“Then what?” Val challenged her. “I could be a blasted nun, and you still wouldn’t trust me.”
“This isn’t about trust, Val. It’s about concern. You haven’t been yourself since we got here. It’s nothing I can put my finger on, just that you seem troubled. Is everything all right?”
Val’s first impulse was to tell her to mind her own business. But she was too exhausted for more defiance. Tess had been her big sister her whole life. The two had played together, fought together, shared a hundred adventures on the ranch, gathered eggs in the barn, danced in the rain, and cried together when their mother died. Tess could be bossy and annoying, but in the end, she was family.
“No, everything isn’t all right,” Val said. “I don’t belong here. I want to go home. I can sell my tickets to pay for a flight and a ride. Please don’t try to stop me.”
“Is it Casey?”
Val didn’t answer. Yes, it was Casey. But there were other things as well, things from an ugly past that she wasn’t ready to share—things that were coming back to haunt her.
“I talked with Casey tonight,” Tess said. “He was interested in seeing the bulls. Your name didn’t even come up. He’s moved on, Val. If you were to run into each other, I’m sure he’d be fine.”
“I suppose he would.”
Until he wanted to talk.
Until he started asking questions and demanding answers.
“I understand why you might not be comfortable, Val.”
You don’t. But at least you’re trying.
“I know I can’t tell you what to do,” Tess continued. “But I’d like to ask a favor. Whirlwind will be bucking tomorrow. Come and support the family—support our bull and all the hope we’ve invested in him. After that, if you still want to leave, I won’t have a problem with it. Does that sound reasonable?”
It did sound reasonable. Given the chance, Val would have made a mad dash for the door and taken a cab to the airport tonight. But even if she were to turn Tess down, selling her remaining tickets and finding a flight to Tucson could take her much of tomorrow. Staying to support the family shouldn’t be a big imposition, especially if she could make it onto a red-eye after Whirlwind’s turn in the arena.
Meanwhile, as long as she stayed with her family and didn’t go out alone, she should be safe from the unseen threat that had set her nerves on edge.
“You know I didn’t want to come to Vegas in the first place,” Val said. “If Lexie hadn’t begged me, I’d be home on the ranch right now.”
“I know.” Tess pulled her shirt over her head and unhooked her faded cotton bra. Her small-breasted body was lean and sinewy, toned by a lifetime of hard work on the ranch. “So what’s it to be? Do you want to tell me now, or think it over while I shower?”
“I’ll stay tomorrow for the family. But after that, I’m out of here.”
“Fine.” Tess shimmied out of her jeans, grabbed her pajamas out of her duffel, and strode naked into the bathroom.
Val waited until she heard the running water. Only then did she slip out of her clothes and pull on her knee-length black nightshirt, which was made like an oversize knit tee. Her sister might not have second thoughts about showing her body, but Tess had no secrets to hide. Val did.
As she pulled the hem of her nightshirt down over hips, her fingers brushed the pale, horizontal scar that crossed below her navel. That scar was her secret. Her pain. The one thing she could never share with anyone—especially not with Casey.
CHAPTER THREE
THE NEXT MORNING, TESS WAS UP EARLY, HER THOUGHTS ON THE busy day ahead. Checking on the bulls would come first. Then, at 8:00, Shane would be filling in for a local host at a TV interview with Clay Rafferty, a founding member of the PBR who was now livestock director—the man responsible for choosing the bulls. Tess had asked and received permission to be part of the small off-camera audience. She’d spoken with Rafferty on the phone and knew him by sight, but she’d never met him in person.
Tess was not easily starstruck, but that morning, as she took extra pains with her hair and clothes, even dabbing on a touch of lipstick and mascara, Val teased her. “Look at you. You’ve even polished your boots. You wouldn’t go to that much trouble for an audience with the Pope.”
“Clay Rafferty isn’t the Pope,” Tess replied. “As far as the future of our ranch is concerned, he’s God Almighty.”
“In that case, say a few Hail Marys for my sinful soul when you meet him.” Still in her nightshirt, Val sat cross-legged on her bed, muttering as she used her smartphone to check on flights to Tucson. Finding a seat at the last minute wasn’t going to be easy, but she was set on leaving as soon as possible after Whirlwind’s turn in the arena.
Lexie would be skipping the interview. There were times when it didn’t suit Shane to appear dependent on his wife, and this was one of them. Val had stepped in and offered to treat Lexie to a shared session of head-to-toe pampering in the hotel spa, followed by a late lunch. Tess was pleased. Not only was Lexie delighted with the plan, but it would keep Val occupied and out of trouble for a good part of the day.
“Have a good time with Lexie.” Tess slipped on her leather jacket, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door. “It’s really nice of you, Val, to do this for her.”
“I do have my rare moments of niceness, don’t I?” Val brushed a hand through her flame-colored hair. “Of course, most of the time I’m a total bitch. Give my best to Shane. I know he’ll do us proud.”
After picking up a coffee to go at the hotel snack bar, Tess set out on foot to cross the short distance to the arena. It was early yet, but she wanted to take her time with the bulls. The November morning was cold for balmy Las Vegas. The stiff breeze ruffled her hair and made her shiver beneath her jacket. She sipped hot coffee as she walked, feeling her body warm as she thought about the day ahead.
She’d spoken with Shane earlier that morning. The interview, to be recorded for later broadcast, would be held in one of the upper rooms that rimmed the arena. Shane, who could access the room by elevator, had already left to make sure everything was set to go. He had a list of questions, but he planned to take the advice an experienced colleague had given him—just let the man talk.
By the time she passed through the arena doors, Tess had finished her coffee. Tossing the paper cup in a handy trash receptacle, she headed for the bull pens in the rear.
The place was teeming with activity this morning. Owners and their workers were busy caring for the bulls—feeding and watering them, grooming them, inspecting them for any sign of injury or malaise, and seeing that their pens had clean bedding underfoot. To the stock contractors who bred, raised, and trained them, these bulls were like family. Every bull that burst out of that bucking chute for a few seconds of glory carried somebody’s hopes and dreams.
But that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. Some bulls would attack without provocation or warning. And any bull, when angered, challenged, or threatened, was capable of killing. They were so powerful that even when a bull was only doing his job, a stomp or shove could crush a man’s bones.
That was how Jack had died at last year’s National Rodeo Finals. It was the reason Shane was in a wheelchair. And it was the reason the sport needed men like Casey Bozeman.