Dusty: Wild Cowboy

by Cathy McDavid

  “And a handful.” Dusty signaled to turn into the rest stop. “You could ride with Dex and Josie if you wanted.”

  “What?” She smiled. “And miss all the fun? Besides, Track will keep him busy.”

  At the mention of his name, the dog lifted his head from where he’d been snoozing in the backseat.

  “I miss having a dog.” Maryanne scratched his ears affectionately. “We had two while I was growing up. Popeye and Munchkin.”

  She liked kids and dogs. What more could a guy ask for in a woman? If only she weren’t leaving in a couple of weeks.

  “You can borrow Track anytime you want.”

  It took them a good five minutes to park all the vehicles at the rest stop and climb out. Shortly after they climbed out, Jesse called to let them know he and the rest of the family had landed safely.

  “Do you think we’re in for trouble?” Dex asked Dusty. They were standing by his truck, giving everyone a chance to stretch their legs.

  Dusty followed his brother’s gaze to where Maryanne and Josie were sitting at a nearby picnic table, water bottles in their hands and the remnant of a snack in front of them.

  “No.” He shook his head.

  “You positive? Josie’s got more than enough dirt on you to ruin your chances with Miss Beverly Hills over there.”

  “She lives in L.A.” Dusty was actually more concerned about the dirt Maryanne had on him. She’d promised not to say anything about his writing, and he believed her, but unintentional slipups happened. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Maryanne and I aren’t involved.” His mind flashed once again on the kiss they’d shared behind the barn. “Not that way.”

  “Ah, yes.” Dex smirked. “The junior marketing exec. She’s advising you on how to grow your business, and you’re helping her dad rope in exchange.”

  “There’s a real market for trained horses in films.” Dusty had decided to give a modified version of the truth for why he’d invited Maryanne and her father along to the rodeo. Less chance for one of those unintentional slipups.

  “Don’t go too far,” Josie hollered at Matt.

  He’d taken Track on a short walk along a path that circled the restrooms. The dog evidently listened better than a four-year-old for he pulled on the leash in an attempt to return. Matt would have none of it.

  “He’s your kid, all right,” Dex said. They’d finished checking under the hoods of all three trucks and inspecting the tires. Boyd and Maryanne’s father were tending to the horses. So far, everything was in order. “You never listened worth a damn when we were kids, either. Still don’t.”

  Dusty didn’t take his eyes off his son. “Maybe between the two of us we can do a better job of instilling some responsibility in him.”

  “I know it isn’t easy for you to have Matt living with me.”

  “Trust me. I’d rather have you as his stepfather than some other guy.”

  “Did I tell you what a fool you were to let Josie go?”

  “Repeatedly.”

  “Like I said, you don’t listen well.”

  “She’s better off with you. I’d have only made her miserable.”

  “What about her?” Dex inclined his head at Maryanne.

  Dusty shook his head. “’Fraid not.”

  “Why? She likes you, and from what I can see, the feeling’s mutual.”

  “She’d get fed up with me in three months and leave.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Look at her.”

  They both studied Maryanne’s designer jeans, wool shawl— handmade with naturally processed wool, Dusty had learned that during one of their earlier conversations—short blond hair and hoop earrings large enough to wear as bracelets.

  “Can you see someone like her fitting in on the ranch?” Dusty asked.

  “It’s just clothes and hair.”

  “Her job and home and family are in California.”

  “As much as you travel, you could live anywhere. At least part of the year.”

  For a few seconds, Dusty imagined just such a scenario. It wasn’t hard. He loved his home and would always want to return frequently, especially to visit Matt. But his writing and film work could allow him to have a second home on the West Coast.

  In the next second, reality returned.

  “You’re forgetting something, bro,” he told Dex with a harsh laugh. “Dad would disown me if I left.”

  “Do you care?”

  Dusty didn’t think twice about his answer. “Yeah, I do.”

  “You two made up yet?”

