Out the backdoor: When the rider is thrown over the back end of an animal.
Rhett heard his name being called from a faraway distance, blurry and indistinct, as if he were floating above the earth on a fluffy white cloud.
His face was buried in the dirt and his head buzzed. His vision dimmed, and the voices grew more distant as the cloud he was riding drifted farther away. Everything slowly going black and quiet.
It would be so nice to go to sleep. Nap, just for a little bit. He was so very tired. But he couldn’t because some irritating bullfighter was screaming in his ear.
“Cowboy up, you candy ass!”
Go away.
“C’mon, Rhett, get up. Get up. GET UP!”
Then someone was slapping his back and he gasped, drawing in a lungful of dust. He opened one eye, saw his paternal grandfather squatting in the dirt next to him. He had a cigar clamped in the corner of his mouth and a tumbler of whiskey in one hand.
Huh, this was weird. Grandpa Cyril had been killed in a cattle stampede when Rhett was five. What was he doing here?
Grandpa Cyril glanced at his watch. A raggedy-ass Timex that could take a licking and keep on ticking. “Tock, tick, buckaroo.”
Tock, tick? Wasn’t that backward?
“They’ll be here soon. You better get up or you’re going with us,” Grandpa Cyril advised.
He tried to lift his head.
“Don’t move!” someone commanded.
It wasn’t Grandpa Cyril. Through the dust in his eyes, he made out Claudio Limon on his knees beside Rhett’s head, as paramedics and the bullfighters rolled him over and loaded him onto a backboard and strapped him down.
“You be okay?” Claudio asked, springing up to follow the crew as they carried Rhett from the hushed arena. His face was drawn with concern, and he commanded, “You be okay.”
Rhett tried to nod but they’d taped his head to the backboard. Claudio was a great competitor who would do anything to win, but Rhett knew he didn’t want to win like this.
Claudio squeezed his hand just before the paramedics whisked him into the ambulance, and the last clear thing Rhett thought before he lost consciousness was Tara is gonna kill me.
Tara stood paralyzed in the middle of Rhett’s living room, watching the paramedics carry her lifeless husband from the arena. Panic wrapped her lungs in a vise, seized. Her knees rippled like coastal Bermuda grass in a northerly breeze. Both hands plastered against her mouth.
Dear God, no, no, no. This could not be happening. Maybe she’d missed something, and it was another rider who’d gotten injured. Maybe he was spoofing everybody, and he was totally fine. Rhett could be a cutup.
Oh denial, that sweet self-deception.
Face facts. It had been Rhett on the ground, and he wasn’t joking around. The arena was silent, the announcers solemn. Speaking in hushed, reverent tones reserved for funeral parlors.
Please let him be okay, please let him be okay, she bargained, turned her eyes heavenward.
He couldn’t die. Not her strong, vibrant, daredevil cowboy.
Anger ripped through her. At the bull, at the PBR, at Rhett for being so reckless. He was a father. How could he continue to ride? This was why Judge Brando had ordered him to leave the PBR. This very reason right here. The sport was incredibly dangerous.
But mostly, she was mad at herself. By marrying him, she’d enabled him to stay on the circuit. If she hadn’t stepped in and proposed a marriage of convenience, he would have quit.
Pressing a palm against her forehead, she paced the living room, emotions falling in on her. Anger, fear, worry, hurt, sorrow, guilt, regret, sadness, so much sadness.
The PBR program had cut to commercial after they hauled Rhett off. Yes, never mind that a man had been injured, even possibly killed, they had to keep up the advertising to pay for that air time.
Denial, anger, bargaining. She was crashing through the five stages of grief with a sledgehammer.
She had to go to him. She couldn’t stay here and do nothing. She had to tell him how much she loved him. Had to be with him.
But she couldn’t. She had Julie.
Her world spun, tilted off its axis.
A knock at the door.
Before she could answer, the door opened, and Ridge and Kaia burst in. She stared at her sister and brother-in-law. “Rhett—” She whimpered.
“We know,” Kaia said. “We were watching.”
