Violet slathered mayonnaise onto two pieces of squishy white bread, slapped a slice of American cheese between them, and took a huge bite, chewing furiously. She usually ate lunch at her mother’s house when Beni was gone, but facing Joe across the table would ruin her appetite. For food, anyway.
She choked down the mouthful, then took another huge bite. Maybe all the triglycerides would gum up her arteries so she couldn’t feel that low simmer in her blood. As if. She scowled at her pathetic excuse for lunch. Nothing short of a massive stroke could wipe the imprint of his body off hers. The man was a walking, breathing collection of all her biggest weaknesses, but didn’t they say abstinence was good for the soul? If she managed to keep her hands off Joe for two more weeks, she’d qualify for sainthood.
She crammed the rest of the sandwich in her mouth, washed it down with sweet tea, then picked up her phone and tapped out a text message to her best friend. Home sweet home. Got time for lunch tomorrow? Melanie would slap some sense into her. No one knew Violet’s baser tendencies better. She’d barely hit Send when the phone rang in her hand.
Violet checked the number and grinned as she answered. “Nothing better to do than hang around waitin’ on my call?”
“I wish.” Melanie blew out a gusty sigh. “My schedule this week is proof I sinned in a former life. One meeting after another all damn day. But I’ve got ten minutes before the next hour of hell, so dish.”
“About what?”
“Don’t play coy. Joe Cassidy. You’ve had him in your clutches for five days and I haven’t heard a peep. Please tell me he’s as hot as he looks on TV.”
Violet’s fingers curled around the phone as a full-body tingle swept over her. “He’s okay, I guess, but he’s not in my clutches.”
“Why the hell not? When fate drops a big ol’ hunk of man candy in her lap, a girl’s gotta have a taste. And I hear this one isn’t afraid to hand out free samples.”
“Stop!” Violet scrubbed at the spot on her neck where she could still feel the scrape of Joe’s teeth. “Dammit, Mel. You’re not supposed to encourage my bad habits.”
Melanie gave a little squeal. “I knew it! Has anything good happened yet? He is exactly your type.”
“Which is exactly why I’m trying to keep my distance.” Violet gave a growl of annoyance, more with herself than Melanie. “Everybody’s got their eye on Joe, and after that mess in Hickory Springs, the last thing I need is to draw more attention to my love life.”
Melanie snorted. “Honey, you don’t have a love life. You have a series of unfortunate events.”
Violet scowled, dumping her plate and silverware into the sink with a clatter. “I had a perfectly normal relationship.”
“Once. In college. Six years ago.”
“Well, I’ve been busy. I have this child, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Hard not to, when Xena, Warrior Cowgirl is hiding behind a five-year-old boy to avoid meeting a real man.”
Violet cranked the faucet, propping the phone on her shoulder while she scoured the plate like it had been infected with ptomaine. “I have so many real men in my life, I can’t take a step without tripping over one of them. Lord save me from testosterone and all of its carriers.”
“Uh-huh. Which is why you developed a sudden hankering for Cajun food last spring?”
Violet jammed the plate into the drying rack. “That was a serious error in judgment. When I do decide to date again, it will be someone sensible with zero potential for psycho ex-girlfriends.”
“You mean someone like…oh, I don’t know…maybe Delon?” Melanie allowed for a thoughtful pause. Violet didn’t bother to fill it with an argument they both knew by heart. Melanie blew out a gusty sigh. “The trouble with you, Violet, is you’ve got a head for business and a heart for thrills, and as far as I can tell, the two of them aren’t on speaking terms.”
Violet stared glumly at the water circling the drain. “Stupid heart won’t listen.”
“Maybe it’s not your heart that’s got it wrong.”
Violet scowled. “Gee, Mel, thanks for calling. You’ve been ever so helpful.”
Melanie was laughing as she hung up. Violet tossed the phone aside and stalked into the laundry room, brooding as she stuffed dirty socks into the washing machine. Silly to expect Melanie to be the voice of reason. After all, she was Hank’s sister, and blood will tell. Violet and Mel wouldn’t have spent half of junior high in detention if either of them knew when to say Whoa.
Violet left the socks sloshing in the washer and walked into the living room in time to see Joe stroll across the driveway, apparently none the worse for wear. She waited until he disappeared inside the bunkhouse, then hotfooted it over to her mother’s, intending to grab a snack on her way to the office. The lingering scent of pot roast taunted her as she walked into the kitchen. Her stomach gurgled its disappointment. Her parents and Cole were sitting around the table. At the sight of their grim faces, Violet stopped dead, fear skittering cold fingers across her nape. Not again…
“What’s wrong?” Who died?
“Buck McCloud called,” her dad said stiffly. “His heart’s getting worse. The doctor says he’s gonna have to have an artificial pump implanted to keep it running.”
