Prologue
Gage Powell was tired as he pulled his rental car onto the driveway of his parents’ ranch in southeast Oklahoma. He’d left Edinburgh, Scotland, at 11 a.m. yesterday, flown for sixteen hours to Dallas and then rented a car to drive…home.
But it hadn’t felt like home in a long time. Certainly not seven years ago when his older brother Marty had taken his last ride on a bull called Blue Manchu and been trampled and gored to death. It had been horrifying to watch as Gage had stood next to the chute waiting for his debut on the Professional Bull Riders Association Tour. He’d been unable to ride that day; instead he’d followed his brother’s ambulance with his dad in a truck. While his mom had ridden with Marty.
Everything had changed that day. Before that Gage had been able to pretend that winning a bull-riding championship would finally earn his father’s respect and maybe his dad would stop looking at him like he wished he weren’t there. But that hadn’t happened. In fact, his father had turned to him at the hospital after they’d been told that Marty had died and point-blank told him that the wrong son had died.
Gage had hugged his grieving mom and walked away from the hospital. It had been all he could do. He’d hitched a ride home, gotten his truck and threw a few of his things in a duffel bag and left. He’d made his way south to the Gulf Coast where he’d gotten a job on an oil rig and eventually a transfer to one of the big rigs off the coast of Scotland. It paid well and was about as damn far away from bull riding as a man could get.
He’d been back to the States once a year since then meeting his mom for a week in Dallas and lately driving down to Whiskey River, Texas, to visit with Nicholas Blue, his brother’s best friend, and to practice bull riding.
And that had been enough for him. His dad hadn’t wanted to see him and frankly Gage didn’t give a rat’s ass if he ever laid eyes on the old man again.
Or so he’d thought.
His mom had emailed him while he was on the rig saying that he was needed back home. That his father’s Alzheimer’s was worsening and if he ever wanted a chance to see him and be recognized he needed to make his way home. Gage had been torn up about it. He was still mad at his dad. Not ready to forgive him for what he’d said in his pain and anger but there was still that damned little boy inside of him who wanted his father’s approval, so here he was.
Sitting outside their house at what the hell time was it?
Four-thirty a.m.
Damn.
He just sat there trying to decide if he should turn the engine on and drive away but then the porch light came on and the front door opened.
Gage got out of the rental car and walked toward the house recognizing the figure of his father. He tensed.
“Son?”
“It’s me, Dad,” Gage said.
“Damn, boy, I’ve missed you,” his father said.
Gage had never thought he’d hear those words from his father and admitted to himself as the old man walked to him and embraced him, he was glad he’d come home. He’d needed this.
“Your mom said you weren’t going to make it,” his father said, pulling back from the embrace. “But I told her Marty never lets me down.”
Gage’s heart sunk and he shook his head. He should’ve known better. When had his father ever been happy to see him?
“Um, I can’t stay long.”
“I know, boy,” he said, clapping him on the back. “The American Extreme Bull Riders Tour is calling your name and this year you’re going to win that buckle. I got a good feeling about it.”
He wished it were as easy as his father made it sound. But that gold buckle wasn’t going to be easy to get. He knew he’d be up against forty of the best guys in the world. And his dad—crap, his dad thought he was Marty. His dad thought he could get to the top, stay in the points and win it.
Staring over at his father in the inky shadowy light provided by the front porch, he realized something deep inside. His father was pretty far-gone and probably worse off than his mother had told him. He was never going to be the father Gage wanted him to be. Never. But he could be the son that his father wanted. He’d reached out to the tour organizers and because of his past experience he could ride this year as a rookie—a damned old one at twenty-five. He’d mentioned it to his mom, which he guessed was why his dad thought he was Marty.
If he let him think he was Marty and he rode in the competition, he could give his dad back the son he’d lost. And then when the tour was over and he’d won the championship he could go back his life far away from the rodeo, Oklahoma and his father.
Alicia Flores, the PR person for the AEBR, had decided he had the kind of story they could sell to the fans. Riding to continue his family’s legacy, riding for his dead brother’s memory. Riding to redeem himself in his father’s eyes.
“I certainly am going to try to win it,” he said at last.
“You’ll do it, boy. That has to be why you’re back,” his father said.
He followed the old man up the stairs and into the house. The hands on their ranch were already hard at work. Gage didn’t know if he’d made the dumbest decision of his life right then but it had been the only thing he could do.
He had always wanted to see his father smile at him the way he had done just a few moments ago. Something that had been elusive and out of his reach, and even though it might seem like a fool’s errand—hell, it definitely was—it was one he was going to see through to the end.