Beau: Cowboy Protector. Marin Thomas

I won’t pry. Just tell me you’re okay.”

      “I’m getting there.”

      What the hell kind of answer was that? “Where’ve you been all this time?”

      “I’d rather not say.”

      The youngest Hart had missed all the family weddings and good news. He bet Tuf hadn’t heard that Ace and Flynn’s first child was due around Thanksgiving or that Tuf’s sister, Dinah, had married Austin Wright and they were expecting a baby next summer.

      “Man, you gotta know your mom misses you.”

      Tuf removed his hat and shoved his fingers through his short brown hair. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

      The twenty-eight-year-old standing before Beau was a stranger, not the cousin he remembered. “You don’t know, do you?”

      “Know what?”

      “Aunt Sarah—”

      “I can’t talk right now.” Tuf made a move to pass, but Beau blocked his path.

      Didn’t Tuf care that his mother had suffered an angina attack this past May and that the ranch had hit upon tough times? As a member of the family, Tuf should have known his mother had been forced to take Thunder Ranch in a new direction. Aunt Sarah had sold off most of the cattle, leased a sizable chunk of grazing land and had secured a hefty bank loan that Ace had cosigned.

      “Call your mom and let her hear your voice.”

      The muscle along Tuf’s jaw pulsed but he held his tongue.

      Had something happened to his cousin in Afghanistan? The Tuf Beau had grown up with would never have shut out his family.

      “Tell my mom I’m in Maryland and that I’m okay.” His cousin walked off and joined the other bareback riders preparing for their event.

      What was so important in Maryland that it prevented his cousin from returning to Thunder Ranch? Beau figured if Tuf had traveled this far west to compete in a rodeo he must be homesick. Hopefully, Tuf would come to his senses soon and haul his backside to Montana before Aunt Sarah dragged him home by his ear. Forgetting about his cousin, Beau focused on the Thunder Ranch bulls, eager to view their performances and he didn’t want to miss Bushwhacker tossing McLean on his head.

      “Next up is Pete Davis from Simpleton, North Dakota, riding Back Bender from the Thunder Ranch outside Roundup, Montana.” The crowd applauded. “Back Bender’s a young bull but he’s got energy and lots of gas. This bull goes all-out for eight seconds and then some.”

      The announcer summed up Back Bender pretty well. The bull never ran out of kick—it was as if electricity flowed through the animal’s veins instead of blood. When the gate opened, Back Bender erupted from the chute with a fierce kick before turning into a tight spin, then coming out of it with a double kick, which sent Davis flying at the three-second mark.

      The bullfighters rushed in, but Back Bender continued to kick and the fans cheered in appreciation. Beau shook his head in wonder. The dang animal loved to buck.

      “Like I said, folks, Back Bender’s tough to ride and his brother, Bushwhacker is nastier. Turn your attention to chute number three for the final bull ride of the day.”

      Beau scaled the rails for a better view of the brown-and-red bull. Bushwhacker kicked the chute, warning those around him that he meant business.

      “Bushwhacker also hails from Thunder Ranch and this bull loves to ambush cowboys. He lulls a rider into thinking he’ll make it to eight then tosses him into the dirt. Bushwhacker is undefeated this season. Let’s see if Rusty McLean from Spokane, Washington, can outsmart this bull.”

      McLean adjusted the bull rope, his movements jerky and uneven. The boastful cowboy was nervous—he should be. He had a fifty-fifty chance of being the star of the day or going home the biggest loser.

      C’mon, Bushwhacker. Show everyone why you’re the best.

      McLean signaled the gateman and Bushwhacker exploded into the arena. The bull’s first buck was brutal—his signature move. He kicked both back legs out while twisting his hindquarters. Too bad for McLean. Bushwhacker’s raw power unseated him, and the cowboy catapulted over the bull’s head. McLean stumbled to his feet as the bullfighters intercepted Bushwhacker and escorted him from the arena. Staggering into the cowboy-ready area, McLean flung his bull rope and cussed.

      “Better luck next time,” Beau taunted.

      The cowboy spit at the ground and stomped off.

      “Beau Adams from Roundup, Montana, is the winner of today’s bull-riding competition. Congratulations, Adams!”

      Excited he’d taken first place, Beau collected his gear and the winning check, then found a seat in the stands to watch Tuf compete.

      “Ladies and gentlemen, our final event of the day is the bareback competition. Those of you who don’t know…a bareback horse is leaner, quicker and more agile than a saddle bronc. Bareback riding is rough, explosive, and the cowboys will tell ya that this event is the most physically demanding in rodeo.” The crowd heckled the announcer, several fans shouting that bull riders were the toughest cowboys in the sport.

      “Sit tight folks, you’ll see what I’m talkin’ about.”

      The announcer was right—a bareback cowboy’s arm, neck and spine took a brutal beating and Beau worried about Tuf. If his cousin was just returning to competition, then he might not be in the best physical shape and the ride could end in disaster.

      “First out of the gate is Tuf Hart, another cowboy from Roundup, Montana.”

      While Tuf settled onto the bronc and fiddled with his grip, the announcer continued. “Hart’s gonna try to tame Cool Moon, a three-year-old gelding from the Circle T Ranch in New Mexico. Cool Moon is a spinner, folks.”

      Seconds later, the chute opened and Cool Moon went to work. The bronc twirled in tight, quick circles while bucking his back legs almost past vertical, the movement defying logic.

      Hold on, Tuf. Hold on.

      The moment Beau voiced the thought in his head, Tuf flew off Cool Moon. As soon as he hit the dirt, he got to his feet quickly. Beau watched him shuffle to the rails—no limp. His cousin hadn’t won but more importantly he’d escaped injury.

      After the final bareback rider competed, Beau made his way to the stock pens. Bushwhacker and Back Bender had rested for over an hour and it was time to load them into the trailer. First, he wanted to wish his cousin well and tell him to hurry home. He weaved through the maze of cowboys and rodeo fans, stopping once to autograph a program for a kid. Finally, he made it to the cowboy-ready area. “Hey, McLean,” Beau called.

      “Don’t rub it in, Adams.”

      No need. Bushwhacker had had the final word. “Have you seen my cousin?”

      “He left after his ride.”

      Miffed that Tuf hadn’t cared enough to say goodbye, Beau sprinted to the parking lot then stopped. He didn’t even know what vehicle Tuf drove. Disgusted, he retrieved the Thunder Ranch truck and livestock trailer.

      With the help of two rodeo workers, Beau loaded Bushwhacker and Back Bender into the trailer. When he pulled out of the Sweetwater Events Complex, he drove north, intent on arriving home by the ten-thirty news. He made a pit stop for gas outside Rock Springs then purchased a large coffee and a Big Mac from the McDonald’s restaurant inside the station. Back in his truck he popped three ibuprofen tablets to help with the swelling in his ankle—already his boot felt tight.

      Once he merged onto the highway, he found a country-western station on the radio and settled in for the long drive. Less than five minutes passed before his thoughts turned to Sierra Byrne.

      Physically, she was the opposite of the women he’d dated in the past. In heels, Sierra might reach five-seven. Full-figured—not