Reckless in Texas (16 page)

Wyatt focused his
vote for me
smile on Delon. “If you can wait until after the bull riding, I'll buy you a beer tonight. I assume you'll stick around for the barrel racing since Stacie Lyn is up tonight. Unless the two of you have other plans…”

Violet's chin jerked up like a coyote catching a whiff of blood.

“We don't…I mean, we're not…” Delon stammered.

Wyatt faked an embarrassed wince. “Sorry. After I saw you together at Greeley and then again at Casper, I just assumed…”

“Funny, you never mentioned her,” Violet drawled, her mouth twitching with the beginnings of a smirk.

Delon's face went a shade darker as he sidled toward his car. “I, ah, should get going. I'll pick Beni up next Wednesday morning, okay? We'll see you at the rodeo Saturday night.”

“Fine.” Violet gave him a bright, toothy smile. “Have a
great
time.”

As the car door slammed behind him, Beni frowned at his mother. “You didn't tell him good luck.”

She snorted. “I'm guessing he'll get plenty lucky anyway.”

“Whaddaya mean—”

“Hey, Beni,” Wyatt said. “Give me five minutes to talk to Joe, then you and I can go for that ride, okay?”

Beni pumped a fist. “Awesome!”

Joe spun around and made a beeline for the bunkhouse. Wyatt sauntered in behind him, looking pleased with himself. The instant the door closed Joe turned on him.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded.

“You were worried Delon would give Violet a hard time about you, so I took care of it. The last subject he wants to bring up now is anybody's sex life.” Wyatt paused to study a black-and-white photo that hung by the door, a Jacobs bucking horse in action from back in the seventies.

“Do you get some kind of sick thrill from screwing with people?”

Wyatt moved on the next framed picture, this one in faded color. “Didn't seem to bother Violet.”

His nonchalance only stoked Joe's temper. “So, what? You were bored, so you dropped by to see what you could stir up here?”

“No.” When he turned, Wyatt's expression was flat and hard. “Lyle is gone.”

Joe's whirling thoughts caught like tumbleweeds piling up against a fence. “What do you mean, gone?”

“His wife gave him an ultimatum. Her and rehab, or Browning Rodeo. He chose her.”

Joe stepped back, felt for the arm of the couch with one hand, and sank down onto it. “How do you know?”

“Helen called. She was worried.” Wyatt folded his arms, all stern and disapproving. “The woman fusses over you like you're one of her own and you can't take five minutes to let her know where you are?”

“I didn't think of it.” Guilt clenched a knotty fist in Joe's gut. He usually kept Helen up-to-date on his schedule so she knew when to lay an extra place at the table. “She could've called me.”

“She said you don't like her trying to mother you.”

“I didn't say that.” But he'd thought it. Not that he didn't appreciate Helen's intentions. He sure didn't mind the brown paper bags of cookies he found in his car at the end of particularly long days on the ranch. Between that and a more personal relationship was an invisible but vital space, though, and it made Joe feel twitchy and uncomfortable when she crossed it. He could barter for snickerdoodles by taking out the trash. What would she expect in return for affection? Something he didn't have to give.

But that wasn't the most important thing right now.

“Lyle is really gone for good?”

“As long as he wants a chance at keeping his wife.”

Joe scrubbed the back his hand over his forehead. “I can't believe she's still trying to save their marriage.”

“She's trying to save his life,” Wyatt said. “Another five years with Dick and he'll either be dead in a ditch or pickled beyond repair. The man is toxic.”

To Lyle, maybe. There was a whole dynamic between a father and a son, the grinding need for approval, that didn't apply to Joe. Not where Dick was concerned. Joe didn't need a father figure any more than he needed a second mother. The parents he'd been blessed with were more than plenty, thank you very much. He did need the ranch, and the stock, and the opportunity to be more than a hired hand. And now the heir apparent had stepped aside.

“I don't suppose you'll even bother to look at these now.” Wyatt flicked the envelope at him like a Frisbee.

Joe snatched it out of the air. He peeled back the flap and pulled out a half-inch thick stack of contracts, neatly stapled—a who's who of the biggest rodeos in the country. While Joe flipped pages, blinking at the numbers, Wyatt wandered the room studying the collection of photos, some dating clear back to the fifties when Steve's dad started the bucking string. The bunkhouse consisted of a living room, bedroom, and bathroom, all done up in rustic barn wood and western odds and ends. No kitchen. Who needed one with Iris right across the road?

Joe dropped the stack of papers on the coffee table, overwhelmed. “I can't do this.”

“Because of Dick.” Wyatt's voice was ripe with disgust.

Not entirely. Joe grabbed a fringed leather pillow from the couch and kneaded it between his hands. “I can't bounce all over the country doing nothing but showing up when it's time to fight bulls. I need more than that.”

“So go to work for another contractor. Somebody who appreciates you.”

“It wouldn't be the same.” It wouldn't be the scrub and sage of the High Lonesome. It wouldn't be the Browning stock he'd helped raise.

