Fortune's Homecoming. Allison Leigh
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couch and started to stretch out his legs.
“Don’t get comfortable. You need to sign some of these, too.” She pushed a stack of stills toward him. She waited until he’d sat forward and grabbed a pen. “So you liked her.”
After so many years traveling on the road together, they usually both knew how to give each other privacy and space. Evidently, this was not going to be one of those times.
He slid his gaze across the table toward her as he signed his name. Autographing the photographs they gave away during his appearances had gotten so mundane, he could do it in his sleep. “Like you said. She seems competent so far.” And beautiful. Intelligent.
And sexy as all hell, the way the bridge of her nose wrinkled when she really concentrated.
He turned back to the stack of photos, but the image in his head was all Billie. “I’m meeting her tomorrow morning to look at a couple properties.”
“Tomorrow.” Deborah sounded surprised. “That’s nice, but that’s not what I was asking.”
How well he knew it. “I’m looking for a new ranch, Ma. Not a wife.”
Deborah clucked her tongue. “Don’t be so reactionary. I’m not suggesting you get married tomorrow. I’m merely suggesting you don’t have many opportunities to meet nice young women, and when you do, you should pay attention.”
“I meet nice young women all the time. I don’t need to be dating my real estate agent.”
“So you’ve already thought about it.”
His glare at her had no effect. So he gave up and grabbed more photos from the stack. “How many of these did we print?”
“Five thousand. And usually, the women you meet are reporters and sales reps and buckle bunnies.”
“Ariana’s a reporter.” Or a novelist. He wasn’t exactly sure what Jayden’s new wife was working on at the moment. “She wasn’t a nice young woman?”
Deborah sighed noisily. “You know I already love Ariana and Bianca like daughters. And don’t get me started on how EJ’s already wrapping his hands around my heart.”
“He is a cute little dickens.” Grayson’s brother Nathan would be a heck of a stepfather for the four-year-old now that he’d married Bianca. “I took out that rep from Change Sportswear I met a couple weeks ago. Dinner at a place with tablecloths and everything.” Followed by a very entertaining evening in her bed. Like him, Livian Reed wanted nothing more out of their very brief acquaintance than that.
Good food. Good sex. Goodbye.
Just the way he liked it. No promises, no strings.
Too-young-for-him Billie Pemberton might be perfect in every way. But she wasn’t a no-strings type. He hadn’t even needed to see all the family photographs crammed on her filing cabinet to know it.
“Livian Reed’s a buckle bunny, too. She’s just dressed in Ann Taylor.”
He couldn’t help but grin. “And Livian would eviscerate you for the comparison if she ever knew.”
His mother’s expression turned dry. “Well, you’re not going to see her again, I know that for certain, so I’m not going to lose sleep worrying that she’ll find out.”
“I oughta call Livian and take her out again just to make you sweat a little.”
“Two dates with the same girl? The last time that happened, you were eighteen and hot after Bethany Belmont.” Deborah laughed knowingly and pushed off the couch. “You’ve got me shaking in my Castletons, kiddo.”
“Speaking of.” He was glad to change the subject. “Any progress on that front?”
She opened the suite’s minibar and studied the contents. “I’m still waiting for a call back from them. I’m not sure how much I can do, son, if the lure of The Grayson hasn’t already impressed them.”
He grunted. “Thanks.”
“Want me to start pandering to your ego now? If this is a midlife crisis starting, just tell me now.” She pulled out a bottle of fruit juice and eyed him with amusement as she shook it. “I’ll head on back to Paseo most happily and leave you to your buckle bunnies, who will coo and awe your ego right up to its fullest—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, cutting her off. She’d head back to Paseo and the ranch. Gerald Robinson might find out—God knew the tech giant had means that seemed to defy all imagination—and come sniffing around her and...no thank you, ma’am. From what Jayden had told Grayson about his last encounter with Gerald, there’d been real emotion on the man’s face when he’d spoken of Deborah. Didn’t matter that the man—whatever the hell name he was using—was married. Robinson’s infidelities were the world’s worst-kept secret. Grayson didn’t believe for a second that their life would have been different if Gerald had known Deborah gave birth to his three sons. And Grayson intended to do whatever he needed to do to keep the man from ever hurting his mom again.
Fortunately unaware of his dark thoughts, his mother deepened her smile. “You know I’ll always help you if you ask. But one of these days, son, you won’t need me along to manage your rodeo career. Or you won’t want me along. Or you’ll realize it’s finally time to give your body a break and retire from bulldogging. Neither one of us could have guessed how your teenage hobby would change our lives. But it can’t last forever. And that’s okay. Life moves on. As it should.”
“I’m not retiring until I’ve got one more world championship to my name.” The National Finals Rodeo would be held in Las Vegas in December. He was already tied for the most world championship wins ever. One more would set a new record. And then he’d retire from bulldogging.
Ego? Yeah. He knew he had more than his fair share of ego. But it was also calculated. Record-winning names faded from memory a little more slowly than also-rans. And the longer he could make money on his name, the longer he could put that money to good use.
“Well, I for one am glad you’re already number three in the money,” his mother said. “Between rodeoing, Grayson Gear and your charity appearances, you’ve worked nearly every day for the past year. One of these days, it’s going to take its toll on you.”
He wasn’t worried about the toll. Aches and pains went hand in hand with rodeoing. “I’d be second in the standings if I hadn’t bought it in Silver City and lost out to Max Vargas.”
The entire season of pro rodeo was about the money rankings. Earnings were the only common ground on which to judge their success as they competed in rodeos throughout the country under every condition that could be had. If the Finals were the goal—and admittedly, for the majority of cowboys who competed it was not—then nearly every dollar earned paved the way there.
“Vargas can really run a steer,” his mother pointed out mildly.
“And at the rate he’s going, he’ll be at the Nationals. But he’s still a punk and I don’t like losing to a punk.”
Deborah looked amused. “There was a day when Joe-Don Gainer called you a punk.”
“Yeah, and Joe-Don was right then. Same as I’m right, now. I’m not the saint that Joe-Don was, though. Hazing for me like he did even though he was a Hall of Famer?” Grayson shook his head. “Won’t catch me hazing for Max Vargas. If his usual guy, Travis, isn’t hazing for him, he treats the one who is like dirt.”
A wrestler who didn’t appreciate the contribution of his hazer—who rode on the opposite side of the steer, keeping him more or less straight and close to the bulldogger—was just damn stupid. Luck of the draw chose the steer. The hazer and the wrestler’s skill together determined what they did with that luck.
“Don’t go off on a tangent dissecting details of Silver City again,” his mother warned. “The hour you subjected me to the