A Cowboy's Pride

by Pamela Britton

  “I actually like the Chris LeDoux cover of this song better than the Rascal Flatts version.”

  When she glanced over at him, his expression clearly said, yeah, okay.

  “I love Chris LeDoux songs. I hear his concerts were something else.”

  A nod again, then a small “Yeah.”

  Well, at least they’d progressed to a word now. That was something.

  “What an amazing life. Rodeo cowboy, world champion, Garth Brooks mentioning him in that song and then, suddenly, world fame. Did you know he sold nearly a quarter of a million albums out of the trunk of his car, all of them recorded in his dad’s basement?”

  “Do you really blame yourself for Braden’s death?”

  She nearly swerved. The question, coming as it did out of the blue, was a shock.

  “I did.” She swallowed hard. “It took me a few months to realize Braden didn’t have to do what he did, he didn’t have to glance down at his phone. He could have ignored me.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  Was he trying to make her feel uncomfortable? Was that his plan? Revenge for threatening to call his mother? “He didn’t, and that was his choice.”

  He went back to staring out the passenger window. Time to ask him a hard-hitting question then, she thought.

  “Do you honestly think Dustin would be angry that you survived the wreck and he didn’t?”

  That got his attention. He no longer stared outside the window.

  “Think about it, Trent, because I’m sure somewhere in that cranium of yours is a sense of guilt that you’re too proud to admit you have. Never mind the physical trauma you’ve been through, my point is you don’t survive a wreck where your best friend died without feeling something.”

  His head tipped away. “Was psychotherapy part of your training?”

  He’d meant the words sarcastically, but she didn’t care. “I majored in sports medicine, but I took psychology classes, too, mostly because I wanted to be able to help athletes through the mental game of making a comeback once they’d been rehabilitated.”

  His jaw muscle ticked, as if he was clenching his teeth, but he might be tuning her out, too. He wore no hat today, but he still managed to appear the consummate cowboy with his five-o’clock shadow and square chin. He’d fit right in at a roping or a branding. Well, aside from the wheelchair.

  “Are you hearing what I have to say? You don’t have to be ashamed of yourself. Or your injuries. Let go of your shame. Be proud that you’re a survivor.”

  She didn’t think he would answer, but he did. “Nothing to be proud of. I lived. Dustin didn’t.”

  “Don’t waste that life, then.”

  “I don’t plan to.”

  At last. A conversation of sorts.

  “You’d make a hell of a coach. I’m sure one of the intercollegiate rodeo teams would love to have you.”

  “Do you compete?”

  The question took her by surprise. “You mean on the rodeo circuit?” She shook her head. “I was never much into rodeo. I met Braden in high school. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t know a pigging string from a barrier.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. It was impossible to grow up in northern California without being aware of cowboys and rodeo, but neither had been her thing. She’d been the science geek. He’d been the high school rodeo star. They’d met in P.E. The rest had been history, until... She shook the thought away.

  If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

  “Do you even like rodeos?”

  “I like them.” She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “I just don’t like the lifestyle. All those performances. Wondering when you’ll get your next paycheck. So many days on the road.”

  Finally, he held her gaze. “So, it’s safe to say you wouldn’t have been the type to throw yourself at me back when I was world champion.”

  What was it about him that could catapult her into an instant bout of self-awareness? Damn it.

  “You’re still a world champion.” She flipped on her blinkers and prepared to turn onto the main highway. “And, no, I’m not, nor have I ever been, a buckle bunny.” She glanced around to make sure the road was clear. “What about you? Got a girlfriend?”

  She peeked at him in time to see him smirk. “Got a friend. She’s a girl.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  “Since college.”

  “You went to college?”

  He nodded, but only a small one. “Majored in communications.”

  “Ah.” She smiled in his direction. “The truth comes out. You secretly want to be a broadcaster.”

  “No. I received a scholarship and when it came time to declare a major, I chose something that would allow me to meet pretty girls.”

  She laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  They settled into an easy conversation then. As they drove through pine-studded hills and then, later, through a desert valley, she learned his “friend who was a girl” owned a business that she’d just sold, and that she was making a bid for the National Finals Rodeo next year in barrel racing. And that his mother was his best friend. And that before his wreck, he’d been thinking about retiring to his ranch in Colorado, only he’d wanted to win one more championship, had been poised to do exactly that...before.

  She told him about her dream of working for a football team. It all sounded silly now, almost childish. She no longer watched pro ball every weekend. And these days she couldn’t imagine a life away from the ranch, but that’s what her goal had been, back when she was nineteen. Six years and the death of the man she’d been slated to marry sure could change things.

  “Just where the heck are you taking me?”

  Oops.

  She’d managed to forget their destination, at least for a little while.

  “You’ll see,” she said evasively.

  “In another half hour we’ll be in...”

  She knew what he’d been about to say: Reno.

