The Long Ride Home

  He came in search of his missing horse…and wound up losing his heart.

  David Parsons is on the verge of making his pro rodeo dreams come true when his one-in-a-million rope horse, Muddy, goes missing. In the aftermath, David loses everything. His career, his fiancée, his pride.

  Four years later, David is clawing his way out of the ruins and back up the rankings when he gets the miracle he’s prayed for. Muddy has been found on Montana’s Blackfeet Indian Reservation.

  But repossessing Muddy is unexpectedly complicated. Kylan, the teenager on Muddy’s back, has had a lifetime of hard knocks. His custodial aunt, Mary Steele, will fight like a mama bear to make sure losing this horse isn’t the blow that levels the boy. Even if it’s at David’s expense.

  David is faced with a soul-wrenching dilemma. Taking back his own future could destroy Kylan’s. And ruin any chance he might have with the fierce, fascinating Mary.

  It’s a long, hard ride to the top of the rodeo world. And for David, an even longer ride home. Unless he can find a trail that leads to both.

  Warning: This book is blush proof. Should come with a “prim and proper” warning label. There is no nudity, no violence to speak of, but there is some sensual kissing and mildly R-rated language.

  The Long Ride Home

  Kari Lynn Dell

  Dedication

  To Greg, who never once told me to give it up even when any sane person should have. Every writer should marry someone as crazy as they are.

  Chapter One

  When David Parsons rode into the arena in Cody, Wyoming, he knew in his gut he’d ride out a winner. He was on that kind of roll. He’d drawn the right calf and, Lord knew, he was riding the right horse. And in case that wasn’t enough, he was wearing the never-fail lucky blue shirt he’d saved just for the Fourth of July.

  Muddy rooted his nose, pushing into the bit as David turned him around in the roping box. When David tugged on the reins, Muddy kicked up his hind feet, revving his engine like a drag racer burning his tires, a quirk he’d developed as a colt and never outgrown. Then he jammed his butt into the corner of the box, ears forward, every molecule of his body cocked and ready.

  David kept a tight hold on the reins, his attention zeroing in on the calf. Head’s turned. Wait. Wait. Make sure he’s standing square. Let him take the first step.

  The instant the calf looked forward, David nodded. The gate banged open. David’s rein hand barely twitched and Muddy exploded from the box, the start perfectly timed. The loop sliced through the night air. One, two, three swings and throw. Zap! Clean around the calf’s neck. David felt the sizzle of the rope dragging through the hondo as he pulled his slack.

  Muddy’s stop was like slamming into a brick wall on a motorcycle. Wham! Sixty to zero in a single stride. David swung out in the right stirrup and let the momentum launch him down the rope, so fast he was standing at the calf’s head as it spun around, still on its feet.

  Muddy scrambled backward, pulling the calf into David’s lap. He flipped it onto its side, had the loop of his piggin’ string snugged tight around the front leg before the calf hit the ground. He scooped up the back legs, crossed them over the front, took one, two wraps and a half hitch and threw up his hands to signal for time.

  David hustled back to his horse, vaulted into the saddle and rode Muddy forward a few steps to put slack in the rope, adrenaline pounding through his veins as applause washed over them. Muddy bobbed his head, acknowledging the ovation.

  “Seven point three seconds!” the rodeo announcer shouted. “Ladies and gentlemen, there is your tie-down roping champion!”

  David grabbed his hat by the brim and sailed it into the clear night air, laughing from the sheer joy of the moment.

  A committee member retrieved the hat from where it landed in the arena and handed it to David at the gate as he rode out. “We need you behind the bucking chutes for the television interview.”

  “Give me a minute to tie my horse up.” He swung off, wove through a gauntlet of backslaps and congratulations to the spot along the fence behind the roping boxes where he’d left his rope can. Muddy flattened his ears at the next horse in line.

  “You’re not big enough to win that fight,” David said. He reached up to give Muddy a scratch for a job well done.

