Page 17 of Take Me Please, Cowboy (The Calhouns & Campbells of Cold Canyon Ranch #1)

Rye adjusted his gloves, resettled his chaps on his hips. He was calm. He knew what he had to do. Briefly his thoughts turned to Ansley before he forced his attention back to the upcoming ride. He had this.

The roar of the crowd and then the immediate collective groan told him the last saddle bronc rider hadn’t stuck his ride.

It was proving to be a challenging afternoon.

Huck Jones had set the bar high yesterday, and had another outstanding ride today, but there was room for Rye to take second. He wanted second—or better.

He climbed up on the chute, waited for the signal and then lowered himself on the bronc. The gate flew open. Rye’s vision narrowed and time slowed, allowing him to feel the bronc beneath him, matching every leap and kick, exploiting the bucking of the horse to earn maximum points.

The bell sounded at eight seconds and the stands roared their approval. On the ground, he beat his hat once against his thigh and looked up at the scoreboard. It had been a good ride. He wouldn’t call it his best. But would his score be enough for him to take second?

His score flashed. Elation filled him. Yes. It would be enough. Second place behind Huck Jones was good enough for him. He’d be taking home some seriously good money.

*

Ansley was in the kitchen considering her options for dinner as Uncle Clyde said he wanted real food tonight as he’d barely been able to eat anything in the hospital, but Ansley didn’t know what to make him.

She wasn’t a great cook. She hadn’t yet learned how to cook properly yet, and while reheating was in her skill set, making and baking from scratch wasn’t.

Ansley closed the refrigerator door and opened the freezer, pulling out a package of ground beef, hoping sloppy Joes or tacos could be considered real food.

But as she set the frozen beef on the stove to defrost, she heard a truck approach the house.

For a split second she wondered if it was possibly Rye coming to see her, and then she chastised herself, knowing it would be impossible for Rye to be here and at the fairgrounds at the same time.

It turned out to be Melvin Wyatt pulling up in his truck.

She liked the Wyatts, and had an extra soft spot for Melvin Wyatt, the family patriarch, a man who’d raised his grandsons when their dad died in an accident that also took Melvin’s only other son’s life.

But you’d never know Melvin had worries or pain.

He was always looking out after his neighbors, in particular curmudgeonly Clyde Campbell.

Ansley met Melvin on the front porch. He was carrying a huge soup pot. “Dinner,” he said. “Sophie and Summer said they’ll also send something over for dinner tomorrow, too.”

“That’s not necessary,” Ansley said, before quickly adding, “but so appreciated. They must have heard I’m not that good in the kitchen.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Melvin said, as she opened the front door for him. “And in my case, it was a lot of practice.” He nodded to the kitchen. “I’ll put this on the stove, shall I?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

In the kitchen, he washed his hands and then faced her. “So, how is our patient?”

“Uncle Clyde seems to be in a lot of pain.” Ansley hesitated. “But he’s also had all the pain medicine he can take until later. Should I let him have more?”

“I’ll sit with him for a bit. If he needs more medicine, I can give it to him.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wyatt. I’ve had a hard time this afternoon.” She heard her voice crack and she exhaled hard. “I warn you though, he’s in a mood.”

Melvin smiled. “But of course he is. Even before the strokes. That’s just our Clyde.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Since I’m here for the next little bit, put your feet up and relax if you can. I’ll let you know when I head out.”

But Ansley couldn’t put her feet up. She was too wound up to relax, and so she began making lists of all that she needed to do, and things she needed to purchase to make Clyde’s life easier, and hers, too.

She’d love a camera system, like a baby monitor, that she could put in his room.

They needed more grab bars in her uncle’s room, or some kind of frame near his bed to allow him to get up more easily.

Would a hospital bed be better? She didn’t know.

She was in the laundry room in the back of the house when Rye’s voice echoed down the hall. “Ansley? Anyone home?”

Ansley froze, heart thumping. He had come.

She’d hoped, how she’d hoped, she’d see him, and then she thought it wouldn’t happen, and yet now he was here.

She rushed from the laundry room toward the front door where Rye stood on the threshold, late afternoon sunlight streaming behind him.

He was holding his hat, wearing a T-shirt and jeans and what looked like comfortable old boots.

He was heading home, and yet he had driven a half an hour out of his way away from his destination to be here. To see her.

“Hey, hi.” She reached up and tugged the elastic out of her hair letting the ponytail down. “How did you do?”

