Chapter Seven

Amarillo, TX—UPRC Headquarters

Jackson Blevins spun around in his chair so he could look out over the city. He had wanted to move the headquarters to Dallas, but according to their accountant Benny, "they couldn't afford it." Which was bullshit, but he was willing to bide his time.

He called down to the ticket office. "How are we doing in San Antonio?"

It wasn't capacity, but it wasn't a shitty number.

"We can do better," he said. "Release a few tickets to the local radio stations and throw in a meet-and-greet with Ronnie. See if we can get some buzz that way."

"We've already done that, sir."

"Then get Dolly Keller on the internet and have her work her magic. I want another hundred tickets sold for tomorrow. And I want it done by five p.m."

"Yes, sir."

Incompetent. At this rate, he was going to have to put some more money in his Grand Cayman bank account to prepare for when this thing went tits-up. It was a shame, too. He really liked the rodeo.

He made another call. This one to his bookie.

"Put me down for ten thousand dollars that Sverre stays undefeated."

"You know something I don't know?"

"I know that bull is a contender." Jackson hung up. That, and he had a man on the inside who was going to make sure that the bull was drugged into a frenzy. No one, no matter how good a bull rider they were, was going to stay eight seconds on that beast.

And he was going to make Sverre the star attraction. The unrideable bull. That should get them coming into the rodeo in droves. He took out his special box again and did another bump. This was the good stuff, and he was brilliant for figuring out how to move the product across the borders. Even the most dedicated border agent didn't want to root around in literal bull shit.

His next call was to Dolly Keller.

"Hi, Mr. Blevins. Don't worry, I've got a plan to get those hundred tickets sold." She sounded out of breath. He wondered if she had been practicing her cheerleading skills. She used to be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. It was one of the reasons why he'd hired her.

"I've got every bit of faith in you, Dolly. I'm calling because I want you to set up a public relations campaign for one of our star athletes."

"Don't tell me it's Nash Weaver," she said sourly.

"Who?"

"Exactly," she said.

"No. This is for one of our four-legged athletes. Have you heard of a bull named Sverre?"

"Yeah, he's undefeated."

"We want to promote him as a headliner. Come see the beast who can't be tamed. Shit like that. I want to see it on posters and all over the internet. I'd prefer not to spend ad money, so make him go viral."

"Just like that," she said flatly. "Have it go viral, you say."

"It's what I hired you for. Don't disappoint me." Jackson hung up.

And now it was time for a little RR. He did another line. "Debbi," he said into his intercom to his secretary. "Get your pretty little ass in here. And you better be wearing those heels I bought for you."

*

Reba

San Antonio, TX—ATT Center

While Reba madeher rounds throughout the day checking on the animals, she kept her eye out for Shane, but either he was too busy or wasn't around. She did notice Nash Weaver, Dolly's mysterious cowboy, wandering around places cowboys shouldn't be. She pulled up beside him in a golf cart to confront him.

"Are you lost, Nash?" she asked.

Nash turned and gave her a slow smile. He was another handsome devil, with deep green eyes and wavy black hair. Maybe that was why he was one of the headliners in the UPRC's program.

Reba didn't know if he could ride a bull worth a damn, and according to Dolly he couldn't, but when he smiled like that, she could see why some women would buy a ticket. Fortunately, she was immune to that sort of flash and swagger. She was going to stare at him with what she hoped was a stern face, until he blurted out what the heck he was doing in this area. The look was usually reserved for negligent owners or animal handlers.

"I was just checking out the competition." Nash inclined his head toward the bulls.

"You had your chance to take a look at the during the lottery. Are you not satisfied with the two bulls that you drew to ride?" she asked.

Nash grimaced. "It's all the same to me."

Reba wondered about that. Most of the bull riders had the stats down on every bull and spent hours yakking about it.

"What do you mean?" Reba said, patting the seat next to her. "Come on, we have to get you out of here before you get into trouble."

Nash swung himself into the seat next to her. "Sorry about that. I tend to wander."

"And not look at signs that say keep out?"

"I always assume the signs don't apply to me." He gave her that smile again.

Yeah, she was definitely immune to his charms. When he saw that it wasn't working, Nash cleared his throat and said, "I'm just trying to figure out how to put in a better showing."

