Texas Rebels: Phoenix. Linda WarrenЧитать онлайн книгу.
opened the door. Haley Wilson stood there. A barrel racer, Rosie saw her at the rodeos and they’d become friendly. Rosie usually kept to herself, but Haley was outgoing and bubbly and sometimes wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Hey, I saw your trailer. You riding tonight?” With brown hair and brown eyes, Haley was a typical cowgirl with tight jeans, an equally tight shirt, boots and a Stetson. And a smile that stretched all the way to Austin.
“Yeah. Come in.” She never asked anyone into her living quarters, but today she did for some reason. Maybe that lonely thing was getting to her.
Haley looked around. “This is nice. Mine is much smaller, and I’m always happy to get home to my comfy bed, aren’t you?”
Rosie couldn’t tell her this was her home and comfy bed. This was where she lived full-time because she couldn’t afford anything else. Luckily Haley kept talking, so a response wasn’t necessary.
“When I start winning money, I’m upgrading big time.” Haley scratched Dixie’s head. “What a cutie.”
“She’s my roommate.”
Haley thumbed over her shoulder. “Isn’t that the Rebel boys’ trailer next to you?”
“Yeah. You got a thing for the Rebels?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say no if they asked me out for a beer.”
Why were women such suckers? The Rebel boys only wanted one thing. But if Haley was willing, what business was it of Rosie’s?
Haley turned toward the door. “I gotta get my horse over to the arena. I’ll see you there. Good luck tonight.”
“You, too.”
Rosie slipped on a white sparkly Western shirt and tucked it into her jeans. At the arena, she would wrap Lady’s legs below the knee with white also. It was a thing with her to match, and her fans had come to expect it. She kissed Dixie goodbye and went out to the trailer to unload Lady.
When Rosie had first seen the palomino with the white mane and tail, she’d known she had to have her. She was a beautiful horse and she had speed unlike any horse Rosie had ever owned. Stroking her gently, Rosie cooed silly words to her, making sure no one could hear, especially Phoenix Rebel.
In minutes she had a saddle on her and was ready to ride over to the arena. With one boot in the stirrup, she noticed Phoenix coming out of his trailer.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” His voice was soft now with an underlying tone of huskiness, but it did nothing for her. She didn’t like the man.
“I have nothing to say to you. Now or ever. But I do hope the bull you ride tonight has big horns and points them south where the sun don’t shine.” She kneed Lady and rode away, enjoying the stunned look on his face.
* * *
PHOENIX GAVE UP trying to apologize to a woman who was as stubborn as a mule. He did enjoy her sense of humor, though. She could be his kind of woman except for one thing: she was a McCray and he was a Rebel. And that other thing, too. She hated his guts.
He didn’t know why he was thinking about her when he had enough on his plate to keep him occupied for the next few months. She ignored him for the rest of the rodeo and again when she saw him in Pasadena, Texas. The ignoring thing went on. Sometimes, just to annoy her, he would walk her way to see if she would react. She didn’t. They met up again in Tyler. The ignoring thing was set in stone.
By then, Phoenix was focused on his phone. He checked it at least twenty-five times a day to see if Ms. Henshaw had called. He thought of calling her but decided against that. He’d just wait in la-la land until the big moment.
In Tyler, Phoenix drew a bull called Buster, named because he busted cowboys’ scores. Paxton had ridden two rides ahead of him on Rough Stuff and had scored an eighty-six.
The bull was in the chute, snorting and angry, but the chute held him tight. It was time to ride. Phoenix adjusted the chaps that Jude had made for him and then worked on his spurs. Paxton was known for his red shirts, but Phoenix was known for his colorful plaid shirts. His protective vest was black, and he slipped his arms into the holes and got comfortable in it.
When he heard his name, he walked to the chute, climbed up and checked his bull rope. The stench of bull and urine filled his nostrils. At this point his stomach started to churn, and it took a moment for the feeling to subside. The stands were full tonight with eager, noisy fans. The bright lights beamed onto the arena. A hush came over the crowd as he eased on to the back of the huge, muscled, angry bull, who snorted and moved restlessly. Phoenix felt the enormous power beneath him, sucked air into his lungs and adjusted the braided bull rope to get the feel that he needed. With his glove on, he worked his hand into the handle on the rope.
Pax was on the chute to help him. “Have you got a good grip?”
“I got it.”
This is for you, Dad. He said that to himself before every ride.
He raised his left arm and nodded. The gate flung open, and Buster jumped head-down into the arena, kicking out with his back legs and going into a spin. Phoenix held on, his mind whirling as he counted in his head. Eight seconds always felt like thirty. He maintained his position, even spurring the bull so he would jump higher. At the buzzer he leaped off, stumbled and rolled toward the fence. The bullfighters had Buster headed toward the open gate.
He got to his feet, picked up his hat and waited for the score. Eighty-five. Damn. He’d expected it to be higher. That was the nature of riding.
The rodeo came to an end on Saturday night. Paxton and Phoenix placed first and second. It had been a long season and they would finish out in October before Vegas, just to keep practicing and maintaining their skill. They’d worked a lot of years to get to this point. It could all go wrong in a second, though.
At the arena, the cowboys were packing up, getting ready to move on to another rodeo. Eden, their brother Falcon’s daughter, had joined them. She was in college, but she barrel-raced occasionally.
“Hey, y’all going out to party tonight?” Cole Bryant, another bull rider, asked.
“You bet,” Paxton told him. “We’re taking Eden out for the evening.”
“If Eden’s going, then I’m coming, too.”
Phoenix threw an arm across Cole’s shoulder. “You touch my niece and I’ll have to hurt you.”
Cole held up his hands. “Okay. I got it, but why don’t you let her make up her own mind?”
“And why don’t I just punch you in the face?”
“Come on, guys.” Paxton got between them. “It’s Saturday night. Let’s have some fun.”
Eden, pretty as a picture with dark hair and green eyes, walked up. “Where are we going tonight?” She wiggled her hips. “I’m eager to dance, especially with my uncs.”
Rosemary strolled by, leading her horse and not casting an eye their way. There was just something about her that drew Phoenix’s attention. A sadness that he could feel, which was crazy. He must have hit his head in the arena.
“One of these days, I’m going to ride as good as her,” Eden said.
Before anyone could respond, Phoenix’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and froze as he saw the name. Ms. Henshaw. “Excuse me. I have to take this.” He walked to the fence and leaned against the pipe railing.
“Ms. Henshaw?”
“Mr. Rebel, I have news for you.”
“You have the results from the DNA test?”
“Yes.”
He sucked in a deep breath as if he was going to ride the meanest bull in the world. “What are they?”
“You’re the father. Ninety-nine point