“You would trade anything for that ranch.” Wyatt's voice was sucked dry of emotion. “Pride, self-respect, basic human decency. I think you prefer it that way. Is being empty easier?”

Joe stiffened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You live in a town where you have no family, work for a man you don't like—you don't have to care how anyone feels about you. Caring is scary. Sometimes it hurts. Empty is a lot safer. Maybe you and Delon aren't so different after all.”

Joe's hands clenched around the pillow, resisting the urge to fling it at Wyatt's head. He'd always wondered why they were called throw pillows. “At least I'm not locked up in a condo between rodeos. I like my town. I like the ranch. If you would quit fucking with me I'd be at home living happily ever after.”

“Happily?” Wyatt snorted. “Real happiness requires having a soul, compassion, actual relationships. Dick will suck all of that out of you eventually. You'll end up a gnarly, cussed old man like all the Brownings, dying alone on the High Lonesome.”

“At least they died in a place they loved.”

Wyatt stared at him for a long moment. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “The trouble with places, Joe? They don't love you back.”

Yeah, well, neither did people. Not enough that you could count on them to stick around. Wyatt, of all people, should understand. At least Joe had his mother. Wyatt had an endless list of casual acquaintances and business contacts who admired him but wouldn't be inviting him over for the holidays. Wyatt wasn't easy to be around, though in a totally different way than Dick Browning. People didn't enjoy being dissected. It had never bothered Joe much, but it left him as Wyatt's only true friend.

Joe sighed. “If I promise to look through the contracts, will you get back in your plane and go away?”

“As soon as I take Beni for that ride.”

Joe smiled, imagining Beni tossing the
just a bullfighter
line at Wyatt. That'd teach him to butt in.

“You have fun with that,” Joe said, and held the door so Wyatt could leave.

Violet shoved off with her toe, setting her mother's lawn swing swaying. Wyatt Darrington was at her house. Had her kid off somewhere joyriding in a Mustang GT. He and Joe were obviously good friends, and Joe was just as obviously not happy to see him. Whatever business they'd discussed down there in the bunkhouse, it hadn't ended on a particularly pleasant note. Joe had shoved Wyatt out the door then stomped back to the barn, where she could see the occasional pitchfork full of manure fly past the door. Working off a temper, she'd bet.

And Delon…what was up with his attitude? He'd never acted like that with any guy she'd dated. What was it about Joe that had him bristling up like a cowdog at a rattlesnake? Not that Joe was any better, goading Delon at the barbecue shack. Honest to ever-loving God. Men.

The silky rumble of the Mustang's engine alerted her to its imminent arrival, easily distinguished from the rattles and roars of the usual local traffic. As the car scooted around the corner, down the driveway, and stopped in front of her, she made an effort to look cool and serene.

Beni scrambled out over the unopened door, beaming. “That was awesome, Mommy! Can I have lunch now?”

“I left it on the table for you,” she said.

“Is it my favorite?”

“Yep.”

“All right!” He punched a fist in the air and sprinted for the house as Wyatt climbed out of the car.

“Must be good stuff.”

“Frozen dinner,” Violet said. “He only gets them when my mom is gone. Might kill her if she knew her grandson was eating fake mashed potatoes.”

Wyatt laughed, but instead of getting in his car and on his way, he strolled over and sat down. She caught a whiff of aftershave: crisp, sporty, and expensive. Hoo boy, he was pretty. In the close confines of the swing, she could count the golden hairs on his tanned thighs and forearms. The man of every cowgirl's fantasies was only inches away, and not one teensy little tingle. Damn Joe Cassidy.

Wyatt angled his body to face her, expression screened by dark glasses. “Joe is afraid I caused trouble between you and Delon.”

“I assumed that was your intention.”

His mouth quirked, acknowledging a point in her favor. “Stacy Lyn's not a candidate to be Beni's stepmother.”

“More like Delon's not a candidate to further her career. Sanchez Trucking is doing okay, but he can't plunk down a hundred grand for a new barrel horse.” She flashed him an arch look. “I bet
you
know her pretty well.”

Wyatt smiled.

“Joe, too, I suppose,” Violet said, and regretted the words when Wyatt's smile widened.

Then he shook his head. “Joe calls her the honey badger. Says he'd feel safer sticking his dick in a wood chipper.”

Violet laughed, then settled back, studying him closely.

“What?”

“You flew here to check me out. I'm trying to figure out what dog you have in this hunt.”

She couldn't see his eyes, but she was pretty sure he blinked. “I've been looking for an excuse since Joe told me about you.”

“What did he say?” It felt like a dangerous question.

“I could tell he was impressed, and that doesn't happen often. I wanted to see why. Now I do.”

Violet thought about blushing prettily, but the likelihood that he was filling her full of bull was too high.

“I always thought when Joe fell for a girl, it would be someone like his mother,” Wyatt said. “I should've known better.”

Violet's heart stuttered at
when Joe fell for a girl,
but she wouldn't let herself even consider it. Wyatt was using her, or wanted to. But for what?

“What's his mother like?” she asked.

