and hay dust had filled her lungs, but the discomfort had been worth it when Tony removed his shirt and she’d gotten an eyeful of his rippling muscles.
After Michael died, her father had instructed Pete, the ranch foreman, to get rid of the bucking machine. One day while Lucy was in Yuma running errands, she’d driven past Tony’s pickup on Main Street and noticed the equipment in the truck bed. She wondered if Tony still had the machine. If he did—could she convince him to allow her to use it?
* * *
A WEEK LATER, Lucy still hadn’t heard from Shannon, but she’d moved forward with her fundraising plans, hoping Wrangler would eventually agree to promote her cause. She’d spent the morning in her small office in the barn, working on her company website. She’d added a PayPal form and a pledge counter so visitors would see how close she was to reaching her goal of $20,000. Once she knew for certain that she’d be competing in the rodeos, she’d upload the new pages.
Nothing left to do but wait until Shannon contacted her; Lucy decided to head into Stagecoach for a root beer at Vern’s Drive-In. She wished one of her girlfriends from college lived nearby, but after graduation they’d taken various jobs across the country, and Lucy had returned to Stagecoach. Before her brother had passed away, she’d dreamed of working in Chicago and renting an apartment near Michigan Avenue. She’d wanted to experience living somewhere other than the hot, dry desert.
The drive-in was deserted when Lucy arrived, but once the sun set the place would be hopping with teenagers. She left her truck running and walked up to the order window. Vern’s daughter, Sherry, had taken over the business years ago when her father retired to Palm Springs.
“Howdy, Lucy. What can I get for you?”
“A large root beer, please.”
“You want a frosty mug or a to-go cup?”
“To-go.”
“Comin’ right up.” Sherry disappeared for a moment before returning with the drink.
Lucy handed over two dollars then tossed her change into the tip jar. “Thanks, Sherry.”
“Sure thing. See you next time.”
Back inside her truck, Lucy angled the air vents toward her face and guzzled her drink. Once she’d quenched her thirst, she backed out of the parking spot and turned onto the highway. The drive between the ranch and Stagecoach was nothing less than boring—rocky brown landscape dotted with green cactus. Mesmerized by the wavy heat lines radiating off the pavement, Lucy slammed on the brakes when an animal shot across the road in front of the truck.
“Maddie!” Blast that dog. The purebred boxer charged across the desert. Lucy pulled off the road and turned on the truck’s flashers. She rummaged through the glove compartment until she found the whistle, then got out of the truck and blew hard.
The brown speck in the distance skidded to a stop. A stare-down ensued.
“Come back, Maddie. It’s too dang hot to chase you.”
The seven-year-old boxer had been a shadow of her old self since Michael died. No one had witnessed the accident, but everyone assumed Maddie had been riding in the bed and was thrown clear when Michael’s truck flipped and landed in the ditch. Not long after, Maddie had found her way back to the ranch and barked nonstop until she’d woken the family.
Lucy blew the whistle again. Maddie trotted forward then stopped and sat. What kind of game are you playing, girl?
Michael had come across the dog walking along a deserted highway on the outskirts of Flagstaff, and the pair had been inseparable until his death. Maddie had begun running away a month after Michael was cremated. At one point, Lucy and her mother had searched for days. Finally, when they’d driven past the site of the crash, they’d discovered the dog waiting in the hot sun for her master to return.
After that incident, her mother had insisted Maddie be put down, but Lucy had refused to allow her parents to euthanize Michael’s dog. Instead, she’d suggested they build an outdoor kennel and keep Maddie penned in. The darn dog must have dug her way to freedom.
A horn blast startled Maddie, and she took off like a jackrabbit, disappearing behind a thicket of scrub brush. Lucy shielded her eyes from the sun as a black truck drew closer and parked behind her vehicle. Tony Bravo.
* * *
LUCY HAD BEEN BACK from college for two years, and he’d managed to avoid any direct contact with her until she’d plowed into him at the Yuma rodeo. Now here they were, running into each other twice in one week.
“Car trouble?” Tony strode toward Lucy, grateful his mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes from view as he looked her over. Seeing Lucy up close in her tight jeans, sassy boots and formfitting T-shirt reminded him of the nights he’d stripped her clothes off in a motel room and they’d both been caught off guard by the explosive passion between them. Their series of one-night stands, strung together over the course of five months, had ended abruptly. After letting Michael down in the worst possible way, Tony hadn’t deserved to be happy, and because he hadn’t had the guts to tell Lucy the truth about the night her brother had died, he’d walked away from her without a word of explanation.
“Maddie ran off,” she said.
He scanned the horizon, realizing he hadn’t seen the dog since Michael’s funeral, when she’d sat beneath the tree across the street from the church. The memory of that afternoon flashed through Tony’s mind, but he slammed the door shut before the images came into focus.
“Will she come back?” he asked.
“Eventually.” Lucy didn’t sound confident.
Tony returned to his truck and grabbed the gallon of water he stored for emergencies and an empty fast-food salad bowl from yesterday’s lunch. He filled the bowl with water then placed it on the ground near Lucy’s feet. “If she comes back, she’ll have water to drink.”
“Thanks.” Lucy walked several yards away and blew the whistle. “It’s been over six months since her last break for freedom.”
Tony wasn’t surprised Maddie had run to the place Michael had crashed his truck. Dogs were intuitive animals, and Maddie’s internal clock had alerted her to the importance of tomorrow’s date—the second anniversary of Michael’s death. The sun had faded the white wooden cross Lucy had placed in the rocky ground after the accident. Michael’s name was barely discernible. Tony’s chest tightened when he recalled his last conversation—rather argument—with his best friend. Tony wanted a do-over of that night so damned bad. “Maddie’s how old?”
“Seven.”
Tony studied Lucy’s face. Her cheekbones were sharper than he remembered, making her blue eyes appear larger beneath the light brown lashes. She’d pulled her curly blond hair into a ponytail, and the little makeup she wore revealed a flawless complexion. He squeezed his hands into fists to keep from dragging a finger down her cheek to test the softness of her skin.
“Interesting uniform hat.” Lucy pointed to his head.
Grinning, he tugged the brim of his Stetson. “I’m a cowboy first, then a border patrol agent.”
Lucy laughed, the gesture showing off the tiny dimples in her cheeks. “Guess I’ll head home. Hopefully Maddie will turn up tonight.”
“I’ll spread the word to my coworkers to be on the lookout for her when they’re driving in the area.”
“Thanks, Tony.”
He watched Lucy get into her truck and drive off. Once the vehicle disappeared from sight he turned and spotted Maddie trotting through the desert in his direction. The sly dog had waited for Lucy to leave. Maddie stopped at the water bowl and drank it dry.
“Long time no see, girl.”
The dog lifted her head, water dribbling from her jowls.
Tony dropped to one knee and Maddie bounded