One Night Rodeo (Blacktop Cowboys 4)

Las Vegas, Nevada

“Son, your father is dying.”

Kyle Gilchrist pulled his cell phone away from his ear, staring at it as if it had grown horns. “Ma. What the hell are you talkin’ about? You’ve always told me I was an immaculate conception. Or that you found me in the cabbage patch. Or that you were hit by a sperm donor truck.”

“Kyle Dean Gilchrist, for once in your life don’t be sarcastic. You need to come back to Wyoming as soon as possible. He wants to see you.”

“Who?” he demanded.

“Your father.”

“All of a sudden I have a father? Who is he?”

“I can’t tell you.” A tiny sigh sounded. “Look. He wants to meet face-to-face. Talk to you in person. Explain a few things.”

Kyle’s resentment flared and he attempted to keep his tone even. “So why didn’t he call me himself if he’s suddenly all fired up to take on his daddy responsibilities to a grown man?”

“He doesn’t feel you two oughta hold this conversation over the phone. Plus, he’s on a respirator.”

“And why should I give two shits about him? Isn’t like he ever gave a damn about me.”

“Believe it or not, he does care about you. He always has.”

“Why should I believe that?” He couldn’t keep the skepticism from his tone.

She blurted, “He’s leaving you an inheritance and he wants to discuss it with you.”

Kyle’s beer stopped halfway to his mouth. “Come again?”

“He’s leaving you everything: the land, the cattle, the buildings, whatever cash is left over. Everything is yours. He had no other children. You’re his only heir.”

His father. An inheritance. This was beyond surreal. And Kyle had thought last night was an epic mindblower.

“Son? You still there?” his mother said, prompting a response.

The hotel door opened and she sauntered in. His pulse skipped a beat, or seven, as it always did whenever he saw her.

She stopped by the bed and asked, “Kyle? Is everything all right?”

He shook his head, still trying to wrap his brain around the bizarre news.

His mother demanded, “Who’s that with you?”

“My wife,” Kyle drawled, keeping his eyes focused on the woman wearing his ring.

“Your wife? Since when do you get married and not tell me?”

“Don’t go there, Ma. Not when you’ve dropped a bombshell about my alleged father.”

“Who is she?” His mother again demanded an answer.

“I’ll make you a deal: I’ll give you her name if you give me my father’s name.”

Silence.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll be in touch soon. Bye.” He hung up and tossed the phone aside, never breaking eye contact with the woman standing next to him.

“You gonna tell me what that was about? Especially blabbing the my wife part to your mother?”

“You are my wife, and it looks like we’re goin’ to meet the family sooner than we expected.”

“Oh no. Oh hell no.” She cocked her hands on her hips and glared at him. “We both agreed this Vegas marriage was a drunken mistake and we’d get it annulled as soon as possible.”

Kyle gave her a very slow, very thorough once-over, letting the heat in his eyes serve as a reminder of their wedding night. “You know, I’ve had time to think, and I don’t wanna get this marriage annulled.” He toasted her with his beer. “So pack your bags, kitten. We’re headed home to Wyoming. Tonight.”

Twenty-four hours earlier…

Kyle raced down the hospital corridor until he spied the woman pacing across from the emergency room doors. “Tanna?”

She whirled around. “Kyle. Thanks for coming.”

He loomed over her. “Thanks? That’s the first thing you say to me? Jesus. I’ve been out of my f**kin’ mind the last twenty minutes. How could you call me to get my ass to the hospital and not give me a single damn detail about what happened to her?” He had visions of her in surgery or in traction. Bloodied up and unconscious. Broken in body and spirit.

The feisty barrel racer jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “Don’t you snap at me first thing, Kyle Gilchrist.”

“Then start talkin’. Now.”

“I told you on the phone. She fell off a horse.”

Kyle frowned. “Her horse Mickey ain’t even here.”

“Not her horse. A horse. She landed on the steer cockeyed after she launched herself at it. I think she ended up with a hoof or a horn to her head ’cause…ah…there was some blood.”

“What the hell was she doin’ with a goddamn steer?”

“Bulldoggin’.” Tanna’s eyes darted away.

Somehow he kept a lid on his temper. “Still waiting to hear the full story.”

Her defiant brown gaze met his. “You know how Celia is, Kyle. Someone tells her that she can’t do something and she goes out of her way to prove them wrong.”

“Who’s them?”

“A couple of bulldoggers from Nebraska. Cocky bastards, talkin’ shit to us about how easy barrel racin’ is compared to bulldoggin’. The next thing I knew, Celia was ponying up a hundred bucks to prove that steer wrestling ain’t that hard. Then the bulldoggers got permission from the event staff so we could have us a little race.”