The rodeo arena is always treacherous.

Now it’s deadly...

It’s no accident Deputy Tessa McKade is trapped with an angry bull ready to trample her to death. She quickly realizes that McKade Law is no longer enough to keep her safe—and it’s her rescuer, Braden Hayes, who stands in as her bodyguard. As they seek to stop a would-be killer, Braden will have to use all his professional skills to guard Tessa’s life.

SUSAN SLEEMAN is a bestselling author of inspirational and clean-read romantic suspense books and mysteries. She received an RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award for Thread of Suspicion. No Way Out and The Christmas Witness were finalists for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence. She’s had the pleasure of living in nine states and currently lives in Oregon. To learn more about Susan, visit her website at susansleeman.com.

Also By Susan Sleeman

Love Inspired Suspense

McKade Law

Holiday Secrets

Rodeo Standoff

First Responders

Silent Night Standoff

Explosive Alliance

High-Caliber Holiday

Emergency Response

Silent Sabotage

Christmas Conspiracy

The Justice Agency

Double Exposure

Dead Wrong

No Way Out

Thread of Suspicion

Dark Tide

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Rodeo Standoff

Susan Sleeman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08449-9

RODEO STANDOFF

© 2018 Susan Sleeman

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“Ready?” Tessa asked.

Braden nodded and gestured for her to go first. They wound through dark shadows toward the exit leading to the livestock pens. At the back door, Braden stopped Tessa. “We’re good to go. No sign of Vic, though.”

“He could be in the booth.”

Braden searched ahead. Spotted a man on the ground, his legs poking out behind the booth.

“Man down.” Adrenaline kicking in, Braden reached for Tessa to leave.

Something small suddenly came flying out of the booth. Little sparks of light lit the night. Explosions sounded. Quick, staccatos. Pop. Pop. Pop. Firecrackers!

The horses spooked. Thankfully, the gate was locked.

Braden took a firmer hold on Tessa and started her in the other direction. Another set of firecrackers flew into the middle of the herd. Exploded.

A horse bumped the gate. It swung open. The animals stampeded out. One after another, they barreled down the chute toward them. Toward Tessa.

Braden’s gut clenched. He hadn’t reacted fast enough. There was no easy escape from the crazed horses.

And Joshua said unto them, Fear not, nor be dismayed, be strong and of good courage.

—Joshua 10:25

Dear Reader,

I miss the days when many generations of a family often lived in the same community. There was such a sense of belonging and togetherness. A sense of working for each other’s good and just experiencing pure joy in being together. I grew up in such a situation, and even though I was the family member who moved far away, I am still richly blessed from growing up in that togetherness. Maybe you had such an experience, too, or are fortunate enough to be part of a multigenerational family in one community.

In Rodeo Standoff, Braden has never experienced the concept of a well-knit family unit, and Tessa takes her family for granted. It’s through each other’s eyes that they come to see how amazing the McKades are, and I hope you saw this, too. I have loved creating and developing this family and look forward to writing the final two books for your enjoyment.

If you’d like to learn more about the McKade Law miniseries or my other books, please stop by my website at susansleeman.com. I also love hearing from readers, so please contact me via email, susan@susansleeman.com, on my Facebook page, Facebook.com/susansleemanbooks, or write to me c/o Love Inspired, HarperCollins, 24th floor, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.

Susan Sleeman

For my family, who I often took for granted growing up.

Acknowledgments

A special thank-you to Ginger Solomon for naming Tessa’s horse Copper and to Lisa Hudson for naming Braden’s horse Shadow. I greatly appreciate your help!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Tessa kept her eyes trained on the deadly threat.

The eighteen-hundred-pound bucking bull’s menacing glare stole her breath. She couldn’t think. Act. Or move.

He tossed his head, his beady eyes immediately locking on her as if she had a bull’s-eye painted on her chest. He snorted. Shifted his massive black-and-white body, ready to attack.

He was coming for her, if she didn’t do something.

But what?

She’d come to the arena for some quiet time—a moment to think and prepare for the upcoming event. Instead, she found herself alone with an animal that shouldn’t have even been there, and she had no experience handling a crazed bull. None!

Don’t panic. Keep calm. Don’t set him off.

She shot a look around the open-air rodeo arena, searching for an answer. Law enforcement had prepared her for many situations, but her deputy training never covered facing down an angry bull. Even after participating as a barrel racer in hundreds of rodeos, she knew very little about bulls, other than that they were fast when they charged. She couldn’t outrun this creature to reach the safety of the spectator stands. No human could. If she was foolish enough to try, he’d ram his horns into her body before she got to the wall. And she’d never turn her back on him, anyway. No way, when his reaction time was much faster than hers.

Then what?

Please, please show me a way out of this.

She shifted her feet. Just a few inches. Felt the gun in her ankle holster that she always carried off duty.

Slowly, she bent down, her fingers creeping along her leg. She inched her pant leg up to her knee. In one swift motion, she grabbed the gun and rose.

The bull huffed and pawed. Rubbed his head in the dirt, a sign of extreme distress.

Dumb move, Tessa. Totally the wrong choice. Her sudden change in position had spooked the huge animal. Continued movement could cause him to charge. He would slam that hard head into her body. His tipped horns still deadly, he’d toss her into the air like a rag doll as she’d seen happen in countless rodeos. Cause internal bruising at the very least, organ damage likely. Death at the worst.

She lifted the gun. Aimed. Regretted having to use it, but knew she’d have to fire if it came down to her life or the bull’s.

“Rrrrrumph. Rrrummph,” he grumbled, then started tossing his head.

He was claiming his territory, getting angrier. His charge was imminent. She sighted the gun. Dropped her finger to the trigger.

“Hey, bull,” a deep male voice called from the stands.

Tessa’s gaze shot to the far end of the arena, shocked to find a cowboy climbing a gate when no one was supposed to be there. He was silhouetted against the rising sun, his hat pulled low, his shoulders broad.

The bull swung his head toward the sound. The cowboy vaulted over the railing and dropped onto the sandy rodeo soil. “No need to use your weapon on the bull. I’ve got this.” He removed his hat and waved it at the bull. “Hey, bull, over here.”

She searched his face to see if she recognized him, but he was half a football field away, and she couldn’t make out his identity. She opened her mouth to call out to him. To tell him to get back in the stands, but something about his confident stride told her he knew what he was doing. Besides, shouting would just draw the bull’s gaze back to her.

The beast turned, his big lumbering body spinning faster than she would’ve imagined a nearly one-ton creature could move. He planted his hooves with a solid thump. She’d seen many a cowboy trampled by similar hooves and knew the severe damage they caused.

“When I get him over here,” the cowboy called out, his tone calm as if on a pleasant outing instead of facing a monstrous animal, “I want you to head for the stands. Slowly, so you don’t draw his attention again. Don’t speak. Just give a single nod if you understand.”

She tipped her head in the briefest of nods.

The bull pawed at the ground and growled, his tone low—a warning.

