Page 12 of Take Me Please, Cowboy (The Calhouns & Campbells of Cold Canyon Ranch #1)

At the signal from the rodeo organizers, Rye and the cowboys and cowgirls raced into the arena in a line, showing off the rider and horse’s athleticism.

Once in the arena, they formed a solid square and hats were removed for the national anthem and prayer.

He glanced up into the stands just before they were dismissed, and Ansley’s gaze met his.

He felt a rush of emotion, need, and possession.

There was no denying how much he wanted her.

In the ideal world, she would be his. But he didn’t live in fairy-tale land.

His personal world was far from ideal. He could want her, but he wasn’t going to let it go further than that.

The cowboy in front of him left the arena at a gallop, and Rye nudged his horse and they were riding out, too.

Showtime.

*

Ansley arrived at the fairgrounds in time to catch the very end of the mutton busting, and holding her program close to her chest, she squeezed into the bleacher seat, moving down to an open spot.

The sun was high overhead but almost everyone was wearing a cowboy or baseball hat, and the heat wasn’t bothering anyone.

If anything, the atmosphere in the stadium was like that of a party.

She skimmed the program. Rye was competing in four of the seven events today.

Bareback, steer wrestling, saddle bronc, and tie-down roping.

Bareback would be immediately after the opening ceremonies and those were beginning now with everyone rising as the announcer kicked off the eighty-fifth Copper Mountain Rodeo, and the cowboys and barrel racers came tearing in on their horses.

Ansley spotted Rye toward the back, and her heart thumped extra hard.

He was gorgeous, so handsome in his leather chaps with the black leather vest over his fitted light blue shirt.

Some of the guys were smiling, but not Rye.

His jaw jutted, and his expression was fierce, and she found it seriously appealing.

She liked his toughness and his reserve.

But even more so, she loved how she could make him smile…

and laugh. He needed to laugh more, too.

She knew the moment he spotted her in the stands. He lifted his hat, his gaze locking with hers. How he found her in the crowd was beyond her, but she shivered with pleasure as he acknowledged her. She was glad he knew she was there. Now, fingers crossed, he just did well.

Bareback was the first event, and he’d be seventh.

She watched as cowboy after cowboy was thrown, or unceremoniously dumped, until two had decent rides and then it was Rye’s turn.

She hoped for his sake that he could stick all eight seconds just so he could get some points.

She knew he hoped to do better than that.

He wasn’t here to charm anyone or make friends.

He was here to win. She admired that as she’d been raised in an extremely competitive family.

If you were going to do something, do it well.

Don’t just show up. Always strive to be the best. It was a lot of pressure, but it had paid off for her brothers.

Her dad wasn’t so sure about her.

She smiled grimly, which made her think of Rye’s smile.

Rye really didn’t smile often, but when she got him to, she went warm on the inside.

Even just a small lift of his lips felt like a victory.

She wondered what made him happy, this serious cowboy who knew the other competitors, but didn’t want to hang out with them, or drink, or party.

Except for one other competitor, it was proving rough going, with cowboy after cowboy bucked off. She prayed Rye would do better than that.

The chute suddenly opened, and Rye and his horse came flying out, the horse leaping, hindlegs kicking, while Rye dug in, boots forward, arm back, determined to stick.

And he did stick.

He made it all eight seconds despite the furious flying horse beneath them, the horse’s hooves barely touching the ground between each kick.

But Rye had hung in there, doing everything he was supposed to do, and once the buzzer sounded, he untangled his hand, swung his leg over the back of the horse and jumped off, boots clouding the dirt.

She didn’t know what the judges would award for points, because at least he’d get points, and hopefully enough points he’d be in the finals tomorrow. Once the score was posted, the crowd erupted. Ninety-two. The second highest score so far.

Rye’s hat had come off in his dismount, and as he bent down to pick it up, he glanced her way. She waved, and he was far away so she couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if he’d smiled, that small unwilling smile that made her feel good. She hoped he felt good. He’d done very well just now.

The rest of the afternoon flew by. With the Copper Mountain Rodeo events tightly scheduled, there was little downtime, and with Rye competing in three more events, she always had something to look forward to.

When he finished at the top of the leader board in steer wrestling, she knew he’d be competing tomorrow.

