Chapter Fourteen
“W ho pissed in your Cheerios, Calamity?”
Caleb glanced up at the young bull rider grinning crookedly at him from the other side of the locker room.
“Sorry, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?”
“I said you’ve been a gloomy asshole these last couple of days. Did you sell your sense of humor to buy those new chaps?”
“Got my first sponsorship check.” He looked down at the brand-new navy leather chaps, trimmed and fringed in white. He’d always wanted a custom-made pair, and had mentally designed versions that ranged from Tennessee orange to sunset purple. But when he finally found himself at the counter in the Western-wear store all his ideas deserted him, and he’d pointed at whichever color was straight in front.
“No one actually cares how you paid for them.” An Australian bull rider rolled his eyes as he strapped on his spurs. “He means you’ve been a miserable grouch these last few days. ”
“I’m just focused,” Caleb muttered, pretending to inspect the cuff of his sleeve.
The man beside him nudged his elbow gently. A former champion, Baker Tilson’s star had descended steadily over the last five years, and Caleb often thought of him as the ghost of his bull-riding future—plagued by injury, constantly dropping in the standings, traveling all over the country just to get thrown off in less than three seconds.
“Coming back from injury is the hardest time for any bull rider. It’s when the fear catches you—when you’re rattled and hurting. But you’re in fine form. You could win this whole thing tonight.”
Baker smiled encouragingly, and Caleb managed a weak imitation.
“Thanks, Baker.”
Raised voices in the hallway caught everyone’s attention, and a second later a harassed-looking security guard leaned in. To Caleb’s surprise, the guard’s searching gaze landed on him.
“Sorry to barge in, but we’ve got a problem. Calamity, there’s a lady here who insists she needs to see you. Won’t take no for an answer. I threatened to call the cops, but she said she’s your—”
“Wife.” The small, dark-haired woman slipped past the security guard and stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the room imperiously.
Every single one of the tough-as-nails bull riders lined up on the benches shrank in the force of her presence, and several respectfully removed their hats. Caleb, on the other hand, was frozen in place, blinking rapidly to dispel what he was sure must be a head-injury-related hallucination.
“Jessa?” he asked hoarsely.
“Caleb,” she said icily. She stalked across the room, tugging a manila envelope out from under her arm. She threw it into his lap, shot him a look so sharp he half-expected to start bleeding, then spun on her heel and marched out.
The other bull riders exchanged sheepish, relieved glances as the tension deflated, each of them seeming grateful not to have been the target of their visitor’s anger.
“I didn’t know you were married,” one of them told Caleb.
“I have a feeling he’s not anymore,” another remarked sympathetically as Caleb pulled a stapled sheaf of paper out of the envelope.
He read it quickly, and then again more slowly, frowning as he tried to make sense of the document in his hands. By the third time the information began to penetrate his slow-moving brain, and halfway through the fourth he was on his feet, sprinting into the hallway.
“Jessa, wait,” he called, spotting her striding determinedly toward the exit.
She spun to face him with her arms crossed, her expression stern and impatient, and if she hadn’t looked like she wanted to murder him he would’ve kissed her on the spot. She was breathtakingly beautiful, more magnetic than he’d allowed himself to remember, and just the sight of her, fuming and furious and here , made him happier than he thought he could ever be again.
He held up the papers. “What does this mean?”
“Exactly what it says. I’ve withdrawn the divorce filing.”
“Why?” he practically begged. “This was done. You could move on, build your life in Last Stand, find someone who’d make you proud. Who’d make everyone proud.”
“Do you really want to do this here?” she asked, her tone dangerously quiet as she cast a significant glance at the staff and competitors brushing past them.
Caleb blew out a breath, pulling himself together. “No. I don’t. Follow me.”
He took her hand, so soft and small in his rope-roughened palm and tugged her through the maze of hallways in the arena to an exit, his chaps swishing and his spurs clinking. They stepped into the cloying West Texas heat that persisted even now, an hour past sunset. Luckily, he’d chosen a door that led to a staff parking area, rather than the bustling, fair-like setup at the front, and other than the buzzing insects swarming around the floodlights they were completely alone.
Caleb faced her squarely, his hands out to his sides, as open and exposed as he’d ever been in his life. “What do you want from me, Jessa?”
“I want you to quit lying. ”
He frowned, bewildered as much by the trembling emotion undercutting her hard words as the words themselves. “I’ve never lied to you. Not once.”
“Of course you have, and you know it. You lie to me, you lie to yourself, you lie to everyone around you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“You think I don’t see who you really are? That you got through all our time together without showing me? You pretend to be this wild, fun-loving cowboy who doesn’t give a shit about what anyone thinks of him. Only that’s not true, is it? You do care—you care so much that you invented a whole other version of yourself. Calamity falls down and gets back up and laughs it off, because he’s not real. He’s disposable. He takes the hits, and you stay safe, because if nothing matters, nothing hurts.”