“Hey, bull. C’mon. Let’s get you moving.” Waving his arms again, the cowboy backed toward the return gate where bucking bulls and broncs exited an arena after the competition ride ended. Tessa knew from watching bull riding that breeders trained rodeo bulls on basic behavior, so the bull should recognize the gate once he got close and would know he could safely leave through it.

The bull started moving. Trotting at first. Then picking up speed, his head low and ready to connect with the man’s fit body.

“Go now,” the cowboy called out to her.

She backed toward the stands, keeping her eyes pinned on the grumbling animal.

One foot, then another, she told herself to keep her fear from taking hold and making her bolt for the stands.

Inch by inch, she moved, making sure she didn’t add even a smidge of extra movement.

The powerful cowboy stood tall. Her rescuer. Confident. Brave. Her hero.

The bull reached full speed. Hooves thundered over the soil. Rapid. Racing.

God, please, she begged as she continued to back away. If You’re there, please keep this cowboy safe.

* * *

Braden kept waving his arms to make himself a target. He had to. The bull could turn on a dime and still charge the woman. She was inching toward the wall just as he’d instructed. Thankfully, she didn’t bolt like a frightened calf. If she did, he couldn’t do anything to stop this monster from chasing her down.

Once she was safe, he fully intended to question her about her reason for being here with a bucking bull. Just as important, the law enforcement officer in him wanted to know why she was armed for a visit to a public arena.

“C’mon now!” Adrenaline he hadn’t felt since leaving professional bull riding raced through his body.

The bull charged closer, his hooves kicking up dirt.

Twenty feet. Fifteen. The urge to run grew with each step, but Braden stayed firmly planted in place to keep the bull moving forward. At the last second, he would climb the gate to get out of harm’s way.

Timing was everything.

Ten feet. Five feet.

Just a little longer. Hold steady.

One second. Two. Three.

He jumped up. Clasped the steel railing. His heels hooked onto metal rails and held fast. The bull continued his course. Plowing closer. Pummeling the ground.

Five seconds to impact. Braden held his breath. The bull swerved right and charged through the return gate as his training dictated.

Braden blew out a breath. Jumped down and swung the gate closed. He secured the latch. The bull peered over his shoulder, his gaze still menacing.

“I’m not sorry to ruin your fun, fella.” Braden let out another long breath, the adrenaline riding out on a wave of air.

Footsteps pounded on concrete, heading toward him. He spun. Saw the woman running along the lower-level spectator fence. How she hadn’t collapsed in a puddle of relief, he had no idea. Most people would have fallen apart after narrowly escaping a run-in with a bull. But, on the other hand, most people would have had the sense to avoid that kind of showdown in the first place.

Braden crossed the grounds to give her a piece of his mind for putting herself in this situation. Lifting his hat, he swiped away perspiration with a handkerchief. Always hot in Texas in the summer, forecasters predicted this Fourth of July weekend in Lost Creek to be a scorcher, and he already missed his air-conditioned apartment in Austin.

Head down, her hat shadowing her face, the woman threw a leg over the top of the fence. He didn’t want her to get hurt climbing down, so he slammed his hat back on and offered his hand.

She looked up. Fixed her gaze on him.

Tessa McKade.

He hadn’t seen her since he quit riding bulls six years ago. Not even when he volunteered at the events to promote the sport of bull riding. Not surprising he hadn’t run into her, he supposed. He’d mainly worked PBR—Professional Bull Rider—events dedicated solely to bull riding, and she was a barrel racer.

He reached up to lift her down by clasping his hands on her trim waist. She smelled like apple pie and sunshine and all things American, as he’d known she would if he’d ever come close enough to engage in a conversation with her.

Just touching her caught him unaware for a moment. He thought to let go but held on long enough for her sapphire blue boots below her nicely fitting jeans to hit the dirt. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine thanks to you.” She frowned. “Well, maybe my pride is a bit damaged from needing to be rescued by the great Braden Hayes.”

Surprised to hear his name, he was caught off guard. “You know who I am?”

She shoved a wispy strand of fiery-red hair up under her hat. “Everyone in the rodeo world knows a two-time PBR champion.”

He tried not to frown, but he hated that people saw him only as a PBR champion, when he’d done so many important things since those days. Of course, he should’ve expected it when he volunteered for rodeo events and put himself back in the spotlight. He didn’t much like that part of the PR gigs, but he wanted to give back to a sport that he’d once lived for. For such a cause, he would put up with the way others gushed over him.

He met her gaze. “I don’t believe I’ve had the honor of officially meeting the great Tessa McKade. What is it, eight or nine years running as the local barrel racing champ?”

Her mouth dropped open as if she found it unbelievable that he knew her name or anything about her for that matter. But he did. Or, at least, he thought he did from watching her compete for several years before he retired. Her earnest and naive personality had been refreshing in a place where scantily dressed women threw themselves at him just because he could stay on a bull’s back for eight seconds. She had been in her early twenties back then and rarely interacted with others on the rodeo circuit. Most of what he knew about her had come secondhand, or been observed from a distance. Still, something about her coffee-colored eyes that seemed to see the world in a different way had caught his notice.

She speared him with a tight gaze, but it quickly softened. “Nine years, but that’s not important. I need to thank you for saving my life.”

“What in the world were you doing in here with a bull, anyway?”

“It’s not my fault.” She lifted her chin and eyed him. “I was here first. Someone added the bull later. I didn’t even know it was here until I turned to leave.”

Say what? “Bulls aren’t quiet creatures, so how’s that even possible?”

She pointed at headphones circling her neck and turned to peer in the other direction. “I was in the middle of the arena, facing away from the gate. I left it open when I came in. No biggie as there isn’t supposed to be any livestock here at this hour.”

She paused and shook her head. “Anyway, I was listening to the announcers call my past rodeos. It’s my pre-rodeo ritual every year. Get in here at sunrise each morning for a couple of days before livestock and participants arrive. Sit in the middle of the arena listening to the past rodeos to psyche myself up for the upcoming one.”

“So who wants you dead, Tessa?”

“Dead?” Her wide-eyed gaze met his. “No one that I know of.”

“Well, someone does.”

Her mouth fell open, and she gaped at him. “You think someone put the bull in here to kill me?”

“Don’t you?”

“Honestly, not until you mentioned it.” She shot a look around the area. “I mean I haven’t really had a chance to think about it. For someone to kill me, they would have to know I’d be here and I...” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

“What?” he asked.

“The local news did a story about me the other night. I mentioned this pre-rodeo ritual. Means plenty of people would know I’d be here today.” She bit down on her lip for a moment. “But still, murder? That’s a little far-fetched.”

“C’mon, Tessa. You’re not thinking straight. We’re talking about a bucking bull weighing nearly a ton. Putting an animal like that in an enclosed ring with an unprepared person is tantamount to murder.”

She wrung her hands together and tears looked imminent before she faced the chute where the bull was still shuffling around and huffing. A violent shudder claimed her body.

She was upset now. He suspected it was far more than the near run-in with an angry bull. His blunt talk about murder was likely the cause, but he needed to be frank to get her to realize the danger she’d been in. The danger she could still be in.

“I hate to admit it, but I guess you’re right.” She sighed. “Seems like someone did try to kill me, but why?”

