by Pamela Tracy
It made her reconsider options she shouldn’t be thinking about. It got her out of bed this morning as the clock radio glowed a bright orange six o’clock. It had her standing in front of her closet remembering what it felt like to dress as a participant. She’d almost cried at the combination of longing and fear that enveloped her.
Natalie pushed open the car door and stuck one leg out.
And froze.
Why’d they have to put the poster at the only entrance?
Lucky was well-known for his participation in Cowboy Church, right? Surely that should count for something—some sort of commitment to responsibility. Natalie hadn’t been to church since childhood, but she remembered some of the lessons. Jesus told His flock to take care of the widows and orphans, right?
Natalie wiped the last tears form her cheeks as Robby’s “Mom! Mom! Mom!” caught her attention. She finally stepped out of the car carefully and went around to get her rodeo-clad son. Yup, Pop Pop, Robby’s grandfather, had spent plenty of money creating a miniature cowboy, and this morning Natalie allowed Robby to dress the part. He wore a belt with his name, tiny boots, and even a pair of chaps. The only request that went unfulfilled from her son’s Christmas wish list was a horse.
Pop Pop was willing; Natalie was not.
“Can I ride on a horse today?” Robby skidded down Natalie’s leg and hit the ground. Natalie bit back both a yelp of pain and a too-abrupt comment. Robby wasn’t old enough to understand her limp or her fears, and she didn’t want to transfer her negative feelings about horses to him. Truth was, going to the rodeo had her in a sweat, and she didn’t know what to blame for her troubles more: the rodeo or the rodeo cowboy.
“You can’t ride a horse today, but there will be plenty of other things to do.”
He glared at her, an accusing look on his face. Fun, she was denying him fun. Well, today wasn’t about fun. It was about survival because today was the day she intended to confront Lucky Welch.
Salvation or ruination.
And what should she tell Robby? One thing for sure, she couldn’t just lie down and die, or give up. She took Robby by the hand and led him to the poster. It was past time to take action, and Robby was three and could understand more than she gave him credit for. “This man…”
His face brightened, and he tried to help. “A cowboy?”
For a brief moment, Natalie considered pointing out the thick brown hair, dark brown eyes and strong chin so unlike her own blond, blue-eyed, elfin look.
And so like Robby’s own thick dark hair, brown eyes and still-forming strong chin.
“Yes. I think I might know him.”
“Really?” For the first time in days, Robby’s eyes brightened. “A cowboy! You know a real cowboy? Can I meet him, Mommy?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but the words didn’t come. She couldn’t do this. Not right now. Not when her father had just died. Not when she was in danger of losing her home. But the loss of her father, the danger of losing her home, were exactly why she was standing here today, contemplating making the worst mistake of her life.
Because it might not be a mistake, it might be salvation.
The high school band warmed up in the distance. Two children eating cotton candy walked by. Natalie took a breath and managed a smile as nostalgia took her back to the days when the rodeo was a good place to be. She and her dad, on rodeo day. Cotton candy sticking to her fingers. And the rodeo still smelled the same, a mixture of popcorn, sweat—both human and animal—and excitement. Yes, excitement had a scent. Natalie first noted the aroma at the age of eight. She’d been leading her pony, Patches, in the children’s parade. To think she’d worried the rodeo might have changed.
Well, everything else had.
Excitement attached itself to this rodeo, always had, and it buzzed with an energy that even Robby picked up on. If she hadn’t put her hand on his shoulder, he’d have been all the way to the ticket gate before she got her bearings. “There’s no rush. The day is just beginning.”
He bobbed his head, clearly wishing he had free rein. No way, not here, not today.
She turned, taking a step toward the entrance.
“Natalie, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you at one of our rodeos. You need any help?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine.” Natalie nodded and forced herself not to rub her thigh. “Good to see you, Allison.” They’d been fast friends during school, practiced together and competed against each other in local barrel races events. Allison Needham, like Natalie’s cousin Tisha, had gone on to be a rodeo queen; Natalie reigned as a couch potato. Allison came back from the road about three years ago, a quieter girl with a baby on the way, and she didn’t talk much about the past. She didn’t talk much to Natalie, either.
