The crowd was still cheering. Laurel glanced toward the arena, hoping to catch sight of Rowdy. It wasn’t hard. He was riding straight toward her at full gallop.
Everyone took a step back when Cinnamon pushed the barrier trying to stop. Laurel stood her ground, letting the horse’s powerful shoulder brush against her.
Rowdy didn’t look like he saw another person around but her. “I have to know,” he said quick and angry. “Are you still my partner or was this all a game?”
She couldn’t breathe. She saw hurt and confusion in his dark eyes.
Her father moved toward her, shoving people out of his way.
“I’m still your partner,” she answered and lifted her chin.
Rowdy slid his boot out of the stirrup and offered his hand. “Then take the victory ride with me.”
She gripped his fingers and stepped into the saddle as he shoved back to make room. A moment later, his arms were around her holding tight.
As her father’s hand went out to grab her leg, Rowdy kicked Cinnamon into action. They shot out into the arena.
Laurel closed her eyes and leaned into his warmth. Nothing mattered but him, not the rodeo or the crowds or even her father. Only Rowdy.
As they circled, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a scene.”
“That doesn’t matter, but it took me a minute to figure out what you’d done. How unlike my shy Laurel to run to me.” His fingers circled her waist. “God, I missed the feel of you all day, darling.”
Everyone waved and yelled as they rounded the arena, but she didn’t care. Rowdy and she had their own private world.
“Stop calling me darling,” she said, laughing.
“Why, because you don’t love me?”
“No, because you don’t love me.”
“You’re wrong there, I do love you. I think I have since the sixth grade. I just didn’t know it until that horse knocked the brains out of me.”
Dan opened the side gate and Rowdy shot out of it away from the crowds and into the night. He rode for a while until the noise of town was only a whisper behind them, then he slowed.
She relaxed against him trying to let herself believe she’d just heard him say he loved her.
“It took me a while to figure out why you told me not to sell and why it was so important you acted like I wasn’t in the room with you. I spent most of the day mad because you walked away, but then it hit me and you’re right.”
She started to ask about what, but he twisted her chin and kissed her hard.
“That wasn’t my best,” he said as he straightened. “But I’ll work on it later.”
She laughed and he kissed her again.
When he backed an inch away, he whispered against her cheek, “You do love me?”
“Yes.” She smiled, watching the last hint of doubt disappear from his eyes.
“Good, then we go with your plan, but you got to promise never to call me dear.”
“My plan? What plan?”
He nodded. “I keep the ranch and we don’t sell the cattle. In a year we’ll have a great place and who cares if no one in town will talk to us. Between the work and the nights together we won’t notice.”
“We’ll be partners?” she said.
He smiled. “We’ll be a lot more than that, darling.”
Afterword
Rowdy Darnell and Laurel Hayes were married the last night of the 1890 Kasota Springs Rodeo. Within five years the RL Ranch became one of the most profitable spreads in West Texas.
They had three sons and a daughter.
In 1912, Laurel Darnell was elected mayor of Kasota Springs.
Rowdy never rode in another rodeo, but folks talked about his rides for years.
Rowdy and Laurel’s partnership lasted fifty-seven years, until she died of a heart attack. Her headstone read, “Beloved wife, mother and partner.”
Rowdy didn’t mourn her death as his father had mourned his mother. Instead, he passed the ranch along to his children and spent the next two years teaching his eleven grandchildren to ride.
Two years to the day Laurel had died, he passed away in his sleep.
The children were surprised when they learned he’d already ordered his headstone. It was placed next to Laurel’s in a small cemetery on their ranch.
His stone read, “Keep praying for me, darling, I’ll be there by supper.”
LUCK OF THE DRAW
DEWANNA PACE
To
Elaine Gregory,
Texas Boss Woman
who always wrangled the best out of me
and to
Jimmy Don Williams,
Texas Songwriter, Cowboy Poet, Brother.