He’d done well in everything but tie down, so she hoped he was pleased with his efforts. Now she just wanted to see him.

She wasn’t sure how she’d find him later, but halfway through barrel racing, he appeared in the stands, and folks made room for him to squeeze in next to her.

Ansley slid her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. “You did so good. I was so impressed.”

He dropped a swift kiss on her lips. “You were my lucky charm. I don’t always do so well.”

“Then I’ll just have to travel to all your events to make sure you take home money!”

“You’d make all the guys jealous. You’re too pretty to be hanging out with beat-up cowboys.”

“Fortunately, I’m only interested in one beat-up cowboy, and that’s you.”

His gaze met hers and held for a long moment. “You know I leave tomorrow.”

She held her smile even as her heart plummeted. “Tomorrow’s not here. Let’s just enjoy today.”

“I don’t want—”

“I know,” Ansley interrupted, squeezing his hand. “You don’t want me getting attached. I got it. I understood last night. I know what’s happening tomorrow.”

He gave her another long look then turned his attention to the barrel racers.

Ansley pretended to watch as well, but her heart and thoughts weren’t on the rodeo anymore, but the big, rugged cowboy sitting next to her, his denim-clad thigh pressed to hers, his rough calloused hand holding hers.

It all felt right. He felt right. But he wasn’t going to be keeping her around. He’d made that abundantly clear.

When the rodeo ended, everyone stood and began rushing from the stadium. Rye wasn’t in a hurry to be part of the jostling crowd and so he and Ansley hung back and waited for the stands to empty. Tonight was the big party in Crawford Park and she mentioned it to Rye, not sure if he’d be interested.

“There’s a steak dinner tonight here in town,” she said. “I could get us tickets if you thought it sounded fun.”

He didn’t answer right away. “I like steak.” His eyes narrowed as he looked toward the exits which were finally clearing out. “Are you up for the crowd?”

“Not necessarily, but if that’s how I get to spend time with you, I won’t complain.”

His lips curved, a smile briefly warming his eyes. “I’d rather just hang out with you. If you don’t mind.”

“I definitely don’t mind.”

“You could come to the farmhouse,” she said. “I’m not a great cook, but I know how to throw some steaks in a cast-iron skillet.”

He nodded. “I like that. Should I follow you? We can stop and pick up steaks on the way.”

“I wanted to stop in at the hospital before heading back. What if I meet you in thirty minutes or so at the turnoff for Miracle Lake? You’ll head south on Highway 89, and it’ll be on your right a few miles out of town.”

“Don’t rush your visit with your uncle. I’m going to take care of my horses and clean up. What if we meet in an hour? That way there’s no stress.”

“Perfect.”

*

Uncle Clyde was napping when Ansley arrived at the hospital.

She sat next to his bed for ten minutes, but he never stirred and even when a nurse came in to check his vitals, he didn’t wake.

Ansley waited another ten minutes and then rose to go, but as she gathered her things a doctor entered the room.

“I heard you were here,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Dr. Maida, one of the cardiologists here at Marietta. I’ve been hoping to bump into you.”

“I kept calling to get updates,” she said.

“The messages were passed on, and we’ve done our best to keep your uncle comfortable.” He paused. “Is there anyone else you’d want me to speak with about his condition?”

“His wife passed away a number of years ago. I’ve moved in to help care for him. He hasn’t felt well all summer, but he refused to get a checkup.”

“It would have been helpful. Your uncle had a stroke Friday morning. But it wasn’t his first. In fact, he’s probably been having a series of mini strokes for months.”

They’d stepped out of her uncle’s room and were standing in the hallway. Ansley exhaled hard. This wasn’t what she’d expected.

“I had no idea. He’s not the best communicator and when there is a problem, he’s stubborn.”

“I don’t believe he’s intentionally deceiving you. The stubbornness can also be a result of his VCI.”

“VCI?” she repeated, bewildered.

“Vascular cognitive impairment. In the past, the medical field referred to it as vascular dementia, but I prefer VCI as it better reflects the cognitive changes within the patient, and how side effects can vary from mild to severe, particularly with decision making and communication.”

Ansley wasn’t even sure what to say, or where to begin and was glad Dr. Maida just continued.

“We can see from the MRI the damage. It’s been over time, but the damage is cumulative and permanent.”

“Will he recover?”