Rodeo King (Dustin Lovers Book 1) (2 page)

With a soft, despairing moan,
Rosemary Carmichael registered pain she’d thought long buried. Those hot green
eyes hadn’t changed a bit, and they were focused on Carson. Her innocent baby,
who looked far too much like his daddy despite the red hair he’d inherited from
her.

She’d been young, in love, and
stupid as well, to think Caleb Johnson would ever settle down in a two-bit
place like Dustin. He’d been too talented and already too well-known, riding
bulls like nobody’s business and winning every local and then state
championship the Wyoming rodeo circuit could offer. But God, she’d wanted him.
And she’d had him for one short, soul-destroying week.

Hungrily, she drank him in from the
top of his tangled, dark blond hair to the tarnished tips of his battered Dan
Posts. A pair of faded-out Levi’s rode low on lean hips she could recall
gripping in the throes of a passion that could still break her out in a sweat
to think on, all these years later. His denim shirt was just as faded, creased
from travel, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The pale blue fabric strained
against the breadth of his shoulders and whipcord muscles she knew he’d honed
during years on the pro rodeo circuit. He looked bigger, more powerful, more
intimidating. Sexier than hell.

Yet she wanted to slap the shock
right off his darkly tanned face; wanted to scoop up her child and run a
thousand miles away. Until she couldn’t see the way his full lips had begun to
form the question she sure as shit didn’t want to answer—

“Mine?” The rough gravel in his
voice made her swallow nervously, which got her anger cooking at the guilt
trying to rear up and smother her.

I’ve got nothing to be guilty
about.
Rosemary jerked her chin high, her lips pursed in
annoyance. “Mine.”

Caleb’s jaw clenched. One wide,
long-fingered hand reached for his stained hat and he slapped it against his
leg before dropping it back on his head.

Damn it, nobody in the world had
the right to look that sinful in a black, worn-down Stetson. The instant she
thought it, Rosemary squelched it. She wasn’t nineteen any longer.

“Tell me whose boy this is.” Caleb
obviously wasn’t going to back down, which she knew would piss her brother off.

Sure enough, Mason reacted
predictably, stepping close to Caleb and bumping boot-tips with him. The
similarities between her brother and the man she’d given everything to almost
brought a smile to her face. Both of them handsome, tough, tall, broad.
Intimidating. And best friends no longer.
My fault
. The words hovered,
fueling fresh heartache.

As Carson huddled closer to Susan
Lewis, honorary aunt and Rosemary’s best friend since first grade, Mason’s lip
curled in his customary sneer. “None of your fucking business. You lost those
kinds of rights when you took off.” He leaned in, lifted a hand and flicked at
Caleb’s Stetson, deliberately knocking it off. It spun once and landed back on
the ground, brim-up.

Caleb’s face darkened. “You son of
a—”

“Susie-Q, take Carson home, okay?”
Rosemary broke in as calmly as possible, certain Susan’s temper could blow at
any second. Her hair might not be red, but when she went into ‘aunty’ mode,
nobody was more protective.

For a second she thought Susan
would explode anyway, because she had that look in her pale blue eyes that
usually meant her claws were out and ready to shred skin. But her arm curled
closer around Carson’s small, sturdy body and she nodded, sending jet-black
corkscrew curls sliding over one shoulder.

“Come on, Lil’ Tuff.” She gently
led him away, Carson turning with a gap-toothed grin and one hand waving in
Rosemary’s direction. Off they skipped, her boy’s high, sweet chatter floating
on the air along with Susan’s deeper chuckle.

Blinking back a sudden sting of
tears, Rosemary turned, and met Caleb’s piercing stare. A feeling of unease
swept over her.

“Carson. You named him after my
granddad.” It wasn’t a question.

She fought the need to slump in
defeat, instead stiffening her spine. “Mason, can you take off for a bit? I
need—I need to talk to Caleb.” She shot her brother a ‘don’t-say-anything-more’
look.