“Since this attempt involved a bull, we could be looking at one of your competitors.” He held up a hand when she looked like she planned to argue. “And before you think that’s too crazy, my years as a homicide detective prove that people don’t always think rationally. They commit murder for the craziest of reasons, and if they fail, they often try again until they succeed.”

She looked at him then and stared, her full lips pursed. He’d had many a thought about those lips back in the day. She might have been more of a tomboy then, but her innocence had drawn him like a magnet. He’d never followed his attraction as he avoided serious relationships, and she seemed like a serious kind of woman.

She swallowed hard. “You went into law enforcement?”

“Austin PD.”

She tilted her head in question. “I never pictured you as a cop.”

“Never thought you pictured me at all.” He grinned at her.

A flush of red surged over her face. How cute. She was still a breath of fresh air. He had to admit the fact that she’d given him more than a passing thought warmed his heart, and he widened his smile.

She ran a hand over her hair as if embarrassed and she was trying to smooth it away. Even cuter.

“Why law enforcement?” she asked.

He was enjoying the innocent flirting, but he wouldn’t continue and make her more uncomfortable. “I was looking for the same adrenaline rush I got from bull riding.”

“And did it pan out that way?”

Thoughts of his former partner, Paul, going off on his own while hopped up on adrenaline came to mind. Paul had lost his life that day, and Braden started questioning his reasons for being a cop. Not something Tessa needed to know about, so he simply shook his head. “But I found out I loved the job and worked my tail off to move up to homicide detective. So I know what I’m talking about when I say you’re in danger. I noticed the lock to the gate was cut when I came in. Means we aren’t looking for someone with a key, but can you think of anyone who might be responsible?”

“I’d hate to think one of my competitors would stoop this low just to stop me from winning again.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know. Someone related to my job, maybe. I was a patrol deputy for years, and now I’m a crime scene investigator.”

Explained the gun. “It’s a great possibility someone you arrested or you testified against is out to get you.” He made strong eye contact to drill home his next point. “Regardless of who is responsible, we need to proceed as if you’re still in danger until proved otherwise.”

Her gaze wandered to the bull again, and she fanned her face. “I need to call Harley and tell him what happened.”

Braden knew she meant Harley Grainger, President of the Lost Creek Rodeo Association, who’d also arranged to bring Braden in for the competition to help draw a bigger crowd.

Tessa glanced at her watch and dug out her phone, then tapped the screen. “He’s not due in for an hour or so. He’ll want to get someone out here for the bull now, so I’m calling him. Then maybe I can figure out who the animal belongs to and how he got here, and you can be on your way.”

“I’m not leaving your side,” Braden said, irritated that she was so eager to get rid of him. “Not when you could still be in danger.”

She shot him a look of annoyance. “Don’t let my size fool you. I’m a deputy for crying out loud. I can take care of myself.”

Yeah, Paul had made a similar statement, and Braden had vowed he’d never leave a person unprotected again. “It’s that kind of attitude that means I’ll stay right here until I’m sure you’re safe.”

TWO

Tessa may have met Braden today for the first time, but after just five minutes of conversation, it was clear that he thought he knew what was best for her, and he was the last guy she wanted hanging around. His actions reminded her of his pushy behavior and cocky attitude back in the day. He’d won championship after championship, and it was obvious to anyone looking that his confidence knew no bounds. He became a big rodeo celebrity, and women in every town had tried to grab his attention. She’d seen them fawn over him, and he’d done nothing to reject the attention.

Just like her former boyfriend Jason. After she’d quit traveling the rodeo circuit to focus on school, he continued touring without her and cheated on her. She’d dumped him on the spot as soon as she found out, but the pain of his betrayal still lingered. Now here she was letting Braden’s rugged masculinity get to her. Letting his smile affect her. Well, no longer. If she ever dated again—a big if—she would never ever fall for a guy like Braden Hayes.

She glanced at him as he stood watching the bull. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his faded jeans. He’d pulled his hat low again, looking like a real-life cowboy. He tilted his head, his gaze filled with longing. For the sport he left behind?

Odd. He’d voluntarily retired at the height of his success, so why the melancholy?

Maybe he was thinking about his last ride, a particularly bad one. He’d gotten his glove hung up in the bull rope, and the bull had dragged him for quite some time before Braden broke free. She was amazed he’d managed to free himself. After the bull had thrown him, he’d had to get on his feet and pull his body up on the bull to relieve the pressure on the rope so he could slide his hand out. Who had the presence of mind to do that when an almost one-ton bull thrashed you around like a dog with a chew toy?

She had to admit it would be a man who was good under pressure, like he’d shown himself to be just now with this raging bull. The massive beast hadn’t fazed him a bit. She found that confidence even more appealing than his looks.

He sighed, then caught her watching him and gave a brief shake of his head.

“You miss it,” she said.

He nodded.

“I don’t at all pretend to understand the urge to ride a bull, but I’ll understand the longing for the events come Monday.”

He turned eyes the color of a stormy sky on her in a pensive gaze. “How’s that?”

“This is my last competition. My horse, Copper, has health issues, and it’s best for him to retire.”

“You could get another horse.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Copper loves to race, and I’d feel like I was cheating on him with another horse. And even if I didn’t feel that way, when you barrel race, you’re putting your complete trust in something that doesn’t communicate with words. Takes a lot of training to succeed. I have far too much going on in my life to find time to train a new horse.”

“At least I never had an emotional connection to a horse to worry about.” He smiled.

“No, you just had to worry about keeping your body in one piece.” She ran her gaze over him. He was a good four inches taller than the typical five-foot-ten professional bull rider, and he was still fit. Really fit. In spite of herself, she was attracted to him. Drawn to him. To that smile. Those compelling eyes.

He cleared his throat, and she suddenly realized she was staring at his chest. She jerked her head up to find his smile had turned flirty.

“Do you recognize the bull?” she asked, quickly returning her focus back to where it needed to be.

He let his eyes linger for a moment longer, awareness of her remaining, then shook his head. “I’ve been out of the business too long. Nowadays, I only know the top bucking bulls I see at the big PBR events.”

“Hopefully, Harley can give us the owner’s information.”

“If not, the bull’s ear is tagged, and we can check the RSR.”

“RSR?” she asked.

“Rodeo Stock Registry of North America, a genetic DNA database that holds parentage records and tracks offspring of bucking cattle.”

She gestured at the arena’s main entrance. “Here comes Harley now. Let’s hope he can ID the bull, and we won’t have to go that route.”

A dark-headed Goliath of a man dressed in jeans, boots and a big Stetson, Harley stormed across the arena carrying a white binder. He lifted his hat and swiped his arm over his forehead. “You sure you’re okay, Tessa?”

“Fine, thanks to Braden.”

“Harley Grainger.” He planted his hat on his head and held out his free hand for Braden. “Good to meet you in person. I’m sorry about the incident.”

Braden took what looked to be a firm grip and shook Harley’s hand. “Think nothing of it. I was glad to help Tessa out.”

Harley swung his head to look at Tessa. “Your dad’s gonna have a fit when he hears about this. I’ve been friends with him so long I feel like you’re one of my own girls, and I let you both down.”

