Saturday morning, Grace woke up wrapped in a warm, lean body and the distilled scent of sleepy male. She could get used to coming home to happy horses, good food, and a hot man.
She could, but she shouldn’t.
Right this minute, though, it felt too delicious to let her doubts wriggle between them. Closing her eyes, she drifted for a while before peeling herself away from all that lovely heat. When she sat up, taking the comforter with her, Hank rolled onto his back and laced his fingers behind his head, his T-shirt hitching up to expose a few inches of flat stomach above the low-riding waistband of his sweats.
The next time she got him naked, she going to put her mouth right there.
And damn, she loved that haircut—long enough to fall over his forehead but not quite in his eyes, perfect for running her fingers through. Even though it was shorter, it somehow failed to make him look more like his former self, but his expression was as sulky as ten-year-old Hank’s. “Why are you always in such a hurry to get out of bed?”
“It’s after eight. In about five minutes, Betsy will be over here kicking down the door, wanting her grain.” She tried to tame her bedhead with her fingers, but Hank didn’t seem to notice one way or another. That was good, right?
He heaved an exaggerated sigh and kicked off the blankets. “Fine. I’ll do the chores if you’ll make breakfast.”
“Deal.” She slid down off the bed and started for the bathroom before temptation could drag her back into his arms.
* * *
When Hank came in from feeding the herd, Grace was at the stove, frying bacon with one eye on the television. She looked so soft and pink and edible that Hank could have gotten over his squeamishness about getting naked in the trailer if he hadn’t gone and told Grace about his ten-day vow of abstinence.
The previous night, Delon had spurred his way to a third-place finish, gaining more ground on the season leader. Now Grace was watching the replay of a western talk show that was recorded live in Vegas every afternoon during the National Finals. While the host did his opening spiel, Hank washed up and brushed his teeth. The bathroom was still steamy from Grace’s shower, and he breathed in her scent, picturing her naked and soapy. Better, the two of them together, his body slick and wet against hers, inside hers, and his hands following hers to all the places that would make them both come apart.
He splashed cold water on his face and adjusted his jeans. Down, boy. Tonight, at least, wouldn’t be a problem. She’d invited her younger brothers to stay so they could watch the rodeo, and Hank hadn’t been invited to the slumber party. That was going to be another hurdle—winning her brothers over. Especially Jeremiah. If the story had reached her father, Jeremiah must have also heard every detail of what Hank had said and done that night at the Lone Steer. Distracted, he walked out of the bathroom as the talk-show host said, “…my first guests, National Finals bullfighter Wyatt Darrington and his lovely wife, Melanie.”
Hank froze as they strolled hand in hand onto the stage—Wyatt looking like he was sauntering down a red carpet, and Melanie…
God. Melanie looked incredible. She’d let her hair grow even longer, falling sleek and shiny to her waist, and her legs were endless in heeled boots and snug jeans, topped with a chocolate-colored turtleneck and a leather jacket the rich bronze of Texas bluegrass in the fall. As she settled in hip to hip with Wyatt on the big, black couch, she glowed in a way Hank had never seen before.
For the first time it really hit him, like a blast from Norma’s shotgun. His sister was in love. Truly, deeply, happily-ever-after in love. With Wyatt. Shit.
Grace turned off the flame on the bacon and lurched for the remote. “I’ll just—”
“No.” The sound creaked out of him. “Leave it.”
Staring at them was the equivalent of grabbing onto Bing’s cactus, but despite a thousand needles of pain, he couldn’t let go.
The host leaned in, his elbow on the armrest of his easy chair. “So, big changes on the horizon. You are in the process of becoming foster parents.”
“Yes.” Was that Hank’s imagination, or did Wyatt’s smile lack its usual high gloss, as if he’d put it on without polishing it first? “A sister and brother, fourteen and eleven.”
“Wow. That’s a lot to take on.”
Wyatt rolled his shoulders. “It’s terrifying.”
Laughter rippled through the audience.
“And you’ve got ankle surgery scheduled as soon as you get home,” the host added.
Melanie spoke up. “Actually, Wyatt has decided to postpone his arthroscopy until the kids are settled in.”
The host’s eyebrows rose. “Any idea when you’ll be back in the arena?”
Wyatt cast a glance toward Melanie. Their gazes met and something in that look—uncertainty on his part, reassurance on hers—made Hank’s gut twinge. What the hell? The great Wyatt Darrington didn’t get nervous.
He cleared his throat, another very un-Wyatt-like hesitation. “I won’t be coming back. When this National Finals is done, so am I.”
Even over the airwaves, Hank could hear the surprised gasps of the live audience.
“Wow,” the host said, taken aback. “I mean, you did turn forty last year, but this must have been a tough decision.”
Wyatt shook his head. For once, there was no calculation in his expression, and his eyes were the clear, transparent blue of a morning sky. “I don’t like to be on the road now that I finally have someone to stay home with.”
Finally. The word rang with the relief of a weary traveler who’d almost given up on finding a safe place to lay his head. And it struck a familiar note in Hank’s chest. One that sounded an awful lot like Grace made him feel.
A murmur rose from the audience, heads swiveled, and the camera swung around to show Joe Cassidy climbing the steps onto the stage. The host leapt to his feet and met him halfway, clasping his outstretched hand as they exchanged shoulder slaps. “Hey, Joe! Nice of you to drop in uninvited.”
