Every Breath She Takes (22 page)

Without waiting for a reply, he strode off after Lauren. It took some doing to catch up to her long-legged stride without breaking into a jog.

“I guess I don’t have to ask what
you
thought of the show,” he said when he finally fell in beside her.

“We’ve been over this.” Lauren stopped as a couple of kids raced across her path, then continued toward the house. “I just hate to see you risk your neck needlessly.”

He bit back a sigh. “I had to do
something
to hold their interest. Look how soon they tired of the barrel races.” He placed a hand on her arm to slow her. “I had no choice.”

“Don’t even!” She stopped abruptly, fixing him with a glare. “You loved every minute of it, Cal Taggart. Don’t you dare deny it. I saw it in your eyes back there.”

He looked away for a moment, watching Jim and three other hands transfer a pissed-off Misadventure back into his trailer.

He turned back to her. “Okay, I enjoyed it,” he admitted. “It’s what I did for a good part of my life. I’m
good
at it.”

“Well,
I
didn’t enjoy it,” she snapped. “It’s worse than stupid auto racing.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You think they’re hoping to see a wreck?”

“Don’t you?”

“Hell, no. I mean, sure, the risk factor plays into it, but they watch for the same reason I ride—they enjoy the contest.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you enjoy it so much, why’d you quit?”

“I already told you. Because I’m not a kid anymore. It was time to start thinking about something other than having fun.”

She gave him a hard stare.

“And I was slowing down a little, I guess,” he conceded. “I couldn’t ride at the level I needed to ride to keep winning.”

“Precisely! Which is why you have no business riding that…monster. Your reaction time—”

“My reactions are plenty fast enough for a retired bull.”

“Retired bull! Don’t humor me, Cal.”

“I’m not—”

“I talked to Jim about that bull. He told me it was pulled off the circuit because it was just too dangerous.”

Great. Thank you, Jim.
“That was years ago. He’s mellowed a lot since.”

She grasped Cal’s arm with surprising strength. “Don’t ride him again. You beat him once, the crowd got its thrill. Please, Cal, let that be enough.”

Cal looked down into blue eyes gone dark with worry and wished with surprising vehemence that he could oblige her plea. No one had ever asked him
not
to ride a bull before. Well, except his father maybe, but his father’s distaste for the sport had nothing to do with concern for Cal’s well-being. He’d just wanted his son to stop fooling around and settle to ranching.

But he’d already committed himself. An image of Harvey McLeod, a knowing smirk on his lips, sprang to mind. No, he couldn’t back down. Not now.

“Sorry, that’s the drill. Cowboy has to cover three bulls.”

“Yeah, but Misadventure is a third-round bull. In real competition, the first two bulls would be a lot easier.”

Cripes, he supposed he had Jim to thank too for her newly acquired rodeo savvy. “I wouldn’t call any of them easy.”

“But they get progressively harder with each round, right?”

“Right,” he clipped.

“So why put yourself in the position of riding three third-round bulls? You’d never do that in competition.”

He drew breath to protest that it wasn’t the same, that Misadventure would be beaten down each time he was ridden, but he never got his answer out. A voice cut him off.

“Cal, there you are.”

He glanced up to see a flushed Delia hurrying across the grass. Oh hell. What could possibly have gone wrong now?

“Trouble in the kitchen?”

“No, nothing like that.” She aimed a quick “Hi” at Lauren, then turned back to Cal. “I just wanted to warn you we’ve got an unexpected visitor and I’m not sure what to do with him.”

“Oh, you mean Harvey McLeod?” Relief flooded his nerve endings, making him aware how tense he was. “He’s been here since four. I told him he could stay and take in the show.”

“No, I’m not talking about Harvey Freakin’ McLeod!”

Cal looked at Delia then, really looked at her. The unflappable, indispensable Delia was practically wringing her hands. His anxiety leapt like a brush fire in May. “Who then?”

Before Delia could reply, a voice boomed from Cal’s left.