“I saw on the way in that someone cut the lock,” Braden said. “People can hardly hold you accountable for someone cutting the lock.”

“And you’re only responsible for livestock once they’re checked in,” Tessa added and squeezed Harley’s arm. “You had no reason to even be here before the livestock were supposed to be delivered. I get that and Dad will, too.”

“I thank you for understanding, Tessa, but you know your dad has different standards as the sheriff.” He frowned.

“Are you worried about something else?” she asked.

“Attendance. Pure and simple. This crazy heat wave is already threatening to keep folks home this year, but once this story gets around town, it could give them another reason to stay away.”

Tessa hadn’t thought of that. “You can spin it with the press as a handsome cowboy rescuing a damsel in distress. Who knows, it might draw even more spectators in.”

“You think I’m handsome, huh?” Braden whispered.

She started to roll her eyes, but his flirtatious behavior, so like Jason’s, didn’t even deserve that much of a response.

“I’m sure glad you agreed to come down for the rodeo,” Harley said, obviously missing the undercurrent running between Braden and her. “Wish you’d told me you were arriving this early. I’da been here to greet you. Maybe then things woulda been different.”

“Maybe,” Braden said.

“Why were you here so early, anyway?” Tessa asked.

Braden turned toward her. His lazy hooded eyes ran over her and made her feel like she was the only woman on earth.

“Like you,” he said, “I wanted a little time alone to relive the glory days.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you were here, for Tessa’s sake and for our program. I’m especially grateful that you’d come an extra day before the rodeo begins, when we let our fans take a close-up look at the livestock. You usually do the bigger PBR events, so I figured you’d turn me down flat.”

“I like to help out the smaller venues when my schedule allows.”

Really? Sounded like he actually cared about the success of small-town rodeos. About the people and volunteers. Maybe he had layers she hadn’t seen before. Still, one layer didn’t make him a man she could trust.

“I hate to do this to you,” Braden continued. “Especially with the issue of attendance, but I’m planning to help find the jerk who put the bull in the arena with Tessa. Means I might have to sit out a few of the PR events I agreed to handle.”

Help find the suspect? That was news to Tessa. She opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but Harley said, “That’s right, you’re a detective now.” Harley pursed his lips for a moment. “Wish you hadn’t hung up your spurs. You were something to watch.”

Braden suddenly gestured at the bull as if ignoring Harley’s compliment, at odds with the guy who’d seemed so cocky when he’d won so many championships.

“I’m hoping I can use my experience in the ring and as a detective to close this case,” he said. “First step is to figure out who put the bull in the arena. We have a little over two days before the rodeo opens to figure that out and we shouldn’t waste any time. Harley, if I give you the bull’s ID number, can you give us his registration information?”

“Sure thing,” Harley replied.

Braden clambered up the rails to reach for the bull’s electronic identification tag fixed in his ear and called out the number. He could still move fluidly. Surprising, what with all the injuries bull riders sustained. Of course, he must have recovered from his injuries, or he wouldn’t have passed a police physical. But she’d seen him take some bad falls, and a bull’s jarring motion takes a toll on hips, shoulders and knees, so he had to have residual effects.

“Here it is.” Harley tapped his notebook. “He’s King Slammer. Belongs to Ernie Winston Bucking Bulls out of Waco. He’s on the check-in schedule for nine o’clock.”

“He’s several hours early,” Braden said. “Do you make the check-in schedules?”

“Other volunteers handle that.” Harley, like everyone else in the association, was also a volunteer. Not unusual for small-town rodeos. “This year Douglas Peters is in charge of it.”

“Douglas?” Tessa stiffened.

“Is he a problem?” Braden asked.

“I’m...not sure. His sister is Felicia Peters, my biggest competitor. Neither of them has made any secret about not liking me. In fact, Douglas often accuses me of cheating.”

Braden’s eyebrow went up, but he didn’t speak.

“Everyone knows the Peters family doesn’t much like Tessa,” Harley said. “But I can’t imagine Douglas being behind this.”

Tessa wasn’t sure she’d be that generous. Douglas had been pretty nasty in his accusations against her.

“Let me give Ernie a call to see what’s going on with King Slammer.” Harley stepped away and lifted his phone to his ear.

Braden hopped down, standing tall and ruggedly handsome with his hands on his waist, his feet planted wide. Tessa’s gaze wanted to linger, but she forced her attention to the crime scene. She walked along the outside of the chute looking for any clue that might lead her to the person who wanted to end her life, but she couldn’t focus. She’d done her best to put on a good front for Braden and Harley, making it seem like the bull was no big deal. But she was smart enough to realize that someone wanted to cause her great harm, and she suspected when that someone learned she’d survived, they’d try again.

Her phone rang and she dug it out of her pocket. Her father. Great. Could she get away with ignoring the call? As the Lake County sheriff, he usually received news long before anyone else, but he couldn’t have heard about the bull already, could he? She could just see him going ballistic once he did. Then, like always, he’d warn her to be careful. He told her brothers, Matt and Gavin, to get after things, but he tried to coddle her and her sister, Kendall. She loved him for his caring but was exasperated at the same time.

And she couldn’t ignore his call. He could need her on an important investigation. Forcing herself to sound cheerful, she answered.

“Got a report of a stolen bull,” he said before she could tell him about King Slammer. “It was taken from the rest area just outside town. We’re talking a fifty-thousand-dollar animal. I need you out there ASAP to process the scene.”

“A stolen bull at the rest area,” she said, catching Braden’s attention. “Do you have a name for the bull?”

“King Slammer.”

She shot a look at the chute, her mind processing the idea that someone stole this bull to use it as a weapon against her. “No need to search for him. I’m at the arena, and you can tell the owner that King Slammer is here.”

“What in the world?”

“Someone dropped him off. Not sure who yet. Harley’s here now, and we’re figuring it out.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The words drew out in his deep Texan drawl. “Why steal a bull just to leave it at the arena when it was scheduled to be delivered to the pens there anyway? Truck and trailer there, too?”

“I haven’t been outside since I laid eyes on the bull, but I’ll check it out before I process the scene.”

“I don’t much cotton to such a high-dollar theft in my county, so take your time and don’t miss a thing. Matt’s at the rest area and will handle things until you get there.”

She was glad her brother, a county detective, caught the case instead of the other detective on staff, as Matt had a better case-closure rate.

“Go ahead and look for that truck and trailer before heading out here, too,” her father added.

She was about to hang up when Braden came toe-to-toe with her and grabbed her phone. “Sheriff McKade.”

She tried to retrieve her phone, but Braden spun, keeping it out of her grasp. “Looks like King Slammer was put here to injure your daughter.”

“Who is this?” she heard her father demand.

Braden identified himself and added that he was a police detective in Austin. “I want to accompany her to the rest area, but law enforcement professionals often refuse to believe they need help. I thought maybe you could convince her to let me escort her.” He listened carefully, then handed the phone to her. “He wants to talk to you.”

She put the cell to her ear. “Dad.”

“Listen, Tessa. You may be a grown woman, but don’t think that means you can purposely avoid telling me about something like this. You hear me, girl?”

