The Right Cowboy
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Cheryl Harper
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CHAPTER ONE
GRANT ARMSTRONG GRABBED the handle over the window and swallowed an embarrassing yelp as he watched the highway’s narrow shoulder disappear beneath the tires of his brother’s speeding pickup. Matt always drove as if he could outrun consequences, unless there was a trailer attached to the hitch. His brother, the veterinarian, didn’t take any chances with livestock, but humans had to brace themselves and hope.
“I thought saddle bronc riders were supposed to be brave,” Matt said with a teasing grin. “Mama makes less noise when she rides shotgun. Betty doesn’t even twitch an ear. You should be more like Betty.”
Grant checked the hound dog that went almost everywhere with Matt. Betty had somehow stretched her forty-pound length to cover the entire backseat. Her floppy ears draped over her face. The only sign she was still alive was the whiffle of breath that flapped her loose lips. Betty had a clean conscience, and all was right with her world.
Matt was right. Grant would love to be more like Betty.
“Guess I’m a cat who’s already eight lives in and holding on to number nine for all I’m worth,” Grant muttered and forced his fingers to unclench. “What’s the rush?”
“No rush.” Matt waved one hand as if he was as relaxed as could be. “But we both know we need to be back to the Rocking A before dinner’s on the table. These roads after dark are a real adventure.”
Instead of ordering his brother to put both hands on the steering wheel or to slow down on the twisting two-lane highway through the Rocky Mountains, Grant stared straight ahead through the bug-spattered windshield. If he didn’t look to his right, the specter of shooting over the edge like they were stuntmen in an action movie would recede.
And if he didn’t look left at his brother, he would stop fantasizing about evicting Matt from the driver’s seat and leaving him on the side of the road.
His mother would make him return to pick up her baby boy anyway.
“Thank you for going with me today.” Matt finally took his foot off the gas to make a turn. “I wanted to see the course Macon had set up. The big splashy commercial I saw caught my attention, gave me ideas for something smaller in town. I’m determined to show your mother that I have a few exciting ideas up my sleeve for Western Days.”
“Our mother would expect nothing less from her favorite,” Grant replied.
Matt batted his eyelashes at Grant. “Aw, don’t be jealous. It’s a four-way tie for second place.”
Grant grunted but it was difficult to blame Prue if Matt was her favorite. He was the easiest of the five of them to get along with.
“We couldn’t waste a warm snap in February,” Matt said. “Perfect weather to go for a ride.”
The beautiful sunny day had presented a rare opportunity for a quick road trip, so when Matt had asked him to ride along to tour Horace Macon’s Cowboy Games in Leadville, Grant had jumped at the chance. One quick look at the flashy website convinced Grant it was a bunch of activities for tourists who had seen some of Hollywood’s glitziest Western movies and wanted the full experience from their Rocky Mountain vacation. That wouldn’t work in Prospect, but it was an interesting setup. Chaps-wearing employees had taught visitors how to lasso a cute little cow statue and then taken their souvenir pictures with it. There was target practice with a mock six-shooter, ax throwing and a train ride that featured a staged robbery, where the white-hatted town sheriff rode in to save the day.
Grant and his brothers had reenacted several different versions of that same show, only with a bank since they’d had no train. The old ghost town in the hills above the ranch had been irresistible for such scenes when they were kids, and they might have done it better. Grant had definitely enjoyed his role as the bad guy.
Matt had always preferred to “rest,” so he was usually the banker, who could snooze in the shade, while the rest of the brothers were the good guys, with Wes in the white hat leading the charge to save the day.
If someone had convinced Grant to instead try on the white hat as a teenager, would he have made different choices as an adult? Instead of playing up a reckless side, he might have become the hero. Grant squeezed his eyes shut. No use in asking questions that had no answers.
Today’s tour of Cowboy Games had confirmed his suspicions that the place was less cowboy and heavy on the games, but if he survived the ride home in one piece, it would be a pretty good day overall.
“We can do better, right?” Matt asked. “In my head, I was picturing something less glitzy and more real for Prospect, although I can’t deny that the kids did seem to love tossing the lasso. Make a note that we need to include that somewhere in town.”
