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  A frizzle of joy skated up Angel's spine that Harris had remembered something so mundane.

  Eli said, "Ah, bro, seems that I remember apple pie as being your favorite, too."

  Harris retaliated with, "And how many times did you get caught stealing slices when mom wasn't looking? I think she paddled you more than any of us."

  Eli grinned. "Point well taken. Okay, since we all love apple pie, I suggest we order one to go, too."

  Angel laughed. "You've got to be kidding?"

  Both men gave her incredulous looks and Harris said, "Kid about apple pie! Never!"

  The waiter returned with giant slices of pie and Eli placed an order for a whole one to go. The waiter grinned his approval. No doubt he knew he would be getting a big tip tonight.

  While the men dug into their dessert and turned the conversation toward the rodeo the next day, Angel ate small bites and let her mind wander back to her conversation with Hannah Tanner just a few weeks earlier. It had been in one of the barns at the Lazy M Ranch owned by Hannah's father. At the time, Hannah had been brokenhearted over the departure of the man she loved, Dr. Alexavier Wyndham, and after she'd confided her feelings to Angel, Angel had confessed her own longstanding love for Harris Brightman. It was then that the women made a pact to throw caution to the wind and confront the men they loved with the truth. Hannah had booked a flight to England and Angel, a couple of weeks later, had driven to Houston. Hannah's trip had been a disaster, but then righted itself later. In fact, in three weeks, Hannah and Alex would tie the knot in a ceremony at the Lazy M, and Angel would be the maid-of-honor. Harris and Eli would also be attending.

  As for Angel's determination to confront Harris, it hadn't happened yet. Since joining his workforce, she'd decided that this was the perfect opportunity for them to become better acquainted. Why shock him with the truth about her feelings until they'd spent time together. Maybe their friendship would develop into something romantic on its own. Now wasn't the time to rock the boat.

  Chapter 4: Recognized

  Harris pulled his dusty 1965 Chevy C-10 pickup into the parking lot of a nondescript bar on the outskirts of Stephenville. The day's rodeo had gone extremely well and he'd walked away with another win, but now he was ready for some downtime. Although rodeos were held year round, in a few days it would be March and the season would enter full swing. He never complained about being overworked, though, because he knew his time as a rodeo champion was limited. Already, aches and pains were becoming the norm of his daily life; however, to fulfill a lifelong dream of owning, at minimum, a thousand acre spread in southern Colorado, he needed at least two more winning years on the circuit.

  As he hopped from his truck he thought about his father, Miles Brightman. Although Miles was really his stepfather, he'd never thought of him in that way. Miles was his dad. He was also the best dad any boy could have hoped for. Harris had been four when his mother met her future husband and seven when they married. His awesome childhood had included the addition of three brothers and a sister. Harris couldn't imagine life without the integrity taught by his wonderful father and mother, and that was one of the reasons he'd turned down his father's offer to loan him the difference needed to purchase his dream. His father had acquired a fortune writing best selling suspense novels, but Harris wanted to prove to his family, and to himself, that he could stand on his own. That he could take the principles of self-reliance, entrepreneurship, goal setting, and honest hard work to achieve his own dreams.

  He sighed at his ruminations and shifted his black Stetson lower over his forehead. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd go unnoticed and no one would ask for his autograph. Sometimes a guy just wanted a beer and solitude. He opened the door and paused for a second to allow his eyes to adjust to the low lighting, then scanned the room and headed toward the bar at the back. Keeping his head low, he avoided eye contact with the dozen or so people sitting at tables, and a couple of guys belly up to the bar who had glanced his way.

  He stepped to the opposite end of the counter and the bartender called, "What'll it be, cowboy?"

  "Bud. On tap."

  "You got it."

  The short and rotund bartender, who looked more like a jolly grandpa with his rosy cheeks and friendly smile, set a large, frosty mug of beer in front of Harris, studied him for a second, registered recognition in his expression, and then started wiping the counter with a white towel. Harris held his breath, waiting for the man to announce that a rodeo champion was in the room.

  It didn't happen.

