15. Porter
15
PORTER
I ’d invited Cici to breakfast to talk about RodeoHouston’s contract cancellation, and before I got sidetracked, thinking about how much I wanted us to be back at the house and in bed, I needed to give her an update.
I’d reached out to Matt Rice, who had connections on the board, but even he’d hit walls trying to uncover what prompted their decision.
“Someone sent them documentation,” he’d told me over the phone yesterday. “Blood-test results, performance records—all indicating systematic doping of the stock.”
“That’s impossible,” I’d growled. “Cici runs clean here.”
“I know that. But whoever fabricated this evidence knew what they were doing.”
“What do we do now?” Cici asked when I finished recounting the conversation.
“I’m going to talk to Buck. I don’t feel comfortable asking Decker Ashford for more favors, but I’ve heard he’s able to get information that no one else can.”
“How?” she asked.
“I have a feeling it’s better if we don’t know.” I pulled up and parked in front of Annie’s Diner. “This all right with you?” I asked.
“Annie’s is my favorite.”
I remembered it was. I also knew she’d order the corned beef hash with a sunny-side-up egg and that, when I asked the waitress to bring out a cinnamon roll before the rest of our order, Cici would eat half of it, then ask if I wanted some, since I hadn’t had a single bite. And that when I shook my head, she’d devour the rest. Then, she’d be too full to eat more than a quarter of her hash before offering it to me.
“I can’t eat the rest,” she said, true to form, after I’d polished off my own biscuits and gravy.
“You sure you don’t want the leftovers?” I asked when she slid it in my direction.
“It doesn’t taste the same,” she said, also like she always had.
I wondered if she remembered our first time at Annie’s. We were both kids at the time. Her by age, me by immaturity.
The memories of seeing her for the first time at the barrel-racing event at the Gunnison County Fairgrounds had sustained me in some of my darkest days. I stood at the fence that night, watching the riders warm up, and when I saw Cici come down the alley, my heart stopped.
Her long, dark hair was loose beneath the black felt hat she wore, and her pearl-snap shirt strained against her full breasts. Watching her move in her Cinch jeans had nearly been my undoing, especially when she sauntered past me in a captivating-as-fuck gait.
When she looked over her shoulder and her big brown eyes caught me looking, she’d smirked and gave a little toss of her head that had me wanting to follow her into the arena.
I later learned she was Hank Morris’ daughter, was eighteen, fresh out of high school, and ranked in the top five of all barrel racers in the country.
Twenty-two at the time, I was making a name for myself in team roping. Kaleb had been the heeler to my header back then. I often wondered how far we could’ve gone if my drinking hadn’t fucked things up for us.
Cici’s eyes and mine met across the arena more than once that evening, and each time, something electric passed between us.
We kept running into each other at events after that. Each encounter charged with possibility until, finally, after a particularly high-scoring run around the barrels, I used an offer of congratulations to kiss her behind the stock pens. That kiss had led to more, to nights spent in my trailer or hers.
“You okay?” Cici’s voice pulled me from the memory. Even from across the table, I could feel her heat and smell the familiar scent of her skin.
“Just remembering,” I said.
“When we met?”
I shouldn’t have been surprised she’d read my thoughts. Cici had always been pretty good, knowing what I was thinking. Good and bad.
“What about you?” I asked. “Do you think about it?”
Her eyes flared. “More than I should.”
“I have to go to the Roaring Fork later,” I said when a server I didn’t recognize dropped off the check. “You want to ride along, or would you rather I drop you off at home first?”
“I definitely want to ride along. It feels so good to be off the ranch for a bit.”
“Even if it’s to go to another one?” I asked.
“I always loved the Roaring Fork. I can’t remember the last time I was there.”
“As I said earlier, I’m going to ask Buck if he can help us figure out what happened with RodeoHouston.”
The drive to Crested Butte, where our family’s ranch was located, felt longer than usual. I hadn’t been back since the day I reported to Morris Ranch, and truthfully, I wasn’t eager to return. Too many memories connected to the place, and most of them weren’t good.
“It looks different,” Cici said as we turned onto the familiar road. “The trees seem a lot bigger, and it looks, err, better run.”
“That’s mostly Buck’s doing since he’s the only one living here full time now.” I didn’t elaborate about why Cord wasn’t here. She already knew Holt was on tour most of the year.
Buck met us at the barn, his expression grim. “Got what you asked for,” he said, leading us to the office.