  Muddy jerked his head away, pinning his ears again. David laughed. “Cranky little bastard. Good thing we don’t get paid for your personality. Or your looks.”

  Muddy shot him a look that was the equine equivalent of a middle finger. David laughed again, flipped the reins around the fence rail and patted Muddy on the butt as he left, just to annoy him.

  The committeeman led the way, hustling along the inside of the fence as a brand new pickup circled the arena, setting out the barrels for the barrel racing. David’s escort ducked through a narrow pass gate into the chaos behind the bucking chutes. This was foreign territory for David, bulls snorting and banging in the chutes, cowboys crawling all over like ants as the bull riders settled their ropes into place and the chute boss yelled at everybody to get their asses moving. The television crew had commandeered a space back in the corner. David stepped in front of the camera, self-conscious despite the number of times in the past six months he’d had to stand in the spotlight.

  The blonde interviewer tipped her head back and smiled, holding the microphone almost over her head to make up the difference between his six-four and her five-and-a-half feet. “Congratulations on winning the tie-down roping here at the Buffalo Bill Cody Stampede. This is the last stop on the big Fourth of July rodeo run. How’s it been going up until now?”

  “Couldn’t get much better,” David said, the grin coming easily. “I’ve been drawing some great calves, and Muddy gives me a chance at the money every time I nod my head.”

  “You trained him yourself. How did you happen to choose this particular horse? To look at him…he doesn’t exactly catch your eye.”

  David laughed. “Nah, he ain’t real purty. I sure wouldn’t have picked him out of a herd. It was just meant to be, I guess. A neighbor bought him for his son ’cause he’s small, but Muddy…well, he’s no kid horse.” David shook his head, amazed all over again at the stroke of divine intervention that had brought Muddy into his life. “They traded him to me in exchange for my old pony, and I knew he was something special the first time I roped a calf on him. He suits me better than any horse I’ve ever ridden.”

  “You’ve made a huge move in the world rankings compared to last season,” she said. “How do you account for your improvement?”

  “It’s all Muddy. He was still a little green at the beginning of last year, but he just kept getting better and better, and the past few months he’s really come into his own.”

  “He’s not the only one,” she said, and the gleam of interest in her eyes wasn’t entirely professional.

  David shuffled his feet, wishing they’d hurry up and cut to a commercial. “I owe most everything to my family and my fiancée, Emily, for always being there to support me, and the good Lord for letting me compete in the greatest sport in the world.”

  “And Muddy?” the blonde added.

  “Definitely. Without him, I’m just another guy with a rope.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “Well, after your win here at Cody, it looks like you’re also a guy who’s headed to his first National Finals Rodeo. Congratulations, David, and best of luck down the road.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled awkwardly into the camera as she signed off. When he tried to move away, her grip on his arm tightened.

  “Are you leaving tonight?”

  “No. This is our last
stop.” The end of ten straight days of roping hard and driving harder. He should be exhausted, but he was pumped so full of adrenaline he felt like he could go on forever.

  Her voice went husky. “I’ll be down at Cassie’s later. I’d love to buy the champ a beer.”

  David blinked. Had she not just heard him mention Emily?

  “I’m not much for bars,” he said stiffly, feeling the heat rise under his collar as he eased out of her grasp. “I’ll be hitting the sack soon as I get my horse put up.”

  Which wasn’t the whole truth. He intended to call his parents to share the good news, sip a cold one and wind down with a few of the boys, then crawl into his trailer, prop his phone on his pillow and talk to his best girl until one of them fell asleep. He didn’t have to work at being faithful. From the day he’d met Emily, he’d been incapable of looking at another girl.

  The blonde backed off a step and her smile turned mean. “Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t fool around…you’re just a regular Dudley Do-Right.”