  He released his breath when the bartender returned to his other customers and asked it they wanted refills.

  For the next twenty minutes he enjoyed his beer and thought about Eli and Angel. Eli was five years younger than him, and the first child born to his mom and Miles. Harris had loved his brother from the first moment he'd seen the squalling babe, and, over the years, protected him from the taunts of others. During childhood Harris had gotten into numerous fights when bullies called Eli names or made fun of how smart he was. When Eli was ten, however, he'd called Harris out on his protectiveness and told him in no uncertain terms to stop it, because he was capable of taking care of himself. When Harris had ignored Eli's wishes, the boy had tackled him and punched him in the nose. Their father, pulling them apart, had demanded an explanation, and Eli, with tears streaming down his cheeks, had shouted how pathetic it made him feel to have his brother fighting his battles. That tearful admission had finally pierced Harris' stubborn streak and he'd backed off. From then on, even though there were times he'd wanted to pulverize a bully, he'd walked away and allowed Eli to deal with the situation—and he had—often gaining bruises and black eyes.

  Harris inwardly grinned at his musings and then turned his thoughts to Angel. God had created a sweet girl and now an amazing woman in Angel. While many girls were awkward and gangly until they reached their mid to late teens, Angel had been neither. She'd been born beautiful and graceful and became more so each day. She truly was an angel, both inside and out. During Harris' teen years, he'd known Angel had a crush on him, and suspected she still did, but he'd never encouraged her feelings because of the difference in their ages. But now that they were both in their twenties, with him approaching his thirties, there was nothing to keep him from exploring a relationship with her. Well, nothing except Eli. How could his brother be a hell raiser with bullies, but such a wimp with women? When Eli had suggested they hire Angel as their assistant, Harris had seen the momentary flicker in his brother's eyes that said, "I'm crazy about her."

  Harris downed the last of his beer and considered ordering another one, but rejected the thought since he was driving. At the other end of the bar, the two cowboys called goodbye to the bartender who was now drying and stacking shot glasses. The jovial man reciprocated their farewells, stacked a final glass, and said to Harris, "Another?"

  "No. And thanks for keeping my identity quiet."

  "Not a problem. I figured you came in here to get away from the rat race."

  Harris smiled. "You got that right."

  The bartender said, "My name is Samson," and grinned as he smoothed a hand over his balding head.

  "Good to meet you Samson. Call me Harris."

  "Good to meet you too, sir." He nodded toward the hallway leading to the restrooms.

  Harris turned to see what he was indicating.

  Samson said, "That guy mopping the floor was once a rodeo star. One of the finest 'til drink got the best of him. I found him sleeping in a gutter about five years ago and something in my gut said, 'Don't leave this one without an offer of help'." I followed my gut and got him to attend AA meetings with me, became his sponsor, and offered to let him live in the apartment above the bar if he wanted to work for me. It may seem strange that two alcoholics work in a bar, but somehow it works for us."

  "Wow. That's a great story. What's his name? Maybe I've heard of him."

  "His name is Larry. Back in the day, he was called Lucky Larry."

&nb
sp; Harris jerked back around to stare at the stoop shouldered man while his mind screamed, Lucky Larry!

  Lucky Larry was his birthfather.

  Chapter 5: Reporter

  Eli disconnected from his cell phone and said from the booth in the RV, "We've got a reporter coming on board for a few weeks." He grinned at Angel as she rushed from the small kitchen to the table.

  She said, "Which newspaper? And how did that come about?"

  Eli set his cell phone on the table and stretched lazily. "Yesterday, I got a call from the editor-and-chief of the Seattle Daily. It seems they've been keeping track of Harris' career. He asked if we'd allow one of their reporters to travel with us for an exclusive on one of rodeo's finest for a future edition of their Sunday Life and Times. I said I'd ask Harris and get back to him. Harris liked the idea."

  "Goodness. That'll give him a lot of exposure and we can use the opportunity to spotlight some of his favorite charities."

  "Bingo. That's exactly what I was thinking. The editor said it will be a two page spread with photos."

  "That's awesome! When will the reporter arrive?"