A tremor rattled Tara’s body as her sister moved to hug her.
“It’s okay, Tea,” Kaia whispered. “We’re here. I’ve come to get Julie, and Ridge’s flying you to Tacoma to be with Rhett.”
“She needs—”
“Shh.”
“I should—”
“Shh, we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about Julie. Rhett needs you now.”
Tara broke down, sobbing into her sister’s hair, whispering over and over, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Kaia produced a tissue from her pocket, pressed it into Tara’s hand. “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s get you packed.”
“Where are Cody and Ingrid?”
“Aria’s watching them. We’ll all pitch in with Julie while you’re gone. Me, Mom, Aria, Archer and Casey, even Vivi said she can help. Don’t worry about a thing except looking after Rhett.”
Fresh tears tracked down Tara’s face. She was grateful. So very grateful for her family. What on earth would she ever do without them?
That’s when she knew, no matter what happened, she would not be going back to El Paso.
When Rhett came to again he was in a hospital room.
He blinked and stared at the clock on the wall opposite his bed: 12:00. Was that noon or midnight? The blinds were drawn, but he could see sunlight pushing through the slats. So, noon.
And damn, but he had a mother bear of a headache. It felt as if a wire band was twisted tight across his entire scalp. His left shoulder, which he’d dislocated more than once, was in a sling and it throbbed like a sonofabitch. He had an IV in the back of his hand, and there were electrodes hooked to his chest. Somewhere, a heart monitor beeped.
“Rhett?” His name was a soft whisper coming from his right side.
He turned his head, saw Tara, and his heart filled with joy. “Are you real?” he croaked.
She reached for his hand, squeezed it, nodded past a misting of tears in her eyes. “I am.”
“How . . .” He swallowed, his throat parched. “How did you get here?”
“Ridge flew me in.”
“My brother is here too?”
“He’s down in the cafeteria getting some lunch.”
He met her gaze. Her smile filled with fear and sorrow. “Hey, hey,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Don’t cry.”
“I thought you’d—” She broke off, shook her head.
“I am okay.” This time, he squeezed her hand.
“You dislocated your shoulder.”
“Not the first time. It pops right back in.” He smiled, but it made his head hurt worse, and he dropped it.
“You also had a concussion that knocked you out for hours.”
“How’s Widow Maker?” he asked.
“What?”
“The bull. Is he all right?”
Tara looked exasperated. “The bull is perfectly fine. He almost killed you.”
“Wasn’t his fault. Nature of the beast.”
“And nature of the beast who was dumb enough to crawl on him.”
“It was my fault. I lost my lucky charm.”
“Seriously? You believe not having an animal cracker in your pocket is what caused you to get tossed by a bull?”
“Not per se,” he said. “But when I have the animal cracker in my pocket I think of you and Julie, and when I think of you two I remember why I’m doing this. Not having it in my pocket shifted my energy from happy and confident to anxious. Widow Maker picked up on that.”
“Sounds like superstition to me.”
“You have your way of controlling life, I have mine.” He grinned at her, but she wasn’t buying it.
She glowered at him.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked.
“Yes!” she said.
“Why? I was only doing my job.”
“Because you’re crazy enough to think bull riding is still a good idea.”
“Tara,” he said. “I know you’re upset, but bull riding is all I know.”
“Well, it’s time you learned something else. You’re a father now. Julie is counting on you to be there to see her graduate high school. To dance at her wedding.”
“There’s no guarantees in life. My mother didn’t see me graduate.”
“You didn’t graduate,” she said.
“You know what I mean.”
“Not to mention, the review hearing is coming up in three weeks. You’re supposed to have another line of work.”
“I can always work on the Silver Feather as a ranch hand.”
“Don’t you think the universe is trying to tell you something?”
“I’ll quit after November,” he said. “I promise.”
“You sound like an addict.”
Her words hurt. Rhett bit the inside of his cheek. She cared about his well-being, he needed to remember that.
“I think you’re addicted to the adrenaline rush,” she said, dropping his hand and standing up. “I don’t think you can stop.”
