Owen (BBW Western Bear Shifter Romance) (Rodeo Bears Book 2) Read online

She frowned. “Don’t call me lady. I’m not your grandma.”

  A doctor walked in looking as if he hadn’t slept in years. “Mary Beth Chaudett?” he called.

  Panicked, she quickly met him by the door. “Is my papa okay? Was it a heart attack? I told him those barbeque ribs would catch up with him someday.”

  “Walk with me,” the doctor instructed. “I’ll take you to him.”

  “Thank you,” she said, terrified as they walked. “Is he alive?”

  “For now. It wasn’t a heart attack, but it does involve his heart. We believe he caught a virus, which has been left untreated for awhile. With his age, we’re afraid it may have damaged his heart. We’d like to keep him in the hospital for a few days to observe him.”

  Mary Beth wasn’t sure how to handle the news; her relief that he was alive matched her despair that she could still lose him. His hospital room didn’t make the situation any easier to deal with. Her papa was hooked up to a herd of machines, and he remained ashen.

  “My girl,” he said when he saw her, lighting up. He hadn’t called her my girl since she was ten. “I’m sorry you have to see me this way.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Papa,” she said, trying hard to push back her tears. “You look very handsome, even strapped up like that.”

  “You could never lie as good as I could,” he mused. “I’m glad you’re here. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  He sounded serious. “Please don’t say your will,” she pleaded, “because I don’t want to even think about that. You keep your money. I just want you.”

  “Come here.” He took her hand when she met him at his bedside. “I’m humbled to hear it,” he said, emotional. “But I don’t want to talk about my will either. That’s for lawyers to discuss. I want to talk about Mesa. Go in my place. Wear my boots. I can’t go, and there are very few people I trust to run the show.”

  Mary Beth was appalled. “Papa, I can’t leave you. What if… No. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to send someone else. What about Owen?”

  “Owen is a competitor. He can’t be affiliated with the business, not on a professional level. Please. Do this for me. Mesa is where I met your mama. It’s special to me. It’s special to you too. At least, it used to be. The three of us always went together.”

  “I haven’t been to a rodeo since I was fifteen,” she reminded him. “I’m not even sure I can tell the difference between a horse and a cow anymore.”

  “Joke all you want, my girl, but I know the rodeo still lives on within you. You didn’t quit because you hate it. You quit because you got bored, but you’re all grown up now. I think you’ll enjoy it again. Owen will be there. If you have any questions, he’ll help.”

  She could see how much going to Mesa meant to her papa. If these were his last days, she couldn’t deny him his final wish, so she reluctantly agreed. “Only if you promise to still be here when I get back. And if the whole place burns down, it’s on you. You don’t send a rabbit out to catch a snake.”

  He snorted. “You’re no rabbit, Mary Beth.”

  “You calling me a snake?” she teased despite her grief.

  “No. You’re no snake either. You’re sunshine.”

  She smiled. “Well, don’t be telling that to your staff. I plan to use their fear of me to my advantage. That includes Owen.”

  He nodded, contemplative. Then he asked, “If anything did happen to me, you and Owen would put your differences aside, wouldn’t you? The two of you would keep my legacy going? The rodeo can’t stop, no matter how many cows go home.”

  “Sure,” she said. “We’d try.”

  He looked disappointed. “I really wish you were better at telling lies.”

  ***

  To her relief, it turned out there wasn’t much Mary Beth had to do in Mesa. The people her papa had hired did their jobs well. All she really had to do was smile big and put the fear in anyone she thought might slack off. In a way, it was like hosting a big party. She could handle that. She was the queen of parties. Wearing stilettos paired with a floral skirt and oversized blouse, Mary Beth made her rounds, introducing herself to those in expensive fabrics, figuring they were her papa’s comrades, unlike the rodeo folk in their faded T-shirts and ripped jeans.

  If there was one thing she had learned from her experiences when she was younger, it was that each rodeo was different. Smaller rodeos were usually outdoors in an arena where the crowd gathered around the fences. The larger televised events were in grand stadiums where thousands looked down at the arena. Mesa was a combination of the two. It would be filmed to air on television, but it was all outdoors, including the giant arena, where the men would ride their bulls and broncos, and they would rope their calves, and the barrelmen would entertain the crowd. The men and the women, actually. Mary Beth had been impressed to see there was a women’s bull riding competition scheduled. There hadn’t been the last time she stood so close to a pen.

