Her Rodeo Hero (Cowboys in Uniform)

by Pamela Britton

  “Good luck,” Natalie’s friends called out as she mounted the gray gelding she was scheduled to ride.

  “Remember. He’s a little hot at first. But once you warm him up, he’ll be fine.”

  Natalie nodded. The woman who’d spoken was older. The horse’s owner, Colt had heard. He’d thought it odd that a woman her age would have such a young and volatile horse, but Jillian had explained that English jumping was a lot like horse racing in that the owners enjoyed watching their animals compete and nothing more.

  “I think you need a drink, cowboy,” Randy noted as they walked toward the observation tents. Or Rand. Hell. Colt couldn’t remember what to call him.

  “I’m fine.”

  “He looks like me when I send a horse off to the starting gate,” Zach said, blue eyes full of amusement as he fell into step beside them. His wife, Mariah, smiled and nodded in agreement.

  “I’m fine,” Colt repeated.

  Randy and Wes exchanged glances. Colt ignored them. As a group they headed toward the canvas-covered tents set up between the arenas. The event was called a “mini prix,” and it featured some of the sport’s outstanding youngsters, or so Colt had learned during the half-hour he’d been forced to watch Natalie warm up the young gelding. She’d jumped him over obstacles that made Sam’s flaming ring seem like a Hula Hoop.

  The sun had gone down, the lights around the arena throwing long shadows on the ground, the poles so brightly colored they seemed almost neon beneath the fluorescent fixtures. Inside the tent, butane heaters sizzled and hissed. No pre-assigned seating, apparently. They found a table near the rail of the arena where Natalie would ride.

  “Here.”

  Someone pulled out a chair for Colt, but he wasn’t paying attention. “Where is she?” He’d lost sight of Natalie on the walk over.

  “She’s probably trotting Antwar around.”

  He met Jillian’s gaze, realizing it was she who had spoken. “I thought she’d warmed up already.”

  “She’s sixth to go, Colt. It’ll be a bit of a wait.”

  Wait? What? He didn’t want to wait. He wanted this to be over.

  I love you, Colt.

  He sank into the folding chair. Natalie loved him. He’d known she cared. He cared, too. It amazed him how much, given the short amount of time they’d known each other. Months. It didn’t seem long enough.

  The crowd inside the tent quieted. Colt realized a rider had entered the ring.

  “Pretty horse,” Mariah said.

  Was it? He hardly noticed the big black gelding. He tried again to find Natalie, but she’d disappeared behind the row of horses, riders, grooms and spectators that lined the rail opposite where they sat. The starting horn sounded, causing Colt to jolt. The horse in the pen bolted, too.

  “Looks like it might be a handful,” Zach noted.

  Colt’s long-time friend turned out to be right and it was painful—agonizing, really—to watch the horse and rider gallop around. All Colt could think was what if Natalie had a similar ride? The horse she rode was young, and he knew it might act up, knew Natalie was out of practice. She’d ridden jumping horses for years, of course, but not recently.

  He heard a thudding of hooves. One of the jumps had been set up right alongside the rail where they sat. A double set of poles, the holders made to look like wishing wells. A blue rubber mat had been placed underneath and Colt might not have known much about jumping, but he could tell the horse in the arena wanted nothing to do with it. The animal threw its head up, eyes wide with terror. The rider no doubt felt it too because Colt saw them go to the spur.

  “Oh, that’s not good.”

  Jillian’s words turned out to be prophetic. The horse stopped. Hard. Colt gasped. The rider—a young woman, he realized, now that he could see her face—shot forward, but somehow, miraculously, managed to hang on.

  “Too bad,” Antwar’s owner said. “She was having a nice go.”

  A nice go? Racing around the arena, barely in control, jumping willy-nilly over obstacles was a nice go?

  He felt a hand on his arm. “Relax.” Jillian smiled at him softly, reassuringly, green eyes full of faith. “These fences are nothing compared to what Natalie’s used to jumping.”