“Yes, Dad.” She wanted to stand up for herself, but she wouldn’t engage in a personal argument with Braden standing close by. She could and did glare at him for snatching her phone, though. He simply peered at her with a blank expression as if he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Braden Hayes is going to accompany you to the rest area,” her father continued. “And I’ll be meeting you there, too.”

“Dad, I don’t need anyone to watch over—”

“Hold it right there, Peanut. You need the family’s help and, right now, Braden’s, too. And I want to meet the man and shake his hand. If he hadn’t come along...” His voice broke.

His obvious concern for her safety put her closer to crying than anything that had happened since seeing the bull pawing at the ground right in front of her.

“I’ll see you as soon as I’m done here,” she managed to mutter through a throat that was closing and ended the call.

She stowed her phone and glared at Braden. “You had no right to do that.”

“Easy, darlin’,” he said, his words languid and low. “Or you’re likely to rush off into danger, just the opposite of what your father and I want.”

She couldn’t handle that he’d aligned himself with her dad on this issue, but arguing with such a mule-headed man wouldn’t do any good. She headed for Harley, breathing deep to ward off tears of frustration that would make her look like a frightened girl instead of a strong deputy.

Harley stared at his phone in his hand as if willing it to ring. “Call went to Ernie’s voice mail. I’m hoping he’ll get right back to me.”

She told him about King Slammer’s theft. “If Ernie’s out at the rest area when I get there, I’ll ask him to call you.”

Harley nodded as Braden joined them.

Still upset over the way he’d butted in where he had no business going, she ignored him. “I’ll take a look for the missing truck and trailer, then grab my supplies and process the crime scene before heading out.”

“Crime scene?” Harley’s voice squeaked high. “Now wait a minute, Tessa. There’s been no crime committed here.”

“Someone cut the lock at the gate and a stolen bull was left to stampede an innocent woman,” Braden said, his tone deadly serious. “Where I’m from, we call that a crime.”

* * *

Tessa stormed ahead of Braden. They’d been walking the blocks surrounding the arena, looking for the truck and trailer for some time now, and she didn’t hide her anger very well. He’d have to be an idiot not to see she was mad at him for taking her phone to talk to her father. He shouldn’t have done it, but come on. She needed someone to have her back right now, so he’d taken on that responsibility. If that meant invading her personal space and overstepping his bounds, so be it. Keeping her safe came first for him.

He planned to apologize. Just not at the moment. Now he needed to keep his eyes and ears open for any additional threats.

“Doesn’t look like we’re going to find the truck, so time to move on.” She spun and marched back toward the arena.

They passed the barn that would soon house contestants’ horses, then crossed the street to the large parking lot surrounding the building on three sides. On the backside, outdoor pens connected to gates leading to the chutes where bulls and broncs would enter the arena. A sign saying Danger Bulls, Stay Back hung from the fence. Tessa breezed right past it without a hitch in her step, but the irony wasn’t lost on him.

She stopped at a full-size pickup and reached into the jump seat to pull out a tote bag and a case that resembled a large fishing tackle box before returning to the chute still holding King Slammer.

Braden watched her for a moment as she squatted by the cut padlock dangling from a thick chain. He enjoyed the way she attacked her job with the same intensity he felt for his work. Her gaze didn’t seem to hold as many questions as it had in the past, and in the years, she seemed to have grown stronger. Even more attractive than her understated beauty.

He was drawn closer to her and would love to know more about her. For now, he’d stick with quizzing her about her job. “Do you always carry forensic items in your truck?”

“Basic stuff, yeah.” She flipped open the hard-sided case. “When I’m on call, I often need to go straight to a scene and don’t always have time to pick up the county vehicle.”

Braden nodded. He stayed on alert, his senses attentive to any unexpected noise or flash of light, but he let his eyes follow a soaring red-tailed hawk swooping over the open-air arena built in the 1930s. The bird’s terracotta-orange tail feathers glowed in the bright sun, beauty only God could create.

As a kid, Braden had often gone outside to take solace during his parents’ fights, and it was part of why he loved outdoor venues. With many of the PBR events now held in large indoor arenas, small venues run by volunteers were a breath of fresh air. Literally. Still, if this had been a big venue, they would have had paid security staff, thus preventing the threat to Tessa’s life.

“Which do you like best?” he asked her, wanting to hear one thing about her personal life. “Riding in an outdoor or indoor arena?”

“I grew up on outdoor ones, so that’s still my preference.” She snapped on latex gloves before opening the case.

“Mine, too. I love the connection to God.”

Their gazes connected, a hint of respect in hers, and he felt like the simple exchange cemented something between them far bigger than their preference in arena styles. She tilted her head to look at him, a look of interest darkening her chocolate-brown eyes. As quick as the look came, it evaporated. She clearly didn’t want to acknowledge her attraction. He had to admit her rejection stung. Was it because he rarely received rejections or was it because she was special?

He almost sighed, then stopped. He was letting his interest in her take over and that was a recipe for disaster. He took in a deep breath and let it out, hoping to clear his brain and move on.

Investigation. Think only investigation.

She started assembling a metal frame with a board at the base. Over the top, she placed a plastic bag.

“What’s that?” He bent down to take a better look.

She scooted back as if he carried the plague. Would she be reacting this way to any man or was it him? He got the feeling that it was him, but he didn’t know why.

“This is a portable fuming chamber,” she said, her tone filled with enthusiasm for her work. “I’ll place the lock inside the chamber with cyanoacrylate—otherwise known as superglue—and the fumes will adhere to the prints and change their composition to make them visible. I can then enhance them with powder and even photograph them.”

“I don’t know much about forensics, but wouldn’t you find the prints by dusting the lock right from the start?”

She eyed him for a moment, her expression tightening before she jerked her gaze away to stare off into the distance. “This way is more thorough. Someone put a bull up close and personal with me. I could have died. Not something I’ll ever forget, and I don’t want to miss a single print.”

Taking an extra step to find the person who tried to kill her was a good sign. Coupled with her earlier cautious awareness of her surroundings, he was glad to see that she wasn’t as willfully blind to the danger as she’d first led him to believe.

“Plus, fuming hardens to secure the fingerprint in place and stabilizes it for transport with minimal risk of destroying the print.” She poured water into a small bowl and placed it on the chamber base. She carefully removed the lock and balanced it upright next to the bowl, then ripped open a foil-lined envelope. “This is the fingerprint developer—the cyanoacrylate.”

“That word rolls off your tongue like you’ve been doing this for some time.”

“I have a Master’s in Forensic Science and have been County’s lead crime scene investigator for two years, so I’ve used the word quite a bit.” She hung the envelope from the top hook.

“But you’re still a deputy, right? I mean, you said you were a deputy when you told me to back off.”

“I hope you didn’t take any offense to that. It was just me being ornery—a knee-jerk response over the way my brothers and father try to coddle me. I don’t need someone else championing the same cause.” She met his gaze and held firm. “I really can take care of myself, and after you shake hands with Dad, you’re free to go.”

We’ll see about that. “You were explaining how you’re both a deputy and a crime scene investigator.”