He visibly bristled. “Not smart,
Rosie.” He folded his arms across his chest and loomed close, overprotective as
usual.

“I’ve got things I need to say,
Mason. It’ll be all right,” she assured him. “Come on. Give me a little
breathing room. You can be the big bro tomorrow.” Her gaze locked with his,
eyes the same deep amber as hers.

Mason huffed in anger and turned to
face down Caleb, who’d collected his hat off the ground and was brushing dirt
off the crown. “If you make her cry, I’ll make you suffer.” Both hands fisted,
he stomped off to catch up with Susan and Carson.

His expression visibly bleak, Caleb
watched as Mason took Carson’s other hand and walked away, her son gleefully
jumping and swinging between two of his favorite people.

Rosemary swallowed the choking lump
of emotion lodged in her throat and gestured toward one of the wooden benches
the Chamber of Commerce had installed around Dustin a few years back. “Okay,
ask your questions.” She perched on the edge, ready to jump and run,
uncomfortable at the thought of sharing a seat with him.

But Caleb remained standing,
shoving his hands in his back pockets. For a moment he stared off down the
street, before turning and pinning her in place with a narrow gaze. “I want to
know why you never told me.”

She hunched a shoulder in a
defensive shrug. “Nobody knew where you were.”

“That’s bullshit! Uncle Zip knew. I
asked him to tell your daddy.”

“Zip left town about three days
after you did, Caleb.” She gestured wearily. “And my daddy told me nothing.
After he moved to Cody, Mama lost touch, probably on purpose. You know they
only stayed together for Mason and me.”

The words coated her tongue with
bitterness, forcing her to recall how her folks fought, in public as well as in
private. “The day after you left, Daddy punched out Zip and accused him of
trying to romance my mama. Zip laughed in his face and took off. Then Daddy and
Mama started really fighting, and it never got any better. He skipped town
before Carson was born, and ended up in Cody. He’s got the John Deere franchise
up there. Seems happy, but he’s only seen Carson a few times over the years.
And that’s fine by me.”

“You could have found out where I
was, easily enough,” Caleb began, but she cut him off.

“How, Caleb? Who could have told
me? I woke up and you were gone. For God’s sake, you left in the middle of the
night like you were ashamed of me! No email address . . . I wrote you several
times and sent the letters out General Delivery to the State Rodeo Commission.
They came back, ‘addressee unknown.’ Once you started making it big on the
circuit, I searched the internet a few times for whatever I could find on you. But
I gave up on that, too. What was the point?”

Her temples had started to throb
with an oncoming headache. The pain made her cranky as hell, and Rosemary found
she’d reached the end of her patience. She snapped, “You didn’t leave me a
thing. Not a note, not a phone number. Nothing. Just a clump of cowshit on the
carpet from those damned rands you liked to wear.” She jerked a thumb at the
scarred-up silver trim on his boot heels. “I see you still wear them.”

“Don’t change the subject.” His
voice had risen, attracting attention from a few folks wandering in and out of
the brewpub.

She stifled a sigh. The town had
been nosy ever since she could remember, and trying to keep a secret was as
much a wasted effort now as it’d been years ago when she first peed on a
pregnancy stick and burst into tears when two blue lines appeared. Within a few
months everyone in Dustin knew she was carrying Caleb Johnson’s baby, including
her furious daddy and sad-eyed, disappointed mama. Time had made some things
better, and other things worse.

“Look,” she reasoned, “there isn’t
a thing I can do about what happened years ago. You screwed me senseless for a
week and then you left—”

“Stop talking like that!” he
protested. “What we had meant more than a week of screwing around.”