He pulled out several documents, including lab reports from a testing facility I recognized as one of the most reputable in the industry. The paperwork showed elevated testosterone levels and other performance-enhancing substances in multiple Morris Ranch animals.
“These are fake,” Cici blurted, studying one of the reports. “Look at the dates—they claim to have tested Thunder Cloud last month when he was recovering from the fire. But he never left the ranch.”
“Good catch,” Buck said. “But whoever created these knew enough about drug-testing protocols to make them look legitimate to someone who doesn’t know better.”
“The rodeo board wouldn’t question reports from this lab,” I added. “Their reputation is solid.”
Cici’s hands trembled as she set the papers down. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like we’re doping our stock.” Her head hung. “Just include it on the list of ways they’re trying to fuck us over,” she said under her breath.
“We’ll fight this,” I said. “Matt Rice might be able to help us prove these are forgeries.”
“How?” she asked.
“The lab keeps detailed records of every test they run. If we can get them to confirm these reports didn’t come from them…”
“It won’t undo the damage to our reputation,” Cici said quietly. “Even if we prove the documents are fake, other organizers will have heard the accusations and any protests on our part will go unheeded.”
She was right. In the roughstock business, reputation was everything. Someone knew exactly how to hurt Morris Ranch where it would do the most damage in terms of getting the rodeo contracts we so desperately needed.
“One step at a time,” I said, gathering the forged reports. “First, we prove these are fake. Then we figure out who created them.”
“Hey, before you head out, there’s something I need to show you,” Buck said, motioning for me to follow him inside the main ranch house no one lived in anymore.
“Look, let’s just talk about it and get it over with,” he began. “You know what I’m talking about? Roscoe?”
“Cord told me you found out you’re not his son.”
What Buck had no inkling of was how long I’d known he wasn’t—twenty-three fucking years. I was eight when Roscoe got drunk and dumped his fucking secret on me, making me swear on my mama’s life that I’d never tell a soul. Even after she died, I didn’t have the balls to do it.
“I just want you to know this doesn’t change anything between us, Port. You’re my brother, the same as you’ve always been. I love you, man.”
God, I wanted to say those words back to him, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Just like with Cici, once he found out the truth, that I could’ve spared him years of abuse at the hands of the old man, his mindset would change.
Buck waited for a few seconds, and when I didn’t respond, he led me back outside.
“I’ll be in touch if I find anything else out,” he said. I didn’t miss the way his eyes were hooded. I knew I’d hurt him, but what could I say now? If I acted like everything was okay, it would just be another lie that he wouldn’t be able to forgive me for when the truth finally came out.
The drive back to Morris Ranch was quiet, both Cici and I were lost in thought. I wanted to tell her everything would be okay with her family’s ranch, but we both knew better than to make promises we couldn’t keep.
Because the truth was, whoever had fabricated those test results knew exactly what they were doing. They understood how to make the forgeries convincing, knew which substances to list, even got the testing protocols right. This wasn’t just about hurting the ranch’s business. Once again, it was about destroying everything the Morris family had built.
I reached over and took Cici’s hand, needing to feel her strength as much as offer my own.
“Listen, I said we needed to talk?—”
“We don’t have to,” Cici interrupted.
“Yeah, we do. You need to know I’ve never felt sorry for you. Not once. Since the day I met you, you’ve been the strongest woman—person—I’ve ever known. Do I want to help you? Yes, I do. But not because I look at you as someone who can’t help themselves. Everything that’s happened at the ranch is more than most people could withstand, your dad included.”
“That isn’t true?—”
“I’m not finished.”
Her eyes opened wide, but she kept her mouth shut.
“I’ve never stopped caring about you. Even after…” I’d had no intention of bringing up the night I walked out of her life—now or ever. “Anyway, I haven’t stopped. I’ll care about you until the day I die.”
We were through the Morris Ranch gates, and she still hadn’t responded.
“Cici?”
“I heard you, Porter.” She got out of the truck, and instead of walking in the direction of the house, she took off toward the south barn.
“Cici!” I shouted after her.
“Leave me alone, Porter.”
I ran from the truck, not even bothering to shut the door. By the time I reached her, she was close to one of the storehouses. I grabbed her arm, pulled her to the opposite side of the building, and pushed her up against it.
“I’m not gonna leave you alone, Cicily Morris. Never again.”
She raised her chin. “Why not?”
“You know why.”
“Say it, Porter. Just fucking say it.”
“Because I love you, goddammit.” My mouth crashed into hers like I was a man dying and only her kiss could save me. And maybe I was.