The Bull Rider's Son. Cathy McDavid
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he’s a year older and a boy.”
“Benjie’s used to socializing with kids of all ages. They’re a staple at the arena.” Untying Rusty’s lead rope, she walked ahead. “Come on, Benjie. Help me put Rusty in his stall.”
Bria stared after them, her expression bereft. Shane cheered her by lifting her up and setting her on Skittles’s bare back.
“Hold on to his mane,” he instructed and returned the old horse to his stall, three down from Rusty’s. Shane used the opportunity to continue conversing with Cassidy.
“Maybe next Saturday we can take them on a trail ride together?” He’d heard a lot about the rolling mountains beyond the Easy Money’s back pastures, but had not yet found the time to ride them.
“I’m working. The Jamboree’s in two weeks.”
She was referring to the arena’s next big rodeo. Shane would be busy, too. Yet, he couldn’t take no for an answer.
“How much would it hurt if we quit an hour early?” He removed Skittles’s halter and lifted Bria from the horse’s back. She scampered over to Benjie.
“I’m not going on a date with you,” Cassidy said.
“It’s not a date. We’re talking a trail ride with Benjie and Bria. Invite your friend Tatum and her kids if you want.”
“Bad idea.” She shut the door on Rusty’s stall. “Besides, I have other plans. A...family function.”
“We were friends once. We can be again.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Only if you make it complicated.”
“No.”
“Why? Because of Hoyt?”
“Of course not.”
“You still care for him.”
“I don’t. He means nothing to me.”
Shane recalled their brief kiss the other day and the sparks that had ignited between them. “What about me, Cassidy? Do I mean anything to you?”
Her sharp intake of breath and flustered denial should have been enough of an answer for him.
It wasn’t, and Shane was more than prepared to see exactly how deep—or not—her feelings for him ran.
Most women who owned SUVs did so because they had a pack of children to tote around. That was true for Cassidy and her friend Tatum. Cassidy didn’t understand why her sister drove one. Liberty had always struck her as the consummate cowgirl, more comfortable behind the wheel of a pickup truck than anything else.
Yet, here they were, Cassidy, Liberty and their mother, heading into Mesa for a girls’ afternoon, riding in style—not—in her sister’s SUV. The vehicle was a mess. But instead of toys scattered across the floor of the back seat, there were a pair of old boots, a hoof pick, a bridle with a broken buckle, a spray bottle of mane detangler, bride magazines and an assortment of loose CDs.
The empty snack food wrappers, however, were the same as the ones in Cassidy’s car. Literally, the same. Apparently, Liberty subscribed to a similar on-the-go diet as Benjie.
Cassidy rolled her eyes from her seat in the back. In the front, her mother and sister chatted nonstop about Liberty’s wedding plans. They paid little attention to Cassidy, as long as she interjected the occasional comment about flowers or menu selections or veil versus no veil.
The wedding wasn’t until the end of August—a date had finally been set—but, according to her mother and sister, the list of things to do in preparation was endless and required an eight-month head start.
In an attempt to chip away at the list, the three of them had taken off in the middle of what promised to be a slow day at the arena for some dress shopping and, if time allowed, a visit to the wedding supply store.
“Just to check out a few things,” Liberty had said.
Right, Cassidy thought. Define “few.”
Her father, brother and Tatum had volunteered to hold down the fort in their absence. Cassidy had wanted to stay behind, too, but her sister and mother wouldn’t hear of it.
She relented after they agreed to include a stop at the party goods store. Benjie was turning six this coming weekend, and Cassidy was planning a party. Tatum’s three kids and a half-dozen friends from school were coming. Benjie was beside himself with excitement.
“We’re here,” Liberty sang out, turning the SUV into the shopping center parking lot.
Cassidy tried to convince herself the sudden rush of nerves she suffered had nothing to do with wedding dress shopping and everything to do with the car that had swerved past them a little too close for comfort. Weddings in general made her uncomfortable. Perhaps because they all too often led to divorce.
They found a parking space right in front of Your-Special-Day.
“Kind of a silly name for a wedding shop.” Cassidy slammed shut her door.
“You remember Valerie Kirkshaw’s wedding last year?” Liberty marched ahead, speaking over her shoulder. “She bought her dress here. On sale. She swears this is the place to go.”
Cassidy did remember the wedding and the dress. Both had been nice.
“She also said they have a huge selection of bridesmaid’s dresses.”
“Great.” Cassidy mustered a smile as they entered the small, tastefully appointed shop. She might not be in the spirit of things, like her mother and sister, but neither would she ruin the day for them.
Thirty minutes sped by surprisingly fast. Liberty stood on a podium in the rear of the store, surrounded by mirrors and wearing her fourth dress. And, for the fourth time, Cassidy gawked in astonishment.
Her cowgirl sister, it seemed, had a penchant for very frilly, very fluffy, very girly wedding dresses, each one more stunning than the last.
Cassidy’s mother circled Liberty, alternating between plucking at the voluminous folds and wiping away another tear. “You look beautiful, honey.”
Indeed, she did. Cassidy’s throat closed with emotion. She’d stopped dreaming of weddings years ago. On the day she’d walked away from Hoyt moments before telling him he was going to be a father. Then and there, she’d decided to dedicate her life to the baby growing inside her.
It wasn’t as if guys ignored her. She’d been asked out, now and again. Usually by cowboys attending the rodeos. Less the last couple of years. She supposed, at thirty-five, she appealed less and less to the competitors, who seemed to be getting younger and younger each year. Perhaps her reputation for being standoffish preceded her.
She and Shane were nearly the same age, and he didn’t think she was past her prime or standoffish. Not if the way his arms had tightened around her waist or the heat flared in his eyes were any indication.
That was new, she thought. He’d never looked at her like that before. If he had, they might have dated more than a few weeks. Then what?
“Cassidy. Your phone.”
“Oh, yeah.” At her mother’s reminder, Cassidy roused herself and activated her phone’s camera. It was her job to take a photo of each dress so Liberty could scrutinize them later. “Smile.”
She snapped a picture, checking it to make sure it was in focus before taking a second and third from different angles.
Four more dresses were selected and tried on with the store clerk’s help and guidance. Cassidy added notes to each picture, including pertinent details such as price and potential alterations.