Book 3: 79th Copper Mountain Rodeo
Chapter One
“Marietta Montana was founded in…”
Boone gripped the steering wheel of his Chevy Colorado truck. He knew when the town was founded. He knew the names of the original founding families and had attended school with their descendants. Hell, he even knew where the skeletons in many of those families were buried or stuffed in the closet. He was Marietta to his marrow.
And that was the problem.
He was being a jerk. Tuning Piper out. Something he’d never done. She read the Copper Mountain Rodeo website. He hadn’t told her Marietta was his hometown. That he’d attended the Copper Mountain Rodeo since he was in diapers. That he’d won his first event—mutton busting—at age four there.
He hadn’t once mentioned that they were heading down the mountain to his hometown.
But not to his home.
Not to his family.
Dick move and he knew it.
But he and Piper were never meant to go this far. Tour with him through the summer. Or less. That had always been the plan when he’d met her. Dillon two weeks ago had been the end of this road for them. Staring down the barrel of September. He thought at the end of August he’d put her on a plane to wherever she wanted to go. Only he hadn’t. Hadn’t said a word about goodbye. Instead he’d driven the horse trailer with the small living quarters from Dillon to compete in White Sulphur Springs.
He’d won a first in steer wrestling and bareback and third on the bull. And instead of celebrating at the bar and dancing, he’d taken Piper out to dinner and bought an obscenely expensive bottle of wine. Wine! A Bordeaux—whatever that was. And then he’d taken her to a spa so they could sit in the hot springs.
And he’d had a damn good time.
Not a cowboy in sight.
He hadn’t mentioned the airport.
Or how he should be ending it that night.
Or definitely this morning.
Or that the next stop on the Montana pro rodeo circuit was his hometown. And that his father was one of the rodeo planners. And his family would all be there expecting him to come home—stay at the ranch. Sit with them during all the social events like the picnic, steak dinner, pancake breakfast. Work the ranch the week after before heading to Great Falls.
And all that was now shot to hell. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
His family didn’t know about Piper. She didn’t know about them.
And he had no idea how he could keep it that way.
He glanced over. She was wearing a cute racer-back sporty sundress and one of his shirts tied around her slim waist for warmth. Her hair was in a messy knot on top of her head that he could barely resist pulling out. She sat cross-legged and was scrolling through the website like she did for every rodeo—fully immersed in the experience.
In two miles, she’d lose cell service.
He should tell her now about Marietta. His family.
But his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His throat dried. He felt like someone he didn’t know.
And he definitely didn’t like.
Boone scowled at the twisting steep grade ahead.
He’d met Piper in May. In California at the beach. A cliché and he damn well knew it.
Cowboy sees the ocean for the first time and a girl with long, red-blonde hair and longer legs, wearing one of those lacy bikinis. Cowboy loses his mind. Boone mocked himself. He was not admitting to losing his heart but he sure as hell felt hollow when he thought of cutting her loose.
Piper had tossed him on his dumb ass harder than any prime, pissed-off thrashing bull or bronc.
Head over heels as the country singers crooned.
Piper was way out of his league. Boone had known it then, and he knew it now. Didn’t make a lick of difference. He rode bareback broncs and bulls and wrestled steers to the ground for fun, prize money and to prove a point. He’d never backed down from a challenge. And Piper had seemed like the biggest one of his life. So he’d tried his chances.
“Travel with me for a bit on the rodeo tour this summer,” he’d impulsively asked after they’d spent an afternoon and evening together. “You can see Montana.”
Piper had two college degrees and had lived all over the world. She’d danced professionally. He’d expected her to laugh at him. Instead he’d watched her get her certificate in massage therapy in a small Saturday afternoon ceremony in a teacher’s home garden, and then she’d packed up a small leather backpack and a duffel bag of her clothes and climbed in his truck.
And here they were. September.
And neither he nor Piper had said anything about ending it.
But he had to. There was no place for them to go.