Chapter 31

Melanie tipped the passenger seat back and relaxed, letting Grace do the talking. A lot of talking. Either Melanie made the girl nervous or Grace was still wound up from the skirmish with Betsy, because there were no uncomfortable silences to fill. By the time they crossed the Columbia River, Melanie knew all about the regional rodeo associations in Washington, Oregon, and Idaho, and Grace’s frustration with her own performance so far this season.

Meanwhile, they retraced Melanie’s route from the day before, across the Columbia River to the Tri-Cities, but Grace continued on through. North of Pasco, the countryside became progressively more monotonous—huge, rolling farm fields cut by shallow valleys and low, rocky mesas.

“Wyatt said you practice at the saddle club?”

At the reflexive wrinkle of Melanie’s nose, Grace’s shoulders hunched. “There aren’t any breakaway ropers in Pendleton other than the girls on the Blue Mountain College team. Their practices are for team members only, then they all leave for the summer.”

So Grace was stuck at the saddle club, which, if it was anything like the one in Earnest, was barely a step above no practice at all. The best ropers had arenas and cattle of their own, leaving saddle clubs to the young and the clueless—both horses and riders. The calves were invariably trashy, ducking, diving crap that knew every dirty trick short of pulling a knife.

No wonder Grace wasn’t making any progress.

“He also said you were job hunting,” Melanie said. “Do you want to stay in this area?”

“I don’t know.” Grace pressed her lips together. “I’ve been here for a year, and as you saw today, I have zero friends outside of Wyatt and Louie. I just can’t seem to…”

“Connect?” Melanie suggested.

Grace shrugged. Another mile passed. “After what happened at Westwind…do you think you’ll go back to Amarillo?”

“To work?” Melanie shook her head. “Not really an option after the exit I made. Are you thinking about moving home?”

“Maybe. There’s a job opening at the high school in Bluegrass, and they want me to come for an interview.” Grace’s teeth worked her lower lip, as if the decision was more monumental than Melanie would have guessed. Yes, Hank had embarrassed her but…once again, who was Melanie to judge?

Of all the McKennas—mother, father and seven kids—Grace was the only one involved in rodeos. Her father was a school custodian in Earnest, her mother a receptionist at a chiropractor’s office in Dumas. Even if her parents had been thrilled with her new hobby, they didn’t have the time or means to offer support. She’d worked part-time jobs in college to scrape up the money to buy Betsy—at a considerable discount due to the mare’s age and legendary disposition. And then she’d had to find someone to teach her to rope, and scrounge for places to practice.

Suddenly, seeing herself from Grace’s perspective, Melanie had to fight the urge to squirm. In rodeo terms, she was everything she’d accused Wyatt of being the night before—a privileged white ranch girl with a father who’d provided her with an arena, practice cattle, expert coaching, and a string of good horses.

Then she’d left, and it had become obvious Hank had no interest in picking up the reins she’d dropped. If she’d become a school teacher, moved back to Earnest, married a nice local boy, and kept roping with her father, would the best in Texas still be coming to Johnny Brookman to buy their horses? Could he have let Hank be, instead of constantly pressuring him, until finally—

Her thoughts slammed up against a terrible realization. Jesus Christ. Violet was right.

She’d started with Grace’s roping, and in the space of four thoughts, it had become all about Melanie—a blueprint for every interaction with her mother she’d ever cursed.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to cover the breath she sucked in.

“Are you sick?” Grace jerked her foot off the accelerator.

“I…uh…just need some fresh air.” Melanie rolled the window down and stuck her head out. The roaring in her ears wasn’t entirely from the wind. When…how had she let this happen? Image after image from her behavior at Westwind clicked through her mind—muttered insults, unseen sneers, petty little acts of rebellion—to form an ugly whole.

God. God. It was exactly what she’d sworn she’d never be and more. And just like her mother, she’d blamed everyone and everything else for her situation. Leachman. The system.

Michael.

She slumped back in her seat, gulping in deep breaths, not bothering to smooth away the hair that had blown free from her braid to straggle in her face.

“Do I need to pull over?” Grace asked.

“No.” Lord, no. The last thing she’d needed was to add made Grace late for the rodeo to her list of sins. She waved a vague hand. “Go on. I’m okay.”

Or would be, once the horizon stopping wobbling. Everything both Wyatt and Violet had tried to tell her had been right on target. And Fate had obviously thrown Michael Miller in her path for a reason. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else, he’d said. Well, ditto. The way she’d been going, it had only been a matter of time before she’d done something regrettable. In the pursuit of so-called success, she had lost her bearings. Now she had to find her way back.

And the best way she knew—the direction her friends had been not-very-subtly shoving her—was to start at the last place she remembered truly being herself.

In the arena.

“If you don’t mind,” she said to Grace, “I’d like to come to the saddle club and rope with you next week.”

Grace blinked, considered Melanie’s request, then said, “Donetta Jones is in charge of memberships. I’ve got her number in my phone.”

“Thanks.”

