The Cowboy Way

by Christine Wenger

  Kevin was her whole life, and to make things up to him, she would give him the world if she could. But since she couldn’t, the least she could do was give him Jake Dixon.

  Jake signed a dozen autographs in front of the baggage claim area at the little airport outside Mountain Springs. When he was on top of the Professional Bull Riders point standings, hundreds of people used to crowd around him. He’d loved every minute of it.

  A dozen fans would have to do, since these days he was ranked number thirty-nine out of forty-five pro bull riders. He was just hanging on to the tour by his ragged fingernails.

  Jake checked his watch for the hundredth time. Instead of being cooped up in the dinky little airport, he would rather be mending fences or working with the new mustang he’d just bought from Joe Watley, a stock contractor.

  Better yet, he’d rather be riding bulls on the Professional Bull Riders tour and working on pumping up his ranking.

  But nothing was scheduled for the month of July on the tour, so he’d take care of business at the ranch and work on organizing the Jake Dixon Gold Buckle Bull Riders Challenge and Wheelchair Rodeo like he’d done for the past two years.

  From what he could tell so far, they were going to have a bigger crowd than ever for the Gold Buckle Challenge. Area hotels were booked solid and so were area campgrounds. This meant a nice boost to the local economy and an even bigger boost for the Gold Buckle Ranch.

  He really loved organizing and running Wheelchair Rodeo for the kids. At least he was doing something that made him feel needed instead of angry and frustrated, the way he usually did these days.

  He walked the short distance to the one waiting room, his back and right leg screaming for mercy. He checked the clock and sat down on a yellow plastic chair that was welded to three other yellow plastic chairs. Stretching his legs in front of him, he waited. Fifteen minutes later, people began filing into the waiting room.

  He watched and waited, but others picked up all the passengers. Soon he was alone.

  Shifting in his chair, he pulled the piece of paper his mother had given him from the back pocket of his jeans and checked it against the sign to the left of the door. Flight 1843. This was the correct gate.

  Jake looked around for someone to ask about Beth and Kevin Conroy and when they might be arriving.

  “Mom, it’s him! It’s Jake Dixon! He’s really here! He’s here!”

  Jake couldn’t help but grin as he found the source of the noise—a cute-as-hell, freckle-faced boy in a wheelchair.

  The beautiful blonde who pushed the boy stifled a yawn. It must have been a long flight.

  The boy wiggled in his wheelchair and waved his hands in the air. “Jake! Jake! Remember me, Kevin Conroy? And this is my mom.”

  Jake tipped his hat to her. Immediately he was drawn to her eyes. They were as green as the new grass that sprouted along the Silver River in the springtime.

  “Wyoming will never be the same, now that your biggest fan has landed, Mr. Dixon.” She held out her hand. “I’m Beth Conroy. As you now know, this is Kevin. You’ve met him at the Tucson Rodeo a couple of times.”

  He shook her hand, glad for the heads-up. He’d met so many kids over the years, he couldn’t remember them all.

  “Sure. Howdy, Kevin. Good to see you again.” He hunkered down and shook Kevin’s hand. The boy had a nice strong grip, and his eyes were round with excitement.

  What a darn shame that he was in a wheelchair. What a darn shame that any child in this world had to be disabled, handicapped, impaired—whatever the latest politically correct term was. It always twisted his gut. That was one of the reasons he’d started Wheelchair Rodeo—to give kids like Kevin the chance to be like other kids.

  “Are you ready for Wheelchair Rodeo, Kevin?” Jake asked.

  “Yes. I can’t wait. It’s going to be awesome!”

  “We have a great time every year.”

  The boy had a death grip on Jake’s hand and was still pumping away.

  “Is Clint Scully going to be at the Gold Buckle?” Kevin asked.

  “Sure. I’m expecting Clint anytime now. Joe Watley arrived a couple of days ago. Cody’s here. Wayne and Trace are here. Ramon is arriving later in the week. More are coming in every day.”

  The boy was ready to rocket out of the chair at that news. “Oh, wow! Oh, cool! This is awesome!”

  “Kevin, Mr. Dixon is going to be needing his hand back,” his mother said, her green eyes twinkling.

