No Ordinary Cowboy

“Hector isn’t a volunteer driver?” Shoot, his mother didn’t get paid to deliver food to her Meals on Wheels clients.

“I pay Hector a small salary and his benefits.”

“What kind of benefits?”

“Health insurance.” A second finger popped up. “I also pay liability insurance in case I’m sued.”

Liability insurance was smart. Even though the Durango Gold Mine had stopped production years ago, drunken cowboys might sue, hoping to get their hands on part of the Durango fortune. “Okay, I can see where your business needs cash flow to survive, but how will riding bulls pay the bills?”

“Shannon Douglas talked Wrangler into agreeing to let me ride bulls as a fundraising event for the Pony Express. The first rodeo is in Ajo the second weekend in May.”

“Wrangler’s paying you to ride?”

“No. I’ve set up a website where people can pledge a specific dollar amount for each second I remain on the bull.”

“What happens if you get injured after the first rodeo and can’t ride?”

“That’s where you come in,” she said.

“Me?”

“Teach me how to ride without getting hurt.”

“If there was a way to do that, there’d be more bull riders in rodeo.” He wanted no part of her foolish scheme. “Sorry, no can do.”

“You’re the only person I trust,” she said.

“No.” Her father would have his head if he taught Lucy rodeo skills.

“Okay, then you must know someone on the circuit who’d be willing to show me the ropes.”

Was she kidding? Once the guy got a good look at Lucy’s pretty face and sexy body he’d try to do a lot more than just show her the ropes.

“If you won’t help, I’ll find a cowboy who will.” Lucy reached for the door handle.

He snagged her arm. “You’re dead set on riding bulls to raise money for the Pony Express?”

“I’ll do anything to keep the business running.”

A sixth sense warned Tony that helping Lucy was not in his best interest, but he didn’t trust anyone else to show her how to protect herself from serious injury.

Her blue-eyed gaze implored him. “If the Pony Express goes under then Michael will have died in vain.”

Nothing anyone said or did would validate Michael’s death, but Tony refrained from saying so.

“Every drunken cowboy I prevent from getting behind the wheel is a life that Michael’s death saved.”

Maybe Cal Durango wouldn’t object to Tony helping his daughter if he kept Lucy from killing or injuring herself. “Okay, I’m in, but I want something in return.”

“What?” she asked.

“Access to the Durango Gold Mine.”

“Dad said he’d speak with your supervisor about allowing the border patrol access to that area of the ranch.”

“I want to go out there before anyone else.” Tony wanted to be the one to find evidence that the property was being used to transport young girls through the desert.

“What if I can’t get my father to cooperate?”

“Then no bull-riding lessons.” He prayed she wouldn’t call his bluff.

“When do I get my first lesson?”

“Six o’clock tomorrow night at my mother’s.”

“You won’t cancel out on me?” she asked.

“You hold up your end of the bargain, and I’ll hold up mine.”

Lucy flashed her sassy dimples at Tony and got out of the truck. How the hell was he going to help Lucy and keep his hands to himself when each breathing, living part of him wanted to have his way with her?

Chapter Four

Sunday morning dawned bright and early—too early. Lucy had dropped off the last Pony Express passenger at 3:00 a.m. With only five hours of sleep under her belt, she dragged herself from bed and stumbled into the shower. The lukewarm water revived her, and thoughts of her first bull-riding lesson with Tony washed away the remaining vestiges of sleep.

She dressed quickly and pulled her damp hair into a ponytail before leaving her room and following the scent of freshly brewed coffee through the house. Today marked the two-year anniversary of her brother’s death. Bracing herself, she entered the kitchen, where her mother flipped pancakes at the stove and her father read the newspaper at the table.

“Good morning, Lucy.” Her mother smiled.

“Morning.” Lucy fetched the orange-juice pitcher from the fridge, poured herself a glass and sat at the table across from her father. “Good morning, Dad.”

An unintelligible grunt echoed from behind the paper.

“Thanks,” Lucy said when her mother placed a plate of bacon and a stack of pancakes on the table. Sunday was the one day of the week her mother cooked—the housekeeper had the day off.

“Is scrambled okay?” her mother asked.

“No.”

“Sure.” Lucy spoke at the same time as her father.

“You’ll eat whatever I put on the table, Cal.”

Yeah, Mom. Lucy hid a smile behind a fake cough. Her father was the stereotypical spoiled, wealthy man who loved being coddled, but Lucy’s mother drew the line at bending over backward to please her husband.

“Is Hector feeling better?” She whisked eggs in a bowl then poured them into a frying pan.

Taking her cue from her parents, Lucy pretended this was just another ordinary day. “I hope so.” She yawned. “I’ll call him after breakfast.” Her father ignored the conversation, continuing to read the paper while his food grew cold.