Her Montana Cowboy

by Valerie Hansen

  “Perish the thought. I suppose he’ll make a great husband for somebody, but he’s not my type.”

  “My sentiments exactly.” Julie brightened. “Hey, maybe you should reconsider. Wilbur might build you a music room if you married him.”

  “I’d rather play on a city sidewalk and let people throw coins into my violin case than marry somebody for money. As far as I’m concerned, my music is my life.”

  “A violin won’t keep your feet warm in the winter,” Julie teased.

  “I suppose you think I should get an Australian shepherd like yours.”

  “It beats accepting a man our father has picked out for us. Besides, you could do worse. Cowboy Dan is a great dog.”

  Faith was smiling and shaking her head. “You always were a sucker for animals, Julie. You’ve brought home critters ever since you were little. It’s no wonder you like to hang out with sheep and sheepdogs.”

  “They accept me just as I am,” Julie countered. “And they never, ever try to guilt me into dating and marriage. What’s not to love about that?”

  All Faith said was “Amen, sister,” leaving Julie smiling behind her hand and hoping their father didn’t notice her lack of decorum as he began his speech.

  * * *

  Ryan chose to meander around the fairgrounds, getting his bearings and greeting old friends from prior rodeos before heading for the bandstand. The mayor’s oratory was not high on his bucket list, nor was he willing to stand around wasting time when he could be sizing up the livestock on which he made his living.

  Only one thing drew him to the bandstand. Julie had told him she’d be there, making a command performance, and he wanted to see her again.

  Why?

  Good question, he asked himself and answered. She wasn’t like most of the women he met in his travels. Matter of fact, she was so different, so open and honest, she’d made quite an impression on his jaded attitude about buckle bunnies. That term for the female groupies who frequented rodeos made him smile. He always kept his clothing pure Western and shunned the ornate silver and gold buckles he’d accumulated as prizes, rather than wear them as badges of honor. Every ride was another chance to prove himself to the judges and the fans. It wasn’t necessary to brag about his prowess by donning an enormous gaudy oval emblem at his waist.

  “Besides,” Ryan said aloud, “broncs and bulls don’t know the difference or care how many events I’ve won. They just want to buck me off.”

  Which was why he should be back at the stock pens taking another look at the caliber of animals he’d draw from later today. And he’d go soon, he promised himself.

  Right now, the focus of the crowd seemed to be shifting. People onstage were getting to their feet, and it looked as if Julie was about to accompany the mayor and his delegation to wherever their ancestors had buried the time capsule.

  As Ryan observed the area, he noted a black-and-white poster displayed on an easel. It was a fuzzy blowup of an old, damaged sepia photograph. Five men in dark suits, cowboy boots and bowler hats were leaning on shovels and grinning at the camera. Behind them was the same bandstand that still stood, but the nearby trees were a lot smaller. He judged the wooden box in the foreground to be about two foot square, give or take. At least they knew what the time capsule looked like.

  Curious, he followed the procession to a shady area behind the back of the old bandstand. There, the ground was dry and had been trampled by so many feet it would have been impossible to tell exactly where the current digging was going to take place if there had not been a cement marker.

  He eased to the side, placed his back against a wooden wall flanking the rear of the stage, folded his arms and waited. He’d abandoned any notion of finding Julie in that milling crowd when he’d seen how difficult it was going to be. Therefore, he’d set himself up so she could locate him. Assuming she wanted to.

  Ryan’s pulse jumped. Apparently, she did.

  A smile began to lift the corners of his mouth and had spread into a wide grin by the time she managed to work her way to him. “Hi,” he drawled. “I wondered where you’d gone after you came off the stage.”

  “I’m supposed to be up front with Dad and the others for a photo op. I’m playing hooky.”

  “Something tells me you don’t like being in the spotlight.”

  “You’re right. I only do it to please my folks, and then not always. I’m here today because I respect my father and want to support him. And Jasper Gulch.”

  “You’ve lived here all your life.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. And I plan to stay. It’s more than home, it’s where I have my business and where my family is.” She smiled wistfully. “What about you? Where does your family live?”

  “My mother’s in Bozeman.”

  “Wonderful. Then you can visit her while you’re in the neighborhood.”

  “I suppose.” He deliberately changed the subject and took her elbow. “Come on. Let’s go try to find a place where we can see the time capsule when they bring it up.”

  “Okay.”

  Julie gave no sign she was surprised by his abrupt action. Good. He didn’t like to talk about his past or what was left of his family. Growing up with an absent father and then losing his only brother in that terrible crash had been bad enough without having to explain to an outsider.

  Ryan’s jaw clenched. Even visiting his mother briefly was hard. Seeing her again rekindled all the feelings of loss and anger and guilt he’d borne for so long. He’d never attempt to describe all that to anybody else, of course. Just feeling it himself was painful.

  A stump amidst the grove of remaining trees caught Ryan’s attention and he pointed. “That way. Next to that bunch of reporters.”

  Julie smiled up at him. “I see what you mean. Think we’ll both fit on the stump?”

  “No, but I’ll make sure you don’t fall off,” he promised.