“A beautiful mess.” The words were softened by affection and a smile. “But better than she has a right to be. Roxy's mother was a bar whore, sure the next guy who came along would take her away from all that. She chased them to hell and back and dragged her kids along with her, including six months living in their car in Denver after the latest love of her life left them cold.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. And it's fair to assume a few of these guys had no business anywhere near a kid, especially one who looked like Roxy.”

Violet cringed. “I guess that explains all the husbands.”

Wyatt's head jerked a tiny fraction. “Joe told you about them?”

“It came up.”

“Well, that's new.” Wyatt folded his arms and gave the swing a nudge. He might look relaxed, but Violet could practically feel the breeze from how fast his mental wheels were spinning. “Roxy inherited her mother's belief that a man can make all her problems go away. The difference is, it works for her. Right up until she realizes she's falling for them. Then she cuts and runs.”

“Is that what she did to Joe's dad?”

Wyatt did another double take. “He told you about his dad?”

“Enough.” Even from behind the sunglasses, Wyatt's stare was so intense it made Violet want to squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass. “I take it he usually doesn't talk much about his family.”

“Never.”

But Wyatt might, so Violet asked the question that had been nagging at her. “What's the problem with his dad?”

“He's a spineless little worm who'd rather blow off his own son than risk the wrath of his second wife, so he lives his happy little life in the suburbs with his shiny new family and lets Joe think he's the problem.”

“Wait. Family? He has other kids?”

“Two daughters who barely know Joe. Their mother is so intimidated by Roxy, she refuses to let them have any contact for fear it'll open the door to the she-devil.”

Joe had sisters? Violet couldn't begin to imagine a female version of him. She glanced toward the barn and saw another forkful of manure sail past the door. Joe had to see them sitting here talking. Dimes to dollars he was not pleased about it.

“He doesn't have anything to do with his dad?”

Wyatt grimaced. “I wish, but Joe can't seem to walk away, and his dad reciprocates just enough to keep stringing him along. That's part of why Joe was punching things last week. The Worm usually comes to at least one performance at Puyallup—it's only thirty minutes from his house, for Christ's sake—but this year he didn't show up.”

Violet ground her teeth. “With all your connections, you can't hire a decent hit man?”

“If only. I'd go for the volume discount and rid the world of the Brownings, too.”

Aha. That explained so much. “I bet you jumped on the chance to shoo him off to Texas.”

“I was hoping if he got some distance he'd come to his senses and tell them all to fuck off. Permanently.” Wyatt leaned closer, his voice and his gaze penetrating, as if he could inject his intensity into her. “Every year Joe spends with that man, he gives up a piece of himself, and he can't even see what's happening.”

Okay, wow. She was not prepared for this conversation. Violet angled her head away, letting it all sink in. Wyatt wasn't just gossiping. He obviously had an agenda. She'd bet Wyatt didn't go out for coffee without an agenda. Then she remembered Joe, the passion and conviction in his eyes and his voice when he talked about the High Lonesome Ranch. “He can't just walk away.”

“It might not be easy,” Wyatt conceded. “But with the right motivation…”

Violet stiffened at his implication. “Do not look at me. I'm not in the market for a man.”

“Joe isn't just any man, and the two of you have a lot in common. He could fit in pretty well around here.”

He already did, but that didn't change the facts. “Here isn't where he wants to be. That ranch is everything to him, and I'm not dumb enough to think I can come between them.”

Wyatt absorbed the flat, uncompromising answer. Then he slapped his hands on his bare knees. “Well, I wasted a trip, then.”

“Did you?” She had a feeling he'd accomplished something. She just wasn't sure what.

Wyatt sat very still for a few beats. Then he smiled and pulled off his sunglasses. His blue eyes were as sharp and focused as laser beams. “No. I got to meet you. And it was a pleasure.”

“Sure it was.”

He laughed. “I can be a manipulative bastard, Violet, but I hardly ever lie, especially to someone I respect.”

“You don't even know me.”

“Yes, I do.” Those blue eyes held hers in a grip impossible to break. “Saving cowboys from their own stupidity is your job description. Ours, too. Bullfighters, pickup men—we're all the same in here.” He tapped a finger over his heart. “That's why Joe trusts you. You're one of us.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again because she had no answer. A part of her immediately wondered if he'd only said all that as part of his sales pitch.

Wyatt slid his sunglasses back into place. “No, I'm not buttering you up. It wouldn't work anyway. Which is another reason Joe can't stay away from you.”

Dammit. She wished he'd quit saying that stuff. She didn't need any encouragement to be stupid about Joe. She stood, so abruptly the swing lurched sideways, and extended a hand. “Well, thanks for stopping by and all. It's been…interesting.”

Wyatt took the hint, springing lightly to his feet to accept her handshake. His grip was strong, smooth, with just the right amount of pressure. And still no tingles. “I apologize if sending Joe down here caused you grief. If there's any way I can make it up to you, let me know.”

Violet nodded, smiled, and waved as he drove away, all the while thinking she wasn't sure how much of Wyatt's brand of help she could handle.