Alejandro stopped beside them. “We were lucky. That was his best go. But that first heifer will cost you.”
“I know. My fault, not Rosco’s. I made a bad pick.”
“They don’t seem to think so.” Alejandro nodded toward several men leaning against the fence, watching them. Two gave Dalton a thumbs-up, another nodded.
Dalton looked up at the leaderboard, saw that the previous rider had scored 220. Definitely a winning score. Then it flashed Rosco’s score: 218.5. Dalton felt a shock, looked again, then a surge of relief that made his eyes sting.
Better than he expected. He couldn’t have asked for more.
By the time he’d dismounted and loosened Rosco’s cinch, the vultures were descending.
* * *
Raney was about to cry again. 218.5! They’d done it! And she could see by the crowd gathering around Rosco and Dalton that she wasn’t the only one who thought so.
“Let’s hope he isn’t receptive,” Mama murmured.
Raney glanced at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Those men aren’t giving Dalton congratulations. They’re making offers.”
“Rosco’s not for sale.”
“I’m not talking about the horse.”
Raney looked again. She recognized Max Rayburn and Tom Hadley, both owners. The others she didn’t know. “Dalton said he wasn’t looking to move.”
“Unless you run him off.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say!” Furious, Raney left the observation deck and headed down the stairs, so upset with her mother she couldn’t get away from her fast enough. But once at the bottom, she slowed, wondering if Mama might be right. After the things she’d said, would Dalton actually consider leaving Four Star? The thought made her chest so tight she couldn’t take a full breath.
“Raney!” Her mother came up beside her, breathing hard and looking worried. “I’m sorry I said that. But you’ve got to do something. Things can’t continue the way they are. You either accept a man, warts and all, or you let him go. And I don’t think you’re truly ready to let him go, are you?”
“No. But what do I do?”
“Put in your own offer.”
* * *
Dalton felt cornered. Men were bidding on him like he was a piece of horseflesh they wanted for their stable. In some ways it was flattering. In others, it was demeaning. But another part of him saw it as a way out. If Raney decided they were done, at least he’d have someplace to go. And judging by the offers, someplace a lot more lucrative.
“I’m flattered, fellas, but I—”
“Are you gentlemen trying to poach my trainer?”
He turned, saw Raney walking toward him, a determined look in her eye. Not smiling. Face flushed. Still upset. Seeing that closed expression broke something inside of him. “What are you doing?” he asked her.
Before she could answer, Tom Hadley turned to her. “Is he on contract? If so, I’ll buy it out. Name your price.”
Other men came forward.
* * *
Heart drumming, Raney stopped before them, hands on hips. Her gaze swung over the men crowding around, then stopped on Dalton. “I have no hold on him. He can go wherever he wants.” She watched disappointment tighten Dalton’s face and had to look away. “But I want him to stay,” she went on to the men gathered around. “Whitcomb Four Star needs him. Our program needs him. I need him.”
Putting on a smile, she glanced from one man to the other. “Gentlemen, I know I can’t compete with your prestigious outfits. Not yet. And certainly not financially. But I can offer him something better.” She finally looked directly at Dalton and said, “A lifetime commitment.”
His dark brows came down in a frown. His eyes narrowed. But he didn’t look away.
Beside her, Tom Hadley chuckled. “You can’t promise that. What if he gets injured? You going to keep him on forever?”
“Or if your program fails?” another man cut in. “Will you still guarantee his salary for the rest of his life?”
“I can and I will,” Raney said, still looking at Dalton.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, that’s a promise. From me to him.”
Dalton’s wary look eased. Mischief danced in his beautiful green eyes and the smile lurking at the corners of his mouth gave her hope that there was still hope.
“Makes no sense,” a man said.
Another nodded. “Why would you make a promise like that?”
“Because I’m in love with the guy.”
“Ah, hell,” a voice muttered.
Mumblings all around. Raney ignored them and continued to watch Dalton. Waiting. Hoping.
It seemed forever before he spoke. “Is that a proposal, Miss Whitcomb?”
Her throat was so tight she had to clear it before she could say, “It is.”
“Because I won’t let you have your way with me unless I get a ring.”
“I’ll get one tomorrow.”
Several onlookers wandered away in disgust.
Max Rayburn stayed, a big grin splitting his face as he patted her crying mother’s shoulder.
Dalton got out his phone and held it up. He stepped toward her. “Could you repeat that, ma’am? And with the proper words this time. Just for legal purposes, of course.”
“You’re such an asshat.”
“Seriously? That’s your proposal?”
Raney didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. So she did both. “Dalton Cardwell, will you marry me?”
Another step. Then another. Until he was looking down at her, his own eyes suspiciously bright. “I’d be honored to, Raney Whitcomb. Sorry, fellows,” he said, without looking their way. “I’m staying with her.” Then, slipping his phone back into his pocket, he swept her up in his arms. “Sweetheart, you’re killing me.” He planted a big, long, hard kiss on her mouth, then whispered in her ear, “Now stop crying. I’m fixing to get embarrassed.”
“I will if you will.”
“Done.”
EPILOGUE
The next day, both on the society page and in the sporting section of the Fort Worth Beacon, there were similar articles:
As announced at the Will Rogers Memorial Center in Fort Worth, Dalton Cardwell, on Rosco Rides High, out of Follow Me Boys, sired by Hidey Ho, and owned by Raney Whitcomb of Whitcomb Four Star Ranch, tied for third place in the Open Division of the