  Jake laughed and stood up slowly, his knees and back grinding painfully. Every bone in his thirty-two-year-old frame ached like a sore tooth. He had one month to heal from his latest round of injuries and start his comeback. The next three months of the tour would be crucial. Just one more World Finals in Vegas…

  “It’s fine with me if he calls me Jake, and you, too, ma’am. We’re not formal here.”

  Kevin finally released his hand. “What’s wrong, Jake? You in pain? It was Scooter who stomped on your legs, right?”

  “Scooter got me pretty good in Oklahoma City, but I think the worst came from Prickly Pear way back at the Billings event. White Whale made it worse in Loughlin. But I’ll be okay.”

  “Just another day at the office. Right?”

  He choked back a laugh. “Right, Kevin.”

  Jake felt uncomfortable talking about himself. Besides he had no business talking about his minor injuries when the boy was in a wheelchair.

  He hadn’t read all the files yet, so he didn’t know Kevin’s history. His folks were sticklers about keeping a file on each kid enrolled in the Wheelchair Rodeo program. Everyone who worked with the kids was expected to read each one. Then they’d be turned over to his pal, Dr. Mike Trotter, the resident physician for the week, for his review.

  “Shall we head over to pick up your gear?” Jake stepped around to push Kevin’s chair, and Beth was more than willing to give it up.

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

  “You look tired,” Jake said, heading for the baggage claim area.

  “It was a long flight.”

  “Arizona’s pretty far away. Pretty country, though. Their rodeo is the best, but I’ve been there a couple other times too.”

  “Really, Jake?”

  Beth gave Kevin a nudge on the shoulder. “See? Arizona’s not so boring. Jake Dixon likes it.”

  “Yeah,” Kevin said.

  Pieces of luggage were starting their trip on the rubber conveyer belt, and people rushed to claim a spot along its path. There was no room for a wheelchair and two more people.

  “We’re in no rush. Right?” Jake asked.

  “Not at all. We’re on vacation,” Beth said with a long sigh.

  It was a long way to travel, but her weariness seemed more bone deep than it should have been just from the flight. She could use some color in her cheeks and some sweet Wyoming air, and maybe some good old-fashioned rocking on the front porch of her cabin.

  “Well, if it ain’t Jake Dixon.”

  Jake spun around in the direction of the deep, booming voice. Harvey Trumble, editor of the Wyoming Journal, stood with two suitcases in hand and the usual grimace on his face.

  Everyone within earshot turned to stare, including Beth and Kevin.

  Just his luck. “Go catch your plane, Harvey. Now’s not a good time.”

  Harvey dropped his suitcases and clenched his fists.

  Shoot. Jake didn’t want to fight the man. Not with the kid so close, watching his every move and looking at him as if he were some kind of hero. Besides, Harvey had a good fifty pounds on him, and even though Jake was younger, he couldn’t risk a new injury.

  “I have things to do, Harvey. I’m not looking for a fight.”

  “You gotta be drunk to fight me, Jake? Like you were when you almost killed my boy?”

  Jake glanced over at the two arrivals. Kevin’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Beth stared at him as if rattlers were sprouting from his ears. She stepped in front of Jake, took the handles of
Kevin’s chair and wheeled him to the far end of the luggage belt.

  Jake grabbed Harvey’s arm and yanked him out the front door of the airport, away from most of the crowd.

  “Like I told you before, Harvey, Keith had his hands all over a young lady, who told him to stop no less than three times.”

  Jake had to calm down before he punched him. If he hit him, Harvey would see to it that it was front-page news. Just like the article he wrote about how Jake’s sponsors were dropping him faster than an eight-second ride.

  Jake dodged his wild punch. “C’mon, Harvey. Not now.”

  “You didn’t have to break my boy’s arm.”

  “I didn’t. I admit that I punched Keith after he took a swing at me. But then it turned into a big free-for-all. Someone hit him on the head with a beer bottle. When he fell, he broke his arm. Keith is okay. He’s getting a lot of sympathy and still managing to paw the ladies at the Last Chance, even with one arm in a cast.”

  Harvey pushed Jake out of his way.

