Colton: Rodeo Cowboy

“And you weigh all of what—a hundred and ten pounds?”

“It’s called being willowy, thank you very much. And it doesn’t mean I can’t hold my alcohol—though if it eases your conscience, I didn’t drive. I’ll be walking home.”

If she went back.

Silly thought. Of course she’d be going back. Her children were her life now and she was determined to put them first. She just needed a breather for a few hours, that was all. Fortunately they’d already been asleep when she and her mother had their fight. And she’d kept a cool enough head not to slam the door on her way out at the end of it.

Thankfully tomorrow the house she’d rented would be ready for her and the kids to move into. With any luck once they were no longer under the same roof, she and her mom would find it easier to get along.

Ted popped the lid off a bottle of Big Sky and replaced her empty with the full one. She took a long swallow, just daring him to make another comment. But when she glanced at him again, he was looking at someone behind her.

Next thing she knew that someone was setting three darts on the bar next to her glass. The hand holding them was masculine. And his shirt sleeve was red.

A long-ago memory surfaced, of a man who had favored red chambray shirts. Her heart started beating faster—she just couldn’t help it. Subtly, she tilted her head so she could check him out.

Tousled sandy hair, nice face, mouth with that adorable, kissable quality that she knew got him into so much trouble. But not with her.

“Well, well, well. Colton Hart. It’s been a while.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Indeed it has, Miss Barrel Racing Champion of Roundup High School.”

She choked back her smile. Those days seemed so long ago now. “Hardly the highlight of my barrel racing career. I have won a few championships since then.”

“I know you have. I was there for a couple. Let me see…” He seated himself on the stool next to hers and she couldn’t help noticing the breadth of his shoulders, the girth of his biceps. The boy had manned up in the years she’d seen him. And how. Or did she mean wow?

Colt didn’t seem to notice her checking him out. His mind was still on rodeos, trying to recall when he’d last seen her. Finally he snapped his fingers. “The Pace Challenge in Omaha back in 2004.”

She nodded. “I came in first. And you won best all-around.”

He shrugged off his own accomplishment. “You did well at the Snake River Stampede in Nampa, too, as I recall. Was that 2005?”

“Actually, 2006.”

“And…that’s about the last I remember seeing you.” He gave her a steady, serious look. “Rumor had it you met a fellow from Calgary at the Stampede.”

She took another long drink of her beer, while he watched thoughtfully.

“But we don’t want to talk about that, I’m guessing?”

“You guess correctly.”

“So.” He tapped the darts he’d placed on the counter. “You game?”

She so was. But strategy dictated she not let him know this. “Why bother? I always beat you.”

“Really? Is that how you remember it?” He picked up her half-empty beer and downed the remainder. Then he signaled to the bartender, who’d been listening into their exchange while polishing already-clean glasses. “Ted, we’ll need two more of these.”

“With a whiskey chaser,” Leah added, before Colt escorted her to the dartboard at the back of the bar.

They passed by a table with some people Colt knew, a mixture of guys and women about their age. Leah didn’t recognize any faces, but they sure knew Colt.

“Hey, buddy, come and join us,” said a dark-haired cowboy, with a nose that had once been very badly broken. “Bring your pretty new friend, too.”

Colt waved him off. “Another night, Darcy. Leah and me—we’ve got business to attend to.”

Everyone at the table hooted at that and Leah could feel herself blushing as a result. What was up with that? She was not the sort of woman who blushed—was she? But then, it had been a long time since she’d been the focus of this sort of attention. When you normally had a toddler and a preschooler in tow, men tended to keep a polite distance.

The dartboard was at the back of the bar. A throwing line had been etched onto the wooden floor a little less than eight feet away from the board. Colt placed the darts on a nearby table, and they were soon joined by the beer and shooters that they’d ordered.

He took a long drink of the ale then handed her a dart. “Ladies first. Want to play down from 501?”

“Make it 301.” Leah removed her light sweater and hung it carefully on the back of her stool. Then she studied the board, trying to decide what strategy to use. In her younger, rodeoing years, she’d spent so much time in bars that she’d been damn near perfect at this game. But now she figured she’d be lucky to hit the bull’s-eye. So she took aim, threw…and missed her target by a fraction of an inch. Just enough for the dart to hit a wire and bounce, uselessly, to the floor.

“Out of practice?” Colt asked, his voice all innocent concern.

At a lot of things, Leah thought. Not the least of which was hanging out with an attractive man who was focusing all his attention on her. Not that Colt was hitting on her, or anything. They’d been friends too long for that. But there was a light in his eyes that told her he found her desirable. And that was more than a little distracting for a woman who had spent the past five years mashing baby food and changing diapers.

The kids were past that stage now, thankfully. But looking after them still took the majority of her time.

“So what brings you back to Roundup? Visiting your mom?” Colt took the next dart and went to line up.

He couldn’t know how good he looked, standing there. No man wore a pair of Wranglers quite like Colt. How was she supposed to concentrate on their conversation?

Focus, Leah.

“I’m, uh, not visiting. I’ve moved here. Planning to start my own business.”

He’d raised his arm to throw the dart, but went still at her news. “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve been staying at Mom’s for the past few weeks, but tomorrow I move into a house I rented on Timberline Drive.”

“Timberline Drive…” A slight frown appeared on his brow. “Is that off Mine Road, near the river?”

“That’s it. I got a great deal on the rent. Thankfully it’s a lot cheaper to live here than it was in Calgary.” She took a drink as Colt turned to the board and threw his dart. Damn thing landed in the outer bull. Clearly Colt wasn’t out of practice.

“Nice shot.” She tried not to sound grudging.

“By the way, I know it’s been a while, but I wanted to tell you I was sorry to hear about your father’s passing.”

“Thank you.” She appreciated Colt’s condolences even though more than five years had gone by. The heart attack had been unexpected, but according to the family doctor, at least her father’s death had been quick, without time for suffering. After, Leah’s mother hadn’t had the grit—or the family support—to carry on ranching the way Colt’s mother, Sarah Hart, had done after Colt’s father’s death ten years ago. Prue Stockton had sold their small property within six months, along with the cattle and the few horses they still had around the place—which included Country Girl, Leah’s old barrel racing horse.

Leah picked up her second dart. Focusing on the task at hand was what won her prize money when she competed at rodeos. Now she stared at the dartboard with the same intensity, blanking out the bar, the noise, Colt’s presence…

To hell with the bull’s-eye. She aimed for the sweet spot in the twentieth section, and let out a whoop when her dart landed perfectly in the thin inner portion between the red and green circles.

Colt raised his glass, toasting her success. She joined him at the table, touching her bottle to his, basking in the warmth of his smile. He seemed genuinely glad that she’d done well. Colt wasn’t one of those guys who hated losing to a woman. He wasn’t a bad loser, period. She’d never seen him so much as throw his hat into the dirt after a bad ride on a bunking bronc.

“Maybe I should concede, after all,” he said.