“No. It didn’t. I stopped kidding
myself a long time ago, Caleb. Around the same time I found out how much it
cost to raise a baby.” She pressed chilled fingers to her temples. “Mama didn’t
really forgive me for months, and Daddy never got over it. All he could see was
the way history repeated itself, that I’d done the same thing as Mama, upped
and got myself pregnant. Difference was, Mama made my daddy come home and marry
her, so Mason would be legitimate. At first, I didn’t know how to find you, so
I was on my own. That’s when I found out how hard it is being a single parent.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I would have done without Mason to help
me get on my feet.”

“Damn it, I would never have
abandoned my son,” Caleb growled, stepping closer to the bench.

Rosemary quaked with fresh anger,
but held herself steady. “I’m not saying that, you dumb cowboy. I’ve got a good
job at the credit union and a place of my own, so I’m supporting him just fine.
I even make Mama accept a little babysitting money whenever she takes him while
I’m at work. I’ve got a savings account building up and Carson’s happy. It’s
all that matters.” She dropped into a low, serious rasp. “
He’s
all that
matters.”

She jumped off the bench before Caleb
could react to her words. Rosemary pushed her heavy hair out of her face and
took little satisfaction at the way Caleb watched her, as if starved for her.
It made no difference, because he wouldn’t stay. She’d spotted how he favored
his leg, and figured an injury had sidelined him. But he’d be gone again as
soon as his leg mended. Rodeo was in his blood. In his soul. There wasn’t room
for anything else, and she’d been an idiot once to imagine she could change
him.

She’d grown up a hell of a lot
since then.

“I have to go. It’s Carson’s
bedtime soon and he’ll want a story.” She turned away, but Caleb grabbed her
arm.

“I want to get to know him.”

Yanking her arm from his grasp, Rosemary spun and shoved a hard
finger in his chest. “He has a name. And you have no rights, other than being a
sperm donor. You gave up those rights when you snuck out of my bed after
popping my cherry. Hell, Caleb, I didn’t even warrant a goodbye. Just ‘slam,
bam, thank you ma’am,’ then you were gone. How do you think that made me feel?
”

She darted past him, and this time
Caleb made no move to stop her. When she glanced back, he stood there like a
chunk of stone, and from the short distance between them she could read stark
misery on his handsome face. It would have broken her heart if she’d had
anything left to break. But what she’d felt inside for him had been sliced into
pieces a long time ago.

“Rosie.”

Hearing her childhood nickname on
Caleb’s lips did an emotional number on her, but she schooled her face to utter
calm as she spun back around on a boot heel. “What, Caleb?”

“I’m . . .” He paused and rubbed
his hand over his jaw. “Hell. I’m sorry. I really want to get to know my son.
Please, Rosemary. I just want to be around him a little.”

The tears she’d held back all
evening spilled down her cheeks, but she wouldn’t wipe them away. Rosemary
stood tall and replied hoarsely, “I need to think on it some, all right? Just
let me—let me think.”

She didn’t want to act like a
selfish bitch. She sure as hell didn’t want to hold anything over Caleb’s head
the way her mama had done to Daddy. She and Mason had grown up in a shaky,
uncertain household, privy to hourly bickering, daily arguments and the kind of
knock-down-drag-outs no kid should have to endure. All because their father had
felt trapped in a loveless marriage, and their mother had tried to hold on to
her husband with guilt and duty. To this day Mason had a strong aversion to a serious
commitment, and Rosemary would probably go to her grave unsure of whether her
birth had been an attempt at reconciliation or just another accidental
pregnancy.

What kind of life was that for a
little kid?

No way.
She’d
never do that. For the sake of her son she’d pulled herself together, mended
the broken bits, and given all of them to Carson.

Unable to stand there much longer
and not break down completely, she fled.

She had nothing left for the King
of the Rodeo.

Stepping up to the Bronco Inn’s registration
desk, Caleb dinged the little bell sitting on the counter. After a minute or
so, the pocket door separating the lobby from what was the living quarters of
the owners slid back as Nash Gardner stepped out, wiping his mouth on a
handkerchief.

“Hey, Nash.” Caleb nodded to him.