  “You’re nothing but a has-been!” Harvey yelled. “You’re a drunk, Jake Dixon, and you hurt my boy.” Not taking his eyes off Jake, he backed up to the automatic doors of the airport and went inside.

  It was then that Jake noticed Beth and Kevin outside. They both stared at him. Beth’s face was ghostly white, her lips pinched. Kevin was motionless in his chair, so unlike the animated, excited boy who’d got off the plane.

  “Sorry you had to hear that,” Jake said, feeling lower than the stuff he scraped off his boots. He didn’t know exactly what they’d heard, except for Harvey’s parting slam.

  “Maybe we should take a taxi to the ranch.” Beth’s words faded into the air, then she stood tall and raised her chin. “I’m sorry if this offends you, Mr. Dixon, but I have to ask. Have you been drinking? Kevin and I will not be riding with anyone who has been drinking.”

  “I haven’t been drinking,” Jake said softly, meeting her eyes.

  “Mom, he’s Jake Dixon. Jake Dixon! He doesn’t do stuff like that.”

  The adoration was back in the kid’s eyes, but Jake sure as hell didn’t feel like a hero.

  “My truck’s right there.” He nodded in the direction of his black half-ton pickup. “It’s a good hour-and-a-half ride to the Gold Buckle over some pretty rough roads. The taxis won’t make the trip out there.” He still saw the disbelief in her eyes. “Ma’am, I haven’t been drinking.”

  She touched Kevin’s hair protectively. “I made a mistake once before.” After a long, hard, evaluating look into Jake’s eyes, she said, “All right, Mr. Dixon. All right. I’m going to believe you—unless I find out otherwise.”

  “Please call me Jake.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  Chapter Two

  What am I doing? Beth thought as she looked out the truck window at the tall green grass. Cattle dotted the pastures, and mountains loomed in the distance just like they did around Lizard Rock, Arizona.

  With one elbow stuck out the window and the other hand draped casually over the wheel, Jake drove down what seemed like an endless highway, patiently answering Kevin’s infinite number of questions.

  She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He had a strong jaw and a trace of beard that made him look a little like an outlaw. Long, strong legs were packed into tight, worn jeans, and he wore a crisp, white long-sleeved shirt with the top three buttons undone. He wore a gold buckle, almost as big as a saucer, on his belt.

  He looked just like the posters and pictures that were hanging from every free space in Kevin’s tiny room. Because she’d read every article about him for the past several years, she felt like she knew him, inside and out.

  She had always thought he was handsome, but she hadn’t been prepared for how masculine and virile he was in person. She had never realized that his blue eyes glittered like the turquoise sky above, or that his low, rich voice would make every bone in her body vibrate.

  From the top of his hat to the slightly curled tip of his dusty boots, Jake Dixon looked every bit the cowboy that he was.

  She remembered how he had picked Kevin up from his wheelchair and gently placed him in the front seat of his pickup—and Kevin was no lightweight by any means. She had heard him catch his breath after he straightened his back, and she had seen him grimace. He also had a noticeable limp. Bull riding was taking a heavy toll on him.

  No doubt his drinking didn’t help matters, either. That was something that wasn’t mentioned in the magazines.

  Her hands tightened into fists. She had heard all that she’d wanted to hear outside the airport. “You’re a drunk, and you hurt my son.”

  Those same words had been running through her mind when she stood at Brad’s grave and while Kevin endured one operation after another.

  She wrapped an arm around her son’s shoulder and pulled him closer to her. She hadn’t protected him from his own father, but she would protect him from Jake Dixon.

  Her heart sank as she thought about the Wheelchair Rodeo program and how it was to start in two days. The literature she had received indicated that Jake had started the program, and he saw to everything personally.

  How was she going to trust him with Kevin?

  “Okay, Mom?” Kevin asked, breaking through her reverie.

  “Hmm? What?” she asked.

  “Jake said that he’d show me around the ranch when we get there. And that I can pick out my own horse from the remuda. Hear that, Mom? The remuda. And I get to take care of my horse all week!”

  “That’s great,” she mumbled without enthusiasm. How was she going to tell her son that she didn’t want him near his hero?

  “Okay, Mom?”