Now that she could understand. "Yeah, Dolly tells me your scores have been pretty dismal."

He perked up a little bit at that, which was surprising. Normally, bull riders didn't like to be reminded when they sucked. "Dolly mentioned me?"

"Yeah," Reba said.

So that was why he was so happy. She looked at him again. He and Dolly would make a good couple. Nash looked like he was more of a fashion model than a bull rider anyway.

"You know, you should seek her out. Her specialty is getting an internet buzz for the riders. It won't help you ride any better, but the more fans you have cheering for you in the crowd, the more encouraging it is. At least, that's what my sister LeAnn says."

"Yeah," he said, taking off his hat and staring into it. "I don't really like social media all that much."

So much for being perfect for Dolly. "Dolly lives for it," Reba said as she drove them back out to the main area. "But if you're looking to get better at bull riding, you should go to Trent Campbell. He's got a bull-riding school in Last Stand, Texas."

"I heard good things about him. Maybe I'll do that."

She pulled the golf cart to a stop. "Keep out of trouble," Reba said. "Stay out of restricted areas. If I catch you again back there, I'm going to have to say something. I don't want to get you in trouble."

"I appreciate that, ma'am," he said, getting out of the golf cart.

Reba thought for a moment about playing matchmaker, but then decided if Dolly couldn't take on the responsibility of a kitten right now, then she probably couldn't take on the responsibility of a boyfriend either.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and she couldn't wait to get back to the RV, take a shower and see her kittens. Maybe not in that order. After her shower, Reba sat on the couch and played with the kittens. She called up her sister Loretta, who was back home in Paris, Texas, with their parents.

"Have you given any thought about coming on the road with us?" Reba asked.

"Yeah," Loretta said. "I'm going to do it next season, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind. There's more than enough room in the Winnebago for you. How much artwork are you going to bring?"

"It depends on how much I can get done between now and then. But we'll figure it out. Even if I have to rent a trailer for it all."

"Whoa," Reba said. "How much are you planning on painting?"

"I've been using it as a stress release lately," Loretta said, laughing. "How much tonnage can the Winnebago pull?

"If worst comes to worst, we can always hook something up to LeAnn or Dolly's pickup trucks."

"I'm looking forward to it." Loretta lowered her voice. "I really need to get away."

Reba could definitely relate. "While I got you on the phone…" she said.

"No, we can't take the kittens. No, Mom and Dad don't know yet. You better get rid of them before they find out."

"How are they going to find out?" Reba said testily, not surprised that Loretta already knew about the kittens.

"All it's going to take is one accident. If Mom smells cat pee, you're history."

"I'm trying to find homes for them," Reba said quietly. "Good homes."

"Well, it can't be with any of us. We're at maximum pet capacity."

Not even close, but Reba had to try anyway. There were plenty of shelters along the rodeo routes, and she might be able to see if one of the other vets knew of a family who was looking to adopt a kitten. But to be honest, she missed having pets with her and she wanted to enjoy the kittens for a little bit longer. She told herself that she was just waiting for the right home.

"I've got to go," Reba said. "I've got another call coming through." It was Shane.

"Okay," Loretta said. "I'll talk to you later."

As Reba switched over to answer Shane's call, she marveled at the little butterflies in her stomach. What was she—a teenager again? Still, his deep gravelly voice made her smile and she hoped that she'd be able to get a second shot at a goodnight kiss.

"Have you eaten yet?" Shane asked.

"No, not yet," she said.

"Good. I picked up some barbecue. I was hoping for a chance to come over and see the kittens."

"Absolutely, as long as you brought cornbread."

"Do I look like an amateur to you?"

"I'm sorry I doubted you."

There was a knock on the RV door. "One second," she said. Reba peeked out and saw Shane standing there with a bucket of chicken under his arm and a six-pack of beer in his other hand. Smiling, she hung up and opened the door for him.

"What would you have done if I wasn't home?" she asked as he stepped into the RV.

"Ate all the chicken by myself."

"I was looking for you today," she said, watching the doorway in case the kittens decided to make a break for it.

Luckily, they were racing around by her bedroom. One. Two. Three. Four. All accounted for. She closed the door firmly and got out two plates and some silverware.

