Skeeter and the sadness so evident in every dragged-out step he took toward the riders’ dressing room must have shown on her face, and her father had noticed. It still didn’t hurt to play dumb. Innocent expression firmly in place, Riley raised her gaze to her father’s. “What do you mean?” “That one’s not for you.” He thrust his chin in the direction she’d been watching. “No bull riders for my baby.” His baby . Riley drew her brows down low at that comment. She was far from a baby, given she was her father’s partner in the business that provided champion stock for the best bull-riding series in the whole dang country. Stock contractor of the year for three years running, Butch Davis was an imposing man, well respected by everyone in this business, but he would always have a soft spot for her. She knew that. Since her mother had died years ago she was all her father had, but still, she was no baby. “I feel bad for him getting kicked off the tour, is all. It’s not like I want to marry him or anything.” At least not right now… “Good. Keep it that way.” It wasn’t Skeeter specifically her father objected to. It was bull riders in general. Riley didn’t know what he was worried about. No rider would even think of asking her out on a date. Hell, they barely talked to her. They were all too afraid of her father. She saw it in their expressions whenever he glared in the direction of any guy who dared look her way. She, however, was not afraid of her father. His declaration made her want to go out and do the opposite of what he said. It would serve him right if she did end up married to a bull rider. “Renegade looked good out there.” She changed the subject before she said something that would make the long ride home unbearable. There were close confines in the cab of that stock trailer and Mississippi was a long way away. “Yup. Not that it would have taken much to buck that kid off.” She frowned. “Skeeter is a good, consistent rider—” “He sure is. He’s gotten consistently bucked off for nine straight now.” He grinned at his own little joke. Defending Skeeter was no use. Her father would always side with the bulls against the riders. Whatever. She had more important things to worry about, such as if she’d get to at least say goodbye to Skeeter before he slunk off to the touring pros. With that goal in mind, Riley asked, “When are we heading home?” “Right after the championship round. Soon as we can get ’em loaded.” That was the answer she was expecting, though not necessarily the one she wanted. With them leaving right away she might not get to talk to Skeeter before then. But she couldn’t argue with her father’s decision. It was easier to drive in the middle of the night when there was no traffic. With two of them in the truck, they could take turns at the wheel if it became necessary, but usually she just chatted with her father to help keep him awake while he drove. And it would be cheaper than spending another night in a hotel. Not to mention less stressful on the stock than another night in the temporary bull housing. The bulls loved to buck in competition. That was obvious from their enthusiasm in the arena. Some bulls even played to the crowd as if they knew these people were cheering for them. But the animals also liked being home in familiar surroundings once their job was done. That they were leaving right after loading the truck meant Riley had to find Skeeter now or not at all. She hooked a thumb toward the back. “I’m gonna go hit the ladies’ room.” “Fine.” Her father nodded and turned back to look toward the action happening in the arena. A practical man, Butch could ignore his only child was a girl when she helped load the stock. He couldn’t when she talked about things such as ladies’ rooms or other, more feminine issues. Then, he either ignored her or changed the subject. Riley didn’t abuse her knowledge of