moved in with them after his mom died and his dad was still trying to figure out how to deal with the uncomfortable situation.
Trace had no idea of what she’d been afraid of—him usurping her boys in their father’s affection? As if that would have happened. His younger half brothers had still been in the cute kid stage when Trace had arrived in Oregon. He’d been the gangly, awkward kid. Nothing cuddly and lovable about him. Maybe she’d simply disliked him because of what he represented. It didn’t matter. She’d made his life a misery, but the result was that he had a great bull-riding career because of her.
Trace lifted his glass. “It still hurt to lose him.” It had. There was no longer the slightest chance of them ever making peace, and deep inside him there was still a bit of the kid who wanted his dad to want him. “So how long have you been here in Gavin?” Trace asked, shifting the subject from himself.
“A matter of months. My uncle needed help and I’d just hit a wall in my career.”
“Bad wreck?”
“Cranky old piebald named Murph stomped the living crap out of me. To the point that I decided it was time to hang it up.”
Trace rolled his shoulder, testing for pain. “I’m not to that point yet.”
“You’ll know when you are.” Gus spoke with quiet certainty that Trace found unsettling. Gus had been one of the most fearless riders he’d ever known. “And until then—” Gus raised his glass “—best of luck.”
Trace returned the salute and stretched his stiff leg out. It felt good to talk, even if he did not care to dwell on the subject of retirement. The conversation shifted to Trace’s current standings and his hope to compete in a few events prior to once again taking on Brick in Man vs. Bull, and Gus spoke about reestablishing a life after his own career. Trace knew that was something he’d eventually have to deal with, but he wasn’t yet ready to abandon the sport that had made him feel as if he were someone, regardless of what his family had thought of him. Not even close.
After a good hour of talk, the place started filling up with happy-hour drinkers, and even though he wasn’t wild about going back to the lonely farm, Trace paid for the second round and headed out. He rolled his shoulder as he walked to the truck. He and pain were old friends—competitors, really. So far he’d won every bout, and he had no intention of going down in this one.
Twilight had fallen and the automatic lights in the parking area were coming on. The lot was emptier than it had been when he’d first pulled in. People had gone home from work, but it was still too early for the bar crowd to come out en force. Annie’s car was parked at the edge of the lot, right where it had been the night before when she’d all but frog-marched him to the vehicle. She kept late hours, but he imagined that in a town the size of Gavin, jobs were not easy to come by and she didn’t have a lot of choice in hours.
He was almost to his truck when a door in the brick building at the far side of the lot opened, and Annie came out with a bundle of what looked like white sheeting in her arms. She carried it to the Dumpster and awkwardly attempted to push the lid open far enough to stuff the bundle in.
“Need help?” Trace called.
Annie gave a start then let out a breath, her shoulders slumping with relief when she recognized him. “Wouldn’t mind,” she said. “These things are kind of gunky.”
He crossed the distance between them and lifted the heavy metal lid. Annie shoved the bundle in then wiped her hands down her pants. Pale orangish-colored streaks followed her fingers down the denim.
She grimaced at the paint stains then looked back up at him. “Hanging out in parking lots again?”
He smiled in spite of himself. “On my way home, actually. I figured if I’m going to live in this area for a while, then I should probably get back on the horse...or in this case go back into the bar.”
“You should be safe enough now. Shelly got banned.” She took a backward step, started to put a hand on her upper arm, then hesitated as she caught sight of it. Annie was not a neat painter. “I knocked a can over,” she explained, even though he hadn’t asked. “I caught it pretty fast, but not fast enough.”
“You’re a painter?”
“I am tonight. My boss is pregnant and paint fumes bother her, so she took the kids and I’m painting our new quilt room.”
Okay. Explanations given. Dumpsters dealt with. Time for him to leave.
Except...he didn’t feel like leaving.
He glanced over at her car. “I suppose you have to get right home.”
“That was the plan, after I tidy up a few more things.”
Trace cocked his head at her, going with instinct instead of common sense. “Would you like to go get a quick drink?”
A surprised look crossed her face and he thought for sure she was going to say no, but she gave a small shrug. “Sure. I haven’t had a free evening in a long time.” Trace started to smile and then she ruined it by saying, “And you are a friend of Grady’s.”
Yeah. He was. And he was finding Grady’s sister...interesting.
She looked down at the paint on her clothes then grimaced at her hand. “I have to tidy up and change. Do you want me to meet you at the bar?”
Obviously she was not inviting him to come into the building with her. “No. I’ll wait for you here.”
“All right. I’ll be fast.” She gave him a pert look over her shoulder as she started for the door. “Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”
He found himself smiling again as she disappeared inside. Less than five minutes later she came back out the door, wearing a denim skirt, a red shirt, Western boots and silver beads. Somehow she managed to look both cute and sexy. The tiny smudge of apricot colored paint on her wrist only added to the package.
“You are fast,” he said as they started across the lot.
“One of my many mother superpowers. I learned to dress on the fly as I averted disasters here and there.”
“Broken water pipes?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of spilled milk.”
Trace escorted Annie into the Shamrock, stopping at the bar long enough to order a draft for Annie and a sparkling water for himself while Annie claimed a table.
“Thankfully the music hasn’t started,” she said as she adjusted her chair. “Which means we can hear one another.”
“Makes for better conversation,” Trace agreed. And he was hoping for better conversation. All of his meetings with Annie had been strangely awkward up until now.
Annie smiled a thank-you as the server placed the beer and water on the table. She met his eyes and he said simply, “I’ve had two drinks and I’m driving.”
The corner of Annie’s mouth tilted and he thought she was going to say something about him showing remarkable common sense for a bull rider, but instead she said, “It’s going to be strange going home to a quiet house.” She lifted her beer and reached over to tap his glass lightly with hers. “Thanks for helping me delay the moment.”
“Anytime.” He meant it.
Annie took a small drink then set the mug down as a young guy in a Western shirt approached the table. “Hey, Annie,” he said, barely sparing Trace a glance. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Her expression became polite but cool as she said, “I haven’t been out in a while. The kids keep me busy.”
The guy turned his attention to Trace, smirking a little before he looked back at Annie and said, “Good thing there’re no women with big purses here.”
Annie smiled sweetly up at him. “Cody, have you met Trace Delaney? He’s watching