LITMIR.BIZ

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we save this discussion for another day? We haven’t seen each other since Christmas. I don’t want to waste any of our time together by arguing.”

      Gus paused at the door to the house, raising a silvering eyebrow in question. “If you don’t want to waste any of our time together, then why don’t you move into the apartment in Dallas with me?”

      Skye’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Her father was in one of his cantankerous moods. They both knew he wasn’t serious, the offer made out of guilt, rather than the truth. Gus would no more want her to stay with him in the tiny apartment above his Western store in Dallas, than he would want to be forced to live with her at the ranch house that had once belonged to his mother. Either choice involved making a commitment, something her father had never been able to do.

      She went along with the game, however, going through the motions of an obligatory refusal. “We’ve already been through this, Gus. I’ve been living on my own for a long time. I need my privacy.”

      “You’re not going to get much privacy if you marry Ralph,” he pointed out, proving himself to be every bit as stubborn as she’d remembered.

      Refusing to be baited into another argument, she let the comment slide without a response. She bumped the front door open with her hip. The house was old, wearing a dusty film of neglect, looking eerily much the same as it had before her grandmother’s death six years earlier. “My thesis is very demanding. I’m going to be spending most of my time working. You know as well as I do, you’d never be able to sit by and watch me work without interrupting.”

      He followed her inside. “I’ll be at the store most of the day.”

      “This is a tough project.” She strode into the living room and dropped the box onto the floor, next to an already teetering stack. “I’ll be putting in a lot of hours. Day and night.”

      He scowled. “What’s the point of coming home, if you’re going to be working all the time? You might as well have stayed up north with Ralph.”

      “Ralph won’t be there,” she said without thinking. Giving a silent moan of regret, she averted her gaze. She feigned a sudden interest in a box marked odds and ends, knowing it wouldn’t take much for her father to read the disappointment she’d felt at Ralph’s decision not to spend the summer with her.

      Gus clung to the news like a dog with a bone. “He won’t?”

      “No, he won’t,” she said, straightening from the box to face her father. Skye winced at the sudden glint of curiosity in Gus’s blue eyes. “He’s in Europe for the summer, researching a paper he plans to publish.”

      “And he didn’t take you along?”

      “No, he did not.” She brushed a dark curl from her forehead, hoping to distract her father. “Whew, it’s hot. Would you like a cold drink?”

      “Yeah, I’d like a drink,” he said, his frown deepening. He pushed the white cowboy hat back from his forehead and scratched at the shock of silver hair, a habit of his when he was trying hard to concentrate. “Since you were knee high to a grasshopper, you’ve been jabbering away about going to Europe and seeing all those castles that those princes and princesses live in. I can’t believe you’d turn down an opportunity to go now.”

      She strode into the kitchen and pulled two icy bottles of cola from the refrigerator. Twisting the cap on one, she passed it to her father before answering. “Like I said before, I’ve got a lot of work to do. So does Ralph. I’d have been a distraction—”

      “In other words...the idiot didn’t ask,” her father finished for her, accepting the cola with a grin. Tipping the bottle in salute, he chugged half the soda in one long swallow.

      Skye fought the urge to sigh again. She’d done enough sighing for one day, thank you. It was just one of the hazards of being near her father for very long. Leaning against the tiled kitchen counter, sipping her soda, she struggled to find a decorous way to push Gus out the door. “Thanks for helping me move my stuff, Gus. I really appreciate it.”

      “And now you’d like me to move along, right?”

      “Well, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

      “So I’ve been told,” he said wryly. He moved into the living room, eyeing the stacks of boxes, the books scattered about, the computer and software weighing down the dining room table. “Before you put your nose to the grindstone, why don’t you play hooky for a night?” He waggled his eyebrows Groucho Marx style. “There’s a rodeo in town tonight. And I know some boys that are champing at the bit to see you again.”

      The “boys” were her father’s friends, her adopted “uncles” since she was five years old. It was at this tender age that her mother had died unexpectedly, landing her on her father’s doorstep for the duration of her childhood. Divorced for nearly four years and having only seen his daughter a handful of times in between, Gus had been ill-prepared to handle a young girl. At first, he had relied heavily upon the help of his rodeo buddies.

      But even with the sage advice of his cohorts, things did not go smoothly. Gus had tried taking her on the road with him. They both soon realized that riding the rodeo circuit wasn’t a life for a child, though it was the only life that Gus knew. So he’d placed her at the family ranch in the care of her grandmother. While Grandma Whitman loved her deeply and saw to her needs without complaint, it never quite made up for the abandonment by her only parent.

      “Play hooky, eh?” She bit her lip against a smile, trying not to appear too anxious. The truth was, it was just too hot to work. The old house didn’t have air conditioning. Until the sun went down, it would remain stifling inside. She’d like nothing more than to escape from the heat and the call of duty for a few more hours. “You always have been a bad influence in my life, Gus.”

      “I try my best,” he said, reaching out to tweak her nose. “You know, honey, you were born too serious. It’s my job to see that you have a little fun in your life.”

      “If you put it that way, how can I say no?” She pushed herself away from the kitchen counter. “Give me a few minutes to find a pair of jeans in this mess. Then you, sir, can escort me to the ball.”

      

      With a snort of discontent, the bull pawed the sawdust-strewn ground with his front hooves. Swinging his massive head, he bucked against the gate of the holding pen, ramming the iron fence with a shattering force. His restless movements sent up a cloud of dust and the rank smell of sweaty, raw energy into the air.

      Tyler Bradshaw jumped back from the gate, not out of fear, but for safety’s sake. In less than an hour, he’d be expected to ride on the back of this restless creature. He didn’t need to lose any essential body parts while he was waiting his turn.

      Joey Witherspoon chuckled. “Diablo’s in a fine mood tonight.”

      “That he is,” Tyler said, his calm voice belying the trepidation churning in his gut. He was getting too old for this. Time to think of retirement. At least, that was what he’d been told by concerned friends.

      Not that he felt old. Far from it.

      Only, at the age of thirty-two, most bull riders had ended their careers and put themselves out to stud. They’d found themselves pretty little wives and were raising families, settling down to enjoy their retirement while they were still in one piece. But not him, no siree. No primrose path to old age for him.

      As far as he was concerned, if he had to hang up his spurs, he might as well be dead.

      “How’s the back?” Joey asked, studying him carefully.

      One of his concerned friends, Tyler reminded himself with a sigh. “The back’s fine.”

      “No twinges? No spasms?”

      “Not a twitch, not an itch.”

      Joey didn’t crack a smile at his attempt at humor.

      Tyler squinted

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