Chapter 13
Maggie
Ipark Betsy in the lot of the lodge and haul my weary ass inside, bag in hand. Mom and Brad sit at the front desk, captivated by something on the check-in computer screen.
“Heya!” I wave and they both jump, jerking away from the screen.
O . . . kay?
“What are you two up to? And hi, I’m back.”
“Hi, sweetheart. How was the trip this time?” Mom rounds the front desk and pulls me into a hug. I peer over her shoulder at Brad, who is now suspiciously clearing his throat while he tidies the immaculate reception desk.
“Oh, I’ve missed you.” Mom squeezes me harder, and the last breath swooshes from my lungs.
“Alright, what is going on here?” I direct the question to Brad, and he squirms where he stands.
“Fine.” Mom sighs. “We were just looking at your rodeo photos.”
I narrow my eyes at her. How is that a state secret?
Oh my god, are they terrible? I dump my bag and rush behind the reception desk. With a few clicks, I have the PBR site up. I recognize the images immediately.
They are... Pretty damn good. There’s a mix of action shots and behind-the-chutes-type pictures. I don’t understand their reaction.
Brad is trying to tamp down a smile. “So, must be a lot of bull riders on the circuit?”
“Obviously.” Hands now squarely resting on my hips, eyes narrowed, I study my parents.
“Oh, could have fooled me. Half the photos are of only one cowboy.” Mom is practically bursting as she leans into Brad.
“What?” I snap my focus back to the screen. Clicking the mouse with enough force to split a wooden stump, I send the images past in a rush.
I finally make it to the end of the gallery and look up at Mom, who has the ‘well now, who’da thought’ look all over her stupid excited face.
“It’s not what you think, Mama.”
“Isn’t it?” she says, so innocently.
“No. Hadley wasn’t drafted. The arena manager and I?—”
“Hadley? As in Hadley Jones, who rode Terminator over the weekend?” Brad is barely containing himself.
“One and the same.” The words are so monotone, my brows lowering, Mom bursts out laughing. “Come on you two, this is not what you think it is. He needs a draft pick. We were just trying to help.”
“Uh huh.” Mom winks at me and wanders into the restaurant area.
“Can you tell her, please?” I beg Brad.
There is nothing between Hadley and me. We’re friends. We run in the same circuit—literally. That’s all.
“Ah, let her have her happiness for a minute longer. Then you can crush her fantasies about grandbabies.”
“You are both far too young for grandbabies, Brad.”
He chuckles and kisses my cheek. “Good to have you home. Dinner’s in an hour.”
He follows Mom, and I’m left to wander up to my room to unpack and work on this weekend’s gallery and articles.
