A Cowboy's Claim

A DIFFERENT KIND OF HERO

Everyone knows Victor Vicario—he’s the scarred loner who’s on his way to the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas. But no one knows about the guilt that drives him. And until he achieves his goal, there’s no room in his life for attachments.

So when Vic is given temporary custody of his young nephew, he is torn. He can’t turn his back on family, but how can he look after a kid when he’s traveling the rodeo circuit? Then he runs into feisty barrel racer Tanya McGee and makes her an offer. She helps him with Alex, and he’ll pay her rodeo expenses. The problem is their little “family” starts to feel all too real.

“What are we going to do about this?” Tanya whispered.

“Do about what?”

She stood before him—not close enough that they touched but close enough that he could smell her. Feel her breath against his skin. He clenched his teeth.

“You want me, don’t you?”

“We had an agreement. I pay your expenses on the road in exchange for your help with Alex. This wasn’t part of the deal.”

She moved her fingers south, grazing the waistband of his boxers. “What if we redefine the boundaries?”

He swallowed hard. Vic wasn’t sure how long he could let her touch him and not reciprocate.

“This isn’t part of the deal.” She nuzzled his ear. “It’s just...” She nipped his neck. “It’s whatever we want it to be.”

Vic spun, pressing Tanya against the door. Tanya’s tongue slipped inside his mouth and he forgot all the reasons this was wrong.

Dear Reader,

I’ve been waiting to tell Victor Vicario’s story for a long time, and I hope you enjoy the final installment of the Cowboys of the Rio Grande series. All of the heroes in this series have had to overcome tough childhoods, but Victor’s journey was perhaps the most difficult.

I love including children in my books, because little ones have a way of teaching adults life lessons that might otherwise pass us over. When Vic is called home to take responsibility for a nephew he’d never met before, he has no intention of caring for the boy long-term. And no one is more surprised than Vic when a little boy who’s afraid to talk teaches him that letting go of the past is the only way forward.

I hope you enjoy Victor’s story, and if you missed the previous books in this series, A Cowboy’s Redemption (June 2015) and The Surgeon’s Christmas Baby (November 2015), you can find more information about these stories and other books I’ve written at marinthomas.com.

Happy reading,

Marin Thomas

A Cowboy’s

Claim

Marin Thomas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARIN THOMAS grew up in the Midwest, then attended college at the U of A in Tucson, Arizona, where she earned a BA in radio-TV and played basketball for the Lady Wildcats. Following graduation, she married her college sweetheart in the historic Little Chapel of the West in Las Vegas, Nevada. Recent empty nesters, Marin and her husband now live in Texas, where cattle is king, cowboys are plentiful and pickups rule the road. Visit her on the web at marinthomas.com.

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To my furry pals Bandit and Rascal, who have kept watch over me and my writing for the past fourteen years. You were snoozing at my feet when I sold my first book and you’re snoozing now as I write this. Thank you for blessing our family with your devotion, cuteness and love.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

The wipers were no match for the torrential downpour pummeling the windshield. Victor Vicario strained to see the road ten feet in front of his pickup. After competing in the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, he was tired, but it was a good tired. Pocketing a check for twenty-five thousand dollars had a way of easing his aches and pain.

He glanced at the boot-shaped trophy resting on the passenger seat. He’d find a UPS store tomorrow and mail the award to his former high school teacher Maria Alvarez Fitzgerald, who’d helped him earn his GED. After he’d announced his intention to join the rodeo circuit, she’d managed to keep a straight face when she volunteered to safeguard his trophies. No one, including himself, had believed he’d ever succeed in the sport. But over a decade later he was still chasing the one win that had eluded him.

The first few years on the circuit had been the worst—trying to do it all on his own. When he’d finally admitted he needed help, former world-champion saddle bronc rider Riley Fitzgerald took him under his wing and had taught him how to keep his backside in the saddle and win. Then Vic had gone out on his own and made a name for himself. The past five years he’d won or placed in the top three of most major rodeos—except the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas.