Caleb could do nothing but stare at her, his guilty heart thudding fast.
“That would be the funny part of all of this, if I was the type of nice, understanding person who’d cut you some slack. You’re there telling me not to be perfect for other people, to choose my own happiness instead, when you’re playing the same game. You fail so no one will take you seriously—so no one will be disappointed. And when you left, you threw away both our happiness and chose this lie, this ridiculous…”
Her voice broke and something seized in his chest, pushing him toward her.
“Jessa—”
“No.” She stopped him with her palm raised, her posture firm and steady. “Come to me when you’re ready to be honest. I want you. I love you.” Her voice broke again as tears trailed down her cheeks. “But I deserve the truth. When that’s all you have to offer, I’ll be waiting.”
He said her name again, a desperate, pleading whisper, but she’d already turned.
Caleb watched her walk away, knowing with awful, cold certainty that she carried a piece of him in her hands, and that he’d never be whole without it.
Without her.
Caleb pushed through the door, back into the cacophony of contestants and stock contractors and staff radios and the muffled boom of the PA system echoing through the thick walls. He didn’t hear any of it, barely noticed the hive of activity swirling around him, and had to force his feet in the direction of the locker room only because there was nowhere else to go. Jessa’s words rang in his head with the clarity and finality of the eight-second buzzer, and he knew she was right.
He just didn’t know what the hell to do about it.
“I see him. I’ll bring him right out,” a staff member said into his radio before jogging down the hall to meet him, his face flushed with agitation.
“Where you been, son? You got to get out front, fast.”
Caleb blinked, gradually remembering where he was and what this night meant for his career.
“I don’t have my helmet. Or my rope. Or—”
“Get ’em, quick,” the man urged, gently shoving Caleb toward the locker room. When it was clear he couldn’t produce the urgency the man desired, he rolled his eyes and nodded over a young man wearing an identical staff lanyard.
“Run in the locker room and get Calamity’s stuff. We’ll start toward the chutes—you catch up with us.”
As the staffer dashed off, the older man took Caleb by the elbow and ushered him toward down the corridor.
“I know it’s a lot of pressure, but you got to keep your head straight. Forget all these people watching. Just go out there, strap in, and stay off your pockets,” he advised kindly.
Caleb nodded dumbly, vaguely aware of his helmet, rope, and glove being thrust into his hands.
He stepped into the staging area behind the chutes and that first whiff of barn-warm dirt and cowhide woke up him like a slurp of strong, black coffee. He jolted to awareness, his pulse speeding as he registered the challenge ahead, and the few minutes of luck and fate and sheer grit that meant the difference between perfection and failure.
Bulls huffing, metal clanking, cowboys cussing, boot soles thudding—he knew exactly where he was.
And exactly how to get where he needed to be.
He took out his mouth guard from the pocket in his vest, shoved on his helmet, and made hasty work of his glove, wrapping his wrist in Red Spur tape with none of his usual meticulousness or ritual. Hesitation and doubt were every bull rider’s enemies, but he saw now how they’d conspired to ruin him—how he’d let them creep into spaces they’d never belonged.
Not anymore.
He was at the end of the line-up, so when he climbed onto the platform behind the chutes he went straight to Baker Tilson. Like him, Baker didn’t have a traveling partner, so he needed someone to pull his rope. Caleb wordlessly volunteered, yanking the worn braid high and tight until Baker was ready for his wrap.
The older man flashed him a wide, grateful smile, and in the split second before he gave the nod, before the gate swung open and the bull shot out, Caleb saw his joy. A pure, exhilarated, reckless happiness that Caleb had never found on the back of a bull.
But he’d found it with Jessa Star.
Baker’s ride only lasted two seconds, and the cowboy after him was thrown even faster. Caleb found his chute and got into position, his mind calm and his hands steady as all but one rider failed to qualify, with the lone score an easily beatable seventy-nine points.
All he had to do to win was stay on.
He’d drawn Red Rage, one of the rankest bulls on the circuit, known for the speed of his turns and the height of his kicks, but the animal was quiet and patient in the chute, only occasionally glancing through the slats in the gate. Baker returned the favor, pulling Caleb’s rope and then gripping his protective vest while Caleb crossed the rosined braid over his palm, behind his wrist, and across again, pressing his gloved fingers closed around it.
Then he shifted up the bull’s back, and without a thought for anything except the woman he prayed was waiting for him in the stands, he nodded.
The bull leapt out into the arena, spinning left, flinging its rear legs into the air. Caleb’s mind retreated into pure instinct. He focused on staying on his rope, keeping his heels low and his free arm aligned, fixing his gaze on the bull’s shoulders.