  He glanced around. Gil was heading to the restroom while Boyd waited, his back propped against the truck door. Josie had abandoned calling Matt and was now chasing after him. Maryanne waited at the picnic table, a gentle smile on her face. No one was paying any attention to Dex and Dusty.

  “We’re talking. Barely.”

  “What does Mom say about the fight?”

  “Nothing. Not one word.”

  “That’s not like her.”

  “Which makes me think she and Dad are hiding something.”

  “There could be another explanation.”

  “Yeah? Then why was Dad outside the feed store the other day talking to Abigail Hansen?”

  Dex’s eyes narrowed. “You saw them?”

  “When Matt and I were having ice cream at the General Store. And whatever they were discussing was pretty heated.”

  “Matt saw Dad, too?”

  “Don’t worry. He doesn’t have any idea what’s going on. I told him the woman was an old friend.”

  Dex murmured an expletive. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “We’ve been busy getting ready for this trip. And when you think about it, Dad speaking to Abigail Hansen on the street isn’t exactly incriminating evidence. They’ve lived in the same town their entire lives.”

  “And would go a mile out of their way to avoid each other.”

  The feud between their father and Abigail’s husband, Tomas, went back decades. It had started over land and continued to this day.

  “She didn’t look good,” Dusty commented, remembering how frail Abigail Hansen had appeared, especially standing next to J.W.

  “I hear she’d been sick a while now.”

  “There’s still one thing that doesn’t make sense.”

  “What’s that?” Dex asked.

  “Let’s say Dad did have an affair with Abigail Hansen. Why would Mom have taken him back after that? I think she’d be pretty perturbed with him.”

  “She may not know.”

  “Trust me, she does. She told me before Dad’s and my argument that he’d never forgive her if she said anything to me.”

  “Wow.”

  “Let’s haul out,” Boyd called out. “Time’s a-wasting.”

  Everyone started moving toward the parked vehicles.

  Dex lowered his voice as he and Dusty walked. “She could have taken him back to keep the family together. Mark’s only a few months older than Jesse. What if she didn’t find out about Dad’s affair until she was already pregnant?”

  “It’s possible. Or she has some other hold on him.”

  “Do you think Mom’s capable of that?”

  “I think,” Dusty said with growing certainty, “there’s a lot about both our parents we don’t know and a lot they’re hiding from us.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dusty and Walker stood on the first rung of the arena fence, their arms hooked over the top rail, watching the bull riding event and waiting for Jesse to go. In front of them, on ground level, the cameraman filmed the bull’s face through the railing. Behind them, a giant TV screen showed the action in between posting scores.

  It was day three, final round of the competition. Dusty’s parents were in the stands along with Dex and the rest of the family. Maryanne and her father were also in the stands.

  He hadn’t seen much of her during the rodeo, and, as a result, spent too much time dwelling on her and not enough on competing. Amazingly, he
was doing well in tie-down roping, holding steady in second place. His event was scheduled to start next, and, unlike usual, he was a bundle of nerves. He wanted to win. More so today because Maryanne was watching.

  Adding to his anxiety, he’d seen neither hide nor hair of the producer from Sundown Pictures. In a follow-up phone call, the production intern had assured Dusty the producer and a small crew would be in Albuquerque. Dusty could only conclude whatever locations they were scouting weren’t on the rodeo grounds.

  He surveyed the crowd, something he’d been doing constantly, his hand involuntarily constricting into a fist.

  “What’s with you?” Walker asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Not like you to be so damn fidgety. That’s my thing.”

  Dusty’s older brother had a tendency to pace restlessly, a symptom of his post-traumatic stress syndrome. He’d improved steadily since his discharge from the army and dramatically in the weeks following his wedding. Paula, his wife, hadn’t come along with them to the rodeo, stating she had to work. Dusty’s mother speculated Paula was pregnant. Walker wouldn’t comment.

  “Mark Hansen’s up next.” Dusty inclined his head toward the far right chute, diverting the subject away from him.

  “He’s been doing good this weekend.”

  “Real good.”