  The Mesa rodeo also had a fair. Surrounding the arena were countless games, rides, and food stands. There was also a convergence of beer tents where the fans liquored up before the bull riders claimed their eight seconds.

  Meeting and greeting the elite at the rodeo was easier than she had anticipated, but Mary Beth couldn’t wait to return to Beverly Hills. Walking in the dirt in her stilettos killed her feet, and the dust around the place made her sneeze, but she had a much bigger worry on her mind. She didn’t want to leave her papa alone for too long. As soon as she was certain the rodeo wouldn’t burn down, she’d jump back onto the private jet she’d flown out in and go to him.

  Standing at the entrance to the press tent where she had just done an interview, the crowd around her suddenly parted with murmurs of adoration.

  Oh god no, she thought, tempted to run back into the press tent, anything to avoid the rodeo god. I don’t think I can handle Owen Hutch today. Mr. Sainthood. Mr. He’s So Gorgeous and Kind. Mr. Hardworking.

  As she predicted, Owen broke through the crowd, but his casual manner was gone, replaced by an anger she rarely saw in him, an anger that caused his golden eyes to burn with the fury of a bear.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me!” he roared when he reached her.

  “Hush,” she commanded, grabbing his arm, though her hand could barely grip its mass. “Not here. He doesn’t want everyone to know.”

  Understanding, he allowed her to lead him to a private alley between the beer tents, far from the press. “You should have told me,” he asserted when they were alone, pressed between kegs of ale.

  “How do you know what happened?”

  “I called him as soon as you showed up. I didn’t buy your baloney story that he was busy with the new clothing line at Ray Chaudett. He would never miss the rodeo for something so trivial to him. This is where he’s happiest.”

  “Ray Chaudett isn’t trivial,” she protested. “He started the company to be closer to me.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Owen hissed. “You should have told me. You knew I was in town. I shouldn’t have had to hear it from the maid over the phone.”

  “I didn’t have your number,” she explained, though she doubted she would have called him anyway.

  He shook his head. “Maybe I should leave and go visit him.”

  “Don’t,” she said, putting a hand to his chest. She cared very little about where Owen went, but she knew her papa would be upset if Owen didn’t compete. “It’s the last thing he’d want,” she added, softening her tone.

  “But what if he…”

  “He won’t,” she insisted, hoping it was true.

  Standing so close to Owen, she began to feel her heart beat faster. She was suddenly very aware of how strong a man Owen Hutch was, of how powerful he was. His body was thick and hard. His arms bulged through the T-shirt he wore. She felt her own body respond to his, pulsing in places other than her heart. Starving, she very much wanted Owen to pin her to the stack of kegs and run his hand up her skirt and past her lace panties, where
his fingers could explore deep within her.

  It’s the grief, she determined, trying to keep her breath steady. It plays tricks on the soul.

  Owen must have felt the same. Tenderly, he took her hand and held it in his. Surprisingly, she liked the way it felt. It steadied her, helped ease her fears. But then he pulled a pen from his back pocket and scratched his phone number onto her palm, his anger returning.

  “Call me if you hear anything,” he demanded. Then tipping his hat her way, he left.

  It was a good thing. It gave Mary Beth a chance to catch her breath and to make a vow never to be so close to Owen Hutch again.

  Chapter Three

  Her mind full of worries, as Mary Beth walked out of the woman’s bathroom, she barely noticed the woman playing horseshoes nearby, not until she ran right into her, causing the woman to tumble to the ground, a horseshoe in hand.

  “Watch it next time!” the woman, a brunette with wavy hair and light brown eyes, griped.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mary Beth said, offering her hand to help the woman up. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “I should be used to it,” the woman said, dusting herself off. “It’s not the first time it’s happened. At least you’re not a bear.”

  Mary Beth looked the woman over. Dressed in denim shorts and holding a horseshoe in her hand, she seemed like she fit in, but Mary Beth knew better. The woman’s skin was tanned, but the freckles across her shoulders revealed the tan was new. There was no ridiculous hat or boots to her get-up. The woman may be a fan, but she was no cowgirl.

  “Oh my god, you’re normal!” Mary Beth exclaimed. “I’m so glad to have another normal person around. Can I buy you a drink for making you eat dust?”

  “I shouldn’t,” the woman said, suddenly uncomfortable.

  “Come on,” Mary Beth insisted. “It’s better than playing horseshoes all by yourself. It’s a little sad.” She tucked her arm around the woman’s and dragged her towards the nearest beer tent. “Don’t be bashful. We normal girls have to stick together. Plus, I’m the boss around here, so you have to do what I say.”