  And then he straightened, his face going slack for a moment before he shot her a look that made her wince.

  “Where. Are. You. Taking. Me?” His words were sharp—like gunfire.

  But he’d figured it out, even though she’d purposely tried to keep him distracted, and herself, if she was honest.

  “Surprise,” she said. “I thought you might like to see some of your old friends.”

  His face had gone ashen, his lips from relaxed to taut.

  “Turn the heck around.”

  Her stomach flipped again. “Too late.”

  Chapter Twelve

  He would have jumped from the truck, except he couldn’t. No matter how much he demanded she turn around, she ignored him.

  “I don’t have tickets yet,” she said as they crested a small hill, houses and industrial buildings sprawled out to the left of the freeway, barren brown mountains to the right. “I figured we could purchase them at the door.”

  “You can’t make me go in.” Anger made it difficult to form words for a moment. “I won’t.”

  “Nonsense.”

  He turned on her before he could think better of it. “What the hell is your problem?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want anything to do with the sport of rodeo. Not anymore.”

  “You’ll change your mind.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the massive Livestock Event Center loomed in the distance. A banner stretched across the roadway, one that read Reno Rodeo: Richest Rodeo in the West and one he’d seen numerous times over the years.

  He groaned inwardly.

  “Crowded for being so early,” she muttered to herself as she navigated traffic. “I thought the rodeo didn’t start for a couple of hours yet.�
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  “I warn you. I’m not leaving this truck.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Never, ever, had he felt so impotent. And so angry. Not since he’d woken up from a medically induced coma and discovered he was paralyzed. Not since Saedra had told him his worst fear had come true: Dustin was dead. Not since he’d seen his bid for another world championship come to a screeching, grinding halt.

  “You can’t make me do something against my will.”

  He knew he sounded like a petulant child. God, that was all he sounded like lately. But he flat-out refused to do her bidding.

  As it turned out, he had little choice.

  She parked in the spectator area, but the lot was butted up next to competitor parking, and some familiar faces were less than twenty feet away. He tried to scrunch down in his seat because the last thing he wanted or needed was for someone to recognize him. As she pulled into a spot, he could plainly see the men and women riding horses, carrying rigging bags or walking back to their trailers. Damn it. Why hadn’t he worn a cowboy hat? At least then he could have shielded his face with the brim of his hat.

  “I’ll get your chair.”

  “No—”

  She was out of the truck before he could say another word, reappearing again on the other side, the maroon long-sleeved T-shirt she wore hugging her every curve. It had a black scroll-like design across the front, one that seemed to accentuate her chest, and Trent wondered if she’d worn the thing on purpose. Coupled with her jeans she looked entirely too sexy for his peace of mind.

  “Okay. Here we go.” She quickly removed and then opened his chair. When she pulled on his door next, he didn’t move.

  “I told you, I’m not getting out.”

  “Then we’re going to have a problem.” She swiped a strand of hair off her face, the long tresses so black they almost looked blue in the afternoon light.

  “Leave me here.”

  “No. Your friends wouldn’t like that.”

  It took a moment for her words to penetrate, and then in an instant he gleaned her plan. Still, he asked, “What friends?”

  She smiled. “The ones who expect to see you today.” Though maybe that grin was tinged with guilt. “I called your mom this morning. She, in turn, called some of your rodeo buddies.” Alana increased the brightness of her smile. “Quite a few of them are here already, apparently all anxious to see you. I’m to take you inside no later than five.”

  He was going to kill his mother.

  “I guess it’s been a while since your friends have seen you.”

  Not since the hospital. Sure, they’d called. He’d ignored them.

  “Come on.” She patted the chair. “I don’t want to be late. I guess one or two of them are competing tonight.”

  In the distance, he could hear screams coming from the carnival rides out front. His own screams echoed inside his head.

  “By the way, your mom said if you give me any trouble, I’m to call some of your friends and tell them to come and get you.”

  Son of a—

  “But I’d really hate to do that.” She stuffed her hand in her pocket, withdrawing a black cell phone. “Still, I have all their numbers programmed...”

  “Fine.”

  He had no choice. She’d known that. Just like she’d known earlier that threatening to call his mother would get him to do her bidding. This whole thing had been a setup.

  “Good.” She tucked her phone back in her pocket, with good reason. Once his friends realized he was in Reno, they’d hunt him down. He knew it and she knew it, too. Damn it.

  She patted his chair as if he were a damn five-year-old. He twisted in his seat, pushed himself toward the edge with the help of a handle near the front door. His legs unfolded all on their own as Alana placed the chair beneath him.

  “All set?” she asked when he was settled.

  He didn’t answer.

  “You’ll have to point out your friends, although I suppose they’ll recognize you all on their own. We’re right on time, so they should be on the lookout. I think they have a welcome-back party scheduled.”

  She wheeled him toward the competitors’ entrance. Behind him, he could hear cows mooing, people laughing, and more vehicles arriving.