“Right.” She started rolling the bag down the frame. “County requires all investigators to be sworn officers and work patrol for a minimum of three years. I always knew I wanted a forensics career, so I worked as a patrol deputy part-time while getting my degree. When I graduated, I’d fulfilled the time requirement and could move into the first investigator opening.”

“Sounds like you enjoy your job.”

“Enjoy...yeah, but the word doesn’t do justice to the way I feel about forensics.” She tucked the bag under the frame. “It’s my passion.”

“So is barrel racing, right?”

She frowned.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Since I’m retiring this year, it’s kind of a sore subject with me.”

“Right.” The urge to take her hand and offer comfort, something a deputy wouldn’t appreciate at all, almost took over his common sense. Almost, but he stifled it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about Tessa the woman, not the deputy. Would she reject his comfort? With the way she’d scooted away from him a few minutes ago, he had to think she would.

She got to her feet. “The fuming can take a few minutes. While it works, I’ll search for additional evidence.”

“What about the gate itself? Don’t you want to check it for prints, too?”

“I will, but this is a public gate. Means there’ll be tons of latent prints, and it’ll take some time for our examiner to get through all of them. Of course, I’ll have him start with any prints located on the lock. That will give me a place to start the investigation.”

“Wait, what?” He gaped at her. “You’re not going to try to handle the investigation yourself.”

She eyed him over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you if you were me?”

“Yeah, but I’m a detective and you’re not.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to follow leads.”

“You’re too close to the situation.”

“Like I’m going to let that stop me.” She moved slowly down the side of the chute, stirring up King Slammer, who head-butted the rails.

Braden had to give Tessa credit, she didn’t even flinch. Usually, he admired a feisty personality, but now? She didn’t have the training to handle an attempted murder investigation and could get hurt along the way. In spite of that, he didn’t need to protest, as he doubted her father would let her run the investigation, anyway.

She squatted and picked something up that looked like the tip of a latex glove. She stared at it, her face screwed up in earnest concentration. Her concentration was so complete that he was convinced she was oblivious to her surroundings.

Totally oblivious. If he wasn’t standing watch, someone could easily attack her.

He had years of experience in catching killers and would-be killers and she needed his help. She didn’t realize it yet, but he’d make sure she figured it out. No matter what it took. He had to get through to her, before another attempt on her life caught her unaware and succeeded.

THREE

Near the arena gate, Tessa kept her focus on the shoe print created by a leaky water trough. She felt Braden’s intense gaze on her. With the way she was reacting to him, maybe it should be unsettling, but with a big strapping lawman keeping an eye on her safety, she didn’t have to think about protecting herself at the moment, allowing her to work faster.

Question was, why did he have such an overwhelming need to be looking out for her? Maybe it was the chemistry between them. She felt it deep in her core, and he’d made no secret that he was aware of it, too.

But that was even odder, right? She was nothing like the kind of women she’d seen him with in the past. And a handsome guy like Braden would have his choice of women. He wouldn’t have to go out of his way to help her just because they were attracted to each other.

Argh. She needed to stop speculating on his response to her. It was just a waste of time, when the last thing she needed was a man like Braden in her life.

She forced herself to concentrate on the treads embedded in the mud. She wasn’t a shoe print expert, but an athletic shoe with a crack in the sole made this one stand out. Odd. Most people associated with the rodeo wore cowboy boots or Western work boots.

“What are you working on?” Braden squatted next to her.

At his nearness and the smell of his minty soap, her heart fluttered, but she ignored it. At least she tried, but she struggled not to pay attention to the way his gaze fixed on her and didn’t let go.

She swallowed hard before speaking. “I’m trying to determine how fresh this shoe print might be to figure out if it’s from our thief.”

“How’s it even possible to determine the freshness?”

“See how the water from the dripping trough is running along the gutter? Only the tip of the print’s toe has filled with water, indicating it hasn’t been here long. If it had, the rest of the print would be flooded.”

“Looks like an athletic shoe, but that’s an odd type of shoe to wear for someone who’d steal a bull, right?”

“Right. Which is why I was debating if it’s important.” She stood to put some distance between them. “I’ll cast it just in case.”

He came to his feet and remained standing far too close for her liking. “Anything I can do to help?”

Move away so those startling blue eyes don’t distract me. “You can mix the powder while I take pictures. I’ll be right back with the items.”

Feeling like a coward racing away, she hurried to her truck to grab a zipper bag of dental stone and pour the correct quantity of water into the bag. She took a few deep breaths for good measure, then returned.

She handed the bag to him. “Simply mix this with your hands, making sure to get into all the corners so we use all the dental stone.”

“Maybe I should close the bag so I don’t risk making a mess.”

She shook her head. “Closing it could cause pressure and the bag might rupture.”

He started mixing, and she laid an L-square near the print to demonstrate the size of the shoe and started snapping pictures.

“If I had to guess, we’re looking at a male’s size ten shoe,” Tessa said.

“A pretty common size.”

She nodded and confirmed she’d taken clear photographs, before putting the scale back in her tote and holding out her hand. “I’m ready for the bag.”

He set it on her palm. She took the top of the bag in her other hand and was careful not to touch him. She squished the liquid, about the thickness of pancake batter, to make sure Braden had thoroughly mixed all the lumps. Satisfied, she poured the casting material, moving over the length of the indentation and extending out a few inches until she’d covered the entire print.

“How long will this take to dry?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “I would have thought a detective might know some of this stuff.”

He hooked his thumbs in the corner of his belt loops near a large PBR championship buckle. “I suppose I should at least have a passing knowledge, but I figure that’s why we have forensic professionals on staff, and I leave it to them.”

She’d heard that plenty of times from deputies—including her family. “From my point of view, it’s always helpful when the detective at least knows how long things take, so they don’t nag me for results.”

“I guess I’m guilty of that, too.” His lips tipped up in a playful smile that she’d seen him flash at the press and at fans plenty of times in the past, and even knowing it meant nothing, maybe less than nothing, her heart flip-flopped.

“I think I’m going to learn a lot being with you,” he said.

“About that.” She stuffed the empty bag into her tote and leveled out her tone to keep her wayward emotions out of her voice. “Let me give you a pass again on this babysitting detail. Dad will expect you to come along and shake his hand when I go to the rest area, but then you can get on with your weekend.”

“I’m good with sticking around.” His tone was causal, but irritation flared in his eyes. “You didn’t say. How long for the cast to finish?”

Good. Keep the focus on the investigation. “With this weather, I’d say twenty minutes and it’ll be set for transport.”

“And then what?”

“Then the cast sits in the lab to cure for seventy-two hours before I can wash off the dirt and clean it for analysis.”

A thick eyebrow arched. “That long?”

“It has to fully cure, or I could compromise the details of the casting.”

He kept watching her, his gaze warm and familiar as if they’d known each other for years. She had a bizarre urge to run her finger down a long scar on his cheek that a bull had likely inflicted. Instead, she smoothed out the liquid so once it dried she could write the forensic collection details on the back of the cast.