“Johnson.” Nash tossed the
handkerchief aside. “What can I do you for?”

Nash had been a couple of grades
ahead of him in school, raised on state welfare. Caleb was impressed at how the
guy had dug himself out from the crap side of town and bought The Bronco Inn.

Caleb leaned his elbows on the
glass-covered counter. Nash had made a decent motel out of a mere skeleton, no
mean feat. While the rooms wouldn’t win any awards, they were clean and
reasonable, with comfortable beds and showers that didn’t smell like mildew.
But after only two days, Caleb was already feeling claustrophobic and needed a
bigger place. “That apartment complex over on Dart still up and running?”

Nash scratched at his goatee. “Far
as I know.” He pondered for a moment, staring at Caleb. “How long you thinkin’
of hanging around? I got a bigger room set up as a studio. Full bath. Living
room. Even got a kitchenette with a stove and a decent sized fridge. More than
enough for one person. I rent it by the week or month. It’s empty right now. I
can show you.”

“Yeah?” Caleb’s interest was piqued
by a month-to-month agreement. Most apartment leases tried to lock you into six
months, minimum. Hell, he didn’t have a clue what might happen, between his
healing leg and the question of going back on the circuit. Not to mention
Rosemary.
And the boy
.

Nash opened a drawer and extracted
a key with an oblong room number tag attached. He slid it across the counter. “Tell
you what. My food’s getting cold and I want to finish eating. Go take a look
for yourself. All the way to the end. Number Fourteen. I can give you a weekly
deal to start.” He named a figure that was only a few bucks higher than what
Caleb had paid on Room Five for the last few nights, total.

“Okay, I will. Thanks, buddy.”
Caleb crossed to the door.

“Wait a sec.” Nash called him back.
When Caleb turned, Nash was holding up another set of keys. “If you’re gonna
stay more’n a week or two, I got a truck you can borrow now and then. It’s kind
of beat up but it runs good. That little red Dodge on the back lot.” He jerked
his chin toward a side exit. “I don’t need it and you know a truck’s gotta be
driven or else the engine ends up choked. Just keep it filled with gas and
we’re square.” He hung the set of keys in a wall cabinet that had a small
press-button lock. “Combo’s three-six-ten-five.”

“Nash, that’s really generous, but
I—”

“Use it when you need it, Johnson.”
Nash regarded him soberly. “You helped me out some, years ago. Loaned me money
a couple of times and never asked for nothing back. I’m glad to return the
favor.” He cocked his head to the side and gestured toward Caleb’s face with a
sudden grin. “That jaw’s lookin’ better. Nice and yellow instead of black and
blue.”

“Kiss my ass, Gardner.”

Nash rasped out a guffaw, then nodded
sharply. “Got to finish my meal. Let me know if you want the studio.” He disappeared
behind the pocket door, sliding it shut behind him.

Caleb stood for a few seconds,
undecided. He hated being beholden to anyone, but Nash’s offer of a vehicle was
too good to pass up. Dustin was small enough that he could walk just about
anywhere he needed, even on a bum leg. Still, the truck would come in handy
once in a while.

Heading out the front door, he sought
out Fourteen. The two-room unit wasn’t grand, but it was spotlessly clean and functional.
He could relax in here and map out his time in Dustin. Figure out what to do
about Rosemary. She’d been avoiding him the last couple days and he’d let her,
not yet ready to face her.

His plan had been simple when he’d
decided to return. A short-term lease, something he could get out of when his
leg was healed enough to climb back onto a bucking bull. It was supposed to be
easy. Check into town, see if Rosemary was still around, then head back out to
the circuit when the time was right. Maybe even taking her along for the ride
if things worked out.

Staring into the eyes of his son
had thrown that out the window.

Caleb crossed to the door and
stepped outside, resigned to taking the studio. The weekly rent sure wouldn’t
break him, and he’d be able to spread out some. At least enough until he
figured out what the hell he was going to do now.