Natalie figured she had her cousin Tisha to thank for that.
“Good to see you, too. Travis is competing for the first time. He’ll be tickled to know you got to see it.”
She and Allison had pushed her baby brother, Travis, in his stroller, and now he was all grown up.
“I’ll watch,” Natalie promised.
Robby waited at the ticket booth. Natalie plunked down her money and pushed through the gate. T-shirts were to her right, Native American art to her left. Robby headed straight to the food and smiled. “Hot dog?”
“We just ate breakfast.”
“But I still hungry, Mommy.”
“Nothing tastes better than a rodeo hot dog, Natalie.” The comment came from one of her dad’s friends, manning the concession booth. “My treat.”
Natalie swallowed. This was harder than she’d thought possible. Why had she imagined that she could attend this rodeo and just melt into the crowd? She’d lived in Selena all her life, and she knew this was a time-honored event. Everyone would be here—from her old kindergarten teacher to the bank teller who handled the Crosby transactions.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pay.” She added a soda for herself and held Robby’s hand as they followed the crowd. He stopped to gape at the cowboys sitting on the fence.
Lucky Welch wasn’t one of them.
The bleachers were already pretty full, and Robby frowned at the people who’d beaten him to the most coveted seats. “Mommy, we sit there.” He pointed to a spot near the top. People were pressed together, and the walkway was crowded with spectators.
“Over here!” Patty Dunbar, her best friend, waved from the crowded bottom row. Robby headed right over and plopped down in Patty’s lap.
“Oomph, I think you’ve gained a ton since the last time I saw you.” Patty settled Robby next to her own son, Daniel, and scooted to make room for Natalie. “I cannot believe you’re here.”
“Me, neither. Where’s the baby?”
“With my mother, and don’t change the subject. Why are you here?” Patty whispered the question so only Natalie could hear. Ten years ago, Natalie broke her hip at this very rodeo. That had been enough reason to keep Natalie away. But, of course, that wasn’t why Patty was asking.
Natalie knew exactly what Patty was really asking because Patty was the only one in Selena, besides Natalie, who knew who Robby’s father was.
Before Natalie could respond, the “Star-Spangled Banner” boomed from the sound system and the grand entry began. Everyone stood, and the cowboys took off their hats. Natalie saw him then, in the arena, standing amidst a straight line of competitors with his hand over his heart. He was more compact than she’d imagined and looked more serious than some of his peers. He actually looked like he believed in, enjoyed, the national anthem.
Natalie spent the next few hours watching the steer wrestling and the team roping. She took Robby to the bathroom twice and then for a walk during the barrel racing, denying it was planned timing, not that Patty believed her, and the whole while Natalie pretended not to look for Lucky. Bareback bronc and saddle bronc riding were next; Robby was mesmerized. After that, she watched her son attempt to catch a greased pig and pretended not to look for Lucky agai
n. This, of course, was followed by another trip to the bathroom.
Finally, it was time for the evening’s final event—bull riding.
The term “crowd favorite” took on new meaning when Lucky Welch’s turn came. He rode often, and he rode hard, scoring in the eighties on a bull named Corkscrew. To Natalie’s eye, Lucky looked like a rag doll with one hand tied to a moving locomotive. She felt faint. What if he was killed? It only took one fall, one wrong move! She knew that from experience. So did Lucky. Just down the bleacher, a woman yelled, “You can do it, son!”
Leaning forward, all Natalie could see was big hair. Lucky’s mother had been introduced to the crowd a few hours ago. Standing alongside Allison and other past queens, those who’d bothered to show up, Betsy Welch smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Yes, the Welches would still be grieving Marcus the way Natalie and Robby were grieving her dad. Difference was, as Walt kept pointing out, Pop Pop took care of his own. Or at least tried to.