He refused to hang up his spurs until he won a national title.

This year would end differently—he felt it in his gut. He was thirty-one—young in mind, old in body. Broken bones, sprained wrists and horse kicks had taken a toll on him, but he was starting out a new season in the best shape he’d ever been. A lot of months and a lot of rides stood between Vic and the NFR in December. All it took was one nasty fall to wipe out a life’s worth of hard work, but he’d left Houston without a scratch and that was a good sign.

A vehicle with its flashers on came into view. He eased off the accelerator, thinking he should have sat out the bad weather in a motel room. But he wanted to make it to Beaumont tonight and then rest for a few days before he rode in the South Texas State Fair. He checked his side mirror before changing lanes.

The pickup and horse trailer sat on the shoulder—maybe a competitor from the rodeo. As he drove past he spotted the Red Rock Horse Farm logo on the pickup door. Tanya McGee—the feisty barrel racer who could hardly control her horse. She hadn’t competed in the Houston rodeo, but he’d seen her in the stands, watching her competition. Vic had never spoken to Tanya in person, but he’d noticed her auburn hair and eyes bluer than the New Mexico sky.

Since he didn’t socialize with the cowboys on the circuit, the only thing he knew about the pretty cowgirl was what he’d heard others say near the chutes. Tanya had been married to Vic’s competitor Beau Billings. Everyone knew Beau Billings rode more than broncs when he showed up at rodeos. Vic assumed Tanya had been attracted to Billings’s movie-star looks, but it wasn’t long after they’d married that the jerk began two-timing her. Billings was a womanizer in the worst way, and Tanya had done herself a favor when she kicked the cheater to the curb.

Vic pulled onto the shoulder in front of Tanya’s truck and turned on his flashers. He’d see if she was waiting out the storm or if she’d run into mechanical problems. He reached for his old Stetson and put it on to protect him from the rain, then stepped from his pickup. Tanya flipped on her brights and almost blinded him. He stopped at the driver’s-side window and she lowered it a couple of inches.

“Everything okay?” he shouted. When she didn’t answer, he said, “It’s Vic Vicario. You need help?” He wasn’t vain, but he had enough wins on his résumé that most rodeo athletes knew him by name.

The window lowered farther, the blowing rain pelting Tanya in the face. “The trailer has a flat tire.”

The nearest exit was five miles up the highway—a drive that far on a flat tire with an undisciplined horse inside the trailer was a disaster waiting to happen. Tanya’s horse, an American paint gelding, was famous on the circuit and not in a good way. “I can change the flat, but you’ll have to take Slingshot out of the trailer. Can you keep him under control in this weather?”

Her chin jutted—as if he’d offended her—and then her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know.”

At least she was honest. The horse was faster than the wind but unpredictable. Slingshot had thrown Tanya the few times he saw the pair compete. Why she stuck with the renegade was anybody’s guess. “Will you be able to change the flat, if I hold on to Slingshot?”

“Maybe.”

“You can’t sit on the side of the road,” he said. “It’s too dangerous for you and the horse.”

She put on a baseball cap sporting a Denver Broncos logo, then got out of the pickup. She was short—maybe five-six if that. Vic topped out at six feet in his boots and he towered over her small, wiry frame.

“I’ll fetch my toolbox,” he said. “Wait until I get back before you unload him.” He returned to his pickup, grabbed the tire jack and a wrench and set the tools on the ground next to the flat.

“Watch out,” Tanya said. She unlatched the trailer door and stepped inside. Vic heard her speak to Slingshot as she backed him down the ramp. He stood ready to help, but she coaxed him to follow her into the gully along the highway without incident. “Okay, we’re good!”

As soon as she spoke, thunder rumbled overhead and the horse reared.

“You got him?”

Vic started down the incline but stopped when she held up a hand. “I’m not helpless.”

