Beau: Cowboy Protector. Marin Thomas
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Beau’s hackles rose. He and his father had never been close, and up until now his dad had kept his nose out of Beau’s affairs. Why all of a sudden did he care if Beau had his sights set on Sierra? “I’m a grown man. I don’t need your permission to date a woman.”
“You don’t have time for a relationship right now.”
“And you do?” Beau asked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You and Jordan are becoming awfully tight.” Beau and his father exchanged glowers.
“Instead of chasing after Sierra, you should focus on mending fences with your brother. There’s a lot of work around here and if you’re squabbling with each other things don’t get done.”
Afraid he’d say something he shouldn’t, Beau helped himself to the last donut on the plate and poured a cup of coffee.
“You talk to your brother lately?” his father asked.
“No. Why?”
“Duke said you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder since he quit rodeo.”
Not exactly true. Beau was still talking to Duke—he just didn’t go out of his way to do so. After their blow-up this past summer, he’d had a few superficial conversations with his brother, but they’d steered clear of discussing rodeo. Beau accepted most of the blame for having kept his distance from Duke—he needed time to come to grips with all the changes in his brother’s life.
“You hurt Duke’s pride when you told him you’d never given your best effort in the arena all these years.”
Where did his father get off lecturing Beau? If the old man had shown a scrap of concern or compassion over Duke’s childhood stuttering, or defended Duke from bullies, Beau wouldn’t have felt compelled to do the job, which had naturally led Beau to allowing Duke the limelight to build his self-esteem.
“I never told you that you had to be second best,” his father said.
“No, but you were oblivious to Duke’s struggles. Someone had to encourage him.”
“I wasn’t oblivious.” His father’s gaze shifted to the wall. “Figured if I ignored his stuttering, Duke would grow out of it faster.”
Part of Beau felt sorry for his father—raising twin boys without a wife would be a challenge for any man. Even so, had his father shown any compassion for Duke, Beau might not have overstepped his bounds with his brother.
“The only reason you want me to make nice with Duke is because you’ve been shirking your duties around here and you need your sons to pick up the slack.”
His father’s steely-eyed glare warned Beau he was treading on thin ice—time to change the subject. “A while back Duke said you were thinking about retiring.” He hoped the news wasn’t true.
“Been tossing around the idea.”
The timing couldn’t be worse—Beau adding rodeos to his schedule and Duke trying to balance family and his job as deputy sheriff. Then again, his father only considered what was best for him—never mind the rest of the family. “Why retire?”
“What do you mean, why? That’s what men do when they get old—they quit working.”
Joshua Adams was fifty-eight years old and although ranching took a toll on a man’s body, his father didn’t look or act as if he was ready to spend the rest of his life twiddling his thumbs.
“Does this urge for less work and more free time have anything to do with Earl McKinley leasing his land and moving to Billings?” Joshua Adams had punched cows for Earl’s father until Beau’s mother had died, then Aunt Sarah had talked her brother into moving closer to family and working for her husband at Thunder Ranch.
“I don’t care what Earl does,” his father said.
“Ever since Jordan arrived in town you haven’t cared about anything but spending time with her.”
“You got a problem with that?”
Maybe. “Aunt Sarah isn’t sure if she’s going to keep Midnight. If she sells the stallion then we may have to invest more in our bucking bulls and Asteroid needs a lot of attention.” Beau didn’t have time to deal with the young bull, but his father did.
“Midnight and Asteroid will be fine. You worry too much.”
And the old man didn’t worry enough.
“Whatever you decide about retirement, I hope you put it off another year.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m making a run at an NFR title next year. I’ll be on the road a lot.”
“You think you can win that many rodeos?”
“I don’t think—I know I can.”
A horn blast sent Beau to the back door. “It’s Colt.” His cousin’s truck and horse trailer barreled up the drive. “Aunt Sarah’s with him.” Beau snatched his jacket from the hook and his father followed him outside.
“It’s Midnight,” Colt said as he rounded the hood of his Dodge.
The newest addition to the bucking-stock operation, The Midnight Express, was wreaking havoc at Thunder Ranch.
“Something the matter with Midnight, Sarah?” Beau’s father asked.
“He’s run off again. Gracie thinks one of her boys accidently left the latch on the stall door unhooked when they were helping her in the barn this morning.” Gracie was Midnight’s primary caretaker and no doubt in a state of panic over the valuable horse.
This past summer, Midnight had suffered a flesh wound from a run-in with barbed wire after he’d escaped his stall and had gone missing for over a month. Although the horse was fully healed, Ace had kept Midnight’s physical activity to a minimum, which didn’t include a ten-mile sprint across the ranch.
Beau’s father put his arm around his sister’s shoulder. “Don’t get yourself worked up. The stress isn’t good for your heart.”
“What about the paddocks?” Beau asked. “Maybe Midnight jumped a fence to get to one of the mares.”
“We checked. He’s running free somewhere on the property,” Colt said.
Beau shielded his eyes against the bright sunlight and searched the horizon.
“Help Colt look for Midnight, Beau. He can’t have gone far.” Joshua motioned toward the house. “There’s hot coffee in the kitchen, Sarah. I’ll be in after I check on the bulls.”
Once his father was out of earshot, Beau asked, “Does Ace know Midnight’s on the run?”
“Not yet. I was hoping to put the horse back in his stall before my brother got wind of it,” Colt said.
“We’ll find him.”
“You head north on the four-wheeler and I’ll meet you there with the trailer.” Colt handed Beau a walkie-talkie then hopped into his truck and took off.
Before Beau forgot, he fished his wallet from his back pocket and removed the cashier’s check for three thousand dollars. “I won yesterday.” He held the draft out to his aunt.
She didn’t take the money. “Congratulations.”
“C’mon, Aunt Sarah.” He waved the check. “It’ll help pay for some of the expense that went into searching for Midnight over the summer.”
The Midnight Express had cost Thunder Ranch a hefty $38,000, and when the stallion had gone AWOL the family had shelled out big bucks—money they could ill afford in this bad economy—to locate the horse. In the end, the dang stallion had been right under their noses at Buddy Wright’s neighboring ranch.