She wished he’d walk away, but she supposed it was her fault that he remained so close. She’d all but taunted him into learning about her job, and now she would have to pay the price of his nearness.

* * *

Braden shook his head in disbelief. His first day in Lost Creek wasn’t even over, and he was approaching the second crime scene of the day. Craziness. He was on vacation with a little PR volunteering thrown in. Just a few days to attend the rodeo to help friends and enjoy time away from the rigors of being a homicide detective. But this? Tessa. The stolen bull. Not at all what he had expected.

She parked close to the yellow crime scene tape cordoning off the rustic rest area. A tall male deputy stood just inside the perimeter talking to another man who was clenching and releasing his hands. Braden figured he was King Slammer’s truck driver.

“My dad isn’t here yet. Something must have come up.” Tessa shifted to peer at Braden, fatigue dawning as if she was coming down from the adrenaline. “I suppose since you took my phone and proved how pushy you can be, it’s too much to hope you’ll wait in the truck for my dad to arrive.”

“Sorry about grabbing the phone,” he said sincerely. “I just didn’t think it was a good idea if you took off on your own, and I knew I didn’t stand a chance of convincing you on my own. Plus, I can help you here. I’m a detective, after all.”

She pointed at the men. “So is my brother Matt.”

“But is he a bull expert? Because if he is, I’ve never seen him at a competition. I can tell you if any evidence you collect regarding the bull is off. Can he?”

“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “You can come with me. Just don’t get in the way.” She hopped down and grabbed her equipment from the jump seat. She stacked several cases under her arm and looked like the weight or bulk, or both, might take her down.

He tried to take the largest case from her.

“Look.” She stepped back. “I don’t want to come across as ungrateful for your rescue—and for your ongoing offer of help. I am and will always be most grateful to you. I owe you my life.” Her tight rein on her emotions seemed to be failing, and she bit down on her lip as if she didn’t want to lose control.

“It’s okay to let go, you know,” he said. “Anyone who’s been through what you’ve experienced today would be shaken up.”

She took in a long breath and shifted her cases. “I’m good.”

She was simply acting as any law enforcement officer would in this situation, and he didn’t take it personally. “I always knew you were gutsy.”

“Always?” She eyed him, her gaze digging deep. “We just met.”

“I watched you compete plenty of times.” And watched you off your horse, too.

Her eyebrow went up, but before she could comment, her brother slipped under the fluttering yellow tape and jogged toward them, taking her attention. Tall, powerfully built, the guy didn’t look at Braden at all, and his concern tightened features closely resembling Tessa’s. She frowned as he kept coming.

Matt took the equipment cases from her, and she didn’t argue. He set them on the ground and pulled her into a tight hug. “Dad told me what happened. You could have been killed.”

“Don’t overreact. I’m fine.” She struggled to get free, but Matt held on.

Interesting. Braden didn’t expect her to put up the same stubborn front with her brother, but after the way she’d reacted to her father’s call, maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. She acted like she had something to prove, even with her own family.

Matt let her go. “You’re not as tough as you always try to pretend.”

She sighed and glanced at Braden. “It’s not the easiest being the baby in a family of law enforcement officers.”

“So that explains your prickly barbs,” Braden said before thinking.

“Prickly?” Matt’s gaze traveled between them. “She’s usually pretty easygoing unless you try to get overprotective with her.”

“Guess that’s where I went wrong.” Braden looked at her brother and offered his hand. “Braden Hayes.”

“I’m Matt McKade.” He smiled as they shook hands. “Come to think of it, she’s the only sibling with red hair, and we used to tease her as a kid that she was adopted. She was pretty prickly about that, too.”

“I don’t need to stand here and be picked on when I have a job to do.” She scooped up her cases and marched off, but Braden saw a hint of a smile as she moved away.

Oddly enough, it pleased him to see she had a sense of humor and that she could take a little teasing—at least from someone she trusted. But he wasn’t here to decide if he liked her or her sense of humor.

“Mind if I hang around?” he asked Matt. “I’m a homicide detective with the Austin PD and a former bull rider. I might be able to help.”

“Fine by me,” Matt replied. “Not sure what Dad will say when he gets here about how long you can stay, though.”

If their family was anything like Braden’s, he had no desire to get involved in their family dynamics. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to work on a law enforcement team with your siblings and father. An only child, Braden could hardly stand to be in a room with his parents, never mind working with either of them. Not with the way they bickered and snapped at each other so often that they ended up ignoring him unless they needed something from him. He’d grown up with broken promises and their many failed marriages, and he still had issues trusting people, much less counting on them to have his back. The only person he’d ever really trusted was his partner on the police force, and even then he’d had reservations.

He followed Matt to the crime scene under the shade of a majestic bald cypress. Getting out of the blazing sun that had dried up most of the Texas Hill Country this past month was a welcome relief. Tessa set down her cases by the curb, then came over to join them.

“This is King Slammer’s truck driver, Wyatt Adams.” Matt introduced Tessa and Braden.

“The Braden Hayes?” Adams’s eyes widened. “Man, you’re like a legend. No one’s managed to ride Fearless Whizz since you retired. That last time sure was something.”

Braden cringed inside at the mention of his successful last ride. Successful at least in terms of the timer. But then he’d gotten his hand hung up in the bull rope, and once freed, he had been hurled to the ground and stomped on, resulting in a lacerated liver and broken ribs. “God was watching out for me.”

Adams shook his head. “No sirree. Your skill got you through. You were one of the best. How come you quit?”

“I think Braden would appreciate it if we stuck to the theft,” Matt said as if reading Braden’s mind. “Go ahead and tell them what you told me.”

Adams’s eyes narrowed, emphasizing deep wrinkles in his leathery skin. “Not much to tell. Pulled in here to use the facilities and take a quick catnap. When I came out, the truck and trailer were gone.”

“Did you leave the truck running?” Braden asked.

“Yeah, but I locked it. Carry an extra key just so I can.” Adams lifted his chin. “Diesels are hard on starters and batteries. Leaving it running means I have to crank it over one less time, extending the battery and starter.”

“Or did you just want the AC running to keep the truck cool for your nap?” Braden asked.

A sheepish look crossed Adams’s face. “That, too.”

Diesel truckers commonly let their vehicles idle, but if Adams had taken the keys, he wouldn’t have been in this situation unless someone hot-wired the vehicle, and Braden was having a hard time believing he’d risk the loss of an expensive bull for a more comfortable nap. “You’re in town awful early for a nine o’clock check-in.”

Adams’s brow furrowed. “Which is why I was going to rest a spell.”

“I get that, but why leave Waco so early in the first place when you could have slept in instead?”

“To beat traffic.”

Traffic between Lost Creek and Waco on weekday mornings was rarely heavy, but Braden didn’t have facts to dispute Adams’s statement, so he let it go. “Who all knew when you were leaving town?”

“Let’s see...” Adams paused, eyes raised to the tree, as if this was a difficult question. “King Slammer’s owner, Ernie, of course. His ranch foreman and the ranch hand who helped me load the bull.”

Matt fixed his gaze on Adams. “Remember, I want Ernie to confirm the names and contact information you gave me before you leave here.”

Adams nodded.