Marcus had only taken care of Marcus.
Next to Lucky’s mother sat Bernice Baker. For the last year, really since Robby stopped looking like a baby and started looking like a Welch, every time Natalie saw the woman, she headed the opposite way.
Bernice Baker was probably the only person in town who might notice how much Robby looked like a Welch.
Long shot, but a shot nevertheless.
Natalie almost chuckled. Since Robby was a baby, she’d been worrying about Bernice, about Marcus showing up. Now she was willingly looking for Lucky Welch and thinking about confronting him. She was even worrying about the match between him and the bull.
The woman yelling “son” was only a basketball toss away, and Robby had no idea she was his paternal grandmother. Oh, no, no. This was not something Natalie could do after all. She changed her mind, started to stand, but she chose the wrong moment. She was stuck. She couldn’t pull Robby left or right. Not while the crowd was this worked up, not at the climax of the rodeo. She stretched her leg, trying to ease the stiffness, and watched as Lucky Welch made the eight seconds and jumped from the bull to land on both feet. The bull made a move, Lucky ducked behind a clown, and it was over. The crowd roared. The scores to be announced, but finally the day’s events ended. A human surge began exiting the rodeo. Robby, who’d never been to a rodeo, finally felt overwhelmed by the crowd and clutched at Natalie’s hand. Daniel, a rodeo veteran at just five, headed for the edge of the arena. Patty was right behind.
Natalie panicked. If she saw Lucky, and he was alone, she’d approach him, she really would, but if she—
Suddenly, Lucky was heading straight for her with a swagger that screamed pure cowboy. His belt buckle was even bigger than his confident strides. He wiped dust from his hat, smiled, and Natalie thought maybe he had the whitest teeth she’d ever seen. Another bull rider walked beside him.
Natalie stopped in her tracks. Lucky stopped, too, and caught her eye. “Do you want an autograph?”
Oh, no! He thought she was a buckle bunny.
In a way, his assumption knocked down the defenses she’d so carefully erected while she was watching him. Unfortunately, she forgot to consider that the other side might not have a safety net. “No,” she blurted, “I don’t want an autograph. I want help with Marcus’s son.”
Chapter Two
L ucky had spent a lifetime learning how to harness control, and he wouldn’t lose it now. Even if a buckle bunny was trying to tarnish his brother’s memory.
The cowboy next to him looked at Lucky with a relieved expression, said, “I think this one’s for you,” and took off for the cowboy ready room.
The threat of paternity suits was a real issue to the boys on the circuit. Most played hard and all too often got mixed up with women who wanted bragging rights and/or a piece of the purse. Well, this gal had really missed the boat. What kind of woman showed up six months after a bull rider’s death and…?
Lucky backed up. The noise of the crowd had boomed only a moment before, but now he didn’t hear a thing. He could only look at the woman and the little boy by her side. She looked right back at him, young, curvy, blond, her eyes wide with fear. To his dismay, something registered, a glimpse of a memory.
No, it couldn’t be.
“Tisha?” It had been over three years since he’d last seen her. She looked different, but then hard living had a way of changing people.
It had certainly changed Marcus.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. Tears disappeared, replaced by anger.
Marcus had dated Tisha Crosby for just over a year. She’d wiped out his bank account and his heart. Marcus hadn’t been the same afterward. Maybe this was why. Lucky didn’t know that much about kids, but the boy could be the right age. Plus, he had the look—the Welch look. Thick, dark brown hair, piercing brown eyes and the square chin that made shaving a time-consuming venture. Something akin to fear settled in Lucky’s stomach.
Looked like the family roller coaster was about to switch into high gear again—thanks to Marcus.
The woman—it must be Tisha—clutched at the boy and pulled him close. Regret washed over her face, replacing the anger. Well, at least she cared for the boy. From what Lucky remembered, she’d been a cold, calculating woman. Not everyone saw past the beautiful facade she presented. Marcus hadn’t.