“Hello, Callum.”

That voice from his past reached right inside, twisting his guts up in an iron fist.

Of course. This was just exactly what he needed. Because anthrax and Mis-Goddamned-Adventure weren’t enough to fill his plate.

Slowly, keeping his face carefully blank, Cal turned to face the speaker.

“Hello, Dad.”

Beside him he heard Lauren draw a sharp breath, but Cal didn’t take his eyes off his father.

Zane Taggart had aged shockingly. Somehow, when Cal had thought of his father over the years, he’d pictured the same man he’d left standing in the driveway—a blond-haired, vigorous man of less than forty years. He hadn’t counted on time robbing the color from the old man’s hair or adding height to that forehead, which back then seemed permanently furrowed with disapproval. Nor had he mentally etched in the crow’s feet that now surrounded Zane Taggart’s eyes or deepened the grooves around his mouth. Time had also lent his face a kind of softness, he noticed.

“Still riding bulls, I see. Thought you’d grown out of that.”

Cal felt his face burn under his father’s words.
Softness?
The old man might look different, but he hadn’t changed.

“Special event, this weekend only,” Cal said with an easy drawl. “A bit of a curtain call, I guess you’d call it.”

“I see.”

I see.
Two tiny words, but they said it all. Cal wanted to tear off his protective vest and hurl it. He wanted to drag the stupid show chaps off too. Instead he said, “So what could possibly bring you to my doorstep after all these years, Dad? Nothing wrong, I hope?”

“No, no,” came his gruff reply. “Thought I’d just come down here for a spot of vacation, see how the other half lives.”

Vacation?
When had Zane Taggart taken a vacation? And why in holy hell did he imagine he’d be welcome to
stay
here? “You might have called first.”

“Right. And you’da told me not to waste the trip.”

Cal bared his teeth in a smile. “You got me there.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“And there’s a very fine bed-and-breakfast a few towns over. I can even draw you a map.”

“What? You’re so busy you can’t accommodate a last-minute reservation?” Zane Taggart clasped his hands behind his back and thrust his chin out in a gesture Cal used to think of as his drill sergeant mode. “That’s not what I heard.”

Cal felt the flush of temper reach his neck. “You’re right; I do have vacancies. But nothing says I have to rent to
you
.”

“Mr. Taggart!”

Cal tuned out Delia’s shocked tone. No doubt she thought he owed his father more respect.

“What’s the matter? Doesn’t my money spend as well as the next guy’s?” Zane Taggart’s color had deepened. “It’s not like I’m asking you to put me up in the ranch house or anything. Any one of those vacant cabins’ll do. Unless you don’t have the staff to handle more than this handful here.” He gestured to the small crowd standing corral-side.

Cal bridled at the suggestion, even though he knew that Zane was deliberately goading him. “We can handle a full house, can’t we, Delia?”

“Yes, sir,” Delia said, still wringing her hands.

“Then take the man’s money and show him to a cabin.”

“Of course.” Delia stepped forward, ready to do her job.

“That’s very hospitable of you,” Zane said.

“Yeah, it is.” The slightly mocking edge to Zane’s words galled Cal. “In the circumstances, I’d say it was pretty
damned
hospitable.” Sonofabitch. He’d just agreed to let the man he hated above all others rent a cabin. That made twice in one day that he’d let foolish pride spur him into committing to something he really should have steered clear of. Pathetic. He made a show of looking at his watch. “I have to go.” He forced his words through a tightened jaw. “I’ve got a roping clinic in an hour’s time.”

With that he turned and strode off toward the barn.

Lauren had watched that exchange, unable to take her gaze off what could be an older version of Cal. He was stockier and his hair was shot with gray. His face, too, was more weathered by life and the prairie sun, but he had the same proud, almost arrogant
bearing as Cal. Then, before her eyes, he seemed to deflate as he watched his son’s retreating back. Quite suddenly he looked like an old man.

