The Maverick Meets His Match (24 page)

Her cell phone jangled, startling her. Scooping it up from the nightstand, she noted the caller was Harold. He’d already be at the Utah rodeo setting up, having headed there directly from Washington. The fact he was calling probably meant problems.

Though Harold was economical with words, it didn’t take many to tell her that Stan Lassiter had been brought in as “backup” at the Utah rodeo. Never in all the years her family had been in the rodeo business had someone been brought in to “back up” a Prescott-run rodeo unless Prescott had requested it. And now this rodeo committee had done it.

Just as she finished the call, Ty appeared in the doorway, looking like sex on a stick with nothing but a towel wrapped around his showered body. Playtime was over. Back to reality.

“That was Harold. We’ve got trouble in Utah.”

She admired the way Ty swung into action even as she resented the command aspect of it. Within the hour he’d
permitted
her for showering, dressing, and a bite to eat, he’d made the calls, filed the flight plan—since they couldn’t waste time driving—and packed the bags so they could take off by midmorning.

Mandy had steeled for the flight and given a prayer of thanks when the landing had been uneventful. She’d never get used to flying in such a small aircraft, no matter how often she’d be forced to use it for convenience’s sake.

Ty drove the rental car into the parking lot of the arena right after lunchtime, kicking up gravel as he aimed the vehicle toward the horse trailers parked in the distance. There was only one bearing the Rustic Rodeo insignia. Clearly Lassiter hadn’t brought the full complement of rodeo stock he’d had at Greenville, making her wonder why Stan had bothered himself for a dozen broncs and bulls.

He wouldn’t make a profit on that small amount, so he was likely here for next year’s contract, like a buzzard circling a young heifer. But young as she might be in Stan’s eyes, she wasn’t going to lie down and roll over.

She glanced at Ty, but with those aviator sunglasses on, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He’d barely mentioned their encounter last night. Maybe a one-night stand was all he was after. Maybe she’d disappointed. Maybe she was still a foolish seventeen-year-old thinking sex would change everything for the better.

Instead, on the flight they’d discussed the cowboys who were likely to show and the stock Harold was bringing. Ty had also asked for a rundown on the rodeo committee.

Though Ty had voiced surprise at the news of Stan’s arrival, that didn’t mean he hadn’t known. Or arranged it. Had the decision been made already? Maybe the roll in the hay had been a means of distraction. No doubt Ty was in a hurry to wrap things up so he could get on with his real life. And the way to do that was to sell the company. And fast. And Stan Lassiter was interested.

Running a rodeo company might be enough for her, but it would never satisfy a guy like Ty, who was used to big deals—and going it alone. If working with livestock had been for him, wouldn’t he have thrown in with Trace and run the family ranch, undoubtedly making it a going concern and giving little Delanie better prospects.

She gave a silent sigh as she thought about Delanie, born into such risky circumstances. If Mandy had a child, even on her own, there would be so many people who would love that child. Her child would want for nothing—except a father.

Which unnervingly brought her thoughts back to Ty and his plans to sell her company.

The night might have been filled with passion for her, but now it was back to reality, harsh reality.

“Have you talked to Stan since the Greenville Rodeo?” she asked.

He glanced in her direction as he maneuvered the car around the gravel potholes, but those sunglasses guarded his eyes. Even without sunglasses, Ty was a study in reticence.

“No. Have you?”

“Hardly.” Mandy clenched and unclenched her fingers in an attempt to mitigate the tension she was feeling. “You will let me know when the analysis is done.”

He stopped the car alongside the two livestock trailers bearing the Prescott logo and turned off the ignition.

“I’m not going to sneak out and sell the company behind your back, if that is what you’re asking.”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

Ty blew out a breath. “I checked in with the consultants before we left. They are hoping to have some preliminary figures on the business by Tuesday. As soon as they come through, I’ll review them with you. Promise.”

“You know I’m going to fight you with everything I can if you try to sell. Last night didn’t change that.” She held her breath, hoping it had for him but knowing by his amused half smile that nothing had changed.