Tanya McGee was the furthest thing from helpless Vic had ever encountered. He changed the flat tire, moving as fast as possible. He’d just tightened the last lug nut when lightning sizzled across the sky. Tanya held on to the reins, but lost her footing on the wet ground and slid under the gelding. Vic scrambled down the embankment, falling on his butt once before reaching the pair. He took the reins with one hand and wrapped an arm around Tanya’s waist with the other, then hauled her out from beneath the belly of the beast.

The horse reared a second time. “Whoa, boy.” Vic wished he’d thought to put on his riding glove. The rope burned his hands as Slingshot pulled hard to get free. Tanya talked nonsense to the animal until he quit stomping his hooves against the ground.

Tanya and her beloved horse shared a bond, but it baffled him that she couldn’t control the animal in the arena. “Ready?” he asked, taking hold of the noseband while she grasped the reins. They escorted Slingshot back to the trailer, where he was more than happy to load and get out of the storm.

Tanya locked the door. “Thank goodness he didn’t bolt.” She’d lost her baseball cap, and the rain had plastered her hair to her face and her clothes to her body, leaving little to the imagination. She shoved the hair out of her eyes and caught him staring at her bosom. He considered apologizing, but what for? He didn’t care what Tanya McGee thought of him. Her gaze moved to the scar on his face—if he was scary-looking in the daylight, he must be terrifying in the dark.

“Get off the road as soon as possible,” he said. “The spare tire is in bad shape.”

“I’ll take the next exit.” When he made a move to step past her, she grasped his shirtsleeve. “Thank you, Victor.”

“Drive safe.” He waited in his pickup until Tanya pulled out in front of him and then he followed at a distance. She drove below the speed limit, so he didn’t bother turning off his flashers. When she took the exit to the Buc-ee’s Travel Center, he trailed her into the parking lot but remained in his pickup while she searched for a parking spot. She disappeared inside and he continued to wait—why, he didn’t know.

A few minutes later Tanya stepped outside, holding two coffees. She signaled him to come in, but he didn’t care to stand in front of her beneath the harsh fluorescent lights and watch her try not to stare at his scar.

He honked and then hit the gas and sped away.

As he merged onto the highway, he rubbed the thick knot of skin along the side of his face. The accident had happened eighteen years ago.

Accident. His wound hadn’t been an accident, but calling it anything else was too painful.

Chapter One

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Stampede Park in beautiful sunny Cody, Wyoming! We’re expecting record-breaking temperatures this first week of July, so be sure you’re drinking plenty of water. If you’re looking for a seat in the shade, we still have a few available under the Buzzard Roost.”

The grandstand took up one side, the rough stock and cowboys the other. The scent of greasy burgers, popcorn, cigarettes and sweaty bodies permeated the air until you got close to the chutes. Then the heavy stink of nervous bucking stock and the stuff that comes out of their back ends stole your breath—unless you were immune to it as Vic was.

Garth Brooks’s song “Rodeo” blasted through the loudspeakers for a few seconds. Then the announcer continued his spiel. “It’s been a wild start to Cowboy Christmas here in the cowboy state. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term Cowboy Christmas...”

Vic paced behind the chute, where Snake Oil Willie waited patiently for him. Why did every damned rodeo announcer feel compelled to explain Cowboy Christmas to the fans? People wanted to see cowboys go head-to-head with the bucking stock—they didn’t care that this was the time of year cowboys ramped up their earnings to help them qualify for the National Finals Rodeo in December. Only the top fifteen cowboys made it to Vegas, and Vic intended to be one of them.

He was bone tired after his midnight ride in the Greeley Independence Stampede in Colorado, four hundred fifty miles away. He’d driven all night to get to Cody, and the five days before that he’d been in Pecos, Texas. As soon as he competed today, he was back in his truck heading to Red Lodge, Montana, sixty miles up the interstate where he was due to ride at three. Then he had to make it to the Round Top Rodeo in Livingston, one hundred twenty-three miles farther down the road, for his last go-round of the day. He’d taken first place in Greeley, and if he finished in the top three in his last two rodeos of the day, he could earn close to five thousand dollars.

