throat. “He got more than tossed, Gus. The bull landed on top of him. Got him dead to rights in the middle of his stomach.”
Gus didn’t reply right away.
“Talk to me, Gus. How is he?”
“He’s awake. But he ain’t cussin’ like he ought to be.” Gus sighed deeply. “I just don’t know what to tell ya, honey.”
For once, she believed he was telling her the truth. “Where are they taking him?”
“Dallas Memorial. I’m on my way there, as we speak. I’ll give you a holler just as soon as I hear anything new. I promise.”
He was trying to change his ways, Skye told herself. He really was trying.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she said, barely noticing the traditional address. She’d called her father Gus for so many years, she had no idea why she felt the sudden need to address him differently. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
Slowly, she unwrapped the cocoon of phone wire that she’d woven around her fingers, then returned the receiver to its cradle. Gus was looking after Tyler, she told herself. He wouldn’t be alone. That was all that mattered.
A picture of Tyler last night, leaning against the arena fence, looking healthy and flushed with the thrill of victory, flashed through her mind. She recalled the devilish grin on his lips when he’d said, “I guess I couldn’t talk you into coming tomorrow night, could I? I sure could use a lucky charm.”
She closed her eyes against the memory. Tyler’s accident wasn’t her responsibility, she told herself. Lucky charms, superstitions and cowboy traditions were all a bunch of bull, no pun intended. Her refusal to attend tonight’s performance did not cause Tyler’s accident. It was his own stupid fault for riding that crazy bull.
His own stupid fault...
Slowly, she opened her eyes. If the accident wasn’t her responsibility, then why did her gut feel as though it had been stomped on right along with Tyler’s?
She made her decision quickly, not giving herself a chance to change her mind. Turning off the television, she gathered up her purse and car keys and headed out the door for Dallas Memorial.
“He has a concussion, cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, multiple bruises and lacerations,” the doctor said, reading his notes from an open hospital chart. He addressed his comments to Gus, as though Tyler weren’t even in the hospital room. “But that isn’t the worst of his injuries. At the moment, I’m more concerned about his back.”
Tyler closed his eyes, the only movement that didn’t hurt, wishing he could make the two hovering men disappear from his mind as easily as from sight.
“As you know, he’s been through this before. I’ve warned him the spinal cord is delicate. It isn’t designed to take this type of repeated abuse. But obviously Mr. Bradshaw didn’t hear my advice.”
“I heard you. I simply ignored you,” Tyler said, opening his eyes. “And would you two mind not talking about me like I’m not here. I’m not dead, am I?”
“No, not yet.” the doctor said, shooting him a stern look. “But another stunt like this one and that might be the csse.”
Tyler drew in a slow breath, wincing as the movement jarred his injured ribs. He didn’t need to be told the ride had been a bust from the start; he already knew it. Unable to get a firm seat on the bull from the moment they’d shot out of the chute, he’d spent most of the ride sliding around on Tornado’s back. By the time the bull had started his spinning routine, Tyler knew he was a goner.
“I’ll be keeping him overnight for observation,” the doctor said, glancing at Gus, before turning his attention to Tyler. “We’ll discuss your back in the morning. For now, get some rest, Mr. Bradshaw. You’re going to need it.”
Snapping the chart closed with a click, the doctor spun around on his heel and strode from the room.
“Got a nice bedside manner, doesn’t he?” Tyler drawled, watching the man’s dramatic exit with a wry glance.
Gus didn’t say a word.
Warily, Tyler turned his attention to his friend.
Gus stood at the foot of his bed, his hands on his hips, a forbidding look on his face.
“Now what?” Tyler sighed.
“Sometimes you make me so damned mad—” Gus stopped, blew out a whistling breath. Then, glaring at him, he added, “If you weren’t so banged up already, I’d try knocking some sense into that stubborn head of yours.”
“Well, thank you, Gus. I appreciate your concern.”
Pointing a finger at Tyler’s nose, Gus hollered, “This is one situation you can’t joke your way out of. I was there the last time you hurt your back. Even if you don’t remember the doctor’s warning, I do. Your spine’s going to snap like a twig one of these days if you don’t stop riding those damned bulls.”
Tyler stared at him, remaining stubbornly mute.
“What’s the matter with you, boy? Don’t you understand? The next time a bull decides to use you as a punchin’ bag, you won’t be walking away from it—if he doesn’t kill you first.”
The words chilled him. Tyler looked away, not allowing his friend to see his unease. It wasn’t that he had a death wish, he told himself. Or that he wanted to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. It was just that who he was, what he was, was so tied up with the rodeo, he couldn’t separate the two. Not even at the high price he’d be forced to pay.
“You’ve won every title there is,” Gus said. “What more is there to prove?”
That he was Tyler Bradshaw, bull rider, rodeo champion. That he was somebody more than the hick kid who took off from home at the age of seventeen—
“Tyler, listen to me,” Gus said, lowering his voice from a roar to a whisper, his tone deadly somber. “You’ve got to face the facts. It’s time to retire.”
Unexplainably. his friend’s gentle concern irritated Tyler more than his irate preaching. He felt the anger swirl in his stomach, the nonsensical words burn in his mind, knew they were uncalled-for, his animosity ill-advised. But for the life of him, he couldn’t stop the angry words from tumbling out. “If and when I retire, it’ll be my decision. Not yours, old man.”
Gus flinched as though he’d been dealt a blow.
All of Tyler’s aching body parts combined didn’t feel half as bad as the pain in his heart at having hurt his mentor. Tyler owed him his career, his life. He wanted to reach out and apologize, to tell Gus he didn’t mean it Only he didn’t know how.
The door to his hospital room opened, saving him from the effort
Skye stood in the doorway, looking small, pale and frightened. The heavy door whisked shut behind her, causing her to jump in surprise. Her concern on top of Gus’s was the last straw.
Tyler scowled. “What is this, a funeral? Sorry, Skye. I’m not dead yet. You’re going to have to wait a few months for a visitation.”
Unlike her father, who’d taken his abuse with stoic silence. Skye gave him tit for tat The expression on her face changed dramatically, from scared to stormy. “Tyler Bradshaw, you are the most ungrateful man to walk this planet Why anybody bothers to care about you is beyond ”
He narrowed a glance at the fireball, unable to curb a grudging admiration for her spunky attitude. She was certainly her father’s daughter. Not one to back away from a fight
Her eyes sparkled as she continued, “But for some crazy reason, they do. Now there’s a hall full of cowboys waiting outside. And they’re not leaving until they’ve seen for themselves that you’re okay. So just shut up and endure the attention.”
With that she opened the hospital room door and peered out into the. hall. Motioning with one slender hand, she stepped back and allowed the well-wishers to enter.