The Rodeo Man's Daughter

If he had one.

Everything she’d seen of him so far looked as good if not better than it had ten years ago.

“Sound all right to you?” he persisted. “You said you’re still living at your mama’s. Can she keep watch on the girls at the sleepover for a while?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, she can. That sounds fine.”

“Good. I’ll be at your place early, then, around four.”

She nodded and walked away before he could see the expression she knew she couldn’t hide.

How many times as a love-struck teenager had she dreamed about Caleb pulling up to the house to pick her up for a date? Impossible, of course. Her grandfather had made sure of it. Even without Granddad’s rules, she had known the pointlessness of her dream. She and Caleb had kept their relationship secret.

She sighed in frustration.

Back then, she had loved Caleb. Couldn’t get enough of him. Yet he had left her. And now, when she didn’t want the man anywhere near her, she was stuck with him.

The irony of the situation nearly overwhelmed her. But the damage was done. Her world had already caved in earlier that day, the minute he had forced his way into her life again.

Chapter Three

Caleb parked the pickup truck in his choice of spaces behind Tess’s home. Only one other vehicle occupied the parking area, an ancient Toyota with more than its share of dents.

Funny to think he’d come calling here again. Twice in the past, he’d stopped by this place and hadn’t made it beyond the front door. Her granddaddy had seen to that. Getting inside now would bring him a considerable measure of satisfaction.

Still, anger rose at the memory of her granddaddy. The same anger that had bubbled through his veins since he’d first set foot in town this morning. He’d have to watch that. Control that from here on. Anger wouldn’t get him what he wanted from the townsfolk, or from Tess. No, he needed to give them all someone to look up to. Someone they’d respect.

A good storyteller. A bull-riding champ. A rodeo star.

Taking a deep breath, he stared at the clock on the dashboard. Three-fifty. Ten minutes early. Ten minutes to sit here. No sense letting Tess think he was too eager to see her again.

He couldn’t have any illusions about her feelings, that was for sure.

She had looked less than thrilled to see him outside the real estate office that morning, and a good sight more unhappy once she learned why he’d been standing on the doorstep.

What he’d told her of his reasons, anyhow.

Pity she hadn’t been more enthused.

As if she would forget about their past, just because he’d wanted her to. As if he could impress her, just by mentioning money. He’d known he would have to work harder with Tess than with anyone. Maybe he should have started with somebody who’d have accepted his return more readily.

Dori and Manny from the Double S, for instance.

Of everyone in Flagman’s Folly, they were the people he should have harbored some guilt over. Maybe he did, somewhere deep inside. Someplace he couldn’t get to right now. Not while he had grudges to tackle and axes to grind and scores to settle. He had all the bad parts of his past to resolve before he could look to the future.

Coming to the edge of dying had made him realize that. It had humbled him. It had scared the hell out of him. And it had finally made him understand just what all those early years and those bad parts of his past had done to him.

Returning to Flagman’s Folly had to make up for some of that.

He glanced at the dashboard clock again. Time for the show to begin.

He climbed out of the truck and followed the path around the house to the front door. When he had driven by earlier that day, he’d seen the small sign near the sidewalk, proclaiming this the Whistlestop Inn. The sight had surprised him. Another thing that had changed since he’d left town.

Always, he had envied Tess this old house with its two stories, peaked roof and deep porch corralled by rails. A wooden-slatted swing dangled from chains in the porch ceiling. He’d always wanted to sit in that swing, too. It overlooked rows of plants with big pink and yellow and orange blooms and the yard that ran down to the street.

The porch alone took up more footage than that piece of crap trailer he’d lived in growing up.

He stabbed the doorbell and stepped back. Inside the house, he heard chimes, followed by some screeching and a lot of loud laughter. The girls, again.

Smiling, he shook his head. Kids were the same everywhere. Grown-up fans were, too. The autographs he’d signed all across the country proved that.

Abruptly the inner door swung open. Through the screened door, Tess’s dark-brown eyes stared at him from a pint-size height. The kid could almost have passed as Tess’s double. In a few years, grown up, she no doubt would. She’d look amazingly like the Tess he’d left behind.

Now those eyes rounded like the mouth beneath it.

“Better watch it, kid,” he said. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you your face might freeze that way?”

Her features went slack. “Yeah, all the time.” She grinned. “My name’s not kid, Mr. Cantrell. It’s Nate.”

“So I heard. And my name’s Caleb.”

She sucked in a breath. “You mean I can call you that?”

He nodded.

“Wow.”

There went the eyes again. He chuckled. “What’s the deal, if you don’t mind my asking? Nate’s a boy’s name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She looked down, suddenly shy, the dark curls falling to hide most of her face.

He couldn’t help it. The urge came on him strong to tease her, just as he’d kidded her mama years ago, though Tess had been older then. “Can’t be your real name,” he said. “Come on, give.”

She paused, considering him for a moment, then stared at her feet. “Anastasia,” she hissed, her tone disgusted. She peeked out from under all that hair to see how he was taking the news.

“Hmm.” He nodded thoughtfully. Now that he’d gotten himself into this, how should he handle it? “Well. Sounds like a right pretty name to me.”

“It does?” She looked straight at him again. “Nobody has that name but me.”

“That makes it pretty and special, then, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” Shrugging, she rubbed the toe of one shoe against the floor. “Ya coming in, or are ya just ringing doorbells for fun?”

He had to chomp down for a second on the corner of his lip before he could answer. “Is it fun?”

“Yeah. If nobody catches you.”

“Hmm,” he said again. “Well…” So far, he wouldn’t take any prizes for his conversational skills. Hopefully, he’d have more luck with Tess later. But if he wasn’t talking horses or rodeo, he sure felt at a loss when it came to kids. How could he answer this one? “Considering I did get caught ringing your bell,” he said slowly, “and by you…I’ll have to confess I was planning on coming in.”