  In all too short a time, he heard a woman call out, “Trent!” and his head jerked up. “That you?”

  Saedra.

  Despite his dread, his spirits lifted. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Her grin was as bright as the white horse trailers around them. “A bunch of the guys chartered a flight for this morning. They gave me a ride.”

  “Why, as I live and breathe,” someone else said. “If it ain’t Trent Anderson.”

  Buster Stone, one of his closest rodeo friends, came from his right, a wide smile on the cowboy’s face, one emphasized by a handlebar mustache that stuck out like cat whiskers. The rodeo announcer looked tickled pink, and despite his anger, Trent found himself smiling back.

  “It is Trent,” another man said, one of his fellow rough-stock riders, a beefy cowboy with a black hat, who came forward and held out his hand. Trent took it.

  Before he knew it, he had a crowd around him, old friends and some new coming at him from all directions, although it was Saedra he was most happy to see. Her long blond hair fell nearly to his waist when she bent down and hugged him, the scent of her was so familiar and so very dear to him that he held her for a second longer than necessary.

  “I was worried you might not come,” she said for his ears alone.

  “I wasn’t told we were coming.”

  As she straightened away from him, Saedra’s eyes shifted to Alana. “I think I’m going to like this girl.”

  “Move over!”

  Trent froze.

  “By God, when I heard the rumors, I couldn’t believe they were true.”

  Mac McKenzie barreled through the crowd, nearly knocking Buster on his ass in his hurry to reach him. “Trent Anderson, where the hell have you been?”

  Hiding.

  “Trying to get well.”

  His former roping partner damn near jerked him from the chair, and when he drew back, Trent could have sworn he saw tears in his eyes.

  “Damn you, Trent Anderson, it’s good to see you.” He clapped him on the shoulder.

  He locked eyes with Alana, startled to admit his anger had completely vaporized because, yes...it was good to be back.

  * * *

  THEY TOOK HIM to a horse trailer with living quarters in the front, someone having hung up a sign that said Welcome Back, Trent across the front of its white surface. Alana smiled when she saw it, happy that she’d gotten him to their destination with a minimum of fuss.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell him you were coming here.”

  Trent’s “friend who was a girl” smiled at her, the crowd that greeted them at the gate following in their wake. One of them pushed Trent, although she was certain Trent wasn’t happy about that. Still, he bore it well. He was cautiously excited, she noted. No longer miserable, but still a little anxious.

  “I knew if I told him what I wanted to do, he wouldn’t come.”

  She glanced back at Saedra just in time to see the side of her mouth tip up. “That’s for sure.”

  She was beautiful, this friend of his. Long, straight blond hair. Blue, blue eyes. And a wide mouth with plump lips that would have been the pride of a plastic surgeon if they’d been fake, although Alana suspected they were completely natural. She didn’t think Saedra was the type of woman who would surgically alter herself.

  “I’m glad you made it.”

  “Me, too.” Alana sighed. “The man’s been a real pill.”

  Saedra nodded in commiseration. “You should have seen him before he left.
His mom was ready to disown him.”

  A horse galloped between them and a neighboring trailer, and the parking area where they stood was packed with all types of rigs. In the distance, Alana could hear people laughing and screaming on the rides out in front of the arena. The smell of corn dogs reached them all the way out here.

  “He called me the other day, you know,” Saedra said. “I think he was hoping I’d tell him to come home.”

  Were they more than just friends? Alana wondered. By “home,” did she mean a home she shared with Trent? Alana searched Saedra’s eyes, but she could see no evidence of anything more than curiosity. Of course, the sun was behind them, so the woman’s face was partly in shadow.

  Taking a deep breath, she uttered the words she hadn’t wanted to say to her over the phone. “I don’t see why he’s not walking.”

  Saedra froze. “Really?”

  Alana crossed her arms. “He has very little atrophy, Saedra, certainly not as much as I would expect, given his disability.” She took a deep breath. Friend or girlfriend, the woman might prove a valuable ally in helping Trent. “I think he has PTSD.”

  The blonde’s brows shot up. “Post-traumatic stress disorder?”

  “It can do funny things, like make you believe you’re paralyzed when you’re really not.”

  They both turned back to Trent. Lord help her, he was actually smiling at something someone said. A relaxed smile. A happy smile, the grin completely transforming his face. He was pleased to be among his friends.

  From his right, a scantily clad brunette approached the group, and if her skintight white T-shirt wasn’t a dead giveaway as to her intentions, the Daisy Duke shorts and cowboy boots would have sealed the deal.

  Oh, great.

  If ever she needed a reminder of why she shouldn’t, wouldn’t, think of this man as more than a patient, there it was. One day he would walk again. More than likely he would rejoin the rodeo circuit, oh, not as a rough-stock rider, but certainly in some other capacity. She wanted no part of rodeo life and the buckle bunnies that went along with it.