Picking Roses Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  Picking Roses

  ISBN # 978-1-78651-004-4

  ©Copyright BA Tortuga 2016

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright February 2016

  Edited by Sue Meadows

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2016 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.

  Roughstock Sweethearts

  PICKING ROSES

  BA Tortuga

  Book two in the Roughstock Sweethearts series

  Rosie doesn’t date cowboys anymore, not since her husband died. Les, a cowboy to the bone, is ready to convince Rosie to change her mind.

  Rosie doesn’t date cowboys. She knows what kind of heartbreak can come when they get seriously injured. Roughstock rider Les is determined to change Rosie’s mind from the moment he gives her his seat on the bus. He knows she’s the one for him—he just has to convince Rosie.

  Adding to the difficulty is the fact that Les lives in Colorado and Rosie is in Texas. During rodeo season the distance doesn’t seem so huge, but when winter threatens to lock down Les’ Colorado ranch, how is he going to prove to Rosie that he’s worth the chances she has to take?

  Dedication

  To my daddy, who would never let a lady stand on a bus. You’re my hero. BA

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  La Quinta: The Blackstone Group

  Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

  Sprite: The Coca-Cola Company

  Pepto: Procter & Gamble

  Wranglers: VF Corporation

  Dodge: FCA US LLC

  ChapStick: Pfizer Consumer Healthcare

  Village Inn: American Blue Ribbon Holdings

  Old Chicago: CraftWorks Restaurants and Breweries

  Brookshire Brothers: Brookshire Brothers Grocery

  Cruel Girl Jeans: Miller International Inc.

  Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

  Beggin’ Strip: Nestlé Purina

  No Reservations: Warner Bros. Pictures

  Under a Tuscan Sun: Buena Vista Pictures

  Kleenex: Kimberly Clark Worldwide, Inc.

  Häagen-Dazs: General Mills

  Cato’s: The Cato Corporation

  Cosmopolitan: Hearst Magazines

  Toyota: Toyota Motor Corporation

  Frosty the Snowman: Jack Rollins and Steve Nelson

  Western Union: The Western Union Company

  Bud Light: Anheuser Busch InBev

  Coors: Coors Brewing Company

  Fritos: Frito-Lay

  Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.

  Popeye’s: AFC Enterprises

  Tylenol: McNeil Consumer Healthcare

  Neosporin: Johnson & Johnson

  Old Navy: Gap Inc.

  Taco Bueno: Palladium Equity Partners

  Jucy’s: Jucy’s Hamburgers LLC

  Google: Google Inc.

  Beau Jo’s Pizza: Beau Jo’s Management Company

  Jurassic Park: Universal Pictures

  Muttley: Hanna-Barbera Productions

  Oreos: Mondolēz International

  AAA: American Automobile Association

  Thermos: Thermos LLC

  Jack Daniel’s: Brown-Forman Corporation

  Safeway Trailer: Safeway Shelter

  Midol: Bayer Group

  Chapter One

  “I know it’s tough, Rose, but we need you there.”

  Rose Cutrer nibbled on her cuticle, then stopped herself and shook her head, even though she knew the man on the phone couldn’t see it, probably would ignore it if he could. No. No, she couldn’t. She didn’t want to go to Cheyenne. She didn’t want to go back to the rodeo life.

  She hadn’t traveled much with Timmy when he’d ridden the circuit. She hadn’t been the buckle bunny, short shorts and tank tops that showed everything type. Timmy had liked her for who she was. He’d loved her and he’d taken every opportunity he’d ever had to let her know. Hell, they’d dated for so long before they got married, and when it had finally happened…

  Well, they’d only just started playing house when things had gone to hell in a handbasket. She’d gone from girlfriend to fiancée to wife to widow in the blink of an eye.

  She pulled her finger out of her mouth again. God, years to break the habit and one single phone call brought it back in spades.

  God, what a mess.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry, Ace. I just can’t.”

  Presley jumped in her lap, her beautiful baby fuzzball yipping like he did whenever she got stressed out, then nuzzling her chin.

  Ace Porter made a noncommittal noise. “Amy is really tore up, Rose. You could help her out a lot by supporting her. And there will be a real nice memorial for Timmy.”

  She sighed again, shook her head again. “Ace, I don’t have the money. Traveling’s expensive, and I’d have to board Presley. I’m only working part-time at the library—I don’t get vacation time.” Or sick time. Or anything.

  “Well, now, don’t get upset at me for suggesting it, Rose, but I’ll pay for your trip. Flight and hotel and a spending allowance. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I feel like I really need you there. You’re so levelheaded, so calm.”

