Ride Rough - Tessa Layne Page 0,58

helping Cody and Colt with their bull-riding school.”

Trace admired the heck out of those two. They had it all. But it wasn't like Trace could just march up to them and ask for life lessons on how to settle down and... just be happy. “So how do they do it?"

Ty nodded. “Well, first, they married great women. Find yourself a great woman and you can overcome anything.”

Ha. His brain froze, fixating on a vision of Cecilia laughing at something he'd said. It was one thing to have an affair, but quite another to ask her to change her dreams to match his. “Easier said than done," he mumbled with more than a little frustration.

“Right?” Ty braced his hands on the pen. “Colt and his wife traveled together for a bit, Cody and Carolina did the long-distance thing. Then they both retired. You can’t ride bulls forever."

“So what you’re saying is that you guys quit your careers for love?” Well, shit. He was selling his house, but would he be happy never working on another set? Even if Cecilia asked? That... was a hard pill to swallow.

“No, it’s not that. They didn’t quit, their priorities shifted. Look, rodeoing is a hard life. Most of us do it for a time, then do something else. And for everyone, that something else is different.”

He hadn't looked at it in terms of shifting priorities... so maybe the choice wasn't either - or? And if that was the case, was he willing to go the distance with Cecilia even if he had to wait for her to be ready? He could wait. But for how long? a small voice taunted him. Your mother never returned. He was old enough to realize that had everything to do with her, but the familiar pang ached nonetheless. He'd always longed for a family, yet had organized his life so that a family of any kind wasn't possible. And that... was going to take some unpacking. “Huh.” Trace made a face. “You know the problem about asking for advice?”

“It’s never what you want to hear?” Ty grinned. “That’s why I never ask for it.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

August

"CiCi," Dottie hollered from the front. "You got company."

Cecilia dried her hands and pushed through the swing doors that led from the kitchen to the front of the diner. She quickly ran through a list of potential visitors and fell short. Who in the heck would be visiting her at work on a Thursday? Dottie motioned to the well-dressed woman sitting at the end of the Formica counter. Obviously, she wasn't from here. And upon closer inspection, Cecilia was quite certain she'd never seen the woman before in her life. "Uh, hi," she said politely, staying behind the counter and making no move to shake hands. "Can I help you?"

The woman flashed her a plastic smile. Now that she'd been home a couple of months, stuff like that was instantly recognizable. Had she fallen into that while she'd been away? Probably, and thank goodness being home in Prairie was like a giant reset button. "I sure hope so. You're Cecilia Sanchez, yes?"

She nodded. "And you are?"

"Marissa Michels, editor-in-chief of the Atlantic Journal." She extended her hand across the counter. "I'd like to talk to you about a story you submitted."

Cecilia cocked her head, baffled. "I don't think I submitted any story?" She was sure of it.

"You'll be getting a call shortly from my husband, Everic Martin. He's editor-in-chief at the D.C. Press. Tell him I beat him to the punch."

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

"I told him yesterday this was my story and he damn well better lay off."

Cecilia blinked. "What are you talking about?" her voice rose, but not too much, because the diner was still half-full of morning regulars.

"Your story? About the Chicago Madame?" Dottie said in hushed tones, looking both ways to make sure no one was listening.

"Wait." Cecilia was instantly on guard. "How do you know about that?"

"Can I have some coffee? Three creams and two sugars."

Was this woman for real? "Yeah, sure. Be right back." Cecilia shook her head and filled her cup, then slid over three creams and two sugars, just like she'd asked.

Marissa doctored her coffee while she spoke. "I got it from a friend who got it from a friend who thought it would be a good fit for our audience. But then my husband stole it off my dresser, and now he's intent on stealing you from me." She swirled a red-painted fingernail at Cecilia's nose,