An hour later he’d moved his stuff over
from the other room and shoved a few things into the highboy drawers; hung up some
shirts. A fast shower and shave made him feel more human, and he relaxed on the
loveseat with a cold longneck in one hand and the TV remote in the other,
flipping through channels.

The world was still in chaos, the
local cops were trying to find the kids who scrawled curse words on the school
building, and the weather was cool, but seasonal.

And he was a father. If that didn’t
just blow his ever-lovin’ mind!

“A son.” He said the word aloud,
trying to wrap his head around it
. Carson.
The same as his grandfather. Even
after the way he’d acted, Rosemary had thought about him when she named their
son. That had to mean something . . .

A loud growl from his stomach
reminded him he hadn’t eaten in hours. What he needed now was a burger and another
beer. Caleb slapped his hat on his head, pocketed the room key, and headed out.

Five minutes later, he pushed open
the door to DeeDee’s, the first sense of true welcome to hit him since he’d
gotten off the bus two days ago. He hardly counted Mason Carmichael’s punch to
his face a welcome.

He headed straight to the bar area
and grabbed a table, then gestured to the burly bartender, busy polishing
glasses. “Hey, Mikey, get me a Bud.”

“That you, Johnson?” Mikey offered
a huge grin. “‘Bout time you decided to drop by. I thought you was knocking ‘em
dead on the rodeo circuit. What the hell you doin’ back here in this shithole?”

“Ain’t nothin’ like a warm welcome,
huh, Caleb?” The deep, sexy voice of Evelyn, Mikey’s wife, washed over him like
warm water.

Caleb nodded in the woman’s
direction. Perched on a bar stool, she was still slender, her age slowly
catching up with her. But the small wrinkles bracketing her mouth and fine
lines softening her eyes just added to her prettiness.

“Good to see you, Evelyn.”

“Same here, cowboy.” She uncrossed
her long legs, clad in faded denim, and stepped over to the table, reaching out
to rub his shoulder fondly. “You home for good?”

“Hell, I’m not sure.” Caleb offered
a smile he knew fell short. “Maybe.” He gestured toward the swinging half-door
beyond the liquor display. “Dee Dee still around?”

“She retired to Florida, oh, maybe
two years ago. We bought her out. She gave us a good deal, just asked us to
leave the name as DeeDee’s, which wasn’t a problem for us.” Evelyn grinned.
“Crotchety old biddy. Then she gave us that fancy sign to hang outside and it
was a done deal.”

Caleb remembered Dee Dee well.
Mean, grouchy, and no-nonsense, with a face like a horse and as wide as she was
tall. “Well, I hope she hooks up with some hardbody on the beach and gets
herself a regular lube job.” While Evelyn snorted with laughter, Caleb called
over, “Hey, Mikey, where the hell’s that beer?”

Mikey slid one over. “Sorry, buddy,
here ya go.”

Evelyn coughed out a final chuckle,
then gave Caleb a steady stare, her eyebrows raised in question.

“What?” But Caleb had a feeling he
knew what she wanted to ask.

“Nothing, honey. Glad you’re back.”
With a final pat, this time to his unbruised cheek, she picked up an empty tray
and headed toward the billiard room to collect dirty glasses.

“You want a burger plate?” Mikey
asked.

“Yeah. Loaded.” Caleb rested his
booted foot on his thigh to ease the stiffness in his sore leg, and gulped half
the bottle of beer.

Mikey shouted the order to the
bearded cook working behind the kitchen window, then turned back to Caleb. He
wiped the bar with a wet towel. “You seen Rosemary yet?”

Fuck. Does the whole town know?

“Yeah. I saw her.”

“You seen her boy?”

“You mean
my
boy.”

“The little guy sure looks like
you.”

“I noticed.” Caleb finished off his
beer and motioned for another one.