No matter how many times life throws y’all,
you cowboy-up and ride.
Ki yi, Ki yi,
do or die.
Chapter 1
July 3, 1890
Speculation over who would win or lose rode ahead of Dally Angelo.
The betting started among his coworkers back at the bunkhouse two days ago when he and most of the Double D ranch hands had packed up their riggings and headed for Kasota Springs. It had continued for the forty-mile trek every time they met up with a wagonload of folks headed for the Fourth of July Cowboy Competition.
Dally was getting mighty tired of the wagering. Tired of everyone making his business theirs. Tired of being stopped when all he wanted to do was get there and make the draw.
“Bet you a slug of chaw they ask the same question.” Slim, the cowpoke riding just ahead of Dally, slowed and waited for him to catch up.
Dally ignored his friend’s teasing, as well as the wagon that approached from the south. Instead, he pulled his hat low over his eyes and nudged his roan into a trot. Plenty of cowboys heading for the competition had his lank and look of hard edges, but few could boast his banty height and ice blue eyes. He didn’t much care that the way he sat short in the saddle made him odd-man out in a trace of tall Texans, as long as it gave him an advantage in riding Bone Buster. But Dally knew if the folks in the approaching wagon got a glimpse of his face, they’d see the Angelo eyes and wouldn’t let him pass without some kind of comment on the ride he planned to make in Kasota Springs.
“Ho, the Double D!” shouted the man driving the brace of oxen toward them.
Dally moved to the edge and allowed the wagon to pull alongside him into the double-rutted path. He might not want to invite any real friendliness at the moment, but the woman who sat beside the man atop the bench demanded that he offer the better path to the wagon. Traveling across the prairie loam of the Texas Panhandle could jolt a soul’s teeth out of their sockets even with the best of wheels. A rutted path, no matter how well traveled, always gave a bit of reprieve from the bone-jarring one across open plains.
“Y’all headed for the rodeo in Kasota?” the woman asked as a tow-headed boy in a cowboy hat suddenly appeared through the canvas that arched over the wagon. “Tie your bandanna around your nose if you’re going to sit up here with us, Jory,” she instructed. “The wind’s kicking up dust.”
“Did you say Double D, Mama?” the boy named Jory asked, his gaze scanning the line of riders first ahead of, then behind Dally. He ignored his mother’s demand and instead focused on Dally. “Is ’zat you, Dally Angelo?” He pointed toward Dally. “Papa stop the wagon! It’s gotta be him. I just know it is.”
The wagon stopped and so did Dally. Of all the things he could ignore, a kid wasn’t one of them. Best to get this over with so he could be on his way.
“That’s him, kid.” Slim confirmed Dally’s identity, stopping alongside the roan. “All five feet six of bearing down and bailing out.”
“See, I told ya so, Papa. I knew it was him. Just think…being that little and riding a two thousand pound bull. Goshamightyjesus!”
“Dust that language off your tongue, Jory Johanson, or you won’t have enough bottom to sit come sundown.”
If Mrs. Johanson took on a bull at the mome
nt, Dally would bet on her. The kid best watch his language.
The boy’s cheeks turned crimson. “Sorry, Ma.”
His father looked apologetically at Dally. “You’ll have to excuse my son, Mr. Angelo. He heard about your ride up in Durango and that one in Canadian. When I told him you might be headed to Kasota, he nearly split his britches bragging to his friends that he was going to see you ride. You’re quite the legend these days, you know.”
“He’s used to putting some feist in the little fellers, ain’t you, Angelo?” Slim’s mustache broadened to reveal a gap in his teeth. “Gives ’em somebody to look up to…a little ways, anyway.”
If Dally didn’t like his stringbean of a friend so much, he’d have already shucked him loose of a few more teeth. Being inches short of a well-dug grave didn’t mean he couldn’t hold his own if push came to shove. “Nothing more than a man bent on riding a particular bull, sir.”
