Ty absently listened as the next cowboy put his mount and the selected steers through their paces. He scored far better than the first rider. A contender.
Then it was Ty’s run.
A deep breath, a swift pat to Gizmo’s shoulder, then Ty reined his horse toward the arena entrance.
Showtime.
* * *
KENZIE FOUGHT THE urge to skip Ty’s showing altogether. He’d pissed her off. More than that, he’d hurt her. It wouldn’t have been such a shock if she’d expected it, but she hadn’t. Not from him.
“‘Entitled,’ my ass,” she spat, weaving her way through the crowds that were collectively pushing their way into the bleachers around the arena. She’d never been entitled. In fact, she had never been meant to be the Malone heir, and had no qualms with that particular fact. But the abrupt death of her older brother, Michael, had set her on the undesirable path that forced her to be both daughter and surrogate son to The Malone. Her father. The man who could do no wrong in the Quarter horse community.
Oh, she loved him. Wildly, in fact. He was an amazing father and friend, and most kids never experienced that rare combination. But the reality was that once she’d lost her brother, Kenzie had become the de facto heir to the Malone legacy. It wasn’t something she’d ever wanted, and never, ever at that cost.
It left her trying to fill some big shoes, to live in the darkness of two shadows—Michael’s, the up-and-coming rodeo star who had been the perfect older brother and ideal son, and her dad’s, an infamous horseman who’d always been successful at everything he did. Kenzie wasn’t perfect, and she failed as often as she succeeded. It was obvious to those around her she’d never be as good as they were.
So even insinuating she was either spoiled or entitled was the highest insult anyone could throw her way and was guaranteed a reaction. I’ve earned every step forward I’ve taken. No one has handed me anything.
Okay, yes. There was her trust fund. But no amount of money was worth the price she’d paid. Besides, there was certainly no dollar figure that automatically gave Ty, or anyone, the right to use words that hurt her.
If Michael were here, none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t have inherited so much money, so no one would dare comment. The crushing sense of obligation to be both perfect daughter and replacement son wouldn’t exist.
Three short beeps sounded. The competition clock. She slowed. Stopped. The crush of people worked their way around her. The first competitor was in the arena and working his, or her, group of calves. Applause followed the spectators’ collective gasp.
What had happened? Curiosity ate at Kenzie. She moved with purpose toward the arena and then into the stands.
She slipped into the Malone arena-side box, bought with Malone money, respected because of the Malone name. Not hers—not yet—but her father’s. He’d been a national champion in cutting, reining and roping, and his high score still stood. She’d grown up proud of him. Now? She wanted to beat him.
A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips at the same time someone opened the box and walked in, folding down the stadium seat beside her. Years in the man’s presence told her who it was before she even looked into his sun-lined face. “Hey, Dad.”
He slid down in his seat before draping an arm around the back of her seat. “You here to figure out a way to win or for the eye candy?”
“Dad!” The word escaped her on a rush of laughter. “You don’t say things like that to your daughter.”
“Hey,” he exclaimed. “I’m hop. I know what’s what.”
“That would be ‘hip,’ and no, no, you don’t.”
He gently cuffed the back of her head. “Smart-ass.”
He shifted his attention to the ring. “So who’s our biggest competition this year? Still that Covington man from New Mexico? Didn’t they get into some financial trouble, have to set their place up as a dude ranch to salvage it or something?”
Kenzie fought to keep her face straight. It wasn’t that her dad didn’t respect the hard work the Covingtons had put into saving their ranch. What bothered him was that, when he’d heard Gizmo’s owner was in financial straits, Jack Malone had made a fair offer for Gizmo in an effort to help a fellow cowboy out. Even more, though, he’d wanted to get his hands on the stud horse. He hadn’t taken Ty’s rejection well. Of course, Ty hadn’t taken the gesture as it was—at least mostly—intended, either. She’d never talked to either man about it directly, but she’d heard about it from both of them and more than once.
Her father didn’t press for an answer right then, so she settled into her seat, watching the first competitor struggle to keep his calf separated from the herd. Horse and rider were out of sync. It took less time for him to lose the calf than it did for the rest of the herd to scatter. A mild round of clapping ceased when, in a fit of irritation, the rider viciously yanked the horse’s head to the side and spurred him out of the arena.
Kenzie flagged down a server and asked for a program. Finding the horse and rider, she made a note regarding the horse’s stall number. One benefit of having money? She could scare the man into responsible behavior with threats she could definitely follow up on. Oh...and she could buy his horse. She’d be doing both before she returned to Colorado.
Her attention shifted to the event again.
The second rider pulled a slightly above-average score, and he was clearly pleased with his performance.
That put Ty and Gizmo up next.
Kenzie took several deep breaths and blew them out with absolute control. Her dad rolled his program and slapped it against his palm repeatedly as he leaned forward to get the best view. With breakfast over, the noise level rose sharply due to the sheer volume of humanity moving in. Footfalls rumbled on the upper-level bleachers as more and more spectators filled the last vacant seats. What had been a low-level hum had grown to a near cacophony of sound. Even an experienced horse and rider could suffer from the distraction, and neither Ty nor Gizmo were accustomed to performing in indoor arenas this large. Sound seemed to echo back at both horse and rider and could fracture the focus of either. Or both.
The herd holders positioned a new group of yearlings for the incoming pair and then backed off, waiting.
At the opposite end of the arena, the gate swung open in a sweeping arc. Ty and Gizmo emerged from the dark tunnel at a lazy trot. Gizmo’s head was low, the reins hanging loose. The horse seemed indifferent, almost half asleep, and Ty, with his chin to his chest, could have been napping. Their leisurely approach quieted the crowds even as it ratcheted spectator tension to a new high.
Kenzie moved to the edge of her seat. What the hell is he thinking? The judges are going to score him down for looking so— The buzzer sounded and she gasped.
With no visible cues from Ty, Gizmo’s ears flipped forward, alert, and he started for the herd, the intent in his movements balling the cattle up. Horse and rider eased into the mass of cows and separated the first steer, peeling him away from the others with brutal efficiency. Ty and Gizmo moved in parallel harmony. The cowboy kept his hands down, his reins slack in order to give Gizmo his head. The stud horse never faltered. A whirling dervish, he spun, wheeled and darted left and right with both athleticism and showmanship that stunned not only Kenzie but the crowd, as well. She’d never seen the pair like this, had never known Ty to ride this professionally yet make it seem absolutely effortless.
Someone broke the silence with a whistle. Another voice shouted encouragement.
Anxiety created a solid mass between her shoulder blades. An invisible band tightened around her chest and made every breath she drew as painful as it was necessary. She wanted to scream at everyone to keep quiet, to let the pair work. If it wouldn’t have generated an even larger distraction, she’d have done just that.
But Ty and Gizmo ignored every potential distraction.