Arizona Cowboy

Really? Rachel must not have had much experience with men if she misinterpreted his appreciative glances as irritation. “I apologize for being rude.”

“I wasn’t asking for an apology.”

Jeez. Following the woman’s train of thought was like trailing Curly into the desert—he never knew which direction the bull might mosey. Honesty was the best course of action. “You want to clear the air? How about this—P.T. made a mistake handing over the reins to you.”

She stiffened. “You know nothing about me.”

Exactly. “Have you ever been to a rodeo?”

“No.”

“I rest my case,” he said.

“Just because I’ve never seen cowboys ride bucking stock doesn’t mean I lack business sense.”

“Do you have experience putting on large events?”

“I organized a fundraiser for the weight room at the high school. We collected four thousand dollars for new equipment.”

“You got any idea how much money is involved in producing a Five Star Rodeo?”

“No.”

“The average cost runs between a hundred-fifty and two hundred thousand dollars.”

Rachel’s face paled.

“Like P.T. stated earlier, the rodeos have to turn a profit or there won’t be enough money to support the sanctuary ranch the following year.”

“My father never mentioned his business was struggling.”

“Things are tight, leaving little room for mistakes. That’s not to say there isn’t more competition in the rodeo business these days, because there is. Some of the production companies are using expensive gimmicks to increase attendance.”

“What kinds of gimmicks?”

“Drawings for free vehicles. Time-shares in the Bahamas.”

“Can you recommend a dealership that might be willing to donate a truck to one of our rodeos?” she asked.

He could but why should he help Rachel look good in P.T.’s eyes? “Sorry, I don’t have any connections to car salesmen.”

“There has to be a way to increase attendance without breaking the bank,” she said.

“Guess you’ll figure something out. That’s why P.T. put you in charge, right?”

Chapter Four

6:00 a.m. Monday morning Clint stood next to P.T.’s truck speculating whether or not Rachel would haul her backside out of bed and wish her father good luck with his cancer treatments.

“Maybe her alarm clock didn’t go off.” Clint took one step toward the house before P.T. snagged his arm.

“Leave her be, son.”

“She’s your daughter.” Clint ground his back teeth together.

P.T.’s shoulders sagged.

In the ten minutes they’d hee-hawed with goodbyes, P.T. had aged before Clint’s eyes. “Lauren’s wanted to shop at the outlets in Phoenix. We’ll drive you up there, check you in at the medical center, then we—”

“No.” P.T. stared at the front door. “Rachel needs you here.”

If your daughter needs my help, why did you ask her to run the business? Had P.T. considered what might become of his deceased wife’s dream if the rodeos failed? If there wasn’t enough money to feed the livestock next year, the animals would end up at the glue factory.

“Are you sure you want Rachel to manage the rodeos?” Clint asked.

“You don’t believe she can handle the responsibility.”

That’s right.

“Never underestimate my daughter. She inherited my bullheadedness.”

Inherit… The word reminded Clint that he was an employee, not a family member. “Is that why she didn’t get out of bed to say goodbye to you?”

“There are two sides to every story and often neither one is right.” P.T. climbed into his truck, started the engine then lowered the driver-side window. “I’ll phone after I’m settled in.”

“Let us know what day of the week would be good to visit.”

P.T. shook his head. “You and Rachel will be too busy with the rodeos.”

“Lauren won’t stand for not seeing you all summer.”

The mention of Clint’s daughter made P.T. smile. Clint swore P.T. had yet to crack a smile when he spoke of Rachel.

“You keep that youngun’ busy so she stays out of trouble.”

Lauren had balked at spending the summer in Stagecoach but as soon as she’d arrived she’d taken to P.T. The old man doted on her like an adoring grandfather. He had patience with the cranky teenager and Lauren made P.T. laugh with her outrageous comments on ranch life.

“Make sure she reads the Zane Grey novels I left on my desk. I told her I’d read that sci-fi romance she never stops talking about.” P.T. lifted his eReader off the front seat. “Got the book downloaded right here.”

The old man wasn’t afraid of technology. P.T. had the most up-to-date software programs installed on his computer and this past Christmas, Clint had given him a GPS gadget for his golf game. The salesclerk at the store had attempted to explain how the device worked, but gave up after Clint asked too many questions. When P.T. had opened his gift he’d figured out how to use it in less than five minutes.

Even though P.T. kept the company’s financial statements and records on the computer, old habits die hard. The boss spent hours writing duplicate information into a ledger. As much as he embraced technology, P.T. didn’t trust what he couldn’t see or hold in his hands.

“I’m sure Lauren will call you to discuss the books.”

“Don’t pester the girl. We’ll talk when I return in August.”

For some reason P.T. was determined to undergo his treatment without family support. Stubborn man. “Drive safe and…” What the hell did you say to a man who stared his own mortality in the face? “Stay well.”