“I can quit anytime.” God, he did sound like an addict.
“Prove it. Let this be your wake-up call. Walk away from the PBR.”
“The world championship is less than two months away,” he wheedled. “I promise you, I’ll quit after that.”
In that moment, she looked so sad, as if her heart was breaking. “The doctor said you’ll need three weeks of rest before you can return to the circuit. You’ll be so behind by then you can’t catch up. It’s time to let it go, Rhett. Not just for me and Julie, but for your own sake.”
She was right. He could see how he was hurting her. He was torn right in two pieces. His lifelong dream of proving he was the best bull rider in the world on one side, Tara and Julie on the other.
He looked into her eyes, and there was only one choice he could make. He loved her. He was doing this for her and his daughter.
“You win,” he said, regret choking him. “I’ll quit the PBR.”
It didn’t feel like a win.
Tara should have been overjoyed that Rhett was leaving the PBR, but she couldn’t help feeling responsible for crushing his dreams.
Under strict instructions from the doctor to get lots of rest and avoid physical activity, Rhett was down in the dumps. He was an active guy, always on the move, and it was hard for him to relax. He did his best not to show his disappointment. Spending time with her and Julie, helping her around the house, staying home to watch the baby so Tara could put in more volunteer hours at the WIC clinic.
But he lounged on the couch a lot, watching clips from his old rides, and insomnia kept him awake at night. Several times she woke up in the wee hours of the morning to find him outside in a hammock looking up at the stars.
Was it unfair of her to ask him to quit when he was so close to achieving his dreams? Wasn’t that why she’d married him in the first place? To help him stay on the circuit and gain custody of his daughter?
But all that had changed after he’d kissed her, and she’d heard the humming and known to her core that she loved this man with all her heart and soul. And when you love someone, you wanted the best for them, not what was best for you. Who was she to tell Rhett how to live his life?
They kept things light. Their conversations were pleasant enough, but on the surface. Neither one of them talked about what they were really feeling and thinking. And based on doctor’s orders to wait three weeks to make sure he was fully over the concussion, they didn’t have sex.
The night before the hearing, Rhett pulled her to him in bed, massaged the furrow between her brow with the pad of his thumb, and said, “Stop worrying. We’ve got this. What could go wrong?”
He kissed her then, and she rested her head on his chest, listened to the strong lub-dub of his heart.
His confidence vanquished her fears and they spent the night just snuggling with each other. It was the best night they’d had since his wreck.
On Thursday morning, September 26, Mom came over to watch Julie and they drove to the review hearing together. Holding hands in the car on the way into Cupid.
By the time they reached the courthouse, they were both keyed up and edgy. “Did you bring your good luck charm?” Tara whispered.
Rhett dug a cracker giraffe from his pocket.
She smiled. “Why the giraffe?”
“Because it’s got a long, beautiful neck like you,” he murmured, and nuzzled her hair. Hand in hand, they parked the car and started up the courthouse steps.
To find Lamar prowling restlessly back and forth, and repeatedly running his hand over his hair. Uh-oh. He looked agitated. Did he have bad news?
Tara’s gut clenched. “What’s wrong?”
Lamar’s mouth set tight. “Unfortunate news.”
Rhett slid his arm around Tara’s waist. “What is it?”
Lamar met Rhett’s eyes first, then Tara’s. “I just learned Rhona White Limon has petitioned the court for custody.”
“Limon?” Rhett said, his color blanching despite his tan.
“She married Claudio Limon,” Lamar said. “They’re here with a lawyer and a therapist that’s ready to vouch for her as a good mother. CPS has already been to the house and checked everything out and gave her the green light. I should have gotten advance warning but somehow things fell through the cracks and the paperwork never hit my desk.”
“What does this mean?” Tara asked, but deep inside she already knew.
Lamar winced. “Getting custody of Julie is no longer the slam dunk we thought it was after you two got married.”
Rhett looked at Tara, and she could see the fear in his eyes. She smiled as genuinely as she could, and squeezed his hand again, trying her best not to let him see that she was terrified.