  Gracious, but Ace must be taking team-building lessons. Pep Talk 101.

  “Y’all don’t have something awful planned, do you? ’Cause I can�
�t bear that.” No fix ups. No blow-up, life-size Timmys. Nothing weird that would make her run or cry or puke.

  “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t do that to you.” No. No, Ace Porter had been good to her. The head of the league, and Timmy had just been a low-level rider…

  “I don’t know. What would I say to her? I mean, I… It’s just hard. That’s it. It’s just hard when they’re gone.”

  Her bright-eyed, goofy Timmy had been there one minute and literally, the next, he was gone.

  One bull, one hoof, one broken neck.

  Poof. His light had been extinguished.

  “Can I be blunt, Rose?” Ace waited for her murmured, “Mmmhmm” before going on. “You know how it is to be the one no one knows how to talk to. The wives can be a damned superstitious lot. They’re afraid to talk to the one who’s lost her man. She’s so damned young, honey, and so scared.”

  “Yeah.” Rose wasn’t, not anymore. Christ, she was gonna be twenty-six in a few weeks. Twenty-seven.

  Right. Twenty-seven.

  God.

  “Okay. Okay, Ace. If you’ll foot the bill, I’ll go. There’s nothing I can say to her, though, that will make it better.” Nothing. It hurt for a long time, every second, every breath, like hell. Then it got to be every few breaths. Nowadays it was this sneaky thing, like a sucker punch to the gut.

  “I know that. It just means she won’t feel so isolated.” Ace heaved a sigh. “Did I ever tell you how sorry I am, Rose?”

  “Yes, Ace. You did, and I appreciate it. Timmy… He would have done it anyway, even if he’d known. He loved riding bulls more than life.”

  More than her.

  “The game gets in the blood, honey.” Ace was grinning. She could just picture that lopsided dimple he had from a twice-broken jaw.

  “That’s what I hear. What are the dates you need me there again?”

  “The first week of Frontier Days.” They settled the rest of the business, Ace giving her the name and number of his assistant, who was going to call her about flights.

  She said her goodbyes then hung up. Presley was right there, yipping and panting and worrying over her, just like he always did.

  “I can’t believe I have to do this, Pres. I mean, Timmy’s gone. None of them want me around, not really, not without worrying…”

  They all felt sorry for her. They all took care of her any way they could. But no one wanted the bull rider’s widow around. No one.

  Not even her.

  Chapter Two

  Rose stepped out of the La Quinta in Cheyenne, then walked over to Beau Lafitte, the famous bull rider standing there, just as wee and sturdy as ever. Retirement had done the man good, she could tell. “Mr. Beau! Ace didn’t say you’d be here!”

  Wyoming was sure pretty—all big sky and crisp wind, but she’d been feeling a little fish out of water since she’d arrived yesterday. That Amy gal hadn’t made it through the first memorial deal—she’d collapsed before Rose got to meet her and was at the hotel with her momma, sedated. Rose, though, she’d stood through one and would stand through the second.

  “Rosie! Hey, lady.” Beau smiled, his one crooked tooth standing out a little. He stepped up and kissed her cheek. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. Good to see a familiar face, hmm?” she said. Beau had been Timmy’s hero, and they’d spent a lot of time drinking beer with him and Sam Bell. Beau was the closest thing she had to family, being a Cajun and her from New Orleans. “You heading to the park?”

  “I am. You?” He took her elbow, started walking her out to the parking lot.

  “Yeah. I was waiting on the bus dealie.” Her boots clacked on the asphalt. Tomorrow she was wearing flip-flops, damn it. All day. “How’s Mr. Sam?”

  “He’s better all the time.” Beau’s traveling partner, Sam Bell, had been…broken up good. Right at the end of the last season. “Calling me to bitch every day about putting the dishes up too high.”

  “Poor guy. I hated that he got hurt so bad.” She’d sent a card and couple of soft hats that she’d knitted, to help that poor busted head.

  “He sure appreciated that you wrote.” Beau took her to a big old pickup and opened the door. “I’ll give you a ride, if you like.”

  “You don’t mind?” The kids on that bus were rude and she couldn’t comfortably reach the straps if she had to stand. Sucked to be short.

  “Not one bit.” He helped her on up just about the time AJ Gardner trotted up. “Miz Rose. Y’all mind if I ride in the bumper seat?”

  “AJ.” Lord, AJ was looking worn around the edges, and she’d bet dollars to donuts that he needed to spend a couple three weeks at home with his woman. “I don’t mind if Mr. Beau’ll have you.”

  “Come on, then.” Beau grinned. “They didn’t give you a rental?”