  "I set it up for this Friday. The reporter is female, so would it be inconvenient to have a roommate for up to six weeks? If you'd rather not, her boss will put her up in motels every night."

  "Of course it wouldn't be inconvenient. I'm the one whose inconvenienced ya'll. I still feel guilty about you and Harris vacating your motorhome for me and being squeezed into this one. And you're sleeping on a bunk bed."

  Eli shook his head. "Hey, it's not a big deal. We were going to buy another one anyway to use as our office. Besides, the additional RV allows us to tow your car, so now we have two vehicles available for use. And don't forget the most important reason; the RV is a tax write off."

  "But still–"

  Eli silenced her with a wave of his hand. Sheepishly, she grinned and his heart melted.

  Chapter 6: "Barbie"

  Lucinda Bergamot pushed her thick glasses higher on her aquiline nose and snorted in disgust—so much for being an investigative journalist. All her life she'd dreamed of "tracking the money" or "shadowing the bad-guys" or "exposing corrupt politicians," and what had her new boss saddled her with—pun intended—a cowboy. Boring.

  Her Uber driver parked in front of the gate to the Granbury, Texas rodeo and she grudgingly exited the car, handing over a generous tip. She may be a low-paid reporter, but she wasn't stingy. Waitressing tables throughout college and after graduation, until she'd landed a job with the Seattle Daily, had been her sole means of support and she'd dealt with enough stingy people to last a lifetime.

  She hefted the shoulder strap of her large briefcase higher on one shoulder and the strap of her equally large purse, on the other. The driver lifted her suitcase from the trunk of his late model Toyota Camry and pulled out the handle, transferring the case to her. The middle-aged cowboy tipped a finger to his brow and said, "You have a nice day, ma'am."

  Lucinda huffed and nodded. "That may not be possible, but I'll try."

  The cowboy gave her a curious look, shrugged, and was soon history as he raced to his next customer.

  Lucinda faced the gate leading into the rodeo grounds and almost cried. She knew nothing about rodeos or cowboys. She had been raised in Escondido, California and moved to Seattle after landing her first and current job as a reporter with such a popular and controversial newspaper. That was six months previous and, so far, her investigative skills had involved divulging the ingredients of a famous coffee drink, discovering the secret location of a local socialite's wedding to a porn star, and exposing a group dedicated to sifting through high-profile people's garbage cans looking for stories to sell to the tabloids—and those were her major accomplishments. Her minor ones were even worse.

  Reaching into the pocket of her linen slacks she retrieved her cell phone and punched speed dial.

  "Hello," said a female.

  "Hello. I'm the journalist sent by the Seattle Daily and my instructions were to call this number when I'm outside the gate." She paused. "I'm outside the gate."

  The woman said with enthusiasm, "Great! I'm on my way! I'm wearing a pink shirt with a Levi vest and jeans. Give me five minutes."

  "See you soon," replied Lucinda without enthusiasm. She disconnected and thought, Pink shirt, Levi vest and jeans. How much worse can things get? She pushed her glasses up her nose again and smoothed a hand over her short-cropped black hair. Years ago she'd opted for the easy, gel-and-go style, because she didn't have the time, or inclination, to deal with curling irons or steam curlers. As for makeup, a little blusher, eyebrow pencil, and lipstick sufficed. She never wore mascara because if she didn't settle her glasses just right, her eyelashes bumped the lenses and the mascara flaked off.

  Lucinda telescoped her suitcase handle back down and sat on the case, waiting for her big "exposé" to begin.

  Within minutes she saw a blond woman pause momentarily at the gate, speak to the cowboy accepting tickets, laugh, and step outside the enclosure. You've got to be kidding. Lucinda wondered if her day could get much worse. The "Barbie doll" cowgirl scanned the people as Lucinda stood to her five foot height and gave a reticent wave. She groaned as the exceedingly beautiful woman dressed in a hot pink western shirt with fringe across the bodice, grinned widely, returned her wave, and hurried toward her. Lucinda adjusted her glasses again, pulled out the handle of her suitcase, and rolled it toward a woman who turned every head around her. She had the kind of beauty no average woman wanted to be compared to.

