After the Rodeo Read online

  Table of Contents

  After the Rodeo

  Copyright

  Praise for AFTER THE RODEO

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  After the Rodeo

  Wayback, Texas

  by

  Cindy Spencer Pape

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  After the Rodeo: Wayback, Texas

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Cindy Spencer Pape

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Yellow Rose Edition, 2012

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-415-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for AFTER THE RODEO

  “A story sure to captivate readers from the very first paragraph...AFTER THE RODEO allows readers to empathize with the characters while smiling at their antics.”

  ~Romance Junkies (5 Blue Ribbons)

  Dedication

  To the publishers, authors, and staff

  of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  for making the garden

  a wonderful place to thrive and grow.

  Chapter One

  Ah, the sweet smell of horse manure in the morning.

  Freya Wulfsen climbed out of the cab of her pickup and stretched. Her muscles ached from driving through the night, all the way from Oklahoma to Wayback, Texas. She really needed a new suspension on the truck, but unless she won some decent prize money soon, that wasn’t going to happen. Horse feed and vet bills were more important. Without Sunshine and Mistrunner, she wouldn’t be winning any races, so they came first. Early in her rodeo career, she’d often gone without food herself to make sure her mounts were well fed, but now, at least, she had enough money set aside so she didn’t need to worry about supper. Comfort-related truck repairs, however, were a whole different story. She wasn’t going to dip into her savings for those.

  With a bone-cracking yawn, she walked around the horse trailer to check on the two geldings before heading off to sign in at the rodeo office. All she really wanted to do right now was get the paperwork finished, get the horses stabled, then catch a few hours of shuteye in the sleeper compartment of her trailer.

  Coming to Wayback this weekend had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. This was supposed to have been a long weekend break for her between the Oklahoma rodeo and one in Colorado next weekend. Unfortunately, she needed to talk to Zane Malone, and the Yellow Rose Arena in Wayback was the best place to find the big bull rider. One of his sponsors was a Texas whiskey distiller, and Free knew they were throwing a big party after the Saturday night competition. Zane would be sure to be there. Since the owner of TruBlu whiskey was from Wayback, too, Zane and he were friends as well as business associates. This was one of the few weekends during the rodeo season where she could be fairly sure of finding the big lug in one given place.

  Her worn, tan cowboy boots kicked up dry Texas dust as she strode from her rig over to the rodeo office. It was only seven-thirty but, as she’d guessed, Henry Garza, the arena manager, was already in, even though most of his staff wouldn’t be there until nine.

  The smiling, fifty-something former bronc buster opened the door and ushered her in, despite the posted hours. Free figured there was something to be said for having grown up on the circuit. Henry had known her since she was a freckle-faced kid following her dad from rodeo to rodeo, catching rides on as many of the horses as she could manage.

  “Morning, kiddo.” Henry gripped her hand as he greeted her, then with a what the hell shrug, pulled her into his arms instead. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but the strength of the rodeo rider was still there in his grip, and Free gave herself just a moment to enjoy the hug. Then he pulled back and looked her over with a critical expression in his dark eyes. “You look like you walked all the way from Oklahoma,” he told her. “I’ll have one of the stable hands take care of your mounts. You just climb into that rig of yours and get some sleep.”

  “Thanks, Henry.” She stepped over to the counter and began to quickly fill out the forms checking her into the competition, her horses into the stable, and her rig into the campground. “You still know just how to charm the ladies, don’t you?”

  “You’re not too big to take over my knee, Missy,” he said with a fond smile. “But you know exactly what I mean. If those saddlebags under your eyes get any bigger, you won’t need a suitcase.”

  Coming from a man who’d bandaged more than one of her skinned knees when she was a kid, she couldn’t argue. “I’m just beat. Nothing six hours of sleep won’t cure. Since I don’t compete until seven tonight, I’ll have plenty of time to rest up.” She tucked a stray strand of white-blonde hair behind her ear, wondering when it had escaped the braid that fell almost to her waist in back.

  After she handed Henry the stack of papers, she turned and, dragging her heels with fatigue, left the office. She was exhausted, even more than she could account for by her normal hectic schedule.

  It had to be stress. Once she talked to Zane, got him to sign the papers she’d brought, maybe the anxiety would go away and she’d feel like herself again. Maybe.

  She was stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid, so she took Henry up on his offer. After walking Sunshine and Mistrunner from the trailer to the stable, she scratched the broad, velvety noses of her two best friends and turned them over to a chipper young stable hand named Josh. Josh turned out to be a fan of Free’s, so she signed an autograph and left him to feed and groom her two geldings, content that they were being pampered like royalty. Then she dragged her tired butt back toward her rig. All she had to do was drive over to the camping area, hook up the electrical line, and she could crash face first into her bed for the rest of the day.