“I didn’t think it would, Mandy. And I’m in full agreement on keeping pleasure and business separate.”

Of course he was, because he’d have no trouble doing that. If only it would be as easy for her.

“I’m hoping the numbers will make the case all by themselves. One way or the other,” he said as he shoved the keys into his jeans pocket.

That was the flaw in his thinking. No amount of accounting could capture the intrinsic value she placed on Prescott Rodeo Company. How could mere numbers reflect the sweat and labor her grandfather and father had spent building up the company that carried their name? Or the joys and triumphs she’d experienced in working with the animals? Or the warm sense of community that had grown with the enterprise? All of this was the legacy she wanted to provide her children. And Tuck’s children, even if her brother didn’t value it yet as much as she did.

“You could be a rich woman, Mandy. Especially if you decided to develop the ranch land once the company was sold. Rich enough to start your own stock company, if that’s really your passion.”

Though she’d never willingly sell the ranch, she’d thought about starting another company if Prescott was sold. But why sell something to buy the same thing. “I wouldn’t be able to use the name Prescott Rodeo Company, would I?”

“The name could be part of the company’s goodwill value.”

“How about Prescott Stock Company?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the type of restrictions the buyer asks for. They could ask for a noncompete clause but only for a set time, generally no more than two years.”

Two years. Seemed a lifetime. Six months seemed a lifetime.

“And then I’d be starting over. All the bloodlines my grandfather and Harold took such great pains to preserve in breeding programs would be for the benefit of someone else. No, Ty, I intend to keep what I’ve got. It may surprise you,” she said, grabbing the handle to open the door as a wave of irritation rolled over her, “but some things can’t be measured in dollars and cents.”

She stepped out of the car as his driver’s door clicked shut. She closed her door with a little more gusto, causing a loud clang.

He stared at her from across the top of the car, the sun’s rays bouncing off the shiny black surface of his sunglasses.

“Everything has a price, Mandy. And trade-offs. The decision comes in figuring out which trade-offs are worth it.” He glanced away, undoubtedly to check out movement across the yard, before focusing back on her. “Just want to be sure starting your own company is something you’ve given some thought.”

“I have thought about it. And I want Prescott.”

He walked around the car, heading toward her with deliberate steps, his long legs closing the distance in seconds. He stopped mere inches in front of her, invading her space. She peered up into a face just a breath from her own and silently cursed the mask of glass that guarded his eyes.

She wanted to know what he felt, not just what he said. Did he have any regard for her, for what she wanted?

“So what’s the plan?” he said, his question catching her off guard.

“The plan?”

“With the rodeo committee.”

He’d changed the topic without apology or explanation.

“I think I should see the rodeo committee. Alone. I know these people. I feel very comfortable requesting an explanation. They’ll likely be more honest with just me.”

He nodded, surprising her with his acceptance.

“I should probably see Stan, then,” he said.

“He’s the primary potential buyer, isn’t he?”

At that question, he removed his sunglasses to look her square in the eye. “Yes. So far.” Unfortunately, his stoic expression didn’t reveal anything that gave her hope—about her or Prescott.

“You planning on sealing the deal this weekend?” She’d never been good about keeping her thoughts, or opinions, to herself. Under the stress of circumstances, she’d given up trying.

“I owe it to him to hear him out. But as I said, the numbers won’t be available until Monday, which I told Stan. I really want to understand what the hell he’s doing here.”

“If he was asked to come by the committee, I may not like it, but I can’t blame him for it.”

“I’d still like to talk to him. Find out what he’s up to. And tell him we’re married.”

“I’m sure he already knows. I’m sure everyone knows. News travels fast on the circuit.” Whoever thought men didn’t gossip likely had never worked with them.

She knew there would be a lot of speculation as to the whys and wherefores. It didn’t matter to her what people would think at the moment, but what they would think a few months from now when Ty walked away, owning almost a third of the company—or worse, having sold off the outfit—and she would be left alone, a divorced woman, and perhaps a divorced, unemployed woman. And no happily ever after as her poor, deluded grandfather had hoped.

