Rodeo Standoff. Susan Sleeman

slide his hand out. Who had the presence of mind to do that when an almost one-ton bull thrashed you around like a dog with a chew toy?

      She had to admit it would be a man who was good under pressure, like he’d shown himself to be just now with this raging bull. The massive beast hadn’t fazed him a bit. She found that confidence even more appealing than his looks.

      He sighed, then caught her watching him and gave a brief shake of his head.

      “You miss it,” she said.

      He nodded.

      “I don’t at all pretend to understand the urge to ride a bull, but I’ll understand the longing for the events come Monday.”

      He turned eyes the color of a stormy sky on her in a pensive gaze. “How’s that?”

      “This is my last competition. My horse, Copper, has health issues, and it’s best for him to retire.”

      “You could get another horse.”

      “No,” she said firmly. “Copper loves to race, and I’d feel like I was cheating on him with another horse. And even if I didn’t feel that way, when you barrel race, you’re putting your complete trust in something that doesn’t communicate with words. Takes a lot of training to succeed. I have far too much going on in my life to find time to train a new horse.”

      “At least I never had an emotional connection to a horse to worry about.” He smiled.

      “No, you just had to worry about keeping your body in one piece.” She ran her gaze over him. He was a good four inches taller than the typical five-foot-ten professional bull rider, and he was still fit. Really fit. In spite of herself, she was attracted to him. Drawn to him. To that smile. Those compelling eyes.

      He cleared his throat, and she suddenly realized she was staring at his chest. She jerked her head up to find his smile had turned flirty.

      “Do you recognize the bull?” she asked, quickly returning her focus back to where it needed to be.

      He let his eyes linger for a moment longer, awareness of her remaining, then shook his head. “I’ve been out of the business too long. Nowadays, I only know the top bucking bulls I see at the big PBR events.”

      “Hopefully, Harley can give us the owner’s information.”

      “If not, the bull’s ear is tagged, and we can check the RSR.”

      “RSR?” she asked.

      “Rodeo Stock Registry of North America, a genetic DNA database that holds parentage records and tracks offspring of bucking cattle.”

      She gestured at the arena’s main entrance. “Here comes Harley now. Let’s hope he can ID the bull, and we won’t have to go that route.”

      A dark-headed Goliath of a man dressed in jeans, boots and a big Stetson, Harley stormed across the arena carrying a white binder. He lifted his hat and swiped his arm over his forehead. “You sure you’re okay, Tessa?”

      “Fine, thanks to Braden.”

      “Harley Grainger.” He planted his hat on his head and held out his free hand for Braden. “Good to meet you in person. I’m sorry about the incident.”

      Braden took what looked to be a firm grip and shook Harley’s hand. “Think nothing of it. I was glad to help Tessa out.”

      Harley swung his head to look at Tessa. “Your dad’s gonna have a fit when he hears about this. I’ve been friends with him so long I feel like you’re one of my own girls, and I let you both down.”

      “I saw on the way in that someone cut the lock,” Braden said. “People can hardly hold you accountable for someone cutting the lock.”

      “And you’re only responsible for livestock once they’re checked in,” Tessa added and squeezed Harley’s arm. “You had no reason to even be here before the livestock were supposed to be delivered. I get that and Dad will, too.”

      “I thank you for understanding, Tessa, but you know your dad has different standards as the sheriff.” He frowned.

      “Are you worried about something else?” she asked.

      “Attendance. Pure and simple. This crazy heat wave is already threatening to keep folks home this year, but once this story gets around town, it could give them another reason to stay away.”

      Tessa hadn’t thought of that. “You can spin it with the press as a handsome cowboy rescuing a damsel in distress. Who knows, it might draw even more spectators in.”

      “You think I’m handsome, huh?” Braden whispered.

      She started to roll her eyes, but his flirtatious behavior, so like Jason’s, didn’t even deserve that much of a response.

      “I’m sure glad you agreed to come down for the rodeo,” Harley said, obviously missing the undercurrent running between Braden and her. “Wish you’d told me you were arriving this early. I’da been here to greet you. Maybe then things woulda been different.”

      “Maybe,” Braden said.

      “Why were you here so early, anyway?” Tessa asked.

      Braden turned toward her. His lazy hooded eyes ran over her and made her feel like she was the only woman on earth.

      “Like you,” he said, “I wanted a little time alone to relive the glory days.”

      “Well, it’s a good thing you were here, for Tessa’s sake and for our program. I’m especially grateful that you’d come an extra day before the rodeo begins, when we let our fans take a close-up look at the livestock. You usually do the bigger PBR events, so I figured you’d turn me down flat.”

      “I like to help out the smaller venues when my schedule allows.”

      Really? Sounded like he actually cared about the success of small-town rodeos. About the people and volunteers. Maybe he had layers she hadn’t seen before. Still, one layer didn’t make him a man she could trust.

      “I hate to do this to you,” Braden continued. “Especially with the issue of attendance, but I’m planning to help find the jerk who put the bull in the arena with Tessa. Means I might have to sit out a few of the PR events I agreed to handle.”

      Help find the suspect? That was news to Tessa. She opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but Harley said, “That’s right, you’re a detective now.” Harley pursed his lips for a moment. “Wish you hadn’t hung up your spurs. You were something to watch.”

      Braden suddenly gestured at the bull as if ignoring Harley’s compliment, at odds with the guy who’d seemed so cocky when he’d won so many championships.

      “I’m hoping I can use my experience in the ring and as a detective to close this case,” he said. “First step is to figure out who put the bull in the arena. We have a little over two days before the rodeo opens to figure that out and we shouldn’t waste any time. Harley, if I give you the bull’s ID number, can you give us his registration information?”

      “Sure thing,” Harley replied.

      Braden clambered up the rails to reach for the bull’s electronic identification tag fixed in his ear and called out the number. He could still move fluidly. Surprising, what with all the injuries bull riders sustained. Of course, he must have recovered from his injuries, or he wouldn’t have passed a police physical. But she’d seen him take some bad falls, and a bull’s jarring motion takes a toll on hips, shoulders and knees, so he had to have residual effects.

      “Here it is.” Harley tapped his notebook. “He’s King Slammer. Belongs to Ernie Winston Bucking Bulls out of Waco. He’s on the check-in schedule for nine o’clock.”

      “He’s several hours early,” Braden said. “Do you make the check-in schedules?”

      “Other volunteers