Chapter Six
Whoa. That was intense family drama. By the time the doors of the elevator whooshed closed, she’d already googled champion American bull riders—who knew they existed—and hit on a list with a YouTube link.
“At the risk of sounding like a character in a teenage Instagram stalker skit on Saturday Night Live, think I found him,” she sang out like the Chloe Fineman character had on the SNL comedy show where Gen Z girls found suspects in cold cases through social media in seconds, while Millennial cops had remained stumped.
“That man is not my father.” Telford’s voice was scathing enough to peel paint from walls, and it surprised her, as he’d seemed far more aloof in his emotional tenor this afternoon. “And I don’t have a brother.”
He didn’t sound as certain as he did petulant, but a parent popping up out of the blue would throw anyone off their game. Her stomach skittered sickly just thinking about how she would react if someone from the Family ever ambushed her.
“How’d he find me? Why? Money.” He answered his own question. “Damn Cam getting me into this.”
They rode up thirty-seven floors in seething silence, while Ayana silently mocked herself for feeling so invested. She still had those protective instincts that had been so useless.
Ayana to the rescue.
Right. Everything she owned was in a Portland Gear backpack and Weekender Bag stacked on top of a matching small suitcase in a hotel suite she had for three nights.
No job. No apartment. No plan. All she had now for income was her Etsy store for her crochet and knit designs until she secured a new job.
Telford looked still and pale as the elevator stopped, and the doors slid open.
He waited while she walked off first. She handed him the elevator swipe card back, and he keyed them into the office suite, and she walked in, suddenly wondering if she should offer to leave.
The vibe from the kiss was burned to ashes, and she doubted dinner was on the table.
Without the promise of a sexy and quick hookup, this was awkward. But she was accustomed to not belonging yet carving out space for herself anyway.
“I wouldn’t want to claim him either,” she said, “and you’re probably not wrong that he wants money. He smells like a user.”
Actually, the man had smelled pretty good—outdoors, earthy with a light something that had appealed, and that was a totally icky thought.
But yeah, manipulator and user might have been stamped all over him, but she didn’t think the man had been lying about the paternity.
She had eyes and had immediately sussed out the disturbing similarities.
So had Telford—likely why he was so exquisitely pissed and steeping in denial.
“Biology doesn’t mean much to me,” he growled and paced the open area.
“I think we make ourselves into what we want,” Ayana stated. “And I know you can take care of yourself, but what he said about the wedding and the bull rider”—probably a better b word to use than brother—“sounded like a threat.”
“What’s he going to do?” Telford turned on her, expression incredulous. “Reenact a scene from High Noon?”
She could actually picture that. “It’s your call obviously, but I find that while it’s a lovely sentiment to hope for the best …”
“Prepare for the worst,” he finished and continued to prowl the light-filled space that had been set up like a sparsely furnished living room with a kitchen on one end.
“That’s the spirit. Coffee?” she asked spying the Keurig in the kitchen area but also a high-end espresso machine.
“Yeah. I need to clear my head, but you’re the guest. I’ll get it.”
That was a surprise. She was already halfway there, eyeing the La Spaziale Dream Espresso maker and wondering if she could talk him into that instead. She’d never pulled shots on such a high-end machine but imagined a YouTube tutorial would fix that sad situation.
“I can do latte art.”
“I just thought … you said you and your company had parted ways and …”
“That’s a polite way of saying I got fired for not letting a high roller stick his hand up my skirt when he felt like it, and that was just the beginning.”
Yeah, she was still pissed.
“Hope you broke his hand.”
Ayana laughed, imagining that. “Hmmmm now I’m wishing I had been more violent. Next time.” There would definitely be a sometime, somewhere with someone.
He glared. “Next time some jerk puts a move on you that you don’t want, I’ll bloody him.”
That should not warm her. Not at all. First, she could take care of herself. Second, he wasn’t going to be around. And third … she had to admit her stomach went warm and gooey. No one had ever stood up for her before. Even if it wasn’t realistic.
But why let reality intrude? She could just savor this unexpected moment of having, ever so briefly, a champion.
“You want a latte?” he asked.
“If it’s not too much trouble.” She hadn’t eaten much of the lunch, and the champagne had given her a bit of a buzz, but now she wanted her full wits.