  Jesse and Mark were almost neck and neck with Mark in the lead by the slimmest of margins. Assuming they could hang on, either one of them could—and probably would—win.

  The gate swung open, and a contestant astride a bull named Gizmo erupted into the arena. The rider lasted three-point-six seconds before being tossed into the air like a wet dish towel. Gizmo trotted in a victory circle before being rounded up by the bullfighters dressed in their oversize sports jerseys and knee-high athletic socks. By then, the uninjured cowboy was on his feet and accepting the audience’s applause.

  “I thought Jesse and Hansen would quit their fool rivalry while I was in the service.” Walker tugged on the brim of his cowboy hat until it sat low over his eyes.

  “If anything, it’s gotten worse.”

  “You think it has to do with Dad and Hansen’s father?”

  “It could.”

  “What about Janie?” Walker said, naming Mark Hansen’s sister. “Jesse’s always had a hankering for her.”

  None of the gossip about their father and Mark being his son had anything to do with Janie. What, Dusty wondered, did she think of it? He’d always been fond of Janie and respected her for making the best of what had to be a difficult life living with an alcoholic father.

  “Speaking of Dad, what’s with you and him lately?” Of course Walker had noticed, as did anyone with eyes and ears.

  “You know Dad. Same ol’, same ol’.”

  “He’s not happy about your latest film job at Yellowstone?”

  “Among other things.”

  Dusty was about to mention his and Dex’s recent conversations regarding their father when Walker hitched his chin at the chute.

  “Check that out.”

  Mark Hansen was at that moment lowering himself onto the back of a massive half-Brahma bull. Both Mark and the bull wore the same fierce expression, and the contest between them promised to be a worthy one.

  The crowd wasn’t disappointed. Mark rode the Brahma-cross the full eight seconds, and his score landed him in first place.

  Dusty whooped and hollered. The stern look Walker shot him had no effect.

  “Lighten up, will you? He gave a hell of a ride.”

  Four more contestants took their turns, each one finishing by eating dirt. Dusty continued surveying the stands. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to see more, Maryanne or the producer from Sundown Pictures.

  The person he did catch sight of was Nicki Sable, Jesse’s best friend since high school. Funny, she wasn’t watching his brother, who was standing near the chutes. Instead, her gaze was centered on Mark Hansen.

  Walker nudged Dusty in the side. “Relax. You’re gonna smoke the competition.”

  Dusty didn’t correct his brother’s assumption. He wasn’t in the mood to explain the reasons for his nerves.

  “Here we go.”

  At the note of excitement in Walker’s voice, Dusty peered above the heads of the other cowboys to see Jesse lowering himself onto a plain brown medium-sized bull. Appearances, in this case, were deceiving. Jesse had drawn Willie Wonka, a bull with a reputation of making or breaking cowboys, usually the latter.

  Not that eight seconds is long but it was over in a heartbeat. At least for the spectators. Jesse hung on, giving the ride of his life. The buzzer sounded, and the crowd roared, Dusty and Walker right along with them. Moments later, the announcer proclaimed Jesse had moved into first place. Leave it to his oldest brother to pull a rabbit out of a hat.

  Turning sideways, Dusty caught sight of Mark Hansen. The other man’s face wasn’t hard to read. He didn’t like coming in second.

  “Be right back.” Dusty hopped off the fence.

  “Where you going?”

  He didn’t answer his brother. Instead, he walked straight up to Mark. “Good ride earlier.”

  Mark stared at Dusty’s extended hand. “Not good enough.”

  “There’s always next month and Oklahoma City.”

  After a moment that stretched indefinitely Mark clasped Dusty’s hand and returned the shake with vigor. His respect for his brother’s rival grew. If not for the dispute between their fathers, Mark could just as easily have been their friend.

  “See ya tonight at the dance.” Dusty smiled. Mending fences with Mark didn’t feel wrong. Even if it turned out they weren’t brothers.

  “I’ll be there.”

