I can still hear my old man’s voice. He never shouted, you know. He didn’t have to. With Cole Donovan Senior, it was what he said that mattered, not how.You are not getting on another bull, Beau. Not if you want to be a part of this family. You walk out that door and so much as look at another arena, then you can forget about ever coming back here.
He’d put his big, broad hand on my shoulder, callused and firm, somehow telling me that he loved me, even when his words were like a form of death. The only thing I love more than riding is my family, and he knew it.
I quit the tour that day.
‘They thought I’d grow out of it.’ I’m relieved my voice sounds so light and amused. Carefree, when the truth is that I can’t look back on that time in my life, the fights we had, without a sense of pain. I walked away from the thing I loved, because my family demanded it of me, and I’ve lived with that regret ever since.
‘Were they supportive?’
‘They got how much I loved it.’
It’s not an answer and we both know it. Her pen scratches over the paper, but she doesn’t keep pushing.
‘You’re on the road a lot,’ she says.
‘Is that a question?’
‘I’m getting to it.’ I glance across to find her smiling. I’m surprised, because I get the feeling she doesn't let her guard down while working. She seems like a tough nut to crack. Sure enough, when she catches me looking, her expression changes to one of cool professionalism. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s part of the job.’
This time, she calls me on it. ‘That’s not an answer.’
I turn the car off the road and into the hotel forecourt. This place was built in around the sixties. It’s close to the arena, and the whole place is a tribute to this life. Leather, wood, rustic, relaxed and friendly. Huge cactuses stand on either side of the wide front doors.
I glance at the valet approaching the car, then back at Bailey James. ‘I like being home most of all.’ I’m kinda surprised to hear myself answer so honestly. ‘The ranch where I grew up, it’s a special place. The creek that runs through the fields, the forest, the sunsets, the wild beauty of it. There’s nowhere I’d rather be. But you can’t make a living stayin’ put.’
‘Your brother does.’
‘That’s Cole’s destiny,’ I say. ‘He was always gonna take over. He’s just like our old man.’
‘I was sorry to see that he passed away a few years back. That must have been tough.’
My throat tightens in a way that’s familiar to me. It doesn’t matter how much time passes, it wasn’t something we were prepared for, and it still catches me off guard, to think about my dad not being here.
He was just so full of life, one of those guys that lived larger and better than most. He made an impact on everyone he met; he was all the good things. And he died like he lived—honourably, saving people from a fire. That doesn’t make it hurt any less, even when I know it should.
Before I can put my thoughts into an answer that’s appropriate for a journalist, the valet is at my door. I push it open and step out, my boots thudding as they land on the stone driveway. I hand the keys over then come around to remove Bailey James’s bag from the back.
‘What are you doing?’ If I thought her smile was cute, then her frown is even more so. Or maybe it’s not that it’s cute so much as distractingly hot. Distracting because it makes me ache to reach out and smudge my thumb over her full lip, to wipe it back into a smile.
‘Grabbing your bag. Don’t tell me we’re going to have this fight again.’
She looks momentarily flustered. Very unlike the version of herself I can just tell she wants to project. ‘No, no, I mean—you can just drop me off. You don’t have to walk me in or anything.’
I realise she doesn’t understand the situation.
‘I’m staying here too.’
Her eyes widen by the tiniest amount. ‘You are?’
It bothers her for some reason. ‘Sure, sponsors booked it.’
‘Great,’ she says a second later, pushing out a bright smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘That will make it easier to talk.’
‘I’m not so sure about that. It’s not like we’re sharing a room or anything, honey.’
I say it to be deliberately provocative and am rewarded by the parting of her lips and a flushing of her cheeks. ‘Don’t call me honey,’ she says quickly. ‘And Iknowwe’re not sharing a room. Believe me, that’s not remotely on the cards.’