  The cowgirl reached her and said cheerily, "Hello! My name is Angel Martinez. I'm Eli's assistant." She glanced at Lucinda's briefcase. "Would you like me to carry that?"

  Lucinda stifled a groan. Angel? The woman's name is Angel? Figures. Politely, she replied, "No. I've got it." There was an awkward silence and then Lucinda stuck out her hand for a shake. "Lucinda Bergamot. I'm pleased to meet you."

  The "Barbie" warmly shook her hand and said, "Just follow me and I'll show you to the RV we're sharing. It's fantastic! Before I started working for the Brightman brothers, it was the one Harris and Eli used. But they insisted I stay in it. They're bunking together in another motorhome that's also our office." They reached the gatekeeper and Angel said, "Lucinda, I'd like you to meet Sidewinder. He's employed by several rodeo circuits and we'd be lost without him."

  Sidewinder tipped his hat at Lucinda as Angel said to the gnarly looking cowboy, "Lucinda's writing an article about Harris detailing the life of a rodeo champion."

  Sidewinder grinned widely and rubbed the gray stubble on his chin between his thumb and index finger. "Is that right? Well, Missy Lucinda, you couldn't have picked a better person than Harris Brightman. He's jus' 'bout the nicest person God ever created." He glanced at Angel and his eyes beamed. "That is 'ceptin' for Miz Angel, here."

  Angel leaned forward and kissed Sidewinder's whiskered cheek. "You're wrong about that Sidewinder. The nicest person is you."

  The cowboy actually blushed and mumbled something Lucinda couldn't understand. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes and wanted to stick her finger down her throat at the over-the-top display of affection. Instead, she fiddled with settling her purse more securely on her shoulder. Since she wasn't an overly demonstrative person, this was becoming embarrassing.

  Angel said to Lucinda, "You sure you don't want me to carry something?"

  "No. No. I've got it."

  As Angel and Lucinda walked past Sidewinder, Angel said, "See you later, cowboy!"

  "You betcha, Miz Angel," replied Sidewinder as a family dressed to the hilt in western clothing stepped to the gate. Lucinda followed Angel past horses and cows in corrals to a large lot packed with RVs of every type.

  Angel pointed. "Our traveling home is that brown one with blue and gold pen striping. Some of the rodeos, like this one, have their own RV parking, but other times we have to rent space at outside parks."

  Lucinda was impressed by the motorhome. For some reason, she'd en
visioned a horse trailer with a sleeping loft. They reached the RV and Angel opened the door, waiting for Lucinda to enter first. Lucinda lowered the handle on her suitcase to pick it up, but Angel grabbed it and said, "I've got it." Rather than argue over a suitcase, Lucinda replied, "Thank you," and entered the vehicle.

  It was magnificent.

  Angel followed her inside carrying the suitcase and asked, "What do you think?"

  Lucinda puffed a breath. "It's the nicest RV I've ever been in." It sure kicks ass over my apartment.

  Angel said, "The three slide-outs make it roomy. There's even a washer and dryer and dishwasher. Come on, I'll show you to your room and then take you on a tour of your home-away-from-home, and then the rodeo grounds. Today is the livestock show and the rodeo starts tomorrow. We might even run into Eli and Harris.

  Chapter 7: Slammed

  Lucinda finished unpacking her belongings and closed a drawer cleverly built into the side of the bed. She glanced around the tiny, but lovely room decorated in shades of blue and brown, and although not particularly feminine, decided it would appeal to most women. Then she wondered if many women had stayed in this RV. She supposed she would soon discover whether Harris Brightman was your typical famous male with hoards of groupies wanting to get a piece of him—in bed and out. Perhaps her research would reveal a womanizer and all-around jerk. She suddenly had a wicked thought. Maybe my article will expose a rat.

  She returned to the living room where Angel was waiting for her. As promised, the stunning woman took her on a tour of the motorhome, and when they entered Angel's bedroom, previously Harris', Lucinda was disappointed. It was nice, like her room, but not extravagant. She had expected something akin to glittery walls and gold fixtures.