The four bulls were together in one of the larger pens. They were solid, PBR-worthy buckers, though not the championship contenders that Brock had always coveted. Getting into the pen with them would be too dangerous, but seen through the rails, the bulls appeared to be fine. None of them showed any sign of swelling, pain, or the two-fanged puncture wound of a rattlesnake bite.
“See anything?” he asked Tess, who stood next to him.
“No, but you might want to check back later. In an animal as big as a bull, a bite might not take effect right away.”
“Good idea.” Brock continued to study the bulls. “Damn, I wish I knew for sure how that snake got in the trailer.”
“You heard your man. It must’ve crawled into the straw pile and been pitched into the trailer by accident. You’re lucky it didn’t bite one of the men—or one of the bulls, as far as we know.”
“But why didn’t the men see it, or hear it? Wouldn’t it rattle a warning?”
“Maybe it crawled into the trailer before it was loaded, to get out of the sun. Even with the doors latched, there are ways a snake could get in.” Tess frowned at him, her gray eyes narrowing. “Are you suggesting it might not’ve been an accident?”
Was he? For a wild moment, Brock was tempted to share his concerns about blackmail. After all, she was his partner. But he checked the impulse. Sharing anything about his past would be crazy. He could only be safe by keeping the secret to himself. No one, including Tess, would understand what had really happened all those years ago.
And partner or not, he and Tess had a history of bad blood. If Tess were to learn the truth, there’d be nothing to stop her from using it against him.
“Is there anyone who might have put that snake in your trailer—some enemy wanting to cause trouble?” she asked.
“A man like me makes more than his share of enemies,” Brock said. “But I can’t think of anyone who’d sneak onto my ranch and put a snake in my trailer—even if they could. I guess nobody will ever know except the snake, and it’s dead.” Brock made a show of shrugging off his concern. “You’re sure you won’t come to lunch with me? You might find it interesting.”
“Maybe another time. But if you need to leave, I don’t mind keeping an eye on your bulls. If I notice anything wrong, I’ll call you on your cell.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks. I’ll owe you.”
Defiance flickered in her eyes, like lightning through gray storm clouds. “You don’t owe me a thing,” she said.
* * *
Tess watched him walk away—his confident stride matching his John Wayne stature and top-of-the-line Stetson. Brock was all attitude. But today she’d sensed that something was off. He’d seemed troubled, especially after the discovery of the rattlesnake in his trailer.
Tess had noticed the subtle twitch of a muscle in his jaw and the way his eyes shifted when he spoke. Whatever was bothering him, Brock was making an effort to hide it. But by now she’d spent enough time with the man to read the signs. Something was wrong.
Not that she gave a damn about Brock’s worries. His personal life was none of her business. But if the trouble had any bearing on her ranch, she was entitled to know.
Should she ask him? Tess weighed the question, then dismissed it. Prying would only put him on the defensive. If she needed to know something, for now, at least, she would have to trust him to tell her.
Leaning on the rails, she studied Brock’s bulls—two of them reddish tan, one creamy white, and one spotted. They were sturdy, well-bred animals, all with good bucking records. But none of them possessed the fire she’d seen in Whirlwind and Whiplash. What would she discover in Quicksand—with his lineage a total mystery? Her pulse stirred at the prospect of bringing out the greatness she’d glimpsed in the black bull.
But what if Brock was right? What would she do if Quicksand were to prove uncontrollable?
After a few more minutes of watching Brock’s bulls, and seeing no sign of trouble, she made her way back through the pens to Whirlwind. At the sight of her, the silver bull came to the rails, seeking attention. He snorted and closed his eyes with pleasure as Tess scratched behind his ears.
“I was hoping I’d find you here.”
Recognizing the voice, she turned to find Clay Rafferty coming around the corner of the pen. Tess’s pulse skipped. Rafferty, whom she’d met last fall in Las Vegas, was the livestock director for the PBR. As the man who chose the bulls to buck at PBR events, he held tremendous power over small stock contractors like the Champion family. It was Rafferty who’d picked Whirlwind out of a sea of contenders. It was also Rafferty who’d declared Whiplash too dangerous to compete. But then, with Whiplash’s fate hanging in the balance, Rafferty had phoned Brock and offered him a chance to rescue the condemned bull.
“It’s good to see you, Tess.” A stocky, affable man dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, he wore his authority lightly. But it was there, tough and unmistakable. If he’d sought her out, it had to be for a reason.
“I’ve noticed that Whirlwind, here, is having a great season, racking up the numbers.”
Of course, he’d noticed. Clay Rafferty, a former bull rider himself, noticed everything.
“He’s a great bull,” Tess said. “Of course, I hold my breath every time that gate swings open.”
“Don’t we all?” Rafferty smiled. “I hope he’ll be ready for the finals in May.”
Tess had been waiting for those words. She’d hoped that her bull would be chosen for the big event, but she’d learned that nothing was guaranteed.