  Was he supposed to be insulted? He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  She huffed, turned on her heel and flounced away. David made his escape into the milling crowd, not slowing until he reached the concession area. His stomach rumbled at the smell of grilled beef, a reminder that his last meal had been before he roped in Red Lodge eight hours earlier. He detoured to a hamburger stand. Muddy would be fine for a few more minutes.

  Behind him, music blasted out of the loudspeakers as each of the barrel racers thundered into the arena. David could guess when they rounded the third barrel by the swelling roar of the crowd pushing them down the home stretch. He listened to the names and times with half an ear while he ordered.

  “Excuse me?” a female voice said behind him. “David?”

  He tensed, afraid to glance over his shoulder, but instead of the blonde, he saw a pink-faced woman in a rumpled sundress, one hand on a stroller and the other clutching a wide-eyed little boy dressed to the hilt in boots, hat and a shiny belt buckle. Just guessing, this lady probably wasn’t looking for a date.

  She thrust out an eight-by-ten sheet of glossy paper. “Could you please sign this for my son? He’s a big fan.”

  David took the photo, wincing when he saw his smiling mug. After his win at Houston, he’d picked up a small sponsorship from a rope company, but the picture in their ads didn’t even look like him. They’d primped and starched, airbrushed and photo-shopped until they’d turned him into a Clark Kent look-a-like, all square-jawed and laser-eyed.

  “What’s your name?” he asked the boy.

  “Matthew.” The kid gazed up at him, head tilted back so far his hat almost fell off. “Wow. You’re really tall. And you look kinda mean.”

  “Matthew!” his mother exclaimed.

  “It’s okay.” David rubbed a hand over his two-day stubble with an apologetic smile. “I’ve been runnin’ down the road pretty hard the past couple of days. Haven’t had much time to clean up.”

  Not that it made much difference. His beard was so heavy and so black, even when he shaved in the morning he looked like a hobo by that night’s rodeo. He took the pen the woman offered and scribbled on the picture. To Matthew. Ride hard and rope fast. David Parsons.

  “Thanks,” the kid said, clutching the photo to his chest. “I’m gonna rope just like you when I’m big. And I’m gonna have a horse just like Muddy.”

  “I bet you will,” David said, even though he was thinking, only if you’re really lucky.

  The baby in the stroller started to fuss and the woman thanked him and herded her little clan away. David paid for his food then doused the burgers with enough ketchup to float a canoe. The first bite was absolute heaven. What was it about rodeo burgers? They never tasted the same anywhere else. Probably because he was never as famished as after he roped. Plus, everything tasted good when you were winning.

  The announcer introduced the first of the bull riders as David polished off the first burger, tossed the crumpled wrapper in a trash can and started toward the roping chutes, peeling the foil off the second burger as he walked.

  “Hey, hotshot!” a voice called. “You too cool to hang with us losers now?”

  He looked over to see a trio of cowboys lounging against the fence and sipping beers. Losers. Hah. Between the three of them, they owned enough gold buckles to pave the road to Oz, including the one given out at the previous year’s National Finals. The one who’d yelled waved an empty cup. “You’ve been takin’ my money all year, least you could do is buy an old man a brew.”

  Old man was stretching it, but legend wasn’t. David hesitated, glancing toward where he’d left Muddy, then angled over to join them. He’d grown up idolizing these guys, dreaming of someday hanging out with them, shooting the bull. He fetched four fresh beers and passed the others around before taking a deep draw off his own. Ahh, yeah. Something else that never tasted quite the same anywhere but at the end of a long, hot rodeo day.

  “So is it true that after you won Tucson, some rich guy walked up and offered you a hundred grand for Muddy?” the reigning world champ asked.

  “Yeah.” David shook his head, indignant. “His kid decided he wants to be a roper and the old man figured he oughta have the best horse money can buy.”

  “As of right now, that would be Muddy,” the old guy said. “I’d take him, hands down, over anything else going down the road, including that stick I’m hauling.”

  “Did you tell the stupid prick to go screw himself?” the third member of the gold-buckle club asked. “I mean, shit. As if you’re gonna sell a horse like that.”