“We’re fortunate to have a superstar among our competitors today. Victor Vicario is currently ranked twelve in the PRCA standings. He started off the year on a high note, taking first place at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo back in March.”

The din increased and Vic slipped farther into the shadows of the cowboy ready area. He didn’t care for all the attention that came with winning. As soon as he claimed a national title, he intended to disappear from the rodeo scene. If he never rode another bronc the rest of his life, that would be fine with him.

“Last year Vicario ended his season in fourth place at the NFR in Vegas and you can bet he’s aiming to return for another chance to win the title.”

Once the crowd quieted, the announcer mentioned other cowboys competing today. Vic blocked out the noise and drew his thoughts inward as he prepared for his ride. He recalled his best ride, which happened to be last year in Vegas. He imagined every detail right down to the smells of the bucking chute, the heat coming off Sun River Bay’s back and the sound of the gelding’s snorts. Once Vic completed the ride in his head, he opened his eyes.

He was first out of the gate in his event—fine by him. He intended to set the bar high and intimidate his competition. He could thank the barrio in Albuquerque for his cutthroat attitude. Vic hadn’t grown up on a farm or a ranch like most rodeo cowboys. He hadn’t shown a cow or a pig in the local 4-H fair. Instead, he’d spent his free time tagging public property, stealing sodas and candy from convenience stores, skipping school and pledging gangs.

“Vicario will be coming out of chute two on Snake Oil Willie. This bronc can two-step like nobody’s business.”

When the rodeo helper signaled him, Vic stepped into the open. No one wished him good luck on his walk to the chute. He was good at busting broncs, but the scar on his face and his brooding personality kept anyone from trying to be his friend. Sometimes the loneliness got to him, but it was a fitting penance considering his high school pal Cruz Rivera had spent twelve years behind bars because of Vic.

He climbed the rails and straddled the bronc. Snake Oil Willie’s muscles bunched beneath Vic’s weight, but the horse behaved. Vic had never ridden the gelding in competition and had heard rumors that good ol’ Willie was full of tricks once he escaped the chute.

Vic adjusted his grip on the thick rein attached to the horse’s halter, took a deep breath, then nodded to the gate man and braced himself for liftoff. As soon as the chute opened, Snake Oil Willie rocketed into the air. Instinct took over and Vic placed his spurs against the points of the horse’s shoulders then marked out. With his left arm high in the air, he squeezed the bronc’s withers and spurred front to back, keeping his toes pointing outward. The first few bucks were smooth and controlled, but then the bronc tensed beneath him and Vic relaxed his hold on the rein, trying to avoid a spin.

Not a chance—Snake Oil Willie was too smart. The trickster spun right, forcing Vic to move with him in the saddle or get thrown off. When the bronc straightened out, Vic waited for another buck, but the horse reared and he slid backward. With a surge of strength he clung to the saddle; then the gelding’s front hooves hit the dirt, jarring Vic’s spine. The bronc managed to buck twice more before the buzzer sounded. Vic waited for an opening to dismount. When he saw his chance, he dove for the ground and rolled away from the clashing hooves.

The pickup men escorted Snake Oil Willie out of the arena and Vic plucked his hat from the dirt. His gaze scanned the crowd on his way back to the chutes and he caught a flash of red. Tanya McGee. What was she doing here?

Maybe she came to watch you.

No way. He hadn’t run into her on the circuit since that stormy night outside Houston when he rebuffed her offer to have coffee at the truck stop. He made eye contact and nodded.

“There you have it, folks,” the announcer said. “Victor Vicario scored an eighty-nine and got the best of Snake Oil Willie!”