"I was in and out of the arena all day today. Pat was handling the bulls, for the most part. There weren't any more incidents, right?"

Reba thought for a second. "Not that I've heard." She thought about seeing Nash Weaver where he shouldn't be but didn't want to make an accusation without any more proof. If she found him there again, she'd mention it to Shane.

Shane grunted. "Good. Maybe it was a one-time thing."

"No luck of finding out who whipped Vidar?"

Shane grimly shook his head. "It wasn't Jennings. He was the first one I thought of. You know, wanting to get revenge against the bull who threw him. Not only did he have an alibi, but it's just not in him to hurt an animal."

"I hope it's not in any of those guys to hurt an animal," Reba said, but she knew better. "Does anybody have a grudge against you?"

"That was my next thought. If they didn't have something against the bull, then maybe someone has a problem with me. I piss off a lot of people. I don't mean to. But if they were going after me and wanted to hurt me, they'd take out Sverre."

"Why?" Reba asked as she took a big scoop of potato salad and put it on her plate.

"He's our pride and joy. He's never been ridden eight seconds. Vidar's a tough son of a bitch, but Sverre is the bull to beat."

"Maybe it was a one-time thing or a freak accident," Reba said, hoping it was true. She pulled out an elote-seasoned corn on the cob. It was coated with butter and cojita cheese and a dusting of breadcrumbs. She squeezed some lime juice on it and dug in. Between the barbecue sauce and that, she was a mess. But she didn't care.

"This is amazing," she said once she swallowed. "Where did you get this?"

"A buddy of mine runs a food truck. He hooks me up when we're at the same event."

They made short work of the chicken and barbecue sauce was everywhere. Bringing over some damp paper towels, Reba sat back down and started cleaning up. Shane helped and stacked the plates and silverware into the RV's small dishwasher. Then he sat down on the floor and let the kittens crawl all over him.

"Since you brought over dinner, how about I treat for dessert? Do you feel like a churro and some ice cream?"

"Hell yeah," Shane said, smiling up at her. Huginn and Muninn were tackling each other, tumbling around. Hildr was stalking a bug, and Sigrun was curled up in Shane's lap, asleep.

"Holliday Row is playing tonight on stage three in the arena. I know you're probably sick of the rodeo by now, but since we're both technically off work, I figured we could indulge in some fried deliciousness and listen to music."

"Let's go," he said, putting Sigrun back into the padded carrier.

"Round up the kittens and I'll be right back." Reba darted into the bathroom and made sure she didn't have any barbecue sauce on her chin and that there wasn't anything in her teeth. She swiped on a quick dusting of makeup and a soft lip gloss. After putting a brush through her hair, she spritzed on some light perfume.

She was never going to be as flashy as Dolly or as dynamic as LeAnn, but Reba knew that she could hold her own in a conversation. She worried that Shane might want more of a buxom sexy chick, but then again, he was here and not with a buckle bunny so maybe his wild reputation was going to remain in the past.

"All set," Reba said, coming out of the bathroom.

"The kittens have been secured."

Grabbing a jean jacket, she gestured for him to go outside before her. Locking up, Reba smiled up at the sky. "Beautiful night."

"It is now," he said, offering his arm.

She took it and they strolled back to the main section of the rodeo arena. Reba was glad that the UPRC had a separate entrance. They both flashed their badges at the security guard and were let in without having to wait too long in line.

"Have you heard Holliday Row before?" Reba asked.

"Yeah, I like them. They've got a good sound."

"I've been a fan of theirs for years. They got their start at the local rodeos near us," she said.

"I used to stick around after the bull-riding events and listen to them before going out to the bars." Shane shook his head. "I'm pretty sure I survived on coffee, whiskey, and no sleep while I was on the circuit."

"Sleep is overrated."

They had to pass by the stands where the bull-riding event was taking place. Beside her, Shane seemed lost in thought. She could see the wistful expression on his face and couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, reaching out to touch his hand.

Shane turned to her, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Just brings back memories, you know?"

"You must miss it a lot."

"Some days more than others."

"What do you miss the most?" Reba wondered if it was the girls or the adrenaline rush of riding the bulls.