  Too beat to pay attention to the other riders arriving in the parking lot, she didn’t see the oversized blond cowboy until he closed in on her from the side. All she knew was that suddenly her hat went flying at the same time as a pair of arms the size of tree trunks wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the ground like she weighed no more than a feather—which was pretty impressive since she was a well-muscled five-foot-five.

  “Hey there, small fry. Didn’t expect to see you in Texas this week.” Her older brother, Dusty, smacked a kiss on her cheek.

  She hugged him back. She loved meeting up with her brothers on the circuit, but, damn it all, why did it have to be today? The last thing she wanted either of them to know about was the stupid mess she’d gotten herself into with Zane.

  “My sponsors liked the coverage here,” she said. “The finals are televised this weekend on one of the sports channels, so they asked me to come down here instead of taking a weekend at Sheryl’s ranch in Oklahoma.” It was partly true. The company that
paid her a small stipend for wearing and mentioning their boots and hats had thought the television coverage was a good idea, but only after Free had pointed it out to them. They’d agreed to the idea, not requested it, but the fib was a small one. She’d miss the break she’d planned, kicking back at her friend’s ranch, but talking to Zane was important.

  “So, Grey’s going to be here later. We all going out for dinner after tonight’s rides?” Dusty grinned. “I hear there’s a good steakhouse in Wayback. Anyone who qualifies has to pay?”

  Free smacked him on the shoulder. “Jerk. You know your prelims are tomorrow—Grey’s, too. Only mine are tonight, and I’m not paying to feed you two bottomless pits. We’ll eat at that barbecue place in town, Cranky Hank’s. And everybody pays for their own.”

  She’d need some company to cheer her up after she found and talked to Zane, but damned if she’d be conned by her charming brother. Dusty was a bull rider while Grey rode broncs. Those were the two most popular events, so they ran the qualifying rounds on Saturday, when the crowd was bigger, with the finals on Sunday. Barrel-racing, Free’s sport, was another draw, but not quite as big. Rodeo was still more a man’s world, to her everlasting frustration. She’d be riding this evening and, if she made the finals, be competing on Sunday afternoon, before the bull and bronc riders.

  “Anyway, I spent all night on the road, so I’m going to crawl into my camper and crash for a few hours. I’ll catch up with you after my ride, okay? We’ll talk tonight.” She paused by her truck and smiled at her brother, willing him to go away. If she was lucky, she’d have time to sleep and catch Zane before her race tonight. He was in town—she’d seen his name on Henry’s roster—so it was just a question of whether he showed up to watch today’s events, since he wouldn’t be riding until tomorrow.

  “Sounds good, kid.” Dusty gave her shoulders a squeeze. “We’ll be watching from the rails when you race. Do us proud.”

  “Thanks. See you later.” She yawned as she turned and climbed into the cab of her truck. Five minutes later she crawled out of the cab and into the sleeping area that was the front third of her horse trailer. Kicking off her boots and jeans was all she could manage. Mostly dressed, she tumbled into the lumpy bunk. It had been a long season already, and she was wiped. Maybe even too tired to dream of a brown-eyed cowboy with a whiskey-smooth voice and big callused hands. She was half-asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

  ****

  Zane Malone stood with his elbows on the rail of the stands and listened to the announcer call the name of the next barrel racer.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, riding a quarter horse gelding named Mistrunner, Miss Freya Wulfsen.”

  Zane’s heart thumped as Free rode into the ring. He’d known her for years, yet he was still stunned by her strong, blonde beauty every time he saw her. There she was, big as life, her pale hair flying behind her, astride a sleek, palomino quarter horse he knew she’d trained herself. Rider and mount moved so perfectly in tandem that it was almost as if they were two halves of one being. He couldn’t help remembering what it had felt like to have all that intensity and strength wrapped around him. His one weekend with Free had only made him hungrier for more.

  The horse rounded the first and second barrel of the cloverleaf pattern with a deceptive ease. No way getting a thousand-pound animal around an oil drum at high speed was an easy task. Her time looked good—she was sure to qualify for the finals. That meant she’d be here ’til Sunday. Zane’s body reacted to that thought, making his jeans too tight.

  “There she goes around the third barrel. Look at them move, folks,” the announcer called. “Pure poetry in motion.”

  And then Zane’s heart stopped in his chest.

  Almost as if it was in slow motion, he watched Mistrunner lose his footing and go down. Free was flung from the saddle, her foot caught in the stirrup. Zane was already bolting over the fence when he heard the crack of her skull striking—something. A rodeo clown grabbed the struggling horse as it righted itself, making sure the fallen rider was clear of the saddle while Zane knelt in the dust by Freya’s side. An ugly bruise was already forming at her temple, leaking a small trickle of blood onto her cheek. Her chest moved steadily, though, thank God. Zane let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

  Two other men pushed their way to her side only moments behind Zane. Her brothers were here, he registered absently. She’d like that. The paramedic nudged Grey and Dusty Wulfsen apart, holding a stethoscope to Free’s chest.

