This had been his year, the year everything finally came together and he seemed to be able to do no wrong. After spending his entire adult life getting tossed around like a rag doll by two-thousand-pound animals hell-bent on killing him, he was finally going straight to the top. He’d racked up so much prize money that it would qualify him for the World Championship even if he never rode another bull until then. The championship had been his to lose.
And he had the most gut-wrenching feeling that was exactly what had just happened.
He slowly opened his eyes again and looked at the landscape beyond. The view of the valley had always been perfect from this porch, another irony that had never escaped him. The rainstorm had cleansed the air, sharpening and enhancing the beauty of the valley as if he were looking through a high-definition lens.
And there it was. A rainbow.
A fucking rainbow.
And he swore he could hear his father laughing.
Shannon pulled her truck to a halt in front of the small farmhouse that served as the office of the Rainbow Valley Animal Shelter. True to its Victorian roots, it was painted a creamy yellow with dark rose trim. Intricate scrollwork framed the front steps, with paired Doric columns supporting the wraparound front porch. Hanging baskets full of pink periwinkles swayed lightly in the breeze.
She thought about the downtown loft she’d owned in Houston, with its soaring ceilings, exposed duct work, and stair railings made of industrial pipe. It had been the height of chic and trendy, a perfect place to entertain clients who were equally chic and trendy. But now it seemed as if the woman who’d lived that life was seeping out of her body one breath at a time, soon to be gone forever.
Shannon got out of her truck, and Goliath leaped out after her. He followed her through the front door, then slinked over to his favorite spot in the corner behind her desk.
Freddie Jo sat at her computer, her fingers flying over her keyboard. She wore a shirt that was working overtime to harness her ample chest, and she’d stuffed the lower half of her plus-size figure into a pair of jeans that hugged every bump and bulge. She said the best day of her life was when they’d started putting Lycra in blue jeans.
“So how was lunch?” she asked, never looking away from her computer screen.
“Good,” Shannon said. “Rosie has a new avocado and bacon burger. Try it next time you’re there.”
“Rita okay?”
“Yeah. She’s going to pop by in a few days to say hi.”
Freddie Jo hit one last button on her keyboard and her printer began to hum. She kept the business end of the shelter running with a smooth efficiency that had always astonished Shannon. But because Freddie Jo wrapped every word she spoke in a heavy backwoods Texas twang, a lot of people were lulled into thinking she couldn’t possibly be as competent as she was. Big mistake. Beneath that pile of Texas big hair was more than just a set of false eyelashes and mammoth turquoise earrings. There was also a brain that never slept.
“So what did you decide?” Freddie Jo said.
“About what?”
“The funeral.”
“Oh. That.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “I decided it would be better if I didn’t go. After all, we didn’t really know each other all that well, so…”
Her voice trailed off. She opened her lower desk drawer and deposited her purse inside it.
“I heard he was a real hell raiser when he lived here before,” Freddie Jo said.
“Who did you hear that from?”
“Just about everyone who lived here back then. Soon as his father died, the gossip started.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Shannon said. “He’s gone now.” Thank God.
Shannon turned to find Bridget sitting in her chair, as usual. And, as usual, when she tried to lift the hefty calico tabby, she protested by turning onto her back and transforming herself into a spineless two-ton weight.
“My chair,” Shannon said, grunting with the effort of picking her up and depositing her on the floor. The cat looked back over her shoulder with extreme kitty displeasure, then sauntered away.
“I think she just flipped you the bird,” Freddie Jo said.
“Hey! Do I curl up on her rug? Pee in her litter box? Play with her toys? No, I do not.”
“You’re forgetting cat psychology. What’s hers is hers, but what’s yours is up for grabs.”
Which was why Shannon had once found Bridget sleeping inside her open purse, with nothing but