  AJ shook his head. “Kynan and his crew took it last night to get burgers. Never brought it back.”

  “Lord, lord.” They loaded in. “How’s Missy and the kids?”

  “Good. I mean, Missy is tired, but she’s got a house-full. My oldest girl is starting to train to be a barrel racer, did you know?” He seemed so pleased. Missy must’ve been ready to whack him over the head.

  “Is she? That’s got to be exciting.” Or terrifying. Pick one. Christ. She couldn’t imagine having a little one racing at those speeds. She just wasn’t that brave.

  “Lord, yes. ’Fore long she’ll be competing at her first event.” AJ laughed, climbing in behind her.

  Beau got them going, nodding along with the radio. It all seemed so normal.

  She watched out the window. Timmy’d brought her here once. They’d spent all his day’s winnings on the carnival, she thought. There’d been rides and games and greasy, awful food. He’d kissed her a lot that day and they’d gone out after the park had closed and drunk beer and danced like they were the only two people in the world…

  She missed him, the lousy, rodeo-loving butthead.

  Beau maneuvered them through the maze of trucks and SUVs, past the buses, back to the participants’ parking. Oh, much better than the bus.

  “Are you here for the memorial deal, Beau?” Lord knew she could use a friend up there in the middle of the arena.

  “I’ll be up there, yeah.” He glanced over, eyes a slice of blue brightness among all the sun lines. “You holding up okay?”

  “I guess. It’s weird, seeing the footage of him. Last night they showed the wreck on the news, you know? I never want to see that again.”

  She’d been there when it had happened. He’d died in seconds. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye, not really. He’d been gone before she made it to his side.

  “I know it. Hell, we don’t want to see stuff like that, and we wasn’t married to him.” Beau reached over and patted her hand, which was clenched on her thigh. “You’ve got my number in your little phone, right?”

  “Yes, sir. I do.” Beau was good people. Honest and dear.

  “Well, if I ain’t around or you cain’t get to me, you call. Heck, text. I’ll give you a ride back, all right?”

  “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Beau, I appreciate it. I’m going to take it easy for the next two days. Wear flip-flops and explore.” Be lazy.

  At least until the big George Strait concert on Friday night.

  “There you go! There’s some cute shops downtown, Dillon says.”

  She’d never really gotten to know the clown, Dillon Walsh, but apparently he knew all the good places to go.

  “That’s what I hear.” The shuttle stopped downtown, too, so she should be able to manage.

  She glanced at her watch then sighed. “I have to go meet that girl from the newspaper. I’ll see you at the memorial?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Call me if you need me.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Rose squeezed his fingers, then took a deep, deep breath. One more thing then it was over and she could just tourist, maybe hang out with Beau or something.

  Anything.

&n
bsp; So long as she survived today.

  * * * *

  “Rose, this is Amy Martin. Amy, Rose Cutrer.” Ace sounded solemn, looked it, too, standing with his hat in his hand.

  The little gal was pregnant out to there and draped in black, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to stop. At least I made it here today.”

  “Hey, it’s all right. Everyone’s crying.” She glared at the other wives a little, but none of them came up. God damn, it wasn’t like dead was catching. You didn’t doom your man to getting his head kicked in by hugging a widow. Rose took Amy in her arms and patted her back.

  “You need to breathe, honey. Seriously. It’s gonna be a long day.” Rose gave Ace a nod then started heading Amy toward the little room they had set up—free drinks and tissues for the widows.

  “Hey, y’all.” Chrissy sat there already, all decked out in her sparkly blue shirt, prepared to ride. “Sorry that I didn’t wear black, but Dougie hated it and I wear blue for him, every ride.”

  “No worries. Have you met Amy?”

  “Mick’s wife. No, ma’am.” Chrissy stood, all damn near six feet of her. “I’m Chrissy Nail. My husband was killed in Iraq—he was a bullfighter when he wasn’t called up in the Reserves.”

  “Oh.” Amy sniffled. “I’m so sorry. Pleased to meet you.”

  “You too. There’s Cokes and waters. It’s damn dry here, y’all should drink up. God knows they’re going to let this drag on forever.”

  Rose did love Chrissy—Chrissy’d been the one widow who had emailed her when Timmy had died, offering to come to her and take her to lunch.

  The first thing Chrissy ever said to her was, “You didn’t die, honey. Don’t let anyone make you believe you should.”

  Now it was her turn to walk someone through the process, she guessed.

  She grabbed two Sprites and Chrissy offered her a flask, just to get her through, but she shook her head. “In this heat? I’d hurl. I’m a lightweight.”