  Taking her hand, he helped her step up onto the rough, weathered surface and steadied her. “Can you see now?”

  “Yes! They’ve moved the marker that was on top and have dug almost down to the concrete vault. As soon as they pry up the lid and get the actual box out, the committee will carry it back to the stage and open it in front of everybody.”

  Watching her pretty face, Ryan noticed her smile fading and a scowl taking the place of her earlier elation. Her hold tightened. She glanced at him, clearly troubled.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked.

  Julie was acting as if she was in shock. Flashes from cameras blinded everyone.

  The TV crew had surged forward and one of them was shoving a microphone on a boom at the dignitaries. Someone was counting backward, “Three, two, one…” preparing to broadcast live.

  “We’re here in Jasper Gulch for the unearthing of their time capsule and the mayor has just opened the vault!” a female reporter shouted into her microphone as the crowd began to rumble with an undercurrent of disbelief and astonishment. “Get a shot of that hole,” the woman yelled aside to her camera crew before returning to her broadcast. “They’ve just opened the sealed vault, ladies and gentlemen. It’s empty!”

  Julie saw the reporter gesturing as the spectators pushed in around the site.

  She held out her hands to Ryan and he helped her safely step down from the stump.

  “What could you see?” he asked.

  “It’s gone,” Julie told him in a hoarse whisper. “The vault is empty. The capsule’s been stolen!”

  Chapter Three

  Julie lagged behind with Ryan as the crowd dispersed, following her father and the rest of the centennial committee around to the front of the bandstand. She wanted to look at the empty concrete vault herself, as if needing proof that the time capsule was really missing.

  “There’s no way anybod
y could find clues here now,” Ryan observed. “This dirt has been trampled by too many boots.” He was crouching next to the open hole while curious onlookers slowly passed by, whispering, pointing and conjecturing.

  “I know.” Julie was more than disappointed. She was crushed. “What a shame. Opening the capsule was one of our main events. I can’t imagine who would have bothered it.”

  Dusting off his hands, Ryan straightened. “One thing you might want to ask yourself is if it was taken recently or pilfered a long time ago.”

  “I’d never thought of wondering why the dirt looked freshly disturbed. I just assumed it was loose because somebody had prepared the site for easier digging when the TV cameras were rolling.”

  “That’s possible,” he replied with an arch of his dark eyebrows. “It seems likely that the theft occurred after everybody was reminded that the box existed. The old-timers who buried it in the first place knew what was inside. Folks today probably didn’t, unless that rickety old guy I saw you with earlier today was alive back then.”

  His lazy smile warmed her and temporarily alleviated some of the tension. Julie began to smile again. “Rusty Zidek. He’s a fixture around Jasper Gulch. I’ll do you a favor and not tell him you just said he was rickety. He’s proud of being in his nineties.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” Ryan replied. “If I were his age and still that spry, I’d brag about it, too.”

  She grew pensive. “You know, even if the original records of the burial of that box have been lost, it’s possible Rusty remembers rumors from when he was a boy. It might be worth asking him. I’ll suggest it to Dad in case he hasn’t already thought of it.”

  “Okay.” Ryan checked his watch. “I hate to miss any of this excitement, but time’s getting short. I’d better head over to the arena and see to my bareback riggin’.”

  “Where do you fall in the schedule?” Julie asked, fully intending to watch him ride every chance she got, as promised.

  “I’m fourth up in the bareback lineup, near the last in saddle bronc and the same in bull riding.” He grinned. “Guess the officials are saving the best for last.”

  “Good to see a humble cowboy for a change,” Julie quipped.

  “Hey, confidence is necessary if I intend to win,” Ryan countered. “You can’t be unsure of yourself and expect to stick eight seconds on a bucker, especially if it’s an eighteen-­hundred-pound bull.”

  She allowed herself to assess him for a few seconds, then said, “The bigger ones are probably a better fit for a guy as tall as you are. I imagine those small bulls are a lot harder to ride.”

  “Especially if they’re slab sided,” Ryan explained. “It’s like being a contestant in mutton busting when you’re a kid.”

  “That reminds me,” Julie said. “I have to see to the sheep I brought to town for that event. The children always look forward to pretending they’re big ol’ tough cowboys. It’s adorable to watch. I just hope my sheep don’t have nervous breakdowns.”

  “What little I know about sheep, it wouldn’t take much. They aren’t the most intelligent critters in the barn.”

  She huffed and planted her fists on her hips. “Well, they’re smart enough to stay away from wild horses and angry, bucking bulls.”

  Laughing, he touched the brim of his Stetson. “You’ve got a point there, ma’am.” As he backed away, he gave her a parting grin that made her toes tingle inside her boots.

  “I’ll pray for you. Okay?” she said.

  “Whatever.” Turning on his heel, he left her without further comment.

  As Julie watched him go, she pondered their previous conversations. Most riders she knew were pretty reliant on the good Lord to watch over them, and many could cite instances when they’d felt God’s protection, even if they’d been injured.

  Apparently Ryan Travers was a long way from embracing her kind of faith. Julie sighed, disheartened by that conclusion. It was not her habit to try to change folks when they were happy being whoever they’d decided they were, but in Ryan’s case she’d make an exception. Denying God’s loving kindness and infinite power was bad enough. Doing so when you regularly risked your life was much, much worse.