“Never mind,” she whispered. “We were wrong, so wrong, to come here. Come on, Robby, let’s get out of here.” She stumbled between two people. Robby—eyes wide—tried to hurry and keep up with her.
“Wait!” Lucky was at her side in two seconds.
“Leave us alone. It was my mistake.” She held up a hand, stopping him, and somewhat regaining her composure. “We want nothing to do with you.”
He started to follow her, and he would have, if he hadn’t seen the tears streaming from the boy’s eyes.
Lucky didn’t want the boy—his nephew maybe?—to be afraid of him.
“Everything all right?” Three men, strong farmer types, materialized in front of him, blocking him. Their words were directed at the woman; their granite gazes were aimed at him. Lucky stopped. As for Tisha, she wasn’t taking the time to answer. Just like that, he lost track of Marcus’s son. The woman had him by the hand and was hurrying him through the crowd.
“I just need to talk to her,” Lucky said. He took one step then halted as the men angled for a block. They looked meaner than the bull he’d just ridden.
“It looks like she doesn’t want to talk to you,” the biggest one said.
“Tisha!” he hollered. He took a step and then noted that, if anything, the three men had moved closer. He considered his options. Three against one was more than he bargained for, especially when some blond-haired woman, her purse all primed to bash him upside the head, joined the fray.
“Tisha,” the blonde spat. “You think she’s Tisha?”
“Isn’t she?” Lucky croaked.
“No, that’s Natalie. She happens to be Tisha’s cousin, but that’s all the resemblance there is.”
He saw the woman then, leaving the front gate, with the little boy. He could see now that her uneven gait wasn’t fatigue, the earlier stumble was not clumsiness. She stopped by a small car parked in a handicapped spot. Yup, the limp was real.
He’d have to rethink this encounter, which might have been his all-time low.
The next time he said a prayer, he’d have so much to say it might take him a year to get to “Amen.” Especially since he had no intention of sharing this information with his family until he was sure. It wasn’t the first time Marcus had been accused of fatherhood. But this time, the child looked like a Welch, and somehow Tisha was involved.
He nodded at the three men before they could move any closer, skipped the ready room and, still in his gear, headed for his truck. Intuition told him Robby was indeed Marcus’s son. More than intuition told him his mother would never understand Lucky not sharing the discovery with her immediately. In essence, he was robbing
her of precious days of grandmotherhood.
But gut feelings were not always reliable. Otherwise, Lucky would hold a few more titles and have a lot more money and a whole lot fewer broken bones. He’d look into this Natalie woman and wait before telling his mother, even though keeping the secret might be a crime he’d pay for later.
Once Lucky had opened the truck’s door and climbed behind the wheel, he dialed his lawyer—not that he expected the man could be reached on a Saturday night. After letting the phone ring until it went to voice mail, Lucky left a quick message for him to call, hung up and stared out the truck’s windows. Without exception, the festive mood of the rodeo carried over to the dirt parking lot. Exhausted-looking children clutched treats, toys and their parents’ hands. Adults laughed, took sips of soda and reached for the ones they loved.
Normal, so normal.
Once again, Lucky’s emotional roller coaster crested a steep incline.
“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”
The Bible verse came suddenly and comforted his spirit. He pocketed his phone, shed his gear and headed into town. There was a dance, there were bars, there were plenty of places to go to find out what he most wanted to know. Based on how quickly the farmer types had circled, Lucky figured Natalie was well-known and well-liked in Selena. Before he met up with her again, he wanted a little history, some semblance of equal footing.
On her and her cousin Tisha.
He drove down the middle of town, intent on stopping somewhere but seeing no place where he’d feel comfortable. The tent on the fairgrounds holding tonight’s dance was too crowded and upbeat, the bars in town too crowded and dark. He turned around and cruised again. Finally, he settled on a 1950s-style diner on the edge of town with plenty of horse trailers in the parking lot. Surely he’d run into not only peers but also locals inside. As long as the three farmer types were content to stab chicken-fried steaks instead of him, he’d be good.