  She needed time to think. She wanted to know more about the real Jake Dixon. She wanted to observe him. She didn’t want to hand her son over to him and trust him, the way she had trusted Brad. Not with what she had just heard about him.

  Jake must have seen her hesitation.

  “I’ll take good care of Kevin. And you’re welcome to come along. Right, Kev?”

  Her stomach clenched. No one ever called him Kev, except Brad.

  “Yeah, c’mon, Mom. Come with us.”

  She could never say no to Kevin when he looked at her with those big brown eyes. And she didn’t want to throw a wet blanket on his excitement. Maybe it was unfair of her to compare Jake to Brad.

  “Sure. I’d love to,” she reluctantly agreed.

  “Yippee!” Kevin shouted.

  The two of them went back to talking about who rode what bull for a ninety-point ride, and who was on the injured list. From the look on Jake’s rugged face, Kevin’s knowledge about the sport surprised him. If only Kevin were that good in English and math.

  She laid her head back on the seat of the big truck and listened to their conversation. Kevin was bubbly and happy, and Jake was adding to his excitement, so much so that it was almost contagious.

  “There it is! The Gold Buckle Ranch!” Kevin shouted. “It’s a real ranch!”

  A slender, pretty woman in jeans and a navy-blue sweatshirt stood waving on the front porch of a log ranch house. Beside her was a tall, handsome man in jeans and a flannel shirt. They both had warm, welcoming smiles.

  “My folks,” Jake said. “Em and Dex Dixon.”

  She and Kevin waved back.

  Dex opened the truck door and helped her out. “Welcome to the Gold Buckle, Beth.” He bent his head to peer inside the truck. “And this young cowboy must be Kevin.”

  “Yessir!” Kevin said.

  Kevin scooted to the end of the seat, and Beth let out a gasp when it looked as if he might just jump down from the truck.

  “Whoa, young man!” Dex said. “Hang on there.”

  Jake already had Kevin’s chair and the two men were helping Kevin out when Emily gathered Beth in a hearty hug.

  “It’s so nice to meet you. I feel like I know you already from Kevin’s letter,” Emily said.

  Beth let herself relax and enj
oy the warm greeting. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t wish she had a mother who would hug her like that and who she could talk to and confide in, especially now, when she was so worried about Kevin. But Carla Tisdale Phillips O’Brien Fontelli had never been that kind of mother, and she never hugged.

  “Welcome, Kevin!” Emily said as the boy beamed up at her. She bent down and gave him a hug too. “I have you in the Trail Boss Cabin. That’s the far one in those big pine trees. It has a lot of privacy. Now come into my kitchen for a bite to eat, and Jake will drop your bags inside the cabin. That okay with you, Jake?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then come back for a bite to eat when you’re done,” she added.

  “I have to talk to Joe and check on the mustang. Then I’ll be in,” Jake replied. “After that, I promised Kevin that he could pick out his horse for the week. Then I’m going to show him and his mom around the ranch.”

  He looked at Beth and tweaked his hat brim. She watched as he walked away. His limp was more prominent now. His shirt didn’t have a wrinkle on it as it stretched across broad shoulders and a muscled back.

  Most of all, Jake Dixon was born to wear jeans.

  “It’s a beautiful place,” Beth told Jake as she looked out at the grounds of the Gold Buckle Ranch from the porch of the Trail Boss Cabin. “So big. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The mountains seemed closer now and rocky. Those in the far distance had a cap of snow. The ranch was nestled in a valley with pine trees to the right and a field of grass that reached to the mountains to the left. Among the pines, a dozen little log cabins were strung along a glittering creek like charms on a bracelet.

  The Trail Boss Cabin, deep in the pines, was postcard perfect. It was made out of rough logs, pine probably. Lacy curtains graced the windows, in stark contrast to the rugged logs. Two rocking chairs and a hammock were on the porch, just begging to be occupied.

  Hundreds of cows and a dozen horses lowered their heads to graze on a slight hill about a half mile away. Closer were several other buildings of different shapes and sizes. The biggest was the barn with a corral to the side of it. Horses grouped together under the shade of several large trees. Some looked over the fence as if they, too, were awaiting guests.