“Do you work for Ernie or are you an independent hauler?” Tessa asked.

“Ernie only contracts out transport when he has several bulls signed up for the bigger rodeos. I work for him and handle his small loads.”

Even more reason why he shouldn’t have risked leaving an expensive bull unattended with the truck running. Braden assumed the guy would lose his job for doing so. “Have you noticed anyone unusual hanging around the ranch?”

Adams shook his head.

“How about on the road behind you on your drive?” Braden asked as he spotted a county sheriff’s SUV pulling into the lot. In law enforcement, supervisors often used SUVs to carry additional gear patrol officers might need, so Braden suspected this was Sheriff McKade’s vehicle.

“I don’t have a habit of watching the rearview all the time. King’s pretty expensive cargo, so I keep my focus ahead.” Adams removed his hat and ran a hand over a bald head slick with sweat. “Man, Ernie’s gonna kill me if that bull is hurt in any way.”

“Trust me,” Tessa said. “He’s just fine and ready to rumble.”

A curious look crossed Adams’s face. “You the one he wanted to meet up close and personal?”

She nodded.

Adams’s expression turned to relief. “He’s a real ornery fella, so I’m glad you two didn’t actually meet.”

The sheriff exited his car and took everyone’s attention as he came to full height and paused to survey the area. He was fit and over six feet tall in his navy blue uniform. He locked gazes with Braden. His piercing brown eyes gave Braden a moment of uncertainty. He doubted criminals fared well under the man’s attention. He marched across the asphalt, his gaze lighting on his daughter and unfettered concern replaced the intensity.

The only concern Braden ever received from his dad was back in Braden’s bull riding days. His dad constantly worried that Braden would quit earning big bucks and his dad wouldn’t be able to mooch off him any longer. Braden was bad at saying no, but he couldn’t stomach paying for his dad’s lifestyle. That was one of the factors in his leaving bull riding at the pinnacle of his success.

He watched to see if the sheriff would hug Tessa as Matt had done, but he simply stopped in front of her.

“You’re sure you weren’t harmed?” He might not have hugged her, but his voice hitched and it was clear that the man loved his daughter.

“Not a scratch on me.” Her lighthearted tone didn’t match the rigid set to her shoulders.

He gave a firm nod and ran his fingers over a graying mustache. Braden saw him clamp down on his jaw and work the muscles hard before speaking again. “Be that as it may, you’re not to step foot out of the house without another deputy at your side until we find the jerk who tried to kill you.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but her father spun to face Adams, who stood gawking at them. “How about taking a seat on the bench over there while we have a chat?”

Adams nodded and seemed glad to escape the group of lawmen.

Walt shot out a hand to Braden. “You must be Braden. Walt McKade.”

“Nice to meet you, Sheriff.”

“It’s Walt.” He released Braden’s hand. “Thank you for all you did in keeping my little Peanut safe.”

“Dad, please.” Tessa planted her hands on her hips. “Enough with the Peanut thing when I’m working.”

Braden started to smile, but when she caught his gaze with a feisty one of her own, he controlled it. “I’m glad I was there at the right time.”

Walt faced his son. “Bring me up to speed on what the driver had to say.”

Matt filled him in, his narration concise and organized, impressing Braden.

“Now the question is, is this a onetime attempt to hurt Tessa or an ongoing threat?” Matt asked.

The sheriff frowned. “We have to proceed as if the suspect plans to make another attempt.”

Braden nodded. “Something that could happen at the rodeo, though at this point we can’t confirm that this attack is related to her competition.”

Tessa planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t even suggest that I bow out of the competition. We have two days before that’s a factor, and I hope we have this resolved before then.”

“I hope that happens, but we need to plan how we’ll keep you safe in case it isn’t.” Walt frowned, his mustache drooping, as he looked at Braden. “I’d demand that she drop out, but she’s a McKade through and through and telling her to give up on something she’s passionate about would be like trying to talk sense into one of those bulls you used to ride. Besides, she’ll only be in the arena for what? Fifteen seconds? Minimal exposure. Only a gun could take her out that quickly, and we’ve never allowed them in the arena. We search all backpacks and anyone looking suspicious.”

“I don’t think he’s going to try anything in a crowd, anyway,” Matt said. “Or even use a gun.”

“How’s that?” Braden asked.

“He could have shot her today, right? Instead, a bull was his weapon of choice—even though that must have taken a lot of time and planning. Maybe there’s a message there. Maybe not. But either way, he acted at a time when no one was around. Used a weapon that couldn’t easily be traced back to him. Says to me he’s being extra careful not to get caught.”

“Good point,” Walt said. “And if he tries something in a crowd of witnesses, he has to know we’ll arrest him on the spot, making it even less likely that he’ll act during the rodeo.”

“Not that you’re asking me.” Tessa’s arms relaxed. “But I can skip the opening night ceremonies and the contestant introductions before the competition begins, too, to limit my visibility just in case. And I promise, if at any point we think fans are in danger, I’ll bow out of the competition.”

“You still need protection.” Braden shifted his gaze to Walt. “And I’d like to help out with that going forward.”

“Agreed on the need for protection, but what are you proposing?” the sheriff asked.

“As Matt said, since this attempt was made at the arena, we can’t rule out a connection to the rodeo. My experience in this area makes me better able to recognize anything out of the ordinary there.”

“Good point.” Her father appraised him. “But why would you want to give up your free time?”

Though this had a lot to do with promises he’d made to himself after Paul died, Braden wasn’t going to mention that. However, he could offer another explanation that was equally valid. “You ever have something happen on patrol where you just can’t let it go? You can’t put a finger on why, but it haunts you and you know you have to keep after it and see things through to the end?”

The sheriff nodded and so did Matt. Tessa even looked like she agreed.

“Well, that’s how I feel. Like I have to be here to help Tessa, and if I leave, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

An obvious look of approval crossed the sheriff’s face. “Then I’m happy for your help, son. What with the Fourth of July celebration and rodeo, my department is stretched to the limit as it is. You might be a real blessing, and I’d appreciate your help this weekend.”

“Hold on.” Tessa held up her hands. “I can’t believe you’d let a man we know nothing about into our lives like this. That you’d leave me alone with him while you go about your business.”

“Seriously, girl.” Her father frowned. “You know better than that. Why do you think I’m so late? I was checking him out. His lieutenant says his skills are top-notch, and he’d trust him to protect his own family, which is all I need to know. And as to our family? You know we’re not going anywhere. We’ll still be involved in protecting you and in tracking down this guy who wants to hurt you, but Braden here has insider knowledge we don’t have and can recognize suspicious situations we’d have no idea to look out for.”

“Maybe this is just a random theft.” Tessa sounded like she was grasping at straws to keep from having him around and it stung. “A guy sees the truck running and decides to steal it. Then he finds the bull in the back and dumps him at the arena to get rid of him. Doesn’t even look inside to see if anyone is around.”

“Only one problem with that theory,” Walt said, his gaze going to Tessa. “The truck and trailer were just found abandoned on the far side of town. The thief was after the bull, not the vehicle. Which is positive proof that the primary goal was to harm you.”

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