Just as Mikey set it down, his
daughter Adrianne strode from the kitchen and slammed a plate in front of
Caleb. “Nice of you to come back, you bastard.”

Whoa. This was getting crazy. If
things kept up, he’d be run out of town. Did they still tar and feather
undesirables?

“Hi, Adrianne, good to see you,
too.” He flashed the smile that got him plenty of action on the circuit, and
quite a bit here in town, too—back in the day.

“Don’t try that crap on me,
cowboy.” Adrianne drew up a chair and sat, her elbow on the table, resting her
chin on her palm. “You seen him yet?”

Before he could answer, she reached
out and grasped his chin, turning his head one way, then the other. “From the
look of that fading shiner, I’d say Mason got hold of you already.”

“If you’re finished prying into my
personal business, I’d like to eat my dinner.”

Adrianne shrugged and snapped her
gum. “Sure. Have at it, cowboy.” She stood and swiped his longneck. Tilting her
head back, she downed it in one long, easy gulp. “Thanks for the beer.” Holding
the now empty bottle, she sauntered away.

Caleb stared after her, marveling
at how fast the girl could drink down a full longneck, and then walk without
staggering. “More and more like her mama, isn’t she?” He glanced at Mikey, who
nodded and puffed out his chest proudly.

“That she is. But smart with it. Ev
and I never have to worry about Adrianne. She can hold her own.”

“She’d have to in this cow town,
wouldn’t she?” Caleb muttered, digging into his food.

Well, so far his welcome home had
pretty much sucked. He hadn’t expected a brass band to meet him at the bus stop
or the mayor to present him with the golden key to the city, but neither had he
figured on getting punched out by his best friend.

And aside from all that, he was
faced with a genuine problem. He had a son. Carson.

Fuck me twice.

If his calculations were correct,
the kid was about five years old. Did he even know who his father was? Did Rosemary
ever talk about him? And if she did, was it to let the boy know his daddy was a
loser who ran out on his mother?

A heavy hand landed on his
shoulder. “Hiya, Caleb.”

Caleb turned to face Dave Jamison,
former high school football star, and from the looks of it, current deputy
sheriff. Great. Was a jail cell his next stop?

“Hey, Dave. How’s it going?”

Dave grabbed a chair and straddled
it. “Good. Real good.” He rested his arms on the back of the chair, and gave
him a steady look. “I heard you’ve been back a few days.”

Caleb laid down his half-eaten
burger. “Small towns. Lots of gossip. Folks around here need to get some
hobbies. I can’t figure why my coming back to the town I was raised in would be
such a newsworthy event. Why don’t y’all go chase the kids who scribbled on the
school building?”

Dave broke into a grin. “Don’t see
why you’re getting yourself all worked up. I just came by to say hello.”

“I’m sorry.” Caleb ran his palm
down his face. “I’m still trying to catch up to myself.”

“I understand. So, how’s things on
the rodeo circuit? I hear you’ve been winning medals left and right.”

Caleb shrugged. “A few. But I’ll be
out of commission for a while.” At Dave’s raised eyebrows, he continued, “An
ornery bull threw me and decided that wasn’t enough, so he landed on my leg.
Busted it up in a few places.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. It’s all fixed up now, but I
need a couple more months before I can return to the circuit.”

If I can ever return.

“Well, we’re happy to see you
again. Just keep your nose clean while you’re here.”

The deputy’s chuckle grated on
Caleb’s nerves. But then he’d been out of sorts since he came face to face with
his past. At least Dave wasn’t punching his lights out or slamming food down in
front of him.

“So, what’s new with you?” Caleb
eyed the uniform Dave wore. “I see you’re one of Laramie County’s finest. Been
doing it long?”

“Yeah, right after you ran out of
town to make a name for yourself. Went through the academy, and been wearing
the blues since then. I like it. It suits me.”

“Locking up all those kids who
damage school buildings?”

“And keeping an eye on newcomers to
town with busted up legs.”