"I miss making a quick buck for doing something I loved."

That surprised her.

"Don't get me wrong, the ranch makes decent money. But it's more of a team effort these days and it takes a while to see the return on our investment."

"And then sometimes the rodeo changes all the rules," she said, referring to the UPRC's new proposed contract with the breeders.

"Exactly. Life was easier back then. I had a good time going from rodeo to rodeo."

"Fast times and sowing wild oats?"

"Yeah," he said. "I feel all adult now, having to get up at an ungodly hour and put in some hard work on the ranch when I'm not at a rodeo babysitting bulls."

"Adulting sucks," Reba said.

"It does indeed. Still, I think I'm getting used to it. Although, I want one last ride to go out in a blaze of glory."

"Why don't you?"

He looked down at the ground and shook his head. "I could fuck up my leg even worse than it is now. It's not worth it for eight seconds of glory."

She squinted at him. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you're a smart woman. I figure if I keep telling myself that, it'll sink in and I'll start believing it. Fake it, until you make it."

"Do you want to watch the final rides?" she asked.

"Nope," he said. "I'd rather get a good spot up front to listen to the band."

"But first," Reba said. "Ice cream and churros."

"Naturally."

They shared a big churro, but had their own ice cream. Shane was a purist ordering a dish of two scoops of vanilla. Reba wanted to walk on the wild side a bit and ordered the brown sugar bourbon ice cream.

She closed her eyes in bliss. "You've got to try this."

But when she opened her eyes, Shane was looking at her rather hungrily. She nearly dropped her bowl. And when he tasted a sample of the ice cream off her spoon, Reba felt a rush of heat.

By the time they finished and disposed of their dessert, the band came on stage and started their first song.

"Want to dance?" Shane asked.

"You bet I do." Reba slipped into Shane's arms and even though there wasn't a lot of room, they managed to two-step without bumping into anyone else.

It was easy to dance with him. He was strong and graceful. Reba couldn't help leaning into him and resting her head on his chest when the band played one of their slower songs.

Her phone started buzzing like crazy, but Reba didn't want to answer it. She was off duty if it was a vet call, and her sisters were around if it was family-related. Although, as they twirled as the music became livelier, Reba had a bad thought that maybe LeAnn had gotten hurt.

After the song ended, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and checked it. There were a bunch of missed calls throughout the day, but no one had left her a voicemail message and she didn't recognize any of the numbers. The most recent notifications came from one number. They called five times in the past hour. "I should see who this is," Reba said apologetically.

"I'll go with you," Shane said, following her away from the band.

She walked toward the veterinarian's compound out of habit and when she felt she could hear over the crowd and the band, she called the number.

"Reba, is that you?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"My name is Keith. We met the other day."

Keith Kilgore. Dr. Kilgore's nephew. Reba made a face. "What can I do for you?"

"What are you doing tonight?"

"I'm sorry." Ugh, why did she apologize? "I've got plans and I need to get back to them. Is there something you needed?"

"Yeah, let's meet for lunch tomorrow."

"No," Reba said, not elaborating.

"No?"

Just like his uncle. Apparently, Keith wasn't used to hearing that word either. She searched her feelings and realized that facing down another Kilgore didn't fill her with dread.

"Why not?" he asked.

Reba didn't elaborate. She didn't owe anyone an explanation. Surely not an entitled bull rider who thought he could snap his fingers and she would jump.

She wondered if she would be this brave if it was his uncle calling. Reba gave Shane a thoughtful look and realized that Dr. Kilgore was slowly losing his power over her. Part of it was the distance she had from the situation and, thankfully, from him. But part of it was making sure that she didn't sit with the memories anymore and was now reaching out for better memories. Shane was that better memory.

In the awkward silence, Keith stammered, "I-I've got a job offer for you."

"Not interested," she said and hung up on him. She turned to Shane. "I'm not usually that rude."

"Who was it?"

"Keith Kilgore, about a job opportunity."

Shane snorted. "I think you were very polite. I would have told him to fuck off."

"The night's still young," she said. It thrilled her to think that she'd one day have the nerve to say that to Keith's uncle. "Now, where were we?" Reba stepped back into Shane's arms. There was still music to dance to.