Grant rolled his eyes. Matt had been trying the make-a-note thing all day as if he was employing a top-notch assistant or something.
“We definitely want one of a kind,” Matt added, “but I’m not sure I see how to get there yet.”
“Yeah, what we saw was an amusement park, not a real competition. Pretty sure everything there was presented as a backdrop for the most impressive vacation photos instead of a test of skill.” Grant glanced over at him. “If you stage a real competition, with riding and shooting and all of that, Prospect’s Western Days weekend will have to draw the cream of the cowboy crop or you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“We’ll never hear the end of it.” Matt smiled slowly. “You’re going to help me. Mama said so.”
Grant sighed. At some point, he and his brothers would learn to tell Prue Armstrong no, but Grant hadn’t reached that blessed moment yet. Lately, he’d been ducking his mother every chance he got, because all the Armstrong men knew that once the calendar flipped over to a new year, planning the town’s festival, known far and wide as Western Days, took over her life.
And she made sure to drag everyone she knew along for the ride.
They still had two whole months of increasing pressure to see out.
Matt had been late to a meeting months ago and been named the head person in charge this year. Grant was bored and available today. That was it. He didn’t want any tasks or folks relying on him for this year’s centennial anniversary weekend.
But frankly, none of the Armstrongs would escape the work ahead. Grant’s only hope to avoid responsibility would be to lay low when Prue was on the hunt for volunteers. Since he was fully unemployed and also underemployed helping on the Rocking A, he would be at the top of his mother’s list.
Ranching meant plenty of work, and all five Armstrong brothers loved the place, even when they were away from home. Prue and Walt had fostered them here before adopting them all, so the Rocking A was special.
For years, their father, Walt, and Wes had managed all of it. Then Travis had retired from the military to take up fostering another generation here. His brother jumped on every job around the place. Renovations on the ranch house had taken up the first couple of months after Grant’s sudden return, but now having too much time on his hands was becoming noticeable. Luckily, many people wanted to give him unpaid jobs.
Being busy was good, but nothing excited him like rodeo. He missed the excitement of facing off against a wild bronco and the camaraderie of the rodeo circuit. He was supposed to be competing, not event planning.
“Problem is that we don’t have a permanent setup for a riding course and marksmanship booth, like Macon does. The festival will take over all of the old town center, and whatever we build for shooting or riding competition will need to go up a week or two before and tear down quickly after the festival is over. We can put up tents, but we’ll need a lot of open space.” Grant tugged his hat lower on his head. He sounded confident even if he’d never done anything like this. Fortunately, he’d never met a horse he didn’t like, and Macon had offered some names who might help design and judge shooting competition. His mother wanted something big and new for this special anniversary. Matt was on the right track.
She was also counting on Grant being a “celebrity” draw for competitors and visitors alike. Good thing he hadn’t tossed all his gear in the trash when he had retired from the circuit and come home. He hadn’t confessed how that came about in the first place to his family, and he wasn’t certain he had any star power left.
For years, Western Days had featured a large quilt show, other judged categories for crafts and baked goods, vendors lined up along the street through town, a parade, and plenty of opportunity to attract visitors to the town’s businesses. Adding a cowboy games competition with riding and shooting would help Prospect’s Western Days stand out from all the other festivals. Matt’s idea was good, if they could pull it off.
That was the question that was nagging at him.
Could he pull it off?
When Matt swooped through a dip in the road at high speed, Grant clutched his stomach with one hand and realized that if they bucked right over the side of the mountain ledge, neither one of them had to worry much about the future anymore.
Even so, he said, “If you don’t slow down, I’m going to tell Mama that you were being reckless, Matty. You don’t want that. That’s my job, not yours.”
His brother’s lips curled but he eased off the gas. “Imagine how much shine a riding competition will bring when we say it’s being run by Grant Armstrong, saddle bronc champion for four years straight. Could it have been five? Yes, but he decided to come home and sleep in his old bunk bed instead.”
Grant tightened his lips, determined to ignore Matt’s prodding.
The sound of the road under the pickup’s tires was too quiet to keep Matt under control for long.
“Why did he do that? Leave his successful career, the one he’d been dreaming of his whole life, to return to Prospect when he was rising straight to the top? When he was being approached for magazine cover stories and small parts in made-for-TV movies?” Matt shrugged. “No one knows.”