Caleb rode every plunge, every twist, every gravity-defying kick as if he’d known it was coming. He was collected and in control, tuned in and undistracted, but he wasn’t happy. Satisfied, excited, hopeful, but not happy. Never happy.
The buzzer rang through the arena. He’d done it. He’d won the whole dang thing.
Almost.
As the bullfighters darted out Caleb loosened his grip and let the bull’s decelerating kick throw him off, twisting his body in an attempt to land on his hands and knees. Instead, the bull jerked sideways, inadvertently short-circuiting Caleb’s dismount and knocking him flat onto the ground. Before Caleb could move the bull kicked again, his front hooves planted, his rear legs flying up and over and right above Caleb’s head.
Caleb saw the hooves coming down, knew it was too late to run, could already feel fifteen hundred pounds of pure muscle stomping on his skull. He rolled to his side, pulled in his arms, and thought of that pretty, dark-haired girl he met in Hawaii.
The first time she smiled. The first time they kissed. That morning in her kitchen, his head fuzzy, his shoulder sore, his heart already on the line. Dancing with her in the square. Pulling her close in bed.
The fire in her eyes when she called him a liar.
When she told him she loved him.
The bull’s hooves thundered to the earth on either side of his helmet, so close he could count the grains of sawdust on the animal’s fetlock. They stilled, and so did he—the last thing he wanted to do was spook the bull from underneath its belly.
The whole arena seemed to hold its breath. Then the bull ambled forward, as serene and unbothered as if it was strolling through a meadow, delicately picking its way around the bull rider positioned inconveniently at its feet.
Caleb pulled himself to a seat, and then accepted the strong hands of the bullfighters to rise to standing. He took off his helmet and squinted at the scoreboard as the announcer assured the audience he was okay, and then declared his result.
“And Calamity Ross is our champion with eighty-six points!”
Caleb held up his helmet in triumph and smiled at the crowd. His first time on the winner’s podium—and in all likelihood, his last.
As endings went, this wasn’t the worst, he considered, letting the roar of applause wash over him. But he had a beginning on the horizon, and he was itching to get it started.
*
Jessa had cried so much these last few days, she doubted she could rouse another tear if she got paid for it. She’d cried tears of sorrow and dismay when she confessed Caleb’s departure to her sisters, Tana, and Lela at dinner on their visitors’ last night in town. She’d cried tears of gratitude and hope when Tana had taken her into her arms and promised everything would be okay. She’d cried tears of anger and indignation on the long, hot drive into the arid belly of West Texas.
And then last night, certain her crying days were done, she’d marched up to the Red Spur tent only to fall back into the shadows.
The mere sight of him would’ve stopped her short, but she could’ve recovered. She could’ve gathered her composure and dutifully joined the line, just as she’d planned, ratcheting up her anger until she reached the front and slapped the paperwork on the table with a pithy remark about having something for him to sign.
But then she saw the way he smiled at a young boy whose eyes were big and round with admiration. She’d watched him slide the feather out of his hat— her feather, that she’d so carefully chosen for him—and press it into the boy’s hand.
Giving it away like it meant nothing. Erasing the last trace of her from his life.
She’d staggered backward, regret and self-doubt making her clumsy as she weaved through the crowd, away from the tent, away from the man she’d come so far to reclaim.
Who was she to take this from him, this first taste of the success he’d been working so hard to achieve? To humiliate him in front of fans he’d literally risked his neck for?
No, this was the wrong approach, she’d told herself as she drove back to her hotel. Maybe this whole harebrained idea was wrong. Maybe he’d really meant it when he left. Maybe Amy was right. Maybe he didn’t want to be found.
And so she’d sat on the edge of the bed and cried again. Miserable, uncertain, anxious tears.
After that, she was done, she’d promised herself the next morning, recovering her resolve. She’d approached the security guard in the arena full of starch, deciding that catching Caleb backstage was her best opportunity for a private discussion. It took some persuading, but eventually she’d found her moment to tell him everything she felt. She walked away with her head held high, not daring to hope, but proud of herself for getting this far. She settled into a seat in the stands feeling drained but calm, ready to let this play out, content to wait for Caleb’s decision.
Then he went under the bull.
“No,” she’d whispered, surging to her feet for a better view, her throat so tight she could barely breathe. A tense hush fell over the crowd, which dissolved into relieved cheers as the bull stepped away and Caleb sat up.
He was safe. He was okay.
She dropped into her seat and sobbed.
“Stressful, ain’t it? But he’s all right.” The older man beside her patted her arm sympathetically.
“He’s my husband,” she explained through a sniff.
The man grinned. “Tell him he owes you a nice piece of jewelry for putting you through that. With what he’s won tonight, he can afford it.”
