The Cowboy Who Got Away. Nancy Robards Thompson

this season. He’d come back to Celebration to sort it all out. To figure out if he was up for one more good run or if he should quit before he suffered permanent damage like the doctors had warned.

      His agent insisted that the doctors had to be overly cautious to avoid liability. He kept reminding Jude that a lot of guys got right back on the bulls after getting hurt. When Jude had hesitated, he reminded him that because of his age and injuries the clock on his career was ticking and he needed to make hay while the sun was shining. The subtext to that, of course, was that the sun hadn’t been smiling down on him much this year.

      The chime on the door sounded and three girls who looked like they were high school age entered the diner and settled in the booth next to the one he and Juliette occupied. One of them was in Jude’s line of sight and she smiled at him. He smiled back, just being polite.

      “You’re not really going to sell your property, are you?” Juliette asked, a frown knitting her brows.

      When their parents had died, he, Ethan and their sister, Lucy, had each inherited equally valued parcels of land. Ethan’s was smaller, but had the stables from which he ran his horse-breeding business. Several decades ago, his family’s ranch had been one of the most successful in the area, but they’d run into financial hardship when alcoholism had gotten the best of Donovan Campbell. For a while it appeared that Ethan might fall down the same slippery slope after his parents’ deaths and the end of his first marriage, but after some soul searching and sheer determination, he’d pulled himself up from rock bottom and had set the Triple C Ranch back on the road to profitability.

      Lucy had the parcel where their grandparents’ old house and barn stood. She’d spent a lot of time there as a child, so it seemed only right that that portion of the property would be hers. She’d moved into the house and had worked hard to turn her dream into a reality when she’d transformed the old abandoned barn into the Campbell Wedding Barn, one of the South’s premier boutique venues.

      The land Jude had inherited was on the outer edge of the property. It was mostly wide-open pasture, but it did contain two structures, an old cabin near a lake and a bungalow, that the late mother of Lucy’s fiancé, Zane Phillips, had rented for decades before her passing. The rent Dorothy Phillips had paid had helped cut the cost of maintaining the property and lifted the burden of property taxes. Now the place was sitting vacant, and without the rental income, Jude was concerned about the place becoming a financial drain—especially since this year’s earnings paled in comparison to last year’s.

      Sure, he was all about family legacy—in theory—but the bottom line of his budget and slowly shrinking bank account made the opportunity to unload the property seem attractive.

      “I don’t know if I’m going to sell,” he said. “That’s what I came home to figure out.”

      “Excuse me?” The girl who had smiled at him a moment ago was standing next to their table. “Are you Jude Campbell?”

      He sent a look to Juliette that he hoped said, Sorry about this.

      “That would be me,” he said.

      “I’m a huge fan. In fact, I bought this shirt because it’s a Copenhagen On-Off Shirt.”

      Copenhagen was the sportswear manufacturer who sponsored him. The On-Off Shirt had materialized after a particularly rough ride his championship year. After going ten seconds on a mean bull, the beast not only bucked him off, but charged after him. Jude narrowly sidestepped the animal, but not before one of the bull’s horns caught the edge of his shirt, ripping it off and leaving him to run for his life bare-chested.

      The best ride of Jude’s life had been overshadowed by a bull stripping off his shirt. A video clip had gone viral and the graphic of him, naked from the waist up, had turned into a sensation that inspired his own line of shirts, the On-Off Shirt.

      As far as he was concerned, they were just plain old shirts. They weren’t breakaway style, they didn’t go on and off any easier than a regular run-of-the-mill T-shirt, but fans—old and new—had scooped them up like they were gold. At least for a little while. As of late, thanks to a combination of the public’s fickle attention span and his lackluster performance this season, sales were on the downturn. His agent, Bob Bornfield, was desperately trying to renegotiate the terms of the endorsement contract.

      One element on which Jude wouldn’t budge was the part that obligated Copenhagen to donate 10 percent of net sales to a charity that benefited at-risk teens.

      Then again, 10 percent of nothing equaled nothing.

      “Would you sign it for me? My name is Shari.” She brandished a black permanent marker. Her blond hair was slicked back into a tight, high ponytail, and she wore hoop earrings the size of doughnuts and a ton of makeup. It looked like she’d used the marker to line her eyes.

      “Sure,” Jude said.

      “Right here.” Shari touched the top of her left breast and leaned in, giving Jude all access. “S-H-A-R-I,” she spelled as she tapped her breast.

      Jude blanched. This girl was much too young to be suggesting what it seemed like she was. He glanced at Juliette, who was busy fishing coins out of a small purse she’d pulled from her handbag.

      This was awkward.

      Jude would be lying if he didn’t admit that things like this happened frequently when he was on the road. Except usually the women were, well, women. Not teenage girls.

      In the context of a rodeo, it seemed like part of the job—part of the show. He’d flirt, they’d flirt back, he’d sign autographs—yes, sometimes bare midriffs and cleavage—and make small talk with various degrees of innuendo. It was all in fun and part of the free-spirited cowboy image he’d cultivated: Jude Campbell, the face—and bare chest—of the Copenhagen On-Off Shirt. Most of the time the women would move along. And sure he had the occasional groupie hang around until everyone had gone. Occasionally things happened. But he was single. Completely unencumbered. The road could be a lonely place. But he always practiced safe sex. Always.

      Sitting here with Juliette while this girl thrust her breast in his face was just...straight-up wrong. It felt disrespectful and sleazy.

      He leaned back, away from the girl. Then he pointed to the cuff of the long-sleeved T-shirt. “I’ll sign it here.”

      “No, really, here is better.” She tapped her breast again.

      “No, really. This is better.” He tapped the sleeve with the marker.

      Looking a little disappointed, she took a step back and offered him the inside cuff.

      He signed and said in his most professional voice, “Thanks for your support, Shari.”

      Thank God the girl simply turned and went back to her table. After she was gone, Jude said, “Sorry about that.”

      “Hazard of the job, huh?”

      “Something like that.” His voice was an apology.

      While he was signing the shirt, Juliette had dumped some coins on the table, separating three nickels from the rest of the money. Jude reached into his pocket and pulled out the little bit of change he had. It wasn’t much, but he added five more nickels to the pile. Juliette fed them into the machine and punched in some numbers. The first tune that played was Luke Bryan’s “To The Moon And Back.” He had the CD in his truck.

      “If you’re serious about selling, couldn’t you have negotiated the sale through lawyers?” she asked after she’d finished choosing the music.

      He blinked at the change of subject, but was relieved that she seemed unfazed by Shari—or at least was willing to move on.

      “Yes, but I need to see the property again. My real estate agent said the buyer had some questions. Plus, I need to talk to Ethan face-to-face.”

      She nodded. “Probably a good idea. Something tells me he might not take this very well.”

      Juliette got it. She still