Vic retrieved his duffel and stuffed his gear inside. He swung the bag over his shoulder and headed to the nearest concession stand to buy a corn dog for the road. He had two and a half hours before his next ride in Red Lodge.

“Victor.”

Tanya. He stopped walking and waited until she caught up with him.

“Great ride.”

He nodded, tongue-tied. Why did the spitfire barrel racer shove him off balance with just a smile?

“I wanted to thank you again for changing the flat on my trailer,” she said. “Couldn’t have been an easy feat in that downpour.”

“Glad to help.” He rubbed the ache in his left shoulder. He’d clipped it coming out of the chute.

She shuffled her black boots, then zeroed in on his face. Maybe it was the glare from the sun, but her eyes appeared bluer than he’d remembered.

“Did you compete today?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m giving Slingshot a rest, hoping it will improve his disposition.”

Vic grinned before he remembered the action stretched the scar across his face, twisting the puckered flesh. “Slingshot is a handful.”

“I’m well aware everyone believes my horse would be put to better use making glue.”

Vic quirked an eyebrow.

“But I’m not giving up on him.”

He understood how difficult it was to throw in the towel and admit defeat. He’d been hauling around twelve years of I-don’t-give-up on his back. Tanya didn’t appear in a hurry, but he was at a loss for something to say. He wasn’t used to talking to women he respected. He only had experience with ladies after a good time and a quick goodbye.

“I came up here to look at a stud horse with my stepfather and we stopped to take in the rodeo.” She waved a hand toward the parking lot. “Where are you headed next?”

“Red Lodge and then later tonight, Livingston.”

She gaped at him. “You’re riding in three events today?”

He opened his mouth to ask when she planned to compete again, but she cut him off.

“Damn.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I was hoping to avoid him today.”

Vic followed her gaze—Beau Billings. “I’m hungry for a corn dog. Want to come with me?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Her smile flashed brighter than the hot sun and suddenly Vic’s Wranglers felt tight in the crotch. If he survived the craziness of the first week of July, he’d think about getting laid. Right now rodeo came before pleasure.

After they joined the line at the concession stand, Tanya said, “I wish he’d quit pestering me.”

“What’s your ex doing to bother you?”

She wiped the perspiration off her brow, drawing Vic’s attention to the smattering of freckles across her nose. She appeared younger than the twenty-six years listed in the rodeo program by her name. “He tells me every chance he gets that my horse is stupid.”

Vic chuckled and then sobered when she jabbed her elbow into his ribs. “Sorry.”

“It’s been three years since I divorced Beau and he still acts like he has a claim on me.”

He didn’t know the details of her and Billings’s breakup—only that she’d caught the jerk cheating. He wasn’t sure if she’d walked away from barrel racing because of the divorce or the broken leg she’d suffered in a car accident a few years ago. And he sure as heck didn’t know why she’d returned to the circuit on a stubborn horse like Slingshot. That Vic was interested in her situation at all surprised him even more.

“You’d think he’d have his hands full trying to please his harem of buckle bunnies that he wouldn’t have time to pester me.” She rolled her eyes. “The poor stupid women can’t see past his handsome face and sexy voice.”

That was one thing Vic didn’t have to worry about—misleading the ladies. His voice wasn’t sexy and neither were his looks.

They were next in line to order—both asked for a corn dog and soda and they shared a large order of fries. Tanya insisted on paying—to thank him for his roadside assistance. They returned to the stands to eat.

She sipped her cola, then asked, “What about you, Victor? Any ex-girlfriends or wives giving you grief?”

Was Tanya making polite conversation or did she really want to know if he was involved with another woman? “No exes or girlfriends.” Just him. Alone.

“So the rumors are true,” she said.

“What rumors?”

“That you’re a loner.” She snatched the fry out of his fingers. “When Beau and I traveled the circuit together, the only competitor he ever obsessed over was you. You got under his skin.”

“I barely know the guy.”

“Doesn’t matter. You bother Beau because he can’t figure out what you’re thinking.”