“Would you like to come with me, Mr. Taggart?” Delia said. “We’ll get you registered and settled in.”

At Delia’s words, he seemed to recall himself. He straightened his spine. “Of course.” His right hand came up as though to remove a hat, but he wasn’t wearing one. The absence seemed to disconcert him for a second. “Lead on, Miz Delia.”

As Zane and Delia moved off, Lauren turned to scan for Cal. She caught sight of him just as he disappeared into the barn, his stiff-necked carriage telling her volumes about his state of mind. She took two steps in his direction, then stopped herself.
Wait a minute! Don’t go after him. He’s going to ride that bull again tomorrow and to hell with what you think. He’ll probably break his stubborn neck.

Unfortunately, her anger had ebbed and the pep talk failed to resuscitate it. Experimentally, she summoned an image of the bull leaping and heaving, streamers of watery mucus flying from its dilated nostrils. The graphic mind-picture made her quake with fear all over again, but her anger had died. Cal really felt he had no choice. And now his father had landed on him, complete with baggage, both literal and emotional.

Cal’s father…Lauren remembered vividly the tale Cal had related about Zane destroying the horse he’d rescued. With that one action, he’d ripped everything away from his lonely son. Whether or not there was any hope of reconciliation after something like that, Lauren didn’t know. But what she
did
know was that Zane Taggart’s timing couldn’t have been worse. She’d actually hoped the older man would take Cal’s suggestion and carry on to the next B&B down the road. Cal so didn’t need the distraction right now.

With a resigned sigh, she started toward the barn, picking her way carefully in her sandals. She found Cal in the tack room.
Scowling, he looked up at her, then went back to rummaging through boxes of odd leather straps and mismatched work gloves.

She drew a slow breath, inhaling the clean scents of oiled leather and horse. Unbidden came the memory of the last time she’d shared space with Cal in this tiny room. She pushed the shuddery feeling down.

“Cal, are you okay?”

“Where in hell are my gloves? I left them right here.” He slammed the last box back on the shelf.

Lauren jumped at the force of his action. “Your riding glove? You gave it to Seth.”

“No, my work gloves.”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure you could borrow some—”

“I don’t need to borrow any damned gloves.” He yanked out another box, grabbed a brand-new pair of stiff-looking work gloves, and shoved the box back into place. “I just want my old gloves.”

She bit her lip. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.”

Granite-gray eyes warned her to leave it alone, but she ignored their “back off” message. “Your father dropping in like that without warning, after all these years. And on top of the anthrax threat and having to organize this rodeo…”

“Dammit, Lauren. I said I’m fine.”

She bit her lip. He didn’t look fine. Didn’t sound fine either. “I mean, anyone would understand if you were upset. We could talk about it, if you—”

“Let me make myself plain—I don’t feel like talking.”

“But—”

“No talking.” His glittering gaze dropped to her mouth, and she felt a current of awareness zing through her.

“Okay, no talking. Maybe we could go for a walk by the creek…”

Her words trailed off as she saw his face change. In a heartbeat his demeanor shifted. Cool eyes now raked her with an unmistakable sexual appraisal that bordered on the insulting.

“Don’t feel like walking either.” His arm lashed out like a rattlesnake, capturing her wrist. Excitement, unbidden and uneasy, leapt in her belly as he drew her closer. “But since you’re so anxious to accommodate, I’m sure you won’t mind giving me a little of what I
do
want.”

In a fluid movement, he crushed her against his chest with one arm. She tried to twist away, more from his offensive words than from the idea of his kiss, but he used his other arm to hold her head. Then he proceeded to plunder her mouth with such ferocity that she was shocked into stillness.

Lauren gasped. It felt as if he was putting all the anger and confusion of his soul into it. His teeth ground against her lips, and the pressure of his hand at her back flattened her breasts against his chest. She brought her hands up only to discover he still wore the Kevlar-reinforced vest. That’s what bit into her so cruelly. She slid her hands up as far as she could and pushed against his chest to buy a little room.