Chapter Two

Shane Calland

If Shane had still been bull riding, he would have just rolled out of bed and swaggered down to the bullpens so he could talk shit and check out which of the bulls looked like they were going to give him the best scores.

But those days were gone.

Wandering around backstage at the rodeo, Shane pushed down feelings of resentment and what he refused to acknowledge as a little jealousy. Did he miss this? Hell yeah. A part of him did, but another part sure as shit didn't miss getting bounced around on his tailbone by a two-thousand-pound bull or getting thrown off the back of a horse that didn't want a rider on top of him. Shane certainly didn't relish the memory of coming down on his ankle and having his foot go east while his body went west.

Shane now walked with a permanent limp because of it. On good days, the pain in his ankle made him irritable. On bad days, even he didn't want to be around himself. When it first happened, he took pain medication, but he didn't like the way it made him feel, disoriented and loopy, like he was out of his body looking down. Eventually, he just learned to suck it up, but it did make his temper short, especially with idiots. Even worse with idiots who didn't know how to treat their animals right.

Five years ago, he had been on top of the rodeo world. He had an exciting career that made him a boatload of money for doing something he loved—riding bulls. Shane didn't have to work his parents' ranch with his brother. He got to travel the world, party all night, and sleep with a lot of beautiful women. Then he had gotten married, and a bull had ended his rodeo career. Some days Shane wasn't sure which had screwed up his life more.

Abigail hadn't stayed with him to nurse him back to health. She had divorced Shane after his ankle injury assured he'd never compete in the rodeo again. She had been back on the circuit the very next season. He had stayed home to help his father and brother run Viking Ranch.

Eventually, Shane had convinced his father get their bulls into the small, local rodeos. After a few years, they had some interest with the bigger national ones. And then last year, he had scored the UPRC. It had been a great win for the Viking Ranch. They agreed to contract with them for their five best bulls. Shane's family still had some bulls in the local Montana rodeos and some of the smaller, amateur ones, but those were greener bulls that needed more experience before Shane could decide if they were destined for the spotlight.

This year, however, the UPRC decided to pull this shit with drug testing the bulls. What a waste of time—and it was completely unnecessary. But Shane wanted his bulls to compete in the big league, so he was willing to jump through a few hoops. It was a good thing that the UPRC paid almost double for the use of their bulls. It made up for some of the bullshit. Not by much, though.

By the time Shane unloaded his bulls and saw that they had food and water, he got a text from the UPRC acknowledging that his bulls were cleared to compete.

No shit.

He probably shouldn't have given the pretty doctor such a hard time. It just pissed him off that the UPRC didn't trust him not to shoot his bulls up with performance-enhancement drugs. None of the other rodeos did that.

Still, it hadn't been Reba Keller's fault. From everything he had seen, she was professional and truly understood the animals in her care. She was a head turner, and sometimes he'd find himself searching for her at each of the rodeo check-ins. One of these days, he'd ask her out for a beer. It was just that his schedule had been so hectic that Shane had barely enough time to get what he needed done before grabbing a little shut-eye and then hustling off to the next rodeo.

He listened to the backstage banter between the bull riders. Some were showing off for their girls, others were scrutinizing the bulls and bickering over which one they wanted to ride today. It all came down to chance, though. Every rider picked a bull from a blind drawing. They could trade amongst themselves, but that generally didn't happen.

The Viking Ranch's bulls that were currently on the roster for today's rodeo were his father's pride and joy. Sverre, Ingvar, Vidar, Balder, and Torkel were his father's berserkers. His family was third-generation Norwegian. Their last name Calland meant calf and land in old Norse. When his grandfather had moved to Montana to build his ranch, he'd wanted to keep some of his heritage alive. All of their bulls had Norwegian or Old Norse names. Their animals were like family, so he found it offensive that the UPRC had to test their bulls for performance-enhancing drugs. His family had never resorted to that kind of foul play. But the UPRC almost lost a cowboy last year to a doped-up bull, so Shane understood why they had to do it. He just didn't like it.

Of the thirty or so bulls here today, Shane thought his were the most competitive rides, but he was probably biased. He made his way to the stands after getting a hotdog and a beer. Sitting down on the bleachers, he ignored the customary squawk his knee gave him at bending. He was interested in seeing how their bulls performed today and how they compared to the competition.

"Shane, how the hell are you?"

Still chewing his hotdog, Shane looked over and saw his old pal Barney Keating. Barney was a bullfighter, turned more rodeo clown these days. He dressed up to entertain the crowd while the younger guys chased the bull around the arena and put their bodies on the line. Right now, though, he was wearing Levi's and a T-shirt.

