Resentment stung my eyes, and I had to turn away.
“Hattie—”
Back still to Miller, I took a step away, wanting acres of space between us. “I think you’ve said enough.” Lifting my phone, I opened the dating app again. I swiped right and felt sick. “Phillip the Accountant has been liked. Are you happy?”
I heard Miller’s steps across the concrete, felt him nearing. His hands rested on my shoulders and slowly turned me around. “I wantyouhappy.” Miller cleared his throat, as if uncomfortable with the sentiment. “We all do.”
“I think maybe this was a terrible idea—you and me.” I watched one of his dark brows lift in question. “Matchmaking, that is.”
“Have a little faith. Don’t run out on me yet.” His blue eyes held mine, as moonlight spun shadows around us. Miller’s fingers reached out and lifted a stray strand of limp hair from my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
“Are you?” If I rose on my tiptoes, our lips would be touching.
I did not need to be thinking about our lips touching.Stop it. Rebuke the lip thoughts. Sexy images in my head, be gone.
“Your family’s worried about you,” Miller said.
“And you?” I heard myself ask.
Miller’s gaze lifted to the sky beyond me, as if looking for an answer from the stars. But when he returned his attention to my face, he did a slow perusal over brow, cheekbones, and lips. Then finally our eyes met again. “You’ve definitely become my concern.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The air was thick with the smell of popcorn and livestock Monday night as I paid for my ticket to the Mission Springs Rodeo over a week later.
People scurried about like ants, many wearing smiles and cowboy boots. My daily work attire would’ve easily fit the typical dress code, but in one small act of defiance, I’d put on gold flats, a dressy pair of pants, and a flowy white peasant blouse that didn’t want to be within an inch of a bull. I wasn’t in Buck Sorrel’s fan club, so I refused to look the part.
Vintage posters of the Sunset Boys hung crookedly on dusty buildings as I made my way to the metal stands. I paused by one post, taken off guard by a grainy face that stared back at me in tones of sepia and regret. There he was. My dad. He looked so much like my brother it hurt. Thank God Colin had turned out to be a better man.
I gathered my purse into my lap after I sat down, holding it to me like a security blanket. What had I really thought I’d accomplish coming here? This was so stupid, so juvenile. Buck wouldn’t even know who I was.
I’d spent the entire hour in the car ride over rehearsing aloud all the things I wanted to say to him. I’d sounded eloquent and commanding, getting straight to the point of my complaints and final thoughts.
Now, as I stood for the “Star Spangled Banner,” I couldn’t recall any of it and wished I’d ponied up for a bag of popcorn when I’d had the chance.
I halfway expected to see Garrett there, but scanning the crowd I didn’t see one familiar soul. Today at the farm, Garrett had made a huge gain, finally putting a halter on his horse. And in the lengthy process, he’d talked to Harvey for at least a half hour, sharing life details that would stay between horse and veteran. I didn’t need to know what they’d discussed. Garrett had walked away from his session lighter and more centered, which was all the information I needed. I felt an odd need to share the news with Miller, but had so far refrained.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Holcomb Arena!” the announcer’s radio voice proclaimed ten minutes later. “Tonight you’ll see the best of the best rodeo has to offer.” The crowd predictably went wild. “And we honor some of the rodeo heroes that paved the way for the folks you’ll see riding. We at Holcomb Arena are thrilled to present the reunion tour of the Sunset Boys!”
The older generation in the crowd clapped enthusiastically, but most of the attendees had a reaction that was polite at best. Poor Buck. He was always chasing fame. And had never succeeded in catching it.
Three of the Sunset Boys took their individual turns riding a bucking bull that clearly had been handpicked for the occasion. These bulls were not the thrashing beasts the young riders would climb on tonight. But I guessed it made for good theater anyway.
“Saving the best for last, welcome the last Sunset Boy…” The announcer revved up his voice like he was emceeing a WWE match. “Buuuuccck Sorrellll!”
My golf clap froze as I caught my first sight of my father.
He waved to the crowd before climbing onto the chute where his bull waited. He wore a denim shirt, a protective vest covered in sponsorship emblems, and a satisfied smile that took me back over twenty years. I hadn’t Googled Buck in some time, and to see him now relit the old pain and confusion. This was the guy who’d walked out on his family and hadn’t looked back.
The chute opened, and Buck and his bull entered the arena in a mad dance of leaps and spins.
Lance “Buck” Sorrel had been a star on the rise back in his day. Then that star flickered out, as it would for any bull rider whose body has the audacity to age past thirty years old. I assumed it was more than just getting older that made the pro level elusive for my bio-dad, but I knew that wasn’t the story he’d weave if asked.
And I wouldn’t ask.
In some form or fashion, Buck Sorrel had quit everything he’d ever started. He’d even quit his birth name of Lance once he started riding bulls, as if taking on a new identity would give him a different life. And maybe it had.
The ride was over almost as soon as it began, and with a few more waves to the cheering people in the arena, Buck ambled toward an exit while the old Sunset Boys theme song played.
