He was surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged, but didn’t turn around. “I don’t know. Sometimes when I watch you ride I get the feeling you’re holding back. That you could be a lot better than you are.”
She was getting way too close for comfort. He forced a laugh. “Hey, I’ve won my fair share of rodeos.”
She turned around, her big brown eyes serious. “Is that your goal? To win a few rodeos?”
“What’s wrong with that? Not everyone has to be the best. Maybe I just like the adrenaline and thrill of the ride.”
“For me, it’s not just the adrenaline rush and thrill of the ride. I love it all. The sight of a packed arena and the smell of horse manure, beer, and nachos, and the sounds of the gate springing open and the roar of the crowd when the eight-second buzzer sounds. But mostly I love the feeling of being in complete sync with the horse. In that moment, it feels like I have the world by its tail. And I do want to be the best. But not just for my ego. I want to be the best for every little girl out there who has a dream that some jerk has tried to squash because of antiquated societal gender roles.”
Sawyer was struck speechless not just by her words, but also by the passion behind them. It humbled him. And made him speak the truth.
“I chose saddle bronc riding because it was the last thing people expected me to do.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Not only am I an underachiever. I’m also obstinate.” He nodded at the grill. “And the bacon’s burning.”
The bacon didn’t burn. It was cooked exactly the way he liked it—extra crispy. The over-medium eggs she made to go with the bacon were perfect as well. The whites cooked and yolks runny. She grilled some toast too and slathered it with butter and strawberry jam. They ate outside on a little fold-out table under the red-and-white striped awning with the wild Texas land encircling them like a warm comforting blanket. The fact that it was his land made it all the better. Maybe Maisy was right. Maybe he did need a place to call home.
Thankfully, she didn’t return to the topic of his underachievement. Instead, they swapped rodeo stories and Sawyer laughed more than he had in a long time. He suddenly realized that the last time he’d enjoyed himself so much had been at Lincoln and Dixie’s wedding.
When they finished eating, she glanced at the horses. “Did you intend to ask me to go riding or do you always travel with a spare horse?”
He smiled. “I always travel with a spare horse. But since you shared your bacon, I’ll be willing to share a horse.”
While she changed for riding, he carried the dishes inside and washed them at her little sink. He was looking for a towel to dry the pan when he pulled open a drawer and a photograph caught his eye. He took it out to get a closer look. It was a picture of Sam Sweeney holding a saddle with a rope looped over his shoulder. He was younger than Sawyer remembered. And he didn’t look nearly as mean. His eyes were Maisy’s. Or Maisy’s were his. His smile made him look like any young, cocky cowboy.
Sawyer now understood why she had held on for so long to the belief that Sam was still alive. This was the man Maisy loved. The father she’d dreamed about meeting and having a relationship with. The happy cowboy she was unable to let go.
A sound from the bedroom had him putting the picture back and continuing to look for the dish towel. He found one in the bottom drawer and was drying the pan when Maisy stepped out. She looked like she always looked. Hair in two braids, t-shirt, and faded jeans. She had the sling back on. She adjusted the shoulder strap as she spoke.
“A cowboy who knows how to do dishes. Be still my heart. No wonder you were so popular with the buckle bunnies.”
“They never got to see my dishwashing skills because they never shared their bacon.”
“Cold-hearted hussies.”
He laughed. “Now there’s a name for your ranch. The Cold-Hearted Hussy Ranch.”
“How about the Sizzling Bacon Ranch?”
“The Sassy Cowgirl.” He snapped the dishtowel at her butt. “You ready for me to show you how real riding is done, sassy cowgirl?”
She sent him the sassiest of smiles. “Bring it on, rodeo bum.”
Chapter Twelve
“Angel’s got a thing for Doris.” Maisy leaned her arms on the railing and watched as the big black stallion pranced around the paddock showing off for the mare, who was eating grass in the pasture and completely ignoring him.
Sawyer leaned on the railing next to her. His muscular forearms with the light sprinkling of golden hair were extremely distracting. Of course, everything was distracting about the man. Maisy couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off him. “And what makes you think it’s not Cookie or Misty he’s showing off for?” he asked.
“He told me.”
Sawyer laughed. “So now you’re not only a horse whisperer, you speak horse?”
She glanced over at him. His straw hat was pushed up and a strand of blond hair fell over his forehead. It took a real effort not to lift her hand and smooth it back with her fingers. “You speak to horses. Not only do you talk to Angel, but you also talk to the broncs you ride. If you don’t think they understand you, why waste your time?”
“Thinking they understand you is one thing. Thinking you understand them is another.”
“You seem to understand Angel. You’ve worked miracles with him in the last week. He’s ready for the saddle.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I guess he told you that right after he told you he had a thing for Doris.”
“Get a saddle and I’ll show you.”
“I’ll get a saddle, but you’re not riding Angel. Not with a busted collarbone. You probably shouldn’t be riding Cookie either.”
Riding had become a daily ritual. Sawyer would arrive at Maisy’s trailer every morning with Doris and Cookie. She’d make him breakfast and he’d do the dishes before they headed out. Sometimes they’d ride to the Double Diamond ranch and sometimes they’d head over to the Gardener ranch. Sometimes they’d talk while they rode and sometimes they’d say nothing. Maisy liked one just as much as the other.
When they did talk, she steered the conversation away from the topic of their tequila night and babies. She had done more research on chronic traumatic encephalopathy and decided Dixie was right. Sawyer’s life was more important than her guilt. She wanted him to grow old with his mind intact. And if the truth ever came out and he hated her, she’d just have to live with that.
It would be hard though. The more time they spent together, the more she liked Sawyer. Before she had just been infatuated with the sexy rodeo cowboy. Now she was infatuated with the man beneath.
Sawyer headed into the barn, and she followed. “My collarbone is just fine,” she said. “I’m not even wearing my sling any more.”
“You should be.” He disappeared into the tack room. She opened her mouth to continue to argue when a ping drew her attention to the cellphone sitting on a hay bale. In the last week, she’d noticed Sawyer got a lot of texts that he didn’t answer. She couldn’t help wondering why. After a quick glance to make sure Sawyer was still in the tack room, she leaned closer to the phone. She wasn’t surprised the text was from a woman. No wonder Sawyer didn’t answer the texts when he was with her. He didn’t want her to know he still had a string of women chasing after him. But here was proof.