"Why aren't you in your makeup and heels?" Shane asked after he swallowed.

"I'm not working today," Barney said. "I'm here to see my son win."

"What's his name?"

"Taylor." Barney pointed him out. "He's usually bullfighting, but today he wanted to try to win the bull-riding purse."

Shane nodded politely. It would probably be a good chunk of change. Shane remembered the thrill of earning thousands of dollars on the outcome of two rides. He would have half of it already spent by the next rodeo, though. Damn, he missed being young and irresponsible. A part of him wondered if it was worth it to try and get back on a bull again. Then his knee or his ankle warned him not to be an idiot. One of these days, his brain would get on board, but not during the rodeo days like this one.

"I hear Abigail is back around," Barney said, with an elbow nudge and a waggle of his eyebrows.

"So?" Shane rolled his eyes. Abigail was always going to be around. If there was a rodeo, she'd be following the hottest new thing.

"Your ex-wife's looking good—that's all I'm saying."

It been a fast wedding. They got married in Vegas after he had won the men's finals five years ago. He didn't remember much about the wedding, just that Elvis had officiated. The honeymoon had been pretty good, but it hadn't made up for the months of fighting and nagging that followed. Since he hadn't had a lot of money left after his career-ending injury, it had been a fast divorce as well. Six months from start to finish. Abigail never looked back. But to be fair, neither had Shane.

"She's engaged to another bull rider."

"Who's the unlucky fella?" he asked, in spite of himself.

"Keith Kilgore."

The name rang a bell and for a moment he couldn't place where he had heard it from. Then it hit him. The creepy guy's nephew.

Shane grunted. If he was anything like his uncle, they deserved each other. He wasn't sure what the deal between the creeper and the pretty vet had been, but he knew the doc hadn't liked the jerk.

"Well, I wish them both the best," Shane said, and he did.

He and Abigail had tangled in the sheets a few times after their divorce. That had never been a problem area for them. But Abigail wanted to be married to a rodeo star. She hadn't wanted to take care of a man with a broken foot and a broken attitude. He supposed he couldn't really blame her for that. They hadn't married for love, they married for fun and when he stopped being fun, their marriage had been over.

"Your bulls are looking good," Barney said.

"Thanks. We're proud of them."

"Competition is going to get fierce," Barney added.

"It always does. But it's still early in the season. Any one of these guys could be in the finals in Las Vegas." Shane gestured to the bull riders who were hanging around the fences, waving at the crowd, waiting for the announcers to open up the event.

Some of them didn't even look old enough to be in the arena by themselves. And now he sounded just like his old man. Next thing you knew, he'd be starting his sentences with, Kids these days.

"I don't mean about the bull riders," Barney said. "I'm talking about the bulls."

"I'm not following." Of the five bulls Shane had brought today, Sverre was the only one that had never let a rider go the full eight seconds. The other four were tough sons of bitches, though. He hoped they all put on a good show. If the UPRC liked what they saw, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they'd ask for ten bulls next year.

"You haven't heard yet?" Barney leaned in, rubbing his hands in glee.

Shane had a feeling he wasn't going to like this.

"The UPRC is getting more paranoid about who they're willing to contract with." Squinting up at the sun, Barney shook his head. "Not to mention that they think it's a waste of time and resources to test the bulls before every event."

"I agree."

"But their insurance company isn't letting them go back to the way things were."

"Where are you getting this from?" Shane wondered how much of this was gossip and how much of it was true.

"One of the girls in the head office and I go out for drinks now and then. And she tells me things."

"Go on." Shane was amused, in spite of himself. Older cowboys chattered and gossiped like little old ladies at a bridge game.

"In the near future, they're going to have just three breeders supply them with all of the bulls."

Son of a bitch. After all his hard work and sacrifice to get this contract, it was all going to go up in smoke because some bean counters were trying to save a buck. The Viking Ranch needed the UPRC contract. Shane had deliberately not gone with the large or mid-size rodeos this year because he wanted to give the UPRC their best bulls. Although he hadn't burned any bridges, the other promoters weren't happy about not getting any of the Viking Ranch's premium bulls this season.

Maybe he shouldn't have put all of his best eggs in one basket, but Shane had wanted to impress the UPRC so they would contract more bulls from them next year. If they were no longer interested in the Viking Ranch, Shane might have to start from the bottom of the waiting list for the larger rodeos. He couldn't expect them to hold his place when there were several eager ranches waiting to step in and fill a gap. Hell, Shane had been one of those ranches, so he knew how it went.