  That was supposed to comfort him? He didn’t care whether she took Antwar over something that was two feet tall or twenty. The point was these weren’t sedate little quarter horses. These were hot-blooded, strong-necked young animals.

  “My hands are shaking,” he admitted.

  Jillian’s smile deepened the grooves near the corners of her eyes. “I get that way every time Wes competes.”

  “Wes doesn’t jump.”

  “No. He just dives into herds of cows. Believe me, there are days when it feels every bit as dangerous.”

  Colt wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t going to argue. Not when he feared opening his mouth might be all the invitation his lunch needed to make a hasty exit.

  The next rider was no better. A big man riding a huge sorrel. He almost took out one of the pole holders that he overheard Mariah call a standard.

  By the third horse Colt had a pretty good feel for the pattern. He put together all on his own that the jumps were marked in a way that made understanding the course pretty easy. Red flag on the right, white flag on the left. When the horse landed he could scan ahead and easily spot what should be the next obstacle. The pace seemed to be somewhere between a fast run and a gallop, although some horses seemed to move more slowly than others. Each rider was timed, he knew. If they went too slow they would be assessed a penalty. The goal was to make it around as quickly as possible with minimal penalties.

  The fifth horse made it look easy, gliding effortlessly over the jumps, but Colt only watched part of his go. He noted another big sorrel in the distance, this one with white socks, a white blaze and a rider the size of a child on his back. There was applause when they finished, the first Colt had noticed, although Antwar’s owner groaned.

  “Time penalties,” the older woman said. “Too slow. But only a one-point penalty. She’s the leader so far.”

  Natalie appeared by the in gate.

  She didn’t glance in their direction. She was smiling at the woman on the sorrel. The two of them looked like something from a bygone era in their black habits, riding boots and breeches. They touched hands in a good-natured show of support as they passed each other.

  Please, God, let her be safe.

  Colt realized then that it’d been a long time since he’d prayed. Not even when Adam had been sick had he prayed. If he were honest with himself he had to admit to giving up on the man upstairs. His childhood had taught him that nothing could keep the devil from beating the crap out of you, not even God.

  But he prayed then, with every fiber of his being. Prayed that Natalie’s horse would behave. That nothing would go wrong.

  She headed for the middle of the arena. Stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Jillian reassured him.

  His friend was right. Natalie just stood there, letting her horse look around. She patted him as he scanned the arena and the jumps inside, his head lifted and his ears pricked forward.

  “Smart.” Antwar’s owner seemed pleased. “Thank goodness she’s competing again. Nobody has a feel for young horses like Natalie does.”

  She really did. Colt spotted how gently she touched the horse. How relaxed she seemed, which, in turn, caused the horse to calm down. How had he not noticed this about her before?

  Because when she came to you she’d been terrified. Lost. Uncertain of her God-given abilities.

  Out of the blue he felt his eyes begin to burn. They’d gotten her sorted out. No matter what the future held, he would always be pleased that he’d been able to help her overcome her fear of riding.

  The horse in the arena lowered its head. Only then did Natalie gently squeeze it forward. The buzzer sounded and Colt knew she’d been given the go-ahead to start her course. Antwar k
new it, too, lifting his head again, equine eyes scanning the jumps as Natalie cued the animal into a canter.

  First jump. Red and white poles. Simple. Easy.

  Natalie pointed Antwar in the jump’s direction. She seemed to be standing in the stirrups, her upper body tilted forward, half-seat they called it. Colt reminded himself of her words.

  I can keep my upper body from bouncing. It makes the dizziness go away.

  Closer and closer they drew. He almost covered his eyes.

  Antwar jumped perfectly.

  “Lovely,” said his owner.

  Her pace wasn’t as fast as the other riders, but it didn’t need to be. The horse had a huge stride, Colt noticed, so big he made the jumps appear smaller. The next set, a long gallop down the middle of the ring, were a little taller. Antwar took them both effortlessly.

  Around Natalie went, toward the opposite side of the rail. The flower jump, Colt had named it. Antwar lifted his head. Colt held his breath. At the last second the horse stumbled a bit.