  “You’re the boss?” the woman asked, looking behind her.

  “This is my papa’s show. He runs the rodeo, but he’s away attending to other business, so I’m taking his place.”

  “I wouldn’t want to upset the boss,” the woman said reluctantly.

  Mary Beth wasn’t offended. She was used to people shying away from her. “What’s your name?” she asked. “I’m Mary Beth.”

  “Dakota,” the woman introduced.

  “Well, Dakota, I hope you like to drink, because after the day I’ve had, I need several.”

  “I’m not really much of a drinker.”

  “Neither am I,” Mary Beth chirped. “That’s how bad of a day it’s been.”

  Tables were lined in orderly rows beneath the tent, which reminded Mary Beth of her papa. He would have approved. But though the tables were disciplined, the people who sat at them were not. They were loud and merry. Some had broken into a country song on the charts that Mary Beth had listened to many times before, but she’d never admit to knowing the lyrics.

  “I like the atmosphere in here,” she said to Dakota as they took a seat at the counter. “It’s not as stuffy as other tents I’ve visited today. It kind of reminds me of a club.”

  “I don’t go to many clubs,” Dakota answered. “I’m more of a homebody. At least, I used to be.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She tensed. “Doesn’t matter.”

  Mary Beth tried to put her at ease. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite. I’m here to have fun.” She turned to the bartender, a round guy with plump cheeks and a hat that barely fit over his head. “Two champagnes,” she ordered. “With strawberries.”

  The bartender laughed condescendingly. “Ale or whiskey, darling?”

  “I said champagne. And don’t speak to me that way. Do you know who I am?”

  “Yeah, I know,” he muttered as he picked up a rag to clean a glass. “You’re the boss’s daughter. Makes no difference. I have ale. And I have whiskey. Unless you can magically make something else appear, those are your choices.”

  She glanced him over. “I like you,” she decided. “I’ll take one of each for the three of us.”

  “Gladly, darling,” he said, pleased, and he poured them their drinks. “To good times,” he cheered with his glass of whiskey.

  “To good times,” she echoed.

  They shot down their glasses while Dakota took a tentative sip of hers.

  “Thanks,” the bartender bid before stepping away to attend to the line forming around the counter, abandoning the pint she’d ordered for him.

  She turned her attention back to Dakota. “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “Up north,” she answered, evasive. “And you?”

  “California. Have you been?”

  “Never.”

  “You should. It is so beautiful there. It’s hot, but not like the cactus and tumbleweed around here. I hate the desert. In California, there are palm trees and beaches. Beverly Hills is especially nice. You have not shopped until you’ve been to Rodeo Drive. Do you like to shop?”

  “I used to.”

  “Well, if you’re ever in California, I’ll take you to Rodeo Drive and buy you a good pair of sunglasses. You’re going to need them if you’re hanging around the South.”

  Dakota smiled, relaxing.

  “What?” Mary Beth asked. “What did I say?”

  “You know… Rodeo Drive… and we’re at the rodeo.”

  She laughed, the whiskey coursing through her blood. “To the rodeos!” she cheered, picking up her pint glass.

  “I never thought I’d hear those words coming from you,” Owen said, appearing next to them.

  She pushed her pint away, her buzz suddenly vanishing. “What do you want?”

  “To apologize for earlier. It ain’t never right for a man to act that way to a lady. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” she declared, enjoying the mood of the tent once more. “Now buy me another shot of whiskey. And Dakota too. She’s my new friend. And don’t call us ladies. We’re not that old.”

  Owen looked at Dakota knowingly. “Did she kidnap you?”

  “I let her,” Dakota answered, still smiling.

  “Well it’s good to see you in high spirits. Both of you.”

  “You know each other?” Mary Beth asked.

  “We recently met,” Owen answered, signaling for the bartender to refill their whiskey glasses. “She’s dating someone from the clan.”

  “Wow,” Mary Beth said to Dakota, impressed. “It takes courage to get cozy with a bear. Which one of the Tyrell Clan is it? Please tell me it’s Holden. He’s hot, isn’t he, with his dark hair and air of authority. Or is it adorable little Jacob? No, wait. Colby. I tell you, a man in a uniform is something special.”

  “I’m with Eddie,” she answered.

  “Really? The gambler?”

  “He doesn’t gamble anymore.”

  “Okay. I hope so. For your sake.”

  Owen stepped in. “How do you even know all of this?”