“You gonna ride Bone Buster, Mr. Angelo?” The awe in Jory’s voice held reverence for the brindle. As well it should have. The two thousand pound bull had never been ridden for ten seconds and had killed a man.
A thousand emotions raced up to answer the boy, but only one found its voice. The one that had driven Dally to chase the bull across three states of competitions and for four years…revenge. “Depends on the luck of the draw.”
“I saved a whole dollar so’s I could bet on you, if you do.” Jory pulled the dollar from his pocket and held it up for Dally to see.
Dally shook his head. “Put that money to better use, son. I’ll ride the full ten when the time comes. Count on it.”
Jory quickly stashed the money away and took off his hat, holding it over his heart. “I’m sure sorry to hear about your pa, Mr. Angelo. I’d ride old Bone Buster for ya myself if I could. I hope you draw him right out of the chute.”
Of all the good wishes anyone had ever given him since that awful day in Pecos, Dally was most touched by Jory Johanson’s simple act of respect. For the first time in a long time, Dally had more reason than revenge to ride the bull that had killed his father. He needed to prove to a little boy that betting on a done deal was useless.
“Come by the chute, if your ma and pa will let you, and I’ll make sure you get to watch the draw. Maybe you’re just the luck I need.”
“Didja hear that?” Jory squealed and nearly jumped off the bench. “I get to watch the draw like with all the big fellows.”
The wind whipped up reddish brown dirt and flung it into their faces. Jory coughed and sputtered. Dally realized the child had not followed his mother’s advice. “Cowboys who mind their ma do.”
When the boy immediately pulled up the bandanna, Mrs. Johanson offered a smile of gratitude. “We best let you get on your way. I hear the rodeo starts in less than two hours. We wouldn’t want to make you late.”
Slim shook his head. “The bull riding ain’t part of the actual events. It don’t take place till the dance starts later tonight. So’s you can take all the time you want with him. Me and the other fellers, though, we got to hightail it or we’re gonna miss out on getting our fees paid.”
Dally glared at his friend, warning that he’d spoken out of turn. Slim knew they all needed to get to town and set up camp. “I’m sure you folks are just as anxious to get out of this wind as we are. Have a safe journey.” He bid Jory farewell and spurred the roan into a lope.
After the Johansons and the rest of the Double D were long behind him, Dally discovered Slim had elected to give chase.
“Whoa, Angelo! Took me more’n fifteen minutes to catch up with ya. I rubbed a bunch of blisters on my butt while you ran our horses’ hooves to the nubs.”
“I don’t remember inviting you to the race, friend.”
“You might ought to practice up on some conviviality before you hit Kasota, hoss.” Slim laughed. “Make it a little easier to shuffle a petticoat or two your direction if you do.”
“I’m not going there to see the ladies, Slim.”
“Heck, don’t I know it. One bull. One lady. That’s all you’ve ever had on your mind. Reckon Gus will be there?”
The mention of Augusta Garrison did what it had always done to Dally since Pecos. It turned his blood to ice water and set his jaw teeth to grinding. Old wounds might scar over but the memory of how they were inflicted remained raw and festering. “If Bone Buster’s there, it’s likely she could be too.”
Slim had known Dally and Gus since childhood. Had been one of the first friends Dally told about his engagement to Augusta. Slim had been close friend enough to act as pallbearer at Flint Angelo’s funeral. But of all the things Dally appreciated about his cohort was the fact that Slim had been wise enough never to ask why Augusta returned Dally’s ring the same day of the funeral, took the killer bull and walked out of Dally’s life. If Slim were smart, he wouldn’t push the point now. Dally had spent four years hardening himself against Augusta and telling himself he didn’t care whether he ever saw her again. It would be a shame to lose a good friend over her as well.
“How many ranches you reckon will be anteing up?”