  Mariah gasped. Natalie tipped to one side. Antwar’s knees came up to his eyeballs. One second, two, they hung in the air, Natalie somehow still in the saddle, until they disappeared on the other side.

  Someone released a breath. Had it been him? Jillian? Colt didn’t know. He didn’t have time to breathe because the next set of jumps were right around the corner, another double set, this one close together. Antwar’s big stride proved to be a problem. He saw Natalie check the animal before the jump. Once. Twice. They shot toward the wooden poles. When she landed she had to check him up again. One giant leap and they were off once more. Up and over the next jump. Cleanly. Safely. Brilliantly.

  It was beautiful.

  A calm settled over him. He watched her fly. An angel without wings. A Greek goddess riding Pegasus. Perfect.

  Around the final turn they ran. Faster now. Natalie must have glanced at the clock, realized she was running out of time. Colt leaned forward in his seat, his heart pounding in rhythm to her horse’s stride. The last jump was called a vertical. One row of poles. Deceptively easy, Jillian had told him earlier, meant to be the downfall of a good rider.

  Natalie wasn’t good. She was great.

  Her hands were steady, the pressure of her legs tight. Five strides away. Four. Three. And then...

  They jumped. Time stood still. Front legs first. Back legs next.

  Perfect.

  The crowd cheered. Natalie stood in her stirrups and lifted a fist in the air.

  “She did it,” Mariah said.

  He glanced at the clock. No time penalties. She had, indeed, done it.

  “Too early to know if she’s won,” Wes said.

  “No,” Colt heard himself say. He could feel everyone turn to look at him. “She’s won.”

  He stood up, eyes only on Natalie. She pulled her horse into a walk, but he couldn’t see her face. He wanted to see her face. Wanted to tell her that he understood now. Before today he’d had no idea what she’d given up. He’d known she was a good rider. He’d known there’d been talk about the games. She wasn’t just good, though, she was great. Better even than he was.

  And she’d been willing to give it up.

  Because he’d told her to.

  He pushed through the crowd. He heard someone yelp in disapproval. He could see Natalie nearing the out gate. He began to run. She must have said something to the next rider because they laughed as their horses passed each other. Natalie left the arena, walked forward a few steps and collapsed.

  Colt yelled. Someone turned. Natalie wilted toward the ground.

  No.

  Someone caught her, though who it was Colt would never know. Hands grabbed the reins before Antwar could take off. A crowd formed around the fallen rider.

  “Natalie.”

  He thought she’d passed out. Thought she might have had a stroke. Had the jumping jarred her brain injury? He slid through the ring of people.

  She hadn’t passed out. She sat on the ground, head in her hands.

  And cried.

  He nudged aside the stranger who’d caught her, muttered a quick thank you, and put his arms around Natalie. She went into them willingly. He pulled her into his lap. Held her. Squeezed her. Let her cry.

  “Shh,” he soothed. “It’s okay.”

  When he caught a glimpse of the crowd, he saw she wasn’t the only one who cried. Others stared down at her, tears on their lashes, too. It hit him then that these people knew. They’d known about her injury, that she’d been told not to ride. Known that she’d given it up, at least temporarily. Just as they knew the tears she shed were ones of joy, not sorrow.

  She’d overcome. Conquered her fear. Done the impossible and learned to ride all over again.

  He drew back. She did, too.

  “You are such an idiot,” he admonished.

  Beneath her riding hat he saw her eyes widen. “Thanks,” she sniffed, wiping at her tears. “I love you, too.”

  Yes. She did love him, and he loved her. More than life itself. As much as he loved his nephew and his sister and his brother all combined. A different kind of love. A love he’d known was there, but never admitted—just as his sister had said.

  Natalie must have seen it in his eyes because her smile lit up her face like the summer sun turning the heavens a million shades of gold. He kissed her again and she did know. He might have a hard time saying the words, but she knew what he was trying to tell her. It was the only way he knew how to say what was deep in his heart. With his mouth and his hands and his touch. Silently. Without words.

  “Finally,” he heard someone say.