Grace’s reaction was underwhelming, but Melanie supposed she hadn’t earned any better. And Grace’s muted response was probably part of what made her good at her job—an athletic trainer had to be unflappable in the face of everything from dire injuries to asshole coaches. And someone who might be about to upheave on her floorboards.

“I should ask her about a sponsorship. It would be a good opportunity for the Bull Dancer to make some friends.” Both the bar and the man. And on the subject of friends… “Do you know Laura?”

The pickup swerved slightly. Grace steadied the wheel before she answered, her tone clipped. “We’ve met a few times.”

Interesting. Melanie announced she wanted to start roping again and Grace didn’t even shrug, but mention Laura’s name and she damn near drove in the ditch. How could the two of them possibly be connected, except through Wyatt? But why, when Grace didn’t seem to be a part of his life outside of the bullfighting school?

Or was that only since Melanie had arrived?

“She seems very…” Melanie searched for and failed to find a proper adjective. “She’s beautiful.”

Grace’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “She and Wyatt aren’t a thing.”

“I know.” Melanie shrugged at Grace’s surprised look. “She was wearing a ring. Wyatt doesn’t poach on other men’s turf.”

“Other women. She has a wife.”

Well. That put Wyatt’s comment about his family’s intolerance into a whole different context. And why wasn’t Grace surprised to hear that she’d met Laura? Wyatt must have told her. The knowledge gave Melanie that odd, creeping sensation she’d felt at his condo, as if everyone else was playing a secret game behind her back. “He didn’t seem thrilled to see her.”

Or, more precisely, for her to see Melanie.

Grace used the excuse of passing a truck loaded with what looked like potatoes to delay answering. When she was safely back in the driving lane, she pursed her lips, obviously unhappy about this turn in the conversation. After all the time Melanie had spent lately with Wyatt, reading Grace was like being handed a Dick and Jane book. If she were a better person, she’d let the poor girl off the hook, but since they’d already established that she wasn’t, she let the silence stretch to the point of discomfort.

Finally, Grace huffed out a breath. “She’s the reason he got in the habit of rescuing people. She needs it on a regular basis.”

“They’ve known each a long time?”

“Forever.”

They must have grown up together, in the same social circle, steeped in the same unbending values. Delicate, lovely Laura would have been in dire need of a champion when she came out of the closet, and Wyatt would have leapt to her rescue.

Defying his family in the process.

And then he’d left. But not alone, Melanie guessed. “How did she end up in Portland?”

“Wyatt—” Grace cut herself short and clamped her lips together. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Yes, she would. This was a story he’d never shared, even with Joe…but he’d told Grace. It made no sense. Grace was smart, and nice enough, and determined. And Wyatt had said he admired her more than anyone except…

Uh-uh. Not thinking about that or Melanie would drive herself crazy with all the questions she’d promised not to ask.

But she couldn’t help asking herself, why Grace? She was twenty-three years old, fresh out of college, and to Melanie’s knowledge the most exceptional thing she’d ever done was move across the country to start her career. Not easy, but people did it all the time, without a Wyatt to smooth their path. What was so remarkable about her?

Only one of the dozens of questions tumbling around inside her head.

“Are we there yet?” she asked instead.

“Yes.”

Grace veered onto the exit to a town that consisted of a gas station and convenience store, a fertilizer warehouse, and a row of sun-bleached houses, all backed up against the side of yet another wide draw. Just beyond, Melanie spotted the cluster of pickups and horse trailers around the rodeo arena. Her pulse bumped, the result of years of conditioning, and she had to remind her body that this wasn’t her rodeo.

Her adrenaline glands muttered a few profanities and throttled down, sulking. We never get to have any fun anymore.

Soon, she promised.

Grace parked but didn’t immediately turn off the ignition, bracing both hands to scowl out the windshield. “Laura isn’t the only one. Wyatt lets everybody take advantage of him.”

Wyatt? Melanie nearly snorted. He who could manipulate any situation to…

No. Not his advantage. Melanie could tick off one example after another of how he’d maneuvered people into doing what he wanted, but in every case it had been for someone else’s benefit.

And just like when he was fighting bulls, he wouldn’t hesitate to jump in even if it meant he might suffer collateral damage.

“You, of all people, should be able to relate.” The eyes Grace turned on Melanie burned with uncharacteristic intensity. “Laura is his Hank. He’s spent his whole life either trying to save her or cleaning up after her, as if it’s his fault both of their parents were assholes and she has zero common sense. He can’t help himself any more than you can.”

She kept glaring as if she expected an answer, so Melanie said, “I see.”

“Good. Because you have no idea how much you could hurt him, and he won’t stop you.” Grace shut off the pickup and bailed out.

Melanie sat, stunned, replaying every detail of the previous night in painful detail. She’d walked into that bar fully intending to pick a fight with Wyatt. Give herself a chance to hiss and spit and curse, knowing he’d let her, pushing back just enough so she could really flex her muscles. But she knew all too well exactly what buttons to push, and she’d failed to consider that Wyatt might also have some anger simmering under that cool surface.

But so what? He was a man, and he was Wyatt the Invincible. Why not use him? What problems could he have that compared with hers?

Melanie tipped her head back against the seat and groaned. She was such an asshole.