“Regardless, it’s better to get ahead of the rumor mill. Everyone probably thinks we’re crazy and will be betting it won’t last. In six months, when we divorce, they’ll feel vindicated. In the meantime, we get to play house.” His smile broadened to a full-blown grin.

This was business, strictly business, to him. And she was just a way to pass the time. She was annoyed at how her heart squeezed at that truth. She blinked back the moisture forming in her eyes

“Any regrets about last night?” he asked, cocking his head to one side.

More than she had earlier that morning. But she didn’t believe in regrets. The marriage, last night, may have been mistakes, but she’d made those decisions. Living was moving forward, not looking back. With a shake of her head, she gave him the reassurance of a negative response.

“Me either, Mandy.”

Of course not. He had nothing to lose.

He leaned in, tucked his finger under her chin, and turned her mouth to his.

He meant to kiss her.

Heart pounding, she took an irrational step back.

He straightened, his jaw bunched.

Mandy turned and walked toward the arena with her head high, her back straight, and all the Prescott pride she could muster.

Ty walked back to the holding pens, where the smell was pure manure. Cattle lowed, horses nickered, and bulls snorted their displeasure at being caged. The cattle pens and horse pens were larger because they held the herds, but the bulls usually had individual holding pens, being they weren’t the most social of animals. He looked around for Mandy, but all he saw were a few hands going about their set-up duties.

He’d had his talk with Stan. The man claimed the committee had initiated the call, and then pointed out all the things that could ruin a rodeo stock company’s reputation, urging Ty to sell immediately and naming a price Ty didn’t need an analysis to know was ridiculously low. Poor choice of tactics. Made him distrust the man even more.

Last night had been pretty damn amazing, awakening in him a lust like he’d never known before. It must have been the fact he’d been waiting ten years. That had to be the explanation for the powerful surge of emotion that had rushed through him—still rushed through him.

She’d said she had no regrets about last night, but she’d stepped back from his kiss, and there had been something in her eyes that said otherwise. It hadn’t been there last night. No, she’d been all warm and welcoming last night. It hadn’t been there early this morning either. He’d swear he’d seen a “come hither” look in her eyes, and if Harold hadn’t called, they’d have taken another tumble.

Her frostiness had begun when she’d pressed him about Stan’s interest in the company and why Stan had shown up. Her reception to the news that Stan was at the rodeo made him silently bet against a repeat performance of last night. She didn’t trust him, and the fact he was trying to play it straight with her only seemed to fuel that distrust. The prospect of selling Prescott stood between them.

So why was selling made an option? He doubted the analysis would show Prescott was in financial trouble. Was the size of the revenue stream more important than the endeavor? A week ago Ty would have said yes. But now being part of Prescott, he was no longer so sure.

Ty looked around the pens and didn’t see Mandy. He asked a young hand who had been hired on a temporary basis to fill in for Bradshaw. Ty would never have granted a crew member time off during the busy season, but that had been Mandy’s call. The newly hired young man sent Ty to the arena. Still no Mandy.

He wanted to find her. Tell her about the meeting with Stan and allay her fears, given the man’s offer had been way too low. In this economy it would be tough to find qualified buyers who could meet the likely price. That would relieve him of the conflict between Mandy’s interest and JM’s—and make Mandy a happy woman.

He headed back toward the holding pens as he searched in the distance for any sign of a feminine form.

Rounding the corner, Ty heard the yelling even before he reached the pens. The commotion was coming from the parking lot. He glanced at his watch. The gates would have just opened.

With clipped steps, he passed by the corrals and spied a few cowboys running toward the lot. Ty was just about to follow when Harold swung in on his horse, spraying up dirt and gravel.

“Ty,” he called. “We’ve got trouble. A bull got loose.”

“Loose?”

Harold nodded. “Bring a rope.” He motioned toward a horse tied to fencing, a horse that looked like Willow. A rope was hanging off the saddle.

At least Mandy wasn’t on her horse trying to capture the bull. Bulls were dangerous animals. They’d gore a horse or a human—it didn’t matter to them. Charging was their way of defending themselves, and anything was fair game.