  He looked up. Sam stared at him with tears in her eyes. So did Mariah and Zach and Jillian and Wes. And Randy, too.

  “’Bout time,” Wes said.

  Yes. It was about time.

  He finally understood what it meant to overcome fear. Understood what it meant to love. Understood how lucky he was.

  “Marry me,” he heard himself say.

  Natalie stiffened in his arms. For a moment he worried she might say no. That she didn’t love him that much.

  Her eyes softened. “Only if you promise never to make me ride Western again.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. She started to laugh, too. So did Wes and the gang around them. And then there were pats and cheers and good-natured slaps on the back. They stood. Together. Side by side.

  The way they would stand for the rest of their lives.

  Epilogue

  Helicopters circled overhead.

  Natalie looked out Colt’s kitchen window and wondered for the hundredth time why the paparazzi felt the need to intrude on Adam’s special day.

  “Better hurry up. People are starting to arrive.” It was Claire who’d spoken, looking as bright and beautiful as a daffodil in her sleeveless yellow dress. “I just had a chat with last year’s best actress.”

  It had been Adam’s idea. The little boy had improved to the point that they’d released him from the hospital. He wasn’t out of the woods quite yet—cancer couldn’t be cured overnight—but his treatment plan had been deemed a success so far. And they were lucky. Nothing had metastasized. All good news. So, when one of his sick friends had mentioned his mom couldn’t sit with him for treatment because she couldn’t afford to hire a babysitter, Adam had been horrified. Claire had explained how they had a network of friends and family to help out, but not everyone did. That had lit a new fire in Adam’s heart.

  Coins for Caring had been born.

  “The caterers just warmed up some more of those bacon onion ball thingies.” Natalie tried to wipe the guilty look off her face. “Oh, my goodness, they are to die for.” She reached for the tray, preparing to bring it outside, but Claire stayed her with a hand.

  “Before you leave, I wanted to say something.”

  Natalie straightened in surprise.

  “I know all this—” she waved a hand around her “—couldn’t be easy.”

  “What do you mea
n? I’m happy to help out.”

  Claire shook her head. “No.” She took a deep breath. “I mean coming into a family that has more baggage than an airport on Christmas Day.” She smiled ruefully. “Dealing with Colt and his issues. Then having to deal with Colt’s sick nephew.” She had pulled her long, black hair away from her face, exposing green eyes that had gone dark with seriousness. “Now this.” She swung a hand toward Colt’s front yard.

  “This” was every A-list celebrity Randy knew. Coins for Caring had morphed from a donation jar at Children’s Hospital to an all-day event held at Reynolds’s Ranch. Claire was right. It’d been a little crazy.

  “Are you kidding? All this is great.”

  A concert would be held later on, performed by some little teeny-bopper band Natalie had never heard of, but that was clearly incredibly popular because tickets for the day’s event had sold out in less than an hour. There would be a performance by Colt and the Galloping Girlz in the afternoon, a silent auction, and the coup de grâce, a live auction where none other than Rand Jefferson would be auctioned off for a day.

  “Still. This can’t be easy.”

  Natalie waved her hand, the engagement ring Colt had bought her shortly after she’d won the Gucci Mini Prix sparkling. “Colt and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “So you say.” Claire’s eyes held her own. The gratitude mixed with love made a lump form in Natalie’s throat. “But I appreciate it all the same.”

  Natalie leaned forward and impulsively pulled Claire into her arms. She’d never had the love and support of a sibling, but she did now.

  “Hey.” They pulled apart as Colt entered the kitchen with a smile. “What’s going on in here? Way too much to do for you two to be loitering around.”

  “Loitering,” Claire teased. “Hardly.”

  Natalie and Colt watched as she walked out. “It’s good to see her with a smile on her face,” Colt observed.

  Yes, it was. The poor woman had been through far too much in life. This latest blow might have driven a lot of people over the edge. Not Claire. She continued to drive her son back and forth to doctor’s appointments, volunteer countless hours on behalf of Combat Pet Rescue and still maintain her spirits.