  They all nodded in agreement at the nerve of some people.

  “You shoulda got him to put it in writing for your insurance company,” one of them said. “You could up your coverage.”

  David grimaced. “I gotta do something about that soon as I get a chance. A hundred grand might be stretching it, but he’s worth four times what he was when I took out the policy.”

  “And you couldn’t replace him even at that. Where you headed next?”

  “Calgary.”

  “Ever been?”

  “Nope.” The Calgary Stampede was by invitation only, and until this year, David hadn’t even been a blip on their radar. “How do you like that quick set up and roping without a six-second rule?”

  The three of them launched into a spirited discussion of the pros and cons of waiving the requirement that the calf had to remain tied for six seconds after the roper remounted his horse. Faster times, one said. Guys taking more chances, a wrap and a hooey instead of two wraps made it more exciting for the fans. Sloppier, another said, and besides, it was called tie-down roping. Wasn’t the integrity of the tie supposed to be at least half of the game?

  David listened, basking in the knowledge that he’d been accepted by this most exclusive club as, if not their equal, at least a worthy contender. He was halfway through his beer when the arena lights went out and one of his companions drawled, “Oh, goody. Fireworks.”

  Oh, shit. David whipped around, tossing his beer into the nearest trash can. “I gotta go.”

  He moved as fast as the dim lights and the crowd allowed, his heart hammering in his throat. Dammit. It was the Fourth of July. How could he have forgotten the fireworks? He should’ve busted ass right after the interview to get his horse back to the trailer. Muddy might’ve settled down in most ways, but he still went ballistic at the first sign of a bottle rocket, let alone the big overhead boomers.

  The grandstand had started to clear and people strolled toward their cars, clogging David’s path. He dodged and ducked, hip-checked one big drunk guy out of the way, but the first rocket burst overhead before he fought his way clear. He broke into a jog, rounded the last turn and ran straight into chaos. Bodies flying, shouts and the thud of hooves as men tried to capture escaped horses.

  At the ep
icenter of the melee, the spot where Muddy had been tied was empty, a broken rein dangling from the fence. A cowboy grabbed David by the arm.

  “Muddy went that way.” He waved toward the parking lot. “Pulled back and busted his reins at the first big boom and then blew down through here and scared the hell out of everything else.”

  David launched in the direction he’d pointed. The exit-gate attendant came running to meet him, sobbing in panic. “I tried to stop him. He almost ran me down!”

  “Which way?” David called over his shoulder as he skidded around the corner.

  “Out there,” she said.

  When he saw where she pointed, his guts twisted into a knot of barbed wired. Even as he pushed himself into a sprint, he knew he’d never get there in time.

  He couldn’t beat Muddy to the highway.

  Eighteen hours later, David slumped onto the fender of his horse trailer, exhausted and sick to his soul. The sheriff’s deputy who’d been his companion and search partner for most of the night scrubbed a hand over bloodshot eyes.

  “Well, the good news is we haven’t had a report of a horse being hit on any of the highways,” the deputy said.

  David nodded. He’d started out terrified Muddy would run through a fence, in front of a car, fall in a hole in the dark and break a leg, but that was hours ago. There hadn’t been so much as a glimpse of a stray horse since Muddy had cleared the parking lot. David swallowed hard, choking on dread and guilt. How could he have let this happen?

  “Damndest thing,” the deputy said, shaking his head. “It’s like he just dropped off the face of the earth.”

  David slumped, burying his face in his hands, exhaustion crashing down on him as he faced the awful truth. Muddy was gone, and he had no one to blame but himself.

  Chapter Two

  Sisters, Oregon. Four years later

  David unhooked the strap of his hard fiberglass rope can from his saddle horn and heaved the can as hard as he could at the nearest tire of his horse trailer. It missed, skidding like an oversized hockey puck and landing under the trailer instead.