  In the background, Zane heard the announcer reassuring the audience that the rider was going to be all right. A couple of clowns started juggling to distract some of the viewers from the paramedics in action.

  “Pulse and respiration are good,” the lead medic told his partner. He moved to check her pupils just as Free’s lashes fluttered open. She looked at Zane, blinked, and shut her eyes again.

  “Zane.” It was little more than a whisper.

  “I’m here, darlin’. You’re gonna be just fine.” He hoped she couldn’t hear the quaver in his voice.

  “Miss Wulfsen, can you tell us how you’re feeling?” the medic asked. He checked her eyes when she opened them again. “One’s dilated, nonresponsive.”

  Concussion, Zane concluded.

  No big surprise.

  “She conked heads with Mistrunner,” one of her brothers noted. “At least it was his skull, not a hoof.”

  Yeah, that was good. Hooves could smash skulls like pumpkins.

  “Anything else hurt, ma’am?” They had a backboard ready and the two medics moved to lift her onto it.

  “Ankle,” she murmured. “Left. Broken, I think. Hurts like a bitch.” She gazed up at Zane again. “Misty?”

  “He’s fine,” Zane assured her. “Walked off without a limp.”

  “Good.” Free gave a little flutter of a smile and dropped back into unconsciousness.

  “Lift.” The medics had her on the backboard, moved to a gurney. “Okay, you two are her brothers, right? One of you want to ride with us to the trauma center?”

  While Grey and Dusty looked at each other, Zane stood, crossed his arms over his chest, and shook his head. “Nope. They can drive. I’m riding with you. I’m the lady’s husband.”

  Chapter Two

  Zane didn’t remember much of the ride to the hospital. He held Free’s hand as the paramedics did their thing. She drifted in and out of consciousness, and by asking her to wiggle her fingers and toes, they managed to figure out she probably didn’t have a spinal cord injury. Zane let himself breathe again. That was a biggie. For most rodeo riders, paralysis was a bigger fear than dying.

  When they reached the hospital, he was separated from Free as they wheeled her into an examination room. When he tried to go with her, he was hauled away to a different area by a gray-haired nurse with an iron grip. She plunked him into a chair in front of the registration clerk, told him someone would come get him when it was time, and disappeared.

  The clerk, a sweet-faced young woman, was ridiculously patient with Zane, who undoubtedly acted like a lunatic. She asked him about medications—he didn’t think Free took anything stronger than ibuprofen—and insurance plans. How the hell was he supposed to know? They’d been married three weeks and spent all but the first two days apart. They hadn’t had time to coordinate details like that.

  “Is there any chance she might be pregnant?”

  He started to say no. They’d been careful, that one weekend. Hadn’t they? Fear gripped him, twisted his stomach into a knot as he remembered those few days in vivid, full-color detail. He looked at the clerk with eyes that were probably more panicked than those of a horse facing the glue factory. “I have no idea.”

  The clerk picked up a phone and pushed a button, muttered something softly, then hung up again. “I’ll get the rodeo office to send over Ms. Wulfsen’s insurance paperwork. Why don’t you just have a seat over there? Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  Coffee? Zane blinked
at the woman as she came around from behind her desk and took his arm, guiding him over to a row of uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs along the window. “You just wait here, Mr. Wulfsen. I’m sure the doctor will be out to see you soon.”

  Mr. Wulfsen. He didn’t even have the presence of mind to correct her before the two real Mr. Wulfsens—Free’s brothers—burst through the door. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” he gulped, slumping back into his chair. “They took her…in…there somewhere.” He waved a hand toward the corridor he’d come from.

  The other two cowboys stood together in front of Zane, and both crossed their arms over their chests.

  Here it came. Well, hell, if they broke his bones, at least he was already in a hospital. Both were even taller than Zane’s six-one, and they each probably outweighed him by thirty pounds. More importantly, there were two of them, and only one Zane.

  “So,” one of them began. Zane didn’t even look up to see which one was talking, he just stared at their dust-covered cowboy boots and tried to breathe.

  “About this whole marriage thing…” the other continued.

  “How come our little sister got married…”

  “And we never heard a thing about it?”

  Finally, Zane looked up at the other two men, both of whom were probably damned near as worried right now as he was. He sighed and ran his hand through his slightly curly dark brown hair. Hell, he’d forgotten to get it cut again, hadn’t he? He’d lost his hat somewhere along the way, as well.

  “Sit,” he said, jerking a thumb at the plastic chairs on either side of him. “First, I’ll tell you what I know so far. She’s got a concussion and a banged-up ankle. No spinal damage, they think. In and out of consciousness, but her fingers and toes seemed to be working. She wasn’t complaining of pain in any of her internal organs. They’re doing X-rays to check for skull fractures and other damage. That’s all I know.”

  “Good,” Dusty, the older brother and Zane’s biggest competition for the bull-riding prize money, sat down on Zane’s right.