  Julie nodded and smiled at the accurate assessment. And he thought sheep were clueless.

  * * *

  For the first time in longer than Ryan could recall, he was having trouble keeping his mind on his work. He couldn’t have cared less about the missing time capsule; it was pretty Julie Shaw who occupied his thoughts.

  “That’s not good,” he muttered as he stood on a metal rung of the narrow bucking chute and tightened the cinch on the surcingle that was the main part of his bareback rigging. This rangy pinto mare wasn’t called Widowmaker for nothing. He knew she followed a pattern around the ring that was not only erratic, she tended to change her tactics if the rider on her back got the least little bit off center.

  Off center was exactly what he was, too, Ryan concluded, except his problem was mental. He could not only picture Julie Shaw as if she were standing right there next to the chute gates, he could imagine her light, uplifting laughter.

  Actually, he realized with a start, that was what he was hearing. He started to glance over his shoulder, intending to scan the nearby crowd and, hopefully, locate her.

  “Clock’s ticking, Travers,” the chute boss grumbled. “You gonna ride that horse or just look at her?”

  Rather than answer with words, Ryan stepped across the top of the chute, wedged one leather-gloved hand into the narrow, rawhide handhold that was his only lifeline while aboard the bronc, folded back his fancy chaps and settled himself as gently as possible.

  The horse’s skin twitched. Her ears laid flat. She was gathering herself beneath him, knowing it was nearly time.

  Ryan raised his free hand over his head and leaned way back so his spurs would fall at the point of the horse’s shoulder when she took her first jump. Then he nodded to the gate man.

  The latch clicked.

  The mare leaped.

  Ryan held tight, determined to keep his feet in the proper position for a legal mark-out. If he let either heel pull away or drop too low before the mare’s front feet landed that first time, he’d be disqualified. Then it wouldn’t matter how well he rode or how hard this horse bucked. He wouldn’t get a score. Period.

  Since half the points awarded were for the rider’s performance and half were for the horse’s, he also wanted her to do well, meaning he had to not only keep his balance, he had to make the proper countermoves to get the most out of this ride. Eight seconds didn’t seem like very long until you had your fingers wedged into a grip sticky with resin, the horse’s hind legs were flying so high you were being flung against her spine and the whiplash made it feel as if your head was fixin’ to part company with the rest of you.

  Ryan didn’t attempt to do anything but ride until he heard the horn blast announcing his success. Then he straightened as best he could and worked his fingers loose with his free hand while pickup men maneuvered their running mounts close enough to help him dismount.

  One of the men flicked the flank strap and it dropped away, stopping the mare from trying to kick it loose.

  Ryan grabbed the other rider’s arm and released his glove while the mare traveled on without them.

  “Thanks, man,” Ryan said, dropping to the ground next to the pickup horse and getting his balance well enough to scoop up his bent Stetson and dust it off.

  “Watch it. Here she comes again,” a wrangler warned. “She’d as soon run you down as look at you.”

  It was immediately clear to Ryan that the man was right. The rangy brown-and-white horse had missed seeing the exit gate on her first pass and was coming around again. Fast and furious.

  He leaped up on the nearest fence. To his delight, Julie Shaw and a few others he reco
gnized from before were watching. They had parked a flatbed farm truck near the fence beside the grandstand and were watching from secure perches in its bed.

  Julie had both arms raised and was still cheering so wildly she almost knocked her hat off. “Woo-hoo! Good ride, cowboy!”

  Ryan’s “Thanks” was swallowed up in the overall din from the rodeo fans. Clearly, Julie wasn’t the only spectator who had been favorably impressed.

  A loudspeaker announced his score as eighty-six and a quarter.

  Julie cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “You were robbed!” which made him smile even more broadly.

  He knew he should immediately report to the area behind the strip chutes and pick up his rigging. And he would. In a few minutes. As soon as he’d spoken to his newest fan.

  The soles of his feet prickled in his boots as he jumped off the outside of the fence and reached behind to loosen the thigh buckles on his chaps.

  “I’ll take any decent score I can get,” he said, wanting to reassure her that he wasn’t upset about her hometown event. “When I’m going for all-around in rough stock, every completed ride is a good one.”

  She climbed down to join him and lightly touched his arm before facing the people she was with. “Ryan Travers, this is my sister, Faith. You probably noticed her at the parade. And this is Hannah Douglas, one of my very best friends. The adorable twins are hers. The boy is Corey and the girl is Chrissy.”

  Ryan tipped his hat. “My pleasure. I think I met Mrs. Douglas at city hall when I checked in as a competitor.”

  “That’s right,” the dark-haired, dark-eyed young woman said. She laughed lightly. “At least I think we met. I’ve seen so many strange cowboys lately they’re all starting to look alike.”

  “Not to Julie, they don’t,” Faith chimed in.

  Ryan almost laughed aloud when he saw Julie shoot a look of disdain at her sister. She was even cuter when she was blushing, and she was certainly pink enough now. So much so that the contrast of her freckles had almost vanished.