"Seems to be a little short-sighted of them," Shane said, making sure that he kept the concern out of his voice. "Part of what makes things exciting is you get different types of animal athletes depending on where they were raised, by whom, and how they were trained."

"I think it'll go back to the way things used to be as soon as the doping scandal isn't so fresh in everyone's minds, but you didn't hear that from me."

"It's been a year. You would think people would have other things to talk about."

"Well, as long as Mick Mickelson is shooting his mouth off about his career-ending injury, it's going to be a hot topic of conversation. Although Dolly Keller seems to be on a mission to get things back on course."

"Who?" Shane asked.

"She's the UPRC's head PR person. She's Killer Keller's sister."

"You mean Killer Porter?"

"Yeah, she married Dylan Porter last year," Barney said.

"Are they both still riding bulls?"

"Just Killer. Her other sister is one of the large-animal vets who is doing the drug tests."

"I just came from talking with her."

"That's Reba. The whole family is named after country-western stars. Reba, Dolly, LeAnn is Killer's real name, and there's another one at home named Loretta."

"Any brothers?"

"Nope, but Killer's horse is named Garth."

"Missed opportunity," Shane grumbled.

"For what?"

"If you're going to name a horse after a country legend, you should have named him Merle or Waylon."

"You're going to have to take that up with Killer," Barney said.

"Maybe I'll take it up with her sister." Shane thought about the pretty vet again.

"It couldn't hurt to cozy up to the vet or to the PR rep. She could put in a good word for the Viking Ranch with the muckety-mucks making the decision."

"That's not my style." Shane hated all the new rules. They were doing just fine before Hickory Livestock had to ruin it for everyone. His father wasn't going to be too happy if Viking Ranch was nudged out of the way after trying for years to get in. Sure, there were other rodeos, but the UPRC paid the most and put on more shows.

"Every little edge will help."

"This is going to be a devastating hit to a lot of people if the UPRC only wants bulls from three breeders."

"There's more." Barney was warming up to his topic and sat down next to Shane. "If you get one of the golden tickets, so to speak, you have to agree to be exclusive to the UPRC for the duration of the contract."

"They better be paying damned good money for that, otherwise they're not going to get anyone."

"I don't know any details, but it's got to be pretty good because breeders are coming out of the woodwork to get in on this action."

"This has all the makings for a shit show," Shane said, his mood souring even further. They couldn't afford to lose the UPRC as a client, and they couldn't afford to be exclusive for more than a year unless they were being well compensated for it.

"I just thought you should be forewarned."

"I appreciate that," Shane said, making an effort to wipe the scowl off his face. None of this was Barney's fault. "The stock contractor that we normally deal with hasn't said a peep about this."

"I don't think they're ready to roll it out yet."

"Well, I'm not one for rumor and gossip. Is there anyone else I can talk with who might be able to give me some hard numbers?"

"I'll ask around," Barney said. "If I find out anything more, I'll let you know."

"Thanks," Shane said. His father was going to be pissed about this latest development. He was ready to retire and hand the reins over to Shane. But if he thought Shane was going to have trouble, the old man would stick around—even if he'd rather be fishing in the Keys instead of running a cattle ranch. Shane could relate. He'd rather be riding bulls than pimping them out to rodeos.

"There's also been talk that the other rodeos would like to see the UPRC fail. Less competition."

"Now, that sounds like a conspiracy theory. Next, are you going to tell me that the 5G network is spreading the coronavirus?"

Barney eased off the bleachers. "I'm just saying. Keep your eyes and ears open. I've got to go back to Taylor."

"Good luck."

"We miss you back there." Barney jerked his thumb toward the chutes.

"I miss it, too," Shane said, admitting it aloud for the first time.

"Ever think you'd go back?" Barney asked.

Every damned day."No," he said instead. He couldn't compete at the level he had been at before the accident. He had too much pride to even try.

As Barney walked away, Shane pushed down the irritation. That part of his life was over. He was now in a new career and as a bull breeder. He needed to pay attention to what his animal athletes were doing in the area. He watched the first set of riders try to go eight seconds on the bulls.

At the end of the set, Sverre was still undefeated. That bull brought in five thousand dollars per event because of that statistic. Ingvar, Vidar, Balder and Torkel also gave good rides. Shane charged fifteen hundred for each of them per event. Multiply that by twenty-five events and that was a big chunk of money his family would be out every year if they didn't get one of the new UPRC contracts.

