The Bull Rider's Secret

The thunder of motorcycles roaring down Main Street threatened to deafen Brody Murphy as he used the pay phone outside the Silver Dollar Saloon in Bandera, Texas.

"Ma'am." Brody tipped his hat to a wannabe cowgirl who sashayed by, leaving a scented cloud of expensive perfume in her wake.

"What's that god-awful noise?" Brody's buddy, Drew Rawlins, shouted through the phone connection.

"The Hell's Angels are in town."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in Bandera."

"Bandera? You were supposed to be here—" meaning Drew's ranch, Dry Creek Acres "—three hours ago."

Brody ignored his friend's rant as he studied his choices for lunch across the street—Southern Comfort Bakery, Mi Pueblo, Busbee's Bar-B-Que and Bandera Saloon & Grill.

"Hey!" Drew snagged Brody's attention. "What are you doing in Bandera?"

Hell if Brody knew. He scanned the area, willing the answer to pop up in front of him. His gaze landed on a flyer attached to the saloon's oversize red door.

Bandera, Texas

Cowboy Capital of the World

Wild Hog Explosion

Saturday March 20th at Mansfield Park

"Think I'll enter the Wild Hog Explosion." Whatever the heck that was.

"You're kidding, right?"

Maybe. Brody was down to twenty bucks in his wallet and half a tank of gas. Speaking of fuel, Brody gagged on fumes as a second pack of motorcycles drove past him.

"I offered you a job," Drew said.

Turning his back to the busy road, Brody rested his arm atop the pay phone. This wasn't the first time Drew suggested Brody quit the rodeo circuit and work for him as a ranch hand. Brody had been a ranch hand most of his adult life—punching cows in Montana where he'd been born and raised. Hell, he loved—make that had loved—working cattle and horses, wide-open spaces and the soul-searching loneliness of riding the proverbial range. Two years ago Brody had quit his job at the Black Stone Ranch and now he lived one day and one bull ride at a time.

There was a part of Brody that yearned to hang up his bull rope. He was tired. Lonely. Downright lost. But working for Drew would be like walking around all day with a red-hot poker stuck in his eye.

His buddy understood the demons chasing Brody. He was the only person Brody had confided in about his past. Even so, Brody didn't care to witness the former bronc rider's happiness. Drew had retired from rodeo this past December after he'd scratched at the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas. He'd given up a world title for love and a chance to be a father to a son he hadn't known existed until recently.

Drew was happy. Brody was miserable. It would only be a matter of time before Brody's unhappiness ruined their friendship. If that wasn't enough to deter him from accepting a job at Dry Creek Acres, then taking charity from a friend was. Drew had offered the job, not because he needed help, but because he felt sorry for Brody.

"Thanks, but I've got a ride coming up," Brody lied.

"When are you gonna admit you aren't a bull rider?"

Never. "I'll be in touch."

"The job's yours anytime you want it."

"Thanks." Brody hung up and eyed the advertisement on the saloon door. What the hell. He'd head to Mansfield Park and check out the exploding pigs.

As Brody drove along the main drag, he did a double take at the horse hitched outside the Dairy Queen. Any town that allowed horses on the street was okay with him. He followed the signs to the park, mulling over his options. Bandera...