Joe grinned, unfazed, as he took the microphone a flustered assistant ran over to him. He plopped down beside Melanie, cocking one booted foot on the opposite knee.
“Obviously, you knew this was coming.” The host shot his gaze from one man to the other. “Wyatt Darrington and Joe Cassidy have been the bullfighting dream team of professional rodeo for over a decade. What’s it going to be like, working without him?”
“I have no idea,” Joe said, his cheerful relaxation making Wyatt’s tension more obvious by comparison. “Jacobs Livestock is growing by leaps and bounds—not to mention my kids—so Violet and I decided this was a good time for me to move behind the chutes.”
The host gaped at him. “You’re retiring too?”
“Yep.” Joe grinned again, enjoying the shock waves that rippled through the crowd. “I have eight performances left, then I’m hanging up my cleats to focus on the business and my family.”
“I’ll be doing the same,” Wyatt said. “I want to be involved in the day-to-day operation of our bar, the Bull Dancer, and give our foster kids as much of my time as they need.”
“And continue his quest to be the world’s worst team roper,” Melanie drawled.
Wyatt gave a mock scowl and nudged her. She elbowed him back. For an instant they were so wrapped in their private joke that it made Hank’s throat close.
The host seemed to be having similar difficulties. “I…wow. I’m speechless. We’re going to a commercial break while I recover, but first, let’s hear it for our future Hall of Famers!”
He waved Wyatt and Joe to their feet as the crowd rose in a thundering, foot-stomping ovation, cut short by a commercial for cheap car insurance.
Hank looked at Grace, dazed. “What the hell was that?”
“History.” Grace turned off the television as he sank down at the table. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…” Hank gazed down at his hands, spread on the table to anchor him. Since the Buck Out, the old dreams had been sneaking up on him at random moments. Visions of himself at a rodeo, facing the chutes, waiting for a cowboy to nod. In every one of them, he glanced over to see Joe, locked and loaded. Now it could never happen again.
Panic trickled like acid through his veins. He hadn’t realized that his one ray of hope had been fueled by the assumption that Joe would be there to back him up. Now if Hank tried to make a comeback, he’d have to do it alone. There would be no Joe to smack him upside the head when he needed it or slap him on the back when he deserved it.
No Wyatt to blame if it all went to shit again.
“Can you believe he was going to let Melanie go?” Grace asked softly. “After they came to see you in Montana and Wyatt realized that we couldn’t tell you about Maddie yet, he was going to let her leave him.”
Hank scowled. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he couldn’t keep lying to her, and he couldn’t ask her to lie to you. If she hadn’t found out by accident…” Grace shrugged.
That righteous bastard would’ve made himself and Melanie miserable in the name of doing the right thing, and made Hank the asshole in the process. Geezus. And people wondered why he wanted to knock out a couple of those pearly white teeth.
He fisted his hands and pressed them to his temples. “I never asked him for anything.”
“No shit. If you were dangling over a cliff and Wyatt was holding the rope, you’d pull out your knife.”
Ouch. So much for being in his corner. But Bing had warned him. Grace owed Wyatt a lot. “I guess we know whose side you’re on.”
“There are no sides!” The words exploded with frustration. “There’s just a random line in the dirt that you drew because Wyatt makes you feel inadequate. Well, news flash! Wyatt makes everyone feel inadequate, other than Joe and your sister. It’s what he hates most about himself, considering it’s the reason he was damn near forty years old with nothing to show for it but two ex-wives and a cool car.” She walked over, caught Hank’s head between her hands, and squeezed as if she could force her point into his brain. “Wyatt is as much of a mess as everyone else. He just looks better doing it.”
Hank stared at the bottom button of her polo shirt, that stubborn knot in his gut refusing to let go, no matter how he worked at it. But why was he fighting with Grace? None of this was her fault.
Sighing, he slid his arm around her waist and leaned in to rest his head on her chest. “But he does have a really cool car.”
“Yes, he does,” she agreed.
“And a plane. And the ex-wives are both really hot.”
“Yes, they are.” Her palm smoothed down the back of his head. “I don’t think that made the divorces easier.”
“Probably not.” He sighed again and closed his eyes, nuzzling the soft inner curve of her breast as she stroked away the tension in his shoulders. God, that felt good. He could stay like this for an hour, breathing in time to the quiet beat of her heart.
His Grace. His salvation. His love.
He lifted his head. “Come riding with me tomorrow, after you take your brothers home. We’ll go down along the river and I’ll show you one of my favorite places on earth.”
She hesitated, but said, “It is supposed to be a gorgeous day.”
“And you don’t want to spend it stuck in town.”
She sighed and ruffled his hair. She seemed to like doing that. He’d have to tip the barber extra when he got his next trim.
“What time?” she asked.
Joy and relief burst out in his smile. “Around two? Then you won’t have to rush.”
Plus it would be the warmest part of the day, and once he got her to the ranch, he might be able to persuade her to stay and help put up the tree, since Bing had designated Sunday evening for that purpose and had warned Hank not to make other plans.
If he couldn’t go to Grace, he would bring her home for supper, decorating, and the original cartoon version of the Grinch—mandatory viewing, Bing said, since he was Johnny’s kindred spirit.
Hank wanted to share all of it with Grace. And he intended to follow Cole’s advice and keep showing up until she agreed to share her life with him.