Grant returned to gripping the grab handle. The anger that boiled in his chest every time that he considered giving up the career he loved burned, but it was better for everyone if he kept the lid tightly shut. He was afraid of the fallout if all that emotion spilled over.
Matt sighed. “Well, technically one person knows, but he ain’t talking. Why is that?”
Grant cut his brother a mean glare. “Do you really care? You got somebody to run your big idea. That should make you happy.”
Matt’s slow grin was irritating. “Oh, it does, believe me. Doesn’t change the fact that fixing whatever is wrong with you during a one-day trip would convince the whole family I’m a hero. I’m used to being the best-looking brother, but I’d like to try for more. Give Travis a run for his money. Becoming a foster dad may have given him an unbeatable advantage there.”
“Mama already thinks you hung the moon,” Grant grumbled. To be fair, Prue Armstrong would have gone to war for any one of her boys...unless they were picking on Matt.
“Being the baby of the family has some perks.” Matt took both hands off the wheel to shrug. Grant had to bite his lip not to snap about that.
Instead, he closed his eyes. That was his last defense.
The five Armstrong sons had been adopted through the foster system. Wes claimed the spot of “oldest” because he’d arrived first, but Wes, Clay, Travis and Grant were only months apart in age, and had all been in the same grade in school. Matt was a little younger, so he was the baby. He’d learned to accept the pestering older brothers and take full advantage of his mother’s protective instincts.
“What about if I promise not to discuss whatever you tell me with anyone else? Not Wes, Clay or Travis. Not Mom or Dad. Not even if dessert is hanging in the balance and it happens to be banana pudding,” Matt said. “You can trust me.”
The concern in Matt’s voice matched the expressions Grant had seen on his family’s faces since he’d shown up at the Rocking A with a duffel, a box and a flimsy explanation that he’d grown tired of life on the circuit. For a few months, he’d faced pressure on all sides to spill the truth, but life and the ranch’s beautiful neighbors on either side had taken some of the pressure off. His brothers were so busy falling in love that they’d had less time to poke at his bruises.
He and Matt were the last unattached ones left standing. Even his parents, who had divorced years ago and argued like grumpy badgers, had been struck by Cupid’s arrow. Their bickering had turned to teasing with forays into flirting. Love seemed to be well on its way to conquering all of the Armstrong family.
But even if another interesting someone new did show up, if she happened to meet Matt first, she’d be hypnotized by his looks, so Grant wasn’t too worried about getting tangled up with love. He needed a minute to get his life straightened out before he was ready for another knot.
Grant tried to loosen the tension in his shoulders. “I do. I trust all of you. I just...” He didn’t want to tell them his whole career had been a lie. Not yet. The grift his best friends on the rodeo circuit were running wouldn’t stay secret forever, but Grant wanted to be far away from that world when the news broke. He’d worked to build his bad-boy persona, taking risks others might not. Finding anyone to believe his side of the story seemed impossible.
Lying low in Prospect was his obvious choice. Eventually he’d figure out his next career and what happened to the last one would matter less.
Nothing bad could touch an Armstrong in Prospect. His family was here and he had known every person in town for most of his life. The rest of the rodeo world would deal with the shock of a cheating scandal when it came out, the people he trusted most could try pointing fingers at him and even succeed in turning Grant’s fans against him, but it might as well be happening on another planet as long as he was in Prospect.
Since he’d come home, he’d convinced himself that he’d ended that chapter. This after-rodeo life still fit him like new chaps, pinched in the spots that hadn’t been broken in yet, but every day was easier. He’d stopped looking over his shoulder and waiting for the mess to detonate.
If being betrayed by old friends still stung, Grant could look around to see Matt, Clay, Travis and Wes and know they were exactly who they said they were. Walt and Prue Armstrong were salt-of-the-earth types who had taught them all to live that way. Every single one of them would choose to be a white hat in any scenario.
Days back at the Rocking A weren’t a dream come true, not like winning rodeo prizes and celebrating on the road, but there were no surprises, either.
All he had to do now was find a way to be content with life in a place where nothing ever changed much.