She needed control. To be ready to run, though she’d definitely lost her edge after nearly three years of stability—well as stable as an employee of a river cruise ship company could be.
Don’t get comfortable here.
She didn’t want to get used to a lifestyle she didn’t control or that could be snatched away.
He steamed milk, pulled the shots and then plated grapes and gourmet biscotti and carried it over to the island of the kitchen.
“Cam,” he said by way of explanation for the Italian-style ceramic cups and saucers and biscotti. “He wanted a showpiece for us to entertain business contacts, but we rarely did here. He’d meet people on the golf course or at lunch or dinner or some sporting event. Sugar?”
“No.” She placed her phone between them. “I think this is the bull rider your … maybe bio dad is referring to.”
Telford frowned but sat down so he wasn’t looming.
She pushed play on the first video and watched a man in bright red leather chaps and fringe and a blue shirt and black Kevlar vest burst out of a metal gate as a bull bucked and thrashed like it was an industrial washing machine.
The commentator motor-mouthed a bunch of terms she’d never heard of and then there was a red light and a buzzer and a bull rider named Cash Hunter popped off, ran to the metal fence, clamored up like he was a western-themed Spider-Man, unstrapped his helmet, spit out a mouth guard and waved to the crowd with a shit-eating grin before popping over and dropping down to the other side.
“How? What? That’s like a baller challenge to physics.
” She’d never seen anything like it. And while the cowboy’s coloring was eerily similar to Telford’s—along with his dark hair that was much longer—the smile could have powered the city of Denver.
He also looked smaller compared to Telford’s rangy frame.
“A ninety-three-point-two ride. That’s astoundingly good,” Telford noted.
She stared at him. “Do you know about him or this?”
“Bull riding, yeah. Kings of the rodeo, but this is the AEbr. I was at this show with Cam last month.” He sipped his coffee, and she turned her phone over as if not seeing the freeze frame would block the memory of Cam’s loss.
“My mom was a former barrel racer and then after me, she became a horse trainer. She was from Montana, but competed more in Wyoming, but after me, she worked in Texas. She hated Texas but loved the legacy ranch where she worked in the Hill Country.”
Ayana sipped her coffee. “You want to watch another video—the one I think … Tarek Telford was referring to?” She did her best to keep her voice neutral.
Telford put his coffee down on the table, wiped his hands over his face, and then spread his palms over his knees as if bracing for something that would require him to bound up off the couch.
“Or since you were there, do you know what I’m referring to?”
“No. I got a phone call and left right after that ride. I never stay for the awards. I just—” He broke off and spread his hands out on the quartz countertop, and she couldn’t help but notice how large and sexy and elegant his hands were.
Inappropriate timing for her hormones, but she was used to controlling them.
“I still enjoy the rodeo—the barrel racing, the buckin’ broncs. All the events. It’s bittersweet, but … my mom did tell me once that my bio dad had been a bull rider from a ranching family in Montana.”
“Not a very good one according to him. Your bio brother is better.” She wanted to lighten his load a little. Get him to smile.
“Cash Hunter’s been on the tour five or six years. He’s been on or near the top the last few years. But I never thought … I’m not sure why Tarek’s making the connection, but we would have had different moms so …”
He brooded, holding the latte but not drinking it.
“Would your mom have more information?”
He shook his head. “She was … I lost her when I was a kid. That’s how I met Cam. He was in college—doing some nonprofit work for his fraternity so he did the Big Brother program, and we were matched up.”
She and Telford were both alone in the world. Who would have thought this rich, polished urban, corporate man would have anything in common with her?
“It’s just … why now?”
“Do you think he’s been looking for you?”
Telford was still. “Maybe …” He pushed his coffee cup away. “Maybe he’s setting me or Cash Hunter up. Maybe he found me because of Cam’s death or—” He broke off, shook his head.
She pushed play on another video at the same event—this one by a local news station.
Cash Hunter was in the middle of thanking his sponsors when a woman, who looked furious, determined and disheveled beelined across the arena shouting something.
Ayana thought she caught the word daddy before the woman shoved something into Cash’s arms, that he nearly dropped.
His shock was comical, especially considering it was his child.
Or was it?
Intrigued, she began to google and so did Telford.
“It looked staged,” Telford said.