“Won in steer wrestling, placed well in two other events.”

“Oh, Rye, that’s fantastic!”

His smile was bashful. “It feels good to be taking some money home.”

“And no broken bones,” she said, closing the distance all the way so that she could hook a finger over his leather belt, her thumb sliding across the big silver belt buckle. “That’s a win in of itself.”

“True. My mom will be relieved.”

“You’ll have to tell her.”

“I will once I’m on the road.”

“She worries?”

“About everything, but to be fair, she has a lot on her plate. I don’t want to add to her troubles.”

“You’re not going to get home until it’s late,” Ansley said, feeling his hard flat abdomen against her knuckles.

He was so warm and lean and hard. His body was a thing of wonder.

If only he was sticking around another week maybe they would have had a chance to get to know each other better, to grow even closer.

“It will be seven hours if there’s no traffic, and I don’t expect a lot of traffic. I encountered road work on the way down, that’s why it took me forever on Thursday, but not on a Sunday night.”

Thursday, was it only Thursday when she first laid eyes on him? Friday when they spoke? Crazy. It seemed like he’d always been in her life, or maybe she’d always wanted him in her life.

Ansley swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Are you hungry? Can I make you anything?”

“Not hungry but I wouldn’t say no to something cold to drink.”

“I’ve water and iced tea,” she said.

“Iced tea sounds good.”

She led the way to the kitchen, not that he needed to be shown how to get there, not after being here last night, but neither of them mentioned last night. Everything seemed so different already.

In the kitchen, Ansley pointed to the big pot on the stove. “If you change your mind about food, I have enough beef burgundy to feed an army. Mr. Wyatt brought it over.”

“You mentioned that name last night. Wyatt. Any relation to the professional rodeo cowboy Wyatts? Sam, Billy, and Tommy Wyatt?” Rye asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

She glanced at him surprised. “Yes. You know them?”

“Have competed with all of them, but Tommy and Billy are in a class of their own right now. They’re some of the best ever.”

“The Wyatts are our closest neighbors. I haven’t met all of them yet, but I do know Joe and Sophie, Briar, who is Tommy’s new wife, and Sam and Ivy—”

“I know Ivy quite well. She’s an outstanding barrel racer. Her mother was, too.”

“Such a small world,” Ansley marveled, pouring the tea over ice cubes and presenting him with the glass.

“Especially for those who compete on the rodeo circuit here in Montana.”

He was leaning against one of the kitchen counters, looking absolutely gorgeous against the vintage cabinets. Every kitchen needed a handsome cowboy, especially one with soulful dark eyes like Rye Calhoun. “Do you think you’ll always compete? It’s tough on your body, isn’t it?”

His lips quirked. “And I thought I was hiding my limp pretty well.”

“Are you in pain?”

“There’s always pain, that’s just part of the job.”

“I’m not sure I like the job then.”

He took a long sip of his iced tea. “My goal was to be done at thirty.”

Ansley frowned, remembering the stats she’d read in yesterday’s program. “I thought you were thirty.”

His smile was crooked. “I am. So, hopefully, in the next couple of years I won’t need to compete. I’m ready to shift gears but can’t afford to leave the circuit yet. But it’s the plan.”

“And then what? Continue with roofing?”

His smile faded. For a long moment he didn’t answer. Rye took another long swallow of the iced tea. “That is the family business.”

But there was no joy in his voice, and it struck Ansley that his light had gone. He didn’t love roofing. She realized he was doing what needed to be done for his family, and whatever his dreams were, whatever his personal ambition had been, had been sacrificed for the greater good.

It made her heart ache. This beautiful, disciplined hardworking man seemed to put everyone else first.

It made her care for him even more.

“Can I please just make you a sack lunch for the road? I’m pretty good with peanut butter and jelly, and I’ve got some really good strawberry jam here. Sophie Wyatt makes it for Uncle Clyde every summer.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

For some reason that seemed even worse. Not to worry about him? Not care about him? “I’m not worrying, I’m simply providing a PB and J sandwich for you.”

“You don’t have to fuss over me, babe. I can take care of myself, and I mean that in the nicest sort of way. You’ve got plenty to do without adding me to your list of concerns.”

“What concerns?”

“Um, your uncle?”

“You’re not my uncle, and you make me happy. Maybe I’m crazy, but it feels nice to think about someone… to think about you.”