Rodeo Father. Mary Sullivan

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       Chapter One

      Travis Read stood on the outskirts of Rodeo, Montana, and stared at the sorriest excuse for a midway he’d ever encountered.

      He’d pulled his truck over for a closer look.

      Old rides littered the prairie like a county fair graveyard. Rusty signs hung askew.

      A hint he should hightail it out of town before he’d even arrived? Maybe, save for one ride. Front and center, a spit-shined carousel stood out from the other decaying machines as though risen fresh from the grave.

      Merry-go-rounds weren’t usually on Travis’s radar, whimsy being a stranger in his life, but he had his nephews to think about now.

      He’d bet both his old Stetson and broken-in cowboy boots the boys would be tickled by the carousel. He was.

      Gleaming in the meager late-October sunshine, the merry-go-round seemed like a good omen.

      No way, Travis.

      Grimly, he straightened his spine. He didn’t believe in omens, good, bad or otherwise.

      “You look like a man who could use a smile.”

      A feminine voice drifted out of the early-morning mist that shrouded the hushed countryside, carried on the faint breeze like a melody.

      A young woman stepped up behind one of the inanimate ponies on the ride, materializing with a playful smile and a smear of grease across her left cheek.

      One fist gripped a wrench and the other a rag, which she used to burnish a gilded saddle on a white pony. The contrast of that wrench and the small hand charmed Travis. No mean feat. He didn’t charm easily.

      She thought he could use a smile. Dead right.

      The woman grinned and his heart stuttered. Good vibes shimmered from her like sunshine reflecting off clear water.

      The corners of his mouth, rusty with disuse, twitched.

      “Yes, ma’am, I sure could use one of those.” No sense denying the truth she’d picked up on. “You don’t see many of these around anymore.”

      She crossed her arms on the elaborate saddle. “Bet you’ve seen better looking amusement parks.”

      “Could use some work.”

      She laughed. “That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.” As she stared around the downcast place, her expression became subdued.

      Her friendliness had lightened up the gray corners of his heart.

      “Nothing a little elbow grease won’t cure,” he ventured, clumsy in his attempt to make her smile again.

      She drew herself up and grinned. Aaah. Better.

      “Yes,” she said. “You’re absolutely right.”

      Unnaturally drawn to this attractive stranger, Travis leaned forward, his body pressing against a wood-slat fence that needed a hammer, a whole lot of nails and a few coats of paint.

      “Someone’s done a good job on the carousel.” By the look of pride on her face, he’d found the culprit. “Looks great.”

      She looked great. Her smile warmed the chill in his heart.

      “What’s your name?” she asked.

      He doffed his Stetson. His mom might not have taught him much, but she’d stressed the importance of good manners. “Travis Read.”

      “Rachel McGuire.” Her voice rang like birdsong. “Haven’t seen you around town. Just passing through?”

      She rested her chin on her crossed arms, her glance flickering toward his truck and horse trailer parked on the shoulder.

      “Looks like you’ll be staying a while?”

      He stiffened. He didn’t discuss his life with strangers, a habit ingrained years ago.

      Yeah, he planned to stay, but only long enough to get his sister and nephews settled in, and then he’d be moving on.

      No sense telling that to Rachel, no matter how attractive he found her humor-filled eyes.

      It was none of her business.

      “Got hired to work for the Webers,” was all he was inclined to share.

      “On the Double U? You’re fortunate. Udall’s a good man. Uma mothers everyone for fifty miles around. As long as you’re a hard worker, they’ll treat you like gold.”

      If there were a definition in the dictionary for hard worker it would be his name. He’d toiled since he was old enough to shovel shit and straw.

      Enough about him.

      He pointed to a sign dotted brown and green with rust and verdigris, which arched above the entrance to the park: Rodeo, Montana, Fairgrounds СКАЧАТЬ