A Cowboy's Claim. Marin Thomas
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to do it all on his own. When he’d finally admitted he needed help, former world-champion saddle bronc rider Riley Fitzgerald took him under his wing and had taught him how to keep his backside in the saddle and win. Then Vic had gone out on his own and made a name for himself. The past five years he’d won or placed in the top three of most major rodeos—except the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas.
He refused to hang up his spurs until he won a national title.
This year would end differently—he felt it in his gut. He was thirty-one—young in mind, old in body. Broken bones, sprained wrists and horse kicks had taken a toll on him, but he was starting out a new season in the best shape he’d ever been. A lot of months and a lot of rides stood between Vic and the NFR in December. All it took was one nasty fall to wipe out a life’s worth of hard work, but he’d left Houston without a scratch and that was a good sign.
A vehicle with its flashers on came into view. He eased off the accelerator, thinking he should have sat out the bad weather in a motel room. But he wanted to make it to Beaumont tonight and then rest for a few days before he rode in the South Texas State Fair. He checked his side mirror before changing lanes.
The pickup and horse trailer sat on the shoulder—maybe a competitor from the rodeo. As he drove past he spotted the Red Rock Horse Farm logo on the pickup door. Tanya McGee—the feisty barrel racer who could hardly control her horse. She hadn’t competed in the Houston rodeo, but he’d seen her in the stands, watching her competition. Vic had never spoken to Tanya in person, but he’d noticed her auburn hair and eyes bluer than the New Mexico sky.
Since he didn’t socialize with the cowboys on the circuit, the only thing he knew about the pretty cowgirl was what he’d heard others say near the chutes. Tanya had been married to Vic’s competitor Beau Billings. Everyone knew Beau Billings rode more than broncs when he showed up at rodeos. Vic assumed Tanya had been attracted to Billings’s movie-star looks, but it wasn’t long after they’d married that the jerk began two-timing her. Billings was a womanizer in the worst way, and Tanya had done herself a favor when she kicked the cheater to the curb.
Vic pulled onto the shoulder in front of Tanya’s truck and turned on his flashers. He’d see if she was waiting out the storm or if she’d run into mechanical problems. He reached for his old Stetson and put it on to protect him from the rain, then stepped from his pickup. Tanya flipped on her brights and almost blinded him. He stopped at the driver’s-side window and she lowered it a couple of inches.
“Everything okay?” he shouted. When she didn’t answer, he said, “It’s Vic Vicario. You need help?” He wasn’t vain, but he had enough wins on his résumé that most rodeo athletes knew him by name.
The window lowered farther, the blowing rain pelting Tanya in the face. “The trailer has a flat tire.”
The nearest exit was five miles up the highway—a drive that far on a flat tire with an undisciplined horse inside the trailer was a disaster waiting to happen. Tanya’s horse, an American paint gelding, was famous on the circuit and not in a good way. “I can change the flat, but you’ll have to take Slingshot out of the trailer. Can you keep him under control in this weather?”
Her chin jutted—as if he’d offended her—and then her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know.”
At least she was honest. The horse was faster than the wind but unpredictable. Slingshot had thrown Tanya the few times he saw the pair compete. Why she stuck with the renegade was anybody’s guess. “Will you be able to change the flat, if I hold on to Slingshot?”
“Maybe.”
“You can’t sit on the side of the road,” he said. “It’s too dangerous for you and the horse.”
She put on a baseball cap sporting a Denver Broncos logo, then got out of the pickup. She was short—maybe five-six if that. Vic topped out at six feet in his boots and he towered over her small, wiry frame.
“I’ll fetch my toolbox,” he said. “Wait until I get back before you unload him.” He returned to his pickup, grabbed the tire jack and a wrench and set the tools on the ground next to the flat.
“Watch out,” Tanya said. She unlatched the trailer door and stepped inside. Vic heard her speak to Slingshot as she backed him down the ramp. He stood ready to help, but she coaxed him to follow her into the gully along the highway without incident. “Okay, we’re good!”
As soon as she spoke, thunder rumbled overhead and the horse reared.
“You got him?”
Vic started down the incline but stopped when she held up a hand. “I’m not helpless.”
Tanya McGee was the furthest thing from helpless Vic had ever encountered. He changed the flat tire, moving as fast as possible. He’d just tightened the last lug nut when lightning sizzled across the sky. Tanya held on to the reins, but lost her footing on the wet ground and slid under the gelding. Vic scrambled down the embankment, falling on his butt once before reaching the pair. He took the reins with one hand and wrapped an arm around Tanya’s waist with the other, then hauled her out from beneath the belly of the beast.
The horse reared a second time. “Whoa, boy.” Vic wished he’d thought to put on his riding glove. The rope burned his hands as Slingshot pulled hard to get free. Tanya talked nonsense to the animal until he quit stomping his hooves against the ground.
Tanya and her beloved horse shared a bond, but it baffled him that she couldn’t control the animal in the arena. “Ready?” he asked, taking hold of the noseband while she grasped the reins. They escorted Slingshot back to the trailer, where he was more than happy to load and get out of the storm.
Tanya locked the door. “Thank goodness he didn’t bolt.” She’d lost her baseball cap, and the rain had plastered her hair to her face and her clothes to her body, leaving little to the imagination. She shoved the hair out of her eyes and caught him staring at her bosom. He considered apologizing, but what for? He didn’t care what Tanya McGee thought of him. Her gaze moved to the scar on his face—if he was scary-looking in the daylight, he must be terrifying in the dark.
“Get off the road as soon as possible,” he said. “The spare tire is in bad shape.”
“I’ll take the next exit.” When he made a move to step past her, she grasped his shirtsleeve. “Thank you, Victor.”
“Drive safe.” He waited in his pickup until Tanya pulled out in front of him and then he followed at a distance. She drove below the speed limit, so he didn’t bother turning off his flashers. When she took the exit to the Buc-ee’s Travel Center, he trailed her into the parking lot but remained in his pickup while she searched for a parking spot. She disappeared inside and he continued to wait—why, he didn’t know.
A few minutes later Tanya stepped outside, holding two coffees. She signaled him to come in, but he didn’t care to stand in front of her beneath the harsh fluorescent lights and watch her try not to stare at his scar.
He honked and then hit the gas and sped away.
As he merged onto the highway, he rubbed the thick knot of skin along the side of his face. The accident had happened eighteen years ago.
Accident. His wound hadn’t been an accident, but calling it anything else was too painful.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Stampede Park in beautiful sunny Cody, Wyoming! We’re expecting record-breaking temperatures this first week of July, so be sure you’re drinking plenty of water. If you’re looking for a seat in the shade, we still have a few available under the Buzzard Roost.”
The grandstand took up one side, the rough stock and cowboys the other. The scent of greasy burgers, popcorn, cigarettes and sweaty bodies permeated the air until you got close to the chutes. Then the heavy stink of nervous bucking stock and the stuff that comes out of