Relief whooshed through her. Bad news, but not the worst. She wasn’t sure they could survive the worst again. Violet plunked down in the chair Joe had vacated, vaguely aware that it was still warm. “That sounds scary.”
Her mother smoothed a hand over a lace-edged floral place mat. “Any time they go crackin’ your chest open, it’s a big risk.”
Violet’s heart clutched in sympathy. Buck was a crusty old bastard, but she’d always liked him. He and her dad were two peas from the same old-school pod. They were close geographically, too, but didn’t step on each other’s toes business wise. McCloud Rodeo stayed mostly north—Oklahoma and Kansas, with a few shows up in Nebraska. Jacobs Livestock didn’t venture outside Texas, no matter how hard Violet tried to convince her dad to do otherwise.
“Who’s gonna take care of his stock until he’s back on his feet?”
Buck didn’t have any family involved in the business. Like Violet’s older sister, Lily, both of his daughters had married town boys.
“He won’t be back,” her dad said, emotion graveling his voice. “Doc says he has to pack it in.”
“Pack it in?” Violet echoed. Buck? And do what? The man lived for his work. “You mean sell out?”
“Yes.”
Violet shook her head. Rodeo contractors didn’t retire. Look at the legendary Harry Vold, ninety years old and still an active part of the business. And her dad—they’d have to back the hearse up to the arena to haul him away.
“He offered us first shot at the whole string,” Iris said.
The quiet declaration was like a bolt of lightning, electrifying Violet. For an instant, she couldn’t even form words. Finally she managed to choke out, “That’s great.”
Her dad glared at her. “A man losing his health and his business?”
“I didn’t mean—” Violet stuttered, then pinched off the rest before she stuck her foot in any deeper. Her head spun with the unexpected possibilities. On average, Buck’s stock was a little stronger than theirs, though he didn’t have anything in Dirt Eater’s class. If you put the two strings together…
“How much does he want?” she asked, numbers already dancing in her head.
Her dad shrugged. “I didn’t ask. We can’t use that much stock and we’re in no position to lay out that much cash.”
“But if we picked up his rodeos, too—”
“Who’s gonna move up to Kansas for the whole season?” he demanded. “Not you, with Beni starting kindergarten next fall.”
But—
Violet looked to Cole for support. He stared back, face implacable. She tried to imagine Cole on his own in Kansas, dealing with the public, and nearly burst out in a fit of giggles. But still…
“We should at least consider it,” she insisted.
“Waste of time.” Her dad thumped down his coffee cup and stood. “Let’s go have a look at those bulls, Cole. Decide what we’re gonna buck at the practice session on Wednesday.”
Violet grabbed a cookie, crumbling the edge with angry fingers as the men lumbered out. She counted to five after the slap of the screen door before saying, “He won’t even think about it.”
“Of course not.” Her mother pushed back from the table and stood to gather cups and glasses. “He’s so set in his ways, the day of the Apocalypse he’ll tell the Four Horsemen they can just turn around and ride on back where they came from—he has work to do.”
Violet gave a reluctant laugh, then groaned, near bursting with frustration. Finally—finally—they had a chance to take a huge step up, out of their niche at the trailing fringe of pro rodeo.
“He isn’t completely beyond reasoning,” her mother added. “And it would mean a lot to Buck to turn his operation over to a friend.”
Violet blinked in surprise. “You think Dad would consider it?”
“If you can figure out a way to make it all work. And if it doesn’t put us in too much of a pinch.”
Violet leaned back in her chair, forehead puckering in frantic thought. She could call Buck and get a purchase price, hear what kind of terms he’d consider, then check out financing options and rates, run profit and loss projections. The number-cruncher half of her soul danced with delight at the prospect. Then reality kicked it in the shin.
“My proposal will have to be damn near bulletproof to persuade him.”
“That it will.”
And the whole thing was nothing but pie in the sky until Violet had the figures in front of her. If nothing else, gathering all of their financials would give her a leg up come tax time. The fact that it would give her an excuse to avoid a certain bullfighter for the rest of the day was a bonus.
She leapt to her feet, filched a couple more cookies and a can of Coke. “I’ll be in the office.”
Ideas zinged around inside her head like bats in a cave as she strode across the lawn to the wood-shingled office out back. The places they could go. The rodeos they could produce. One step up the ladder, then another, until someday…
Fort Worth. Houston. San Antonio. Her heart did a double backflip just thinking about it. She burst into the musty, airless office, threw open a couple of windows, then fired up her old PC, her fingers jittering impatiently on the keys while the computer clicked and hummed and did whatever computers do instead of just starting. She flattened her palms on the desk and took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Violet. She’d already pinned her hopes on one long shot in the past week, and ended up with Joe as the grand prize. And that was a bad thing. Really.