Realizing Slim had changed the subject on purpose, Dally relaxed and slowed his gait. He was getting edgier the closer they came to Kasota Springs. Part of it was anticipation of the draw. Part was concern that Augusta might be there. He’d thought over countless times what he’d say to her when, and if, he ever saw her again. But finally facing the possibility shook him more than he thought it could.
Nothing was going to ruin his focus. Nothing or no one. Not even Augusta Garrison.
“Got dust in your craw,” Slim asked, “or you just like to hear me rattle?”
Dally realized he’d never answered the man. Ranches. How many competing. “Boss said about twenty outfits are participating. Most from Texas, but some from Oklahoma. Even a few from Colorado.”
“You gonna try for best all-around?”
“No. I’m here just for the bull riding. You?”
Slim reached into his pocket, flipped a gold coin into the air and caught it. “Whatever this here will let me enter. I figure I got as good a chance as any.” His mustache lifted. “I could start my own place with the winnings and hire your rascally hide to ride herd for me.”
Dally suspected Slim was more interested in the year’s worth of bragging rights than he was in the hundred head of cattle to be given for “Best All-Around Cowboy.” The stringbean preferred earning a payday than nursing the worry of making a payroll for others.
“Reckon the committee will ever make you guys official?”
“I don’t see it happening anytime soon. They think we’re too dangerous and an unnecessary risk.” Dally crested the rise that bore the mark of the town’s cemetery. It looked like someone had been cleaning the graves. Particularly the five that were separated by a wrought-iron fence. “They don’t think bull riding’s part of a ranch hand’s regular duties.”
“You don’t sound too busted up over it.” Slim slipped his coin back into his pocket.
“Outlaw event or authorized, makes no matter. I’m not riding for the money.”
Below them, new storefronts and businesses framed a town square while double-storied roofs stood behind the hardware store and bank. The railhead bracketed one end of the main thoroughfare while houses and barns made up the other end of town. Tents and encampments sprawled across the edges of Kasota Springs, bursting the town at its seams.
“Hey, would you look at that!” Slim pointed toward the middle of town. “See that banner strung across Main Street?”
Dally focused on the wide swath of red, white and blue with huge letters that he could barely make out from this distance. “Yeah, what about it?”
“It says Rodeo.” Slim squinted eyes that were already narrow from too many days spent staring into the western horizon. “Not Cowboy Competition but Rodeo, as that lady back there said.”
The term was as old as the vaqueros who rode herd across the Spanish land grants of Texas, but it met with
a lot of resistance from most folks.
“Bet the planning committee went a round or two over the wording of that one this year.”
“I heard Tempest LeDoux is heading up the committee,” Dally informed, knowing his friend would get a hoot out of that fact. The man had a soft spot in his heart for the lady who ran the town’s weekly poker game. Too bad she was still in mourning last they’d heard. But Slim wouldn’t have to wait too long, Dally supposed. The woman never let the grass green up on the grave before she set her hat for her next bridegroom.
“Well, that explains it.” Pride filled Slim’s tone. “She probably made ’em change it to Rodeo. Said she was going to last time I sat in on a game. I never known her to set her mind to something and not follow it through.”
The sound of a gunshot drew their attention to a big crowd gathering in front of the mayor’s house. “You best get on into town and put your money down. Looks like things are fixing to start. The mayor’s called everyone together for the speech making.”
“Sure wouldn’t want to miss any of that, would we?” Slim laughed, spurring his horse into a lope.
Dally followed a bit more slowly, wanting to skirt as much of the crowd as possible so he could make his way over to the stock pens and find out if the Flying G had brought Bone Buster to the competition. The Garrisons had stocked the bull out to Prescott and bigger competitions but hadn’t brought him this close to home in nearly four years now. Dally had chased the bull to every competition he could but never had the luck of the draw and gotten to ride the demon. Money ran out and he’d been forced to return home to work spring roundup before he could try again. When he’d heard that Augusta’s parents might bring the bull home for the Fourth of July celebration, Dally thought his luck might have changed.
Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy Page 42
