Page 33 of Cowboy Stolen Kiss for Christmas

“Thank you.” She tipped her glass against his.

The slice of lemon perched on the rim of his glass got dislodged in the process and toppled into her glass.

Laughing, she took a sip. “I think it’s a sign,” she declared softly, raising her glass again.

He smirked. “To making lemonade together?” Life sure had dealt both of them enough lemons.

“I was going to say to us.” She smiled as they clinked glasses together again. “But that’ll work, too.”

“To us. I like the sound of that.” Two weeks from now, his and his brothers’ current contract at Castellano’s would run out. Though they were already negotiating the terms of a rodeo show for a couple of weeks this summer, the three of them were undoubtedly going to have to spend more time at Canyon Creek Ranch in the coming days. There was no way around it now that their foreman had given his notice.

He could only hope his increased absences from Pinetop wouldn’t hurt the progress he’d been making lately in his relationship with Laura.

The next day

Though it was a Tuesday evening, Castellano’s was nearly packed. By the weekend, they expected to be sold out again. The fact that the Carson brothers continued to pull record crowds was going to make it all the more difficult to determine what came next in their careers.

For now, though, Ames needed to focus on tonight’s rodeo comedy routine. The storyline involved a couple of dude ranch guests played by him and Flint. They were trying to learn how to be real cowboys under the laugh-out-loud tutelage of a salty range rider played by Nash.

He waited on the back of his bronco in the chute. It wasn’t an actual rodeo. Everything they did was strictly for entertainment purposes. There were no other riders competing against him, and the strap around his horse was strictly for show. It wasn’t the least bit cinched in. He’d literally taught his horse to rock and buck on command. At the end of their ride, no official score would be assessed.

He was less than thrilled to discover that the wrangler assisting him inside the chute this evening was the uncommunicative Oak. The young cowboy refused to make eye contact. The few times Ames had attempted to strike up a conversation with him, he’d mumbled a response that Ames couldn’t quite make out. However, he seemed comfortable with his duties. That’s all that really mattered.

Oak abruptly leaned down to fiddle with the decorative strap on the bronco Ames was seated on. “It’s a little loose,” he muttered, giving it a swift yank.

“What are you doing?” Ames gave him an exasperated look. “Now it’s too tight.” Before he could signal to the wranglers manning the gate that he needed an extra few seconds to make an adjustment, the whistle blew.

His bronco shot from the chute into the ring, rocking energetically back and forth. Ames found himself gripping the rope as tightly as he would have during an actual competition. He hadn’t prompted the horse to do anything yet. The creature’s current snorting and bucking were all on his own.

Not good. It dawned on Ames that he was on a genuine bronc ride tonight, brought on by the too-tight strap. Unfortunately, there were no pickup riders waiting on the sidelines to ride to his aid like there had been in the past.

I’m on my own. He managed to flick a warning look in Nash’s direction, but there was no guarantee that the fictitious dude ranch owner would interpret his silent SOS in time.

The horse’s movements grew more frenzied as he attempted to rock the cinch loose from his belly. Precious seconds ticked past — four, five, six…

People shot to their feet across the amphitheater, cheering Ames on. All he could do was grip the rope and hope for an opportunity to leap off and make a run for the gate.

A thunder of hooves moved in his direction. Out of the corners of his eyes, he watched his brothers converge on him from both sides. Nash reached him first, angling his mount in the same direction as the bucking bronco.

“Hop on,” he shouted.

Ames didn’t think. He simply acted. Moments later, he was hanging onto the back of Nash’s horse, being half pulled and half dragged toward the edge of the ring. He leaped and scissored his legs at the same time and managed to land on his feet, jogging the rest of the way to the gate.

Roman was holding it open, hollering his name and shooing him to safety. Oak was nowhere in sight. Flint was right behind Ames, herding the angry and frightened bronco from the ring. The gate clanged shut behind them.

The audience erupted into even louder cheers, clapping like crazy over the lifelike performance. They’d never need to know just how real it had been.

It took all hands on deck to subdue the bronco and remove the strap. Ames rubbed the horse’s neck and spoke soothingly to him until he calmed down. His reddish-brown coat was slick with sweat.

“You did good, boy!” He kept up a constant stream of praise as he led him down the ramp to the stables. Nash followed on his horse. They halted and faced each other at the bottom of the ramp.

Nash was scowling ferociously. “What happened up there?”

“Oak happened.” Ames spoke through gritted teeth. “Right before I left the chute, he said something about the strap being loose. Before I realized what he was up to, he reached down and gave it a yank, cinching it way too tight. The whistle rang, and you saw the rest.”

“Where is he now?” Nash swung his head around, angrily searching for the wrangler who’d put his brother in such a predicament. The young cowboy was nowhere in sight.

“It’s a good thing we’ve ridden bucking broncos before.” Ames lifted his arm to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.

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