Of course, they made good money in stud fees and selling champion bulls, but Shane liked going to the rodeo events. It made him feel that he was still part of the lifestyle.

Looking at his watch, Shane decided to call his father and see how things were going back on the ranch. He'd keep the news about the potential new contract to himself until he had official confirmation from the UPRC.

The phone rang forever. Shane rolled his eyes. It was a crapshoot if his father had left his phone in the truck, back at the farmhouse, or was now staring at it trying to figure out how to answer it.

"Yeah," his father's gruff voice snarled a second before it went to voicemail.

"Hey, Dad, what are you up to?"

"What the hell do you think I'm doing? Having a fucking picnic?"

"Are you?" he asked calmly, too used to his blustering to bat an eye.

"No, damn it. I'm at this freakin' computer trying to find who we have scheduled for Ragnar this weekend."

Shane clamped his hand over his face. "Don't screw around with that spreadsheet."

"I don't even know what a spreadsheet is."

And that was the problem.

"Didn't Rick print you out the list?" Shane was going to knock his brother on the head if he hadn't done that.

"I can't find it, and he's not answering his phone. He said he went into town for a feed run, but I think he's out screwing around with Lainey."

Probably.

"I don't know why he doesn't ask that girl to marry him," his father said.

Shane was not going to get involved in that conversation, so he steered it back to the bull they were currently hiring out to stud. "Is there a problem with Ragnar?"

"No."

"Then why are you looking up who Rick is bringing him to this weekend?"

"Because I want to know, damn it."

Shane didn't have access to the schedule from his phone. He'd have to get Rick to save it to the cloud when he got back from his nooner with Lainey Evans. "Do you have to know right now? I can make a few calls." Shane would look like an idiot, but there were only three farms that they had been considering. He couldn't remember off the top of his head who was set up for this weekend, though.

"No, I suppose it could wait until your brother gets home. But it pisses me off that I don't have this information."

"It pisses me off, too, Dad." Shane was going to have Rick put it on the fridge from now on. "What's Mom doing?"

"She's at her finance meeting. She's hoping to get them to raise the library's budget so she can buy some more books."

It was a little more complicated than that. His mother was the head librarian in their hometown of Charlo, Montana. She was curating a Western Plains Native American exhibit and was looking for funding for indigenous authors and artifacts from the Flathead Reservation. Normally, she'd be able to distract his father with another chore or something.

The problem was, his father was looking for something to do and he couldn't do the physical job of taking care of the animals anymore. Shane hated to throw his brother's assistant foreman under the bus, but it was better than having his father accidentally delete something from their breeding records.

"Did Tommy ever fix the tractor?" he asked.

"What's wrong with the damned tractor?" his father barked.

"You got me. I heard it from Rick. You'll have to ask him."

"That can't wait for your brother to get back. I'll take it up with Tommy. Now did you want anything or were you just wasting my time with this call?"

Shane didn't know why he even bothered talking to people anymore. "I just wanted to let you know that the bulls are doing well today."

"Of course they are." His father hung up on him.

Shane was not looking forward to the conversation if he had to tell his father that the UPRC had changed their mind about using the Viking Ranch's bulls next season. Maybe Barney had been pissing in the wind. It wouldn't be the first time idle chatter was passed around like gospel.

Shane was ready to hit the beer tent and head over to the bronc events when his phone rang. Because he didn't recognize the number, he almost let it go to voicemail. But he answered it on his way to the next event, hoping for some good news.

"Mr. Calland?" a soft, sexy Texas voice drawled his name.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. It sounded like that pretty veterinarian from before.

"This is Doctor Keller."

Jackpot.

"What can I do for you, Doc?" Maybe he should ask her out to dinner, not because of the information she might have about the new contracts—or maybe not. She might know what was going on and wouldn't mind talking about it with him. The main reason though, was she was sexy and seeing her run from that creeper had brought out all his protective instincts.

"There's a problem with your bull, Vidar. He's bleeding from a cut on his leg and limping."

So much for good news.

"What the hell happened?" Shane barked. "He was fine in the arena."

"I wasn't watching. Someone noticed he was limping back in the pen and called me to check him out. I wanted to give you a call to let you know I'm on my way to exam him."

"I'll be right there."

Vidar was too young to go out to stud. He had the makings of a champion bull. Shane wasn't sure which bull he could even replace him with for the next rodeo. They had ten other bulls that were contracted to the smaller Montana rodeos. He'd have to go online tonight and see who they had available for the show in San Antonio next week, if worst came to worst and Vidar was too hurt to perform.

His father was going to have a shit-fit.