A Cowboy's Heart. Brenda Minton
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Janie had been there to keep the pieces together.
She’d done the most important thing of all: she’d taught him to have faith. She’d also taught him to believe in himself. If it hadn’t been for her he wouldn’t have gone to college. He might have ended up just like his dad.
Janie had a new project. She was fixing her niece, Willow. Will for short, or so he’d heard. He couldn’t imagine calling her Will.
“I should go. I’m one of the first riders up.” He shifted away from Janie, but she caught hold of his arm.
“Think about what I asked you, Clint.”
“Have you even told Willow that you want to move to Florida?”
Janie shook her head. “No, not yet. This business means so much to her. I’ve been putting off my decision because I was afraid Willow would give it up on my account. I don’t want her to think she has to sell her bulls. If she had someone else she could comfortably rely on, the transition would be easier.”
“I don’t think she’d appreciate you trying to arrange her life this way. And I’m not going to push myself off on her, Janie. She’s proven herself in this business, and I think she’ll handle making this decision on her own.”
He softened the words with a smile, because he didn’t want to hurt Janie, the woman who had fixed a broken teenager, helping him to believe in himself. She wanted to do the same thing for her niece.
But Clint didn’t plan on pushing his way into a life that had more Do Not Enter signs than a mine field.
Relationships weren’t his strong suit. A long time ago he’d realized that he had a habit of choosing girls, and then women, who needed to be fixed in some way. Not that he thought Willow Michaels needed to be fixed. He just wasn’t taking chances.
Not only that, but she was way out of his league. Another aspect in relationships that clearly didn’t work.
He scanned the crowd and spotted Willow in a line for the hamburger stand that was a fundraiser for the National Future Farmers of America Organization. The aroma of grilled burgers drifted, and had lured a long line of people. Willow stood next to another stock contractor, her expression animated as they carried on a conversation.
He couldn’t help but smile.
“You know, Janie, I have a feeling that Willow is a stronger person than you think.”
“Of course she is, but she can’t drive these bulls all over the country without some help.”
“Seems to me that she can.”
Janie smiled, her soft brown eyes twinkling. “Clint Cameron, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to put me in my place.”
“I’m only saying that I don’t know your niece, but I have a feeling she can handle things.” He fastened his Kevlar vest as he spoke. “If you want to move, Janie, you just need to tell her.”
Janie laughed, “You should have come home more often. I’ve missed having someone around who wasn’t afraid of me.”
“I had a job.”
“Working down there on those oil rigs in the Gulf. What kind of job is that for a country boy who wants to ride bulls and raise cows?”
“It paid the bills. It put money in the bank.” Money meant for repairs on a farm that had gone downhill.
“Well, I know it was good honest work. I’m only saying that I missed you.”
Clint leaned and kissed her powdery soft cheek. “I missed you, too.”
“You go ride that bull. But be careful. We need you in one piece.”
Clint laughed as he walked away. He laughed because Miss Janie had always had a knack for drama. It was a strange trait for a sensible woman.
As he threaded his way through the men standing near the chutes where the first few bulls were penned up and ready for their rides, he caught sight of Willow. She stood near a small group of people, her gaze concentrating on their faces as she read their lips. She nodded at something one of the men said and then she shifted her attention, focusing on Clint. Like she’d felt him staring. And for that moment, he couldn’t look away.
He nearly ran into one of the event judges. The guy grabbed his arm and shot him a look.
“Sorry about that,” Clint mumbled as he lifted his bull rope and continued moving through the crowd.
“You’re up, Cameron.” One of the men motioned him forward.
The MC in the announcer’s stand gave the name of the next bull and followed that with Clint’s name and a little information on his career. Of course they just had to mention that he was thirty-one, a late bloomer for bull riding.
He’d been at the sport for as long as he could remember. He just hadn’t had the time to invest into making it a career. That didn’t interest the crowd. They wanted to think about the old guy, the newcomer. Even in bull riding the fans wanted a Cinderella story.
Clint slid onto the back of a big old bull, one that he’d come up against before. Part Brahma and part Angus, the bull had a mean streak a mile wide.
A warm night in May didn’t make the bull any nicer. The animal slid to his knees and then back up again, leaning to the left and pushing Clint’s leg against the side of the chute.
One of the other riders, a guy named Mike, pulled the bull rope and handed it to Clint. Clint rubbed rosin up and down the rope and then wrapped it around his gloved riding hand. The bull lurched forward and someone grabbed the back of Clint’s shirt, keeping his head from bashing into the metal gate in front of him. The animal shook its head and flung white foam across Clint’s face.
Clint leaned forward, the heaving, fifteen-hundred-pound animal moving beneath him. Fear in the guise of adrenaline shot through his veins, pumping his heart into overdrive. The bull calmed down for a brief moment, and Clint nodded.
The gate opened, and the bull made a spinning jump out of the chute, knocking his back end against the corner and sending Clint headfirst toward the animal’s horns. With his free arm in the air, whipping back for control, Clint moved himself back to center.
Eight seconds, and he felt every twist, every jump, every lurch. As the buzzer rang, Clint dived off for safety, not expecting the last-minute direction change that the bull added in for fun. Clint hit the ground, and the impact felt like hitting a truck. A loud pop echoed in his ears, and pain shot from his shoulder down his arm.
The bull turned and charged at him. He rolled away, but he couldn’t escape the rampaging animal, its hot breath in Clint’s face and the hammering of its hooves against solid-packed dirt.
That big old bull was face-to-face with him, pawing and twisting. Clint rolled away from the hooves and then felt a hard tug as someone jerked him backward, away from danger.
The bullfighter yelled at him to move. Clint did his best to oblige, but his left arm hung at his side, useless. The pop he’d heard when he hit the ground must have been his shoulder dislocating.
A blur of blue in front of him, and the bull changed direction to go after the bullfighter. Those guys were bodyguards and stuntmen, all in one package. Clint hurried to the side of the arena and the fence.
As he held on to the fence, watching the bullfighters play with the overzealous bull, he caught a flash of blond. He turned and saw Willow Michaels watching from the corner gate.
When he limped out of the arena, his eyes met hers for a split second and then she walked away. She wasn’t the first princess to turn her back on him. She probably wouldn’t be the last.
Telling himself it didn’t matter didn’t feel as good as it usually did. Fortunately he had the throbbing pain in his arm to keep his mind off the blow to his ego.
Medics