She watched Caleb receive his belt buckle and take his victory lap, waving from the back of a pickup that made its way slowly around the arena. His smile was so big it was visible even from her nosebleed seat, and as she filed out with the rest of the audience her doubts reared their ugly heads again, leaving her cold and shaken.
Calamity’s star was on the rise. He’d just won the biggest purse of his career, enjoyed the warm applause of an arena crowd, and marked himself as a contender to qualify for the national finals.
Everyone loved Calamity Ross. He was the hero of the day.
And she’d just told him Calamity was disposable.
Jessa wasn’t sure what to do with herself now the performance was over. The atmosphere was lively after the excitement of the short go, and the various merchandise tables set up outside had long, snaking lines of rodeo fans eager to meet their idols. Jess cut over to the Red Spur tent, but Caleb wasn’t there—although she overheard multiple people ask when he’d arrive. Her phone was silent, her mood dropping, so she meandered back into the arena, where at least it was air-conditioned and mosquito-free.
That’s when she saw him.
Caleb’s back was turned, but she’d know that long-limbed frame anywhere, his honey-golden hair just visible beneath his straw cowboy hat. He was speaking into a TV camera, and the microphone held by the woman beside him had the logo of the Western sports channel that showed all the major rodeos.
Jessa shifted to the side, close enough to hear what he said but well out of his line of sight. He was smiling, that big, carefree grin that lit up all her darkest places. It wasn’t meant for her now—maybe it never would be again. And that was the saddest thought she’d had in a long time.
“He really wrenched my arm there at the beginning with that quick twist, but once I got through that it was just about holding my center and moving with him,” he was saying when she moved within earshot.
“It was a great ride on a rank bull, and we were all happy to see you get up and walk away from that spill at the end. With this win under your belt and a short run to the national finals, I’m guessing we’ll see a lot more from Calamity Ross. What’s next on your travel schedule?”
His smile changed then, turning inward. “Actually, I’m planning to take some time off.”
The interviewer frowned, and Caleb shifted his weight.
“I hung around in Last Stand for a while after their rodeo, recuperating, and I’m going to head back there. Take a breather, figure out what I really want to do.”
Jessa didn’t dare move—she barely dared to breathe. Half of her was convinced she’d misheard, while the other half strained to run forward and fall into his arms.
“Well, we wish you the best, whatever you decide.” Clearly thrown by his response, the interviewer hastened to bring their conversation to a close. She congratulated him once more, threw over to the studio, and then dropped her microphone—and her jaw.
“You’re seriously thinking about a hiatus now, when you just won Fort Stockton?”
Caleb lifted a shoulder. “Found someone I love more than the rodeo.”
“I hope she’s worth it.” She shook her head in disbelief as she moved down the corridor, cameraman in tow.
Caleb turned his head, glancing through one of the openings to the arena floor. The stands were empty, the frenzy of activity reduced to a couple of staff members raking the dirt. He exhaled, then took one step in the opposite direction—and his gaze landed squarely on her.
For a moment they stood, frozen, the whole world seeming to contract to this one instant. Then he smiled, tentatively, nervously, and the earth swelled back to its beautiful complexity, full of limitless possibilities and endless horizons.
“Did you hear what I told her?” he asked.
Jessa nodded. “I heard.”
“That wasn’t pretend—that was the real deal. You were right. You usually are.” His lips quirked up on one side. “I wasn’t born to bull riding—I escaped into it. I thought it was fun and dangerous and wild enough to erase who I’d been. The failed husband. The outcast son. But he never left me. You know—you found him.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with him.” Unable to be apart from him any longer she pressed forward, flattening her hand on his chest. “Your wife left you for her own reasons, not because you did anything wrong. Your parents’ decision was cruel and heartless, and nothing to do with who you are. You’re a good man, Caleb. The best I’ve ever known. And I love you.”
“I love you, Jessa. I want to be with you. I’ll do whatever it takes.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in tightly, tropical-blue eyes gleaming with an emotion so strong it brought tears to her own—again.
“You don’t have to quit bull riding. I’d never ask you to do that, if it’s what you love.”
He shook his head. “I don’t love it—not like I need to. I want to set all these years aside and start from scratch. Give myself the chance to figure out what I want, and who I want to be.”
“I know exactly who you are. My husband.” She flung her arms around his neck, beaming up at the man she loved.
That’s when he did it—gave her the look. The boyish, mischievous smile that had drawn her to him all those months ago in Hawaii, that coaxed and cajoled and persuaded her to be exactly who she was, too. No more, no less.
That look spelled trouble—the kind of trouble she’d gladly spend the rest of her life getting into, as long as he was in it with her.
“Uh oh,” she teased. “What bad decision are you about to talk me into?”
“This one—and it’s the best decision we’ll ever make.”
He kissed her, and it was.