The Bull Rider's Twin Trouble. Ali Olson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ adrenaline and the wind at the same time. When he was on the circuit, though, it stayed in storage back in Dallas, so his truck would have to do. Anyway, if he rode up to Spring Valley on his bike, he’d get an earful from his ma, and he’d already had enough of that for one day.

      He couldn’t say he was happy about spending the weeks before his next rodeo in his tiny hometown, without much of a chance to prepare. He wanted to earn a spot at the NFR in Las Vegas, one of the toughest rodeos around, and Brock knew he couldn’t take time off without hurting his chances.

      But at least he was sure to get big servings of his ma’s delicious country cooking, and he’d manage to find some way to keep himself sharp. Also, he could spend time helping Pop with the small riding school he ran on their property, though Brock knew that any insinuation that his dad was too old to do the work would earn him more than a stern talking-to.

      Brock cranked the AC, steered out of the crowded parking lot and turned south toward Spring Valley.

      * * *

      AS THE SUN disappeared behind the mountains surrounding the small town and ranches of Spring Valley, Brock turned off his truck’s engine and stretched. The sprawling house in front of him looked cool and welcoming against the heat of the evening, and the unmistakable smell of horses and jasmine was so familiar that he would have known he was home even with his eyes closed. It was a smell that filled him with nostalgia and even a little longing. He’d always loved working on the ranch.

      But that wasn’t the life for him, he knew, though at times he wished it was. Rodeo life took a toll on a man, not just physically, but mentally. Moving from city to city, following the rodeo circuit, left Brock weary and glad for the short respite of a visit home, even if it made him itch for something more challenging, more dangerous, at the same time.

      He saw the front door open and pulled the reins on his wayward thoughts as his ma came bustling out, her grin wide and her arms open. He climbed out of his truck and walked toward the woman who had cared for him so much of his life.

      The frail-looking older woman pulled Brock into a hug so tight he could hardly breathe. He smiled at her. “You miss me?”

      She swatted him on the shoulder. “Don’t give me any attitude, boy. You’ve been gone too long and you know it. I oughta give your uncle Joe a piece of my mind. At least you didn’t ride in here on that infernal motorcycle of yours,” she said, shaking her head.

      Before he could even attempt to respond, she continued, “Come in now, dinner should be ready in a few minutes. I made Howie wait until you got here. I knew my boy would be hungry.”

      Brock let Ma’s words of reprimand and love wash over him as he followed her into the warmth and glow of home, smiling at how familiar it all was. Everything was just as it should be on McNeal Ranch.

      The smell of fried chicken attacked his senses as soon as he crossed the threshold and his stomach growled in response. “You were right. I’m starving,” he said, veering toward the kitchen and the delectable smells.

      Before he reached his destination, however, his ma blocked his entrance. “Don’t you go rummaging around in there. You’ll need to wait ’til I’m finished with everything and we sit down at the table like civilized folks.”

      He stopped and heaved a theatrical sigh, hoping she might relent, but it seemed clear she wouldn’t be swayed by pity. After another look at the determined set of her jaw, he shrugged. “Okay, okay, I’ll go grab my things,” he said, turning to head back out to his truck.

      “Actually, I have a job for you to do,” she said in a seemingly casual voice that didn’t fool him for a second. Brock wondered if he would finally hear why she had been so insistent about him coming for a visit.

      He raised his eyebrows and waited. In that same falsely casual tone, she said, “A sweet widow moved into the old Wilson place. Cassandra Stanford. She needs some help fixing up things around there. I told her my strong son would be happy to lend her a hand. You should go introduce yourself before we sit down to eat.”

      Brock was slightly disappointed. She just wanted him to do some work for an old widow? He had been expecting some bigger reason than that. His mother had been so pushy about him coming home, he’d half expected a mail-order bride to be waiting on the doorstep when he arrived. Maybe Ma had finally stopped trying to get her kids hitched and settled down, and was focusing her energy on helping her neighbor instead.

      Brock doubted it, but for the time being, he was happy to be out of his ma’s crosshairs. The last several times he’d been home, she had spent most of the time hinting about one girl or another from his high school, and she was always disappointed when he left for the circuit again without anything to show for her efforts.

      Even if she had some plan for him during his stay, he was glad to see that she wasn’t entirely consumed in her schemes. And it would be good for his ma to have a new friend nearby. Maybe they could knit together or something. Or, he shuddered to think, they could team up and become the town matchmakers.

      He held in the smile that would lead to questions and another smack on the arm and gave Ma a kiss on her cheek. “Sure, I can help. I’ll go introduce myself.”

      She grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Don’t rush yourself back. The chicken still has a ways to go.”

      Brock turned and headed back out the door he had walked through just a couple of minutes before, cutting through a paddock instead of heading out to the road. The Wilsons had been talking about moving for years, and he knew the place had fallen into disrepair as they got older. Why an old woman would want to take on the job was beyond him.

      The walk was quick, and he hurried up the steps to the front porch of the neighboring home, noting the squeak of one of the steps and the white paint that was flaking off the house, showing the wood beneath.

      There was plenty to do to make this place like new, if his first impression was any indication, but he knew it was a solid construction with good land. Part of him wished he had been the one to buy this property. Not that he had the money for this place. A middling rodeo cowboy didn’t pull in enough for that kind of down payment. A National Finals cowboy might, though.

      And it wasn’t that likely he had even a chance of making it to Vegas if he spent the next two weeks painting and mending porch steps. He hoped the widow didn’t expect him to be working there too often, or he’d be in a bit of a pickle. If Ma was so desperate to have him around, why would she give him a big job that might eat into all the time he had at home?

      Brock brushed the question aside and turned his mind to the task at hand. He’d go through a short introduction and make his way back for his hot meal just as quickly as he could, then he’d make a plan as to how he should go about fixing up this place while leaving time to prepare for the next rodeo. He knocked.

      After a few seconds, the door opened and any thought of food or rodeos disappeared. He stared, caught off-guard by the lovely woman who stood there, the warm glow of the lit room behind her enveloping her in almost a halo of light.

      Her dark brown hair fell around her shoulders in a mass of curls, framing an open, sweet face and lips that promised more than just smiles for the guy lucky enough to get to kiss them. It was impossible to tell if her eyes were more brown or green, and he wanted to get near enough to get a better look. The blood in his veins moved faster just at the notion of being that close to her.

      His ma’s designs suddenly became clear: it wasn’t the widow she had wanted him to meet, СКАЧАТЬ