  So would most of the competitors. The winners would be celebrating and the losers nursing their wounded pride. Liquor and/or women were often the chosen remedy. At one time, they’d been Dusty’s remedy, too. Not anymore.

  “What’s going on here?”

  An angry male voice boomed from behind Dusty, and he turned to face Jesse. Nicki stood behind him, her long blond hair tucked under a pale blue cowboy hat. She said nothing, though her eyes appeared to take in every detail.

  “Just having a friendly chat with Mark about his ride.” Dusty flashed a wide grin.

  Jesse’s eyes narrowed dangerously—as did Mark’s.

  Dusty stepped directly in the line of fire. “If not for three points, he’d have won.”

  “But he didn’t,” Jesse growled.

  “Not this time,” Mark fired back.

  Walker came over, his features taut, his eyes darting nervously from one man to the next. “Come on, Dusty, you gotta get ready.” He didn’t acknowledge Mark. “Jesse, you, too. Mom and Dad are waiting to congratulate you.”

  Neither Jesse nor Mark budged. They were both too stubborn—which made for some mighty fine entertainment.

  “Hey, Dusty.” Leroy, another tie-down roper Dusty frequently competed against, rode past them on a high-stepping buckskin gelding. “You ready to have your hide run into the ground?”

  Leroy’s taunt reminded Dusty that Uno was in the care of one of the hands, waiting for Dusty to warm him up in the smaller practice arena. The last thing he needed was his horse seizing up because his muscles weren’t sufficiently limber.

  “Let’s go, Jesse.” He went over to his brother and clapped him on the back.

  Jesse acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. His parting glance to Mark contained enough firepower to burn through steel. Mark seemed none the worse for it. Turning on his heel, he went in the opposite direction, joining a group of cowboys eager to offer their congratulations on his placement.

  While Jesse and Nicki lagged behind to talk to some buddies, Dusty and Walker cut behind the bleachers and crossed in front of a row of vendors. Suddenly Dusty stopped. The producer from Sundown Pictures stood about thirty feet away, his crew of three surrounding him.

  Even if Dusty hadn’t remembered the man from their previous meetings, he would have recogni
zed him instantly as someone from the film industry. Despite the chilly air, he wore khaki shorts, hiking boots and toted a backpack. A canvas ball cap covered his shaggy hair. In the next instant, all Dusty saw was the man’s back as he and his crew melted into the crowd.

  Dusty didn’t think. He started forward.

  “Where you going?” Walker hollered.

  “Be right back.”

  “Damn it to hell, Dusty!”

  “I said I’ll be right back.”

  His mouth had gone bone-dry. For three days he’d been waiting for this moment. Now that it was here, he couldn’t think of a single tip Maryanne had given him. Hell, he couldn’t remember the name of his screenplay or what it was about.

  He caught sight of the producer only to lose him again.

  Shit. He was going to screw this up royally if he didn’t get his act together. He forced his legs to move faster, still unsure what he was going to say once he caught up with the producer.

  From the corner of his eye, he spotted Maryanne. She and her father were brandishing sodas and corn dogs and coming toward him. The ridiculous straw hat she wore sat at a crooked angle and her sunglasses had slid down her nose. His befuddled brain marginally registered her meal choice—junk food? That didn’t seem like her. But then, neither had her love of sports cars.

  A look of concern crossed her face. “Are you all right?” she asked as she neared.

  “Sorry. I can’t talk now.”

  She followed his gaze and understanding dawned on her face. “Go,” she urged.

  “I…I…”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “You’ll do fine.”

  Her encouragement was all he needed. Like that, his brain snapped into sharp focus.

  “Dusty!” Walker had caught up with them.

  It didn’t matter. No way would his brother or anyone else stop him now.

  Not caring who saw or what they thought, he swooped Maryanne into his arms and gave her a sound kiss on the cheek.

  “Thanks. For everything. I owe you.”

  Flustered, she stepped back, barely managing to hold on to her corn dog and soda.

  “Good luck.” She smiled radiantly.

  He took the memory of that smile with him as he sprinted to catch up to the producer.