His thoughts returned to the real reason he’d watched Gill Puckett make his ride. The real reason he’d actually found himself counting off those seconds the man had stayed atop the bull. For the first time in his life, he’d found himself wanting another man to defeat the bull. To strip from him the goal he couldn’t turn away from until Bone Buster had been broken. To release him from whatever this was that kept him from fixing what was wrong between him and Augusta.
The willingness to see someone else make the ride scared the hell out of Dally. Made him sway from the intense focus that had gripped him for so long. All of a sudden he wanted to know what would happen after he rode the bull. Riding Bone Buster didn’t seem to be the ultimate goal anymore.
That’s why you kissed her, Dally berated himself. Not once, but twice today. You wanted to know that she missed you. That there was still something between you that might be worth fixing. That fixing it would bring a greater satisfaction than conquering the bull that killed Flint.
The sting of the slap that August had given him might be long gone, but the hurt of believing she wanted no part of him ached like a mule kick in the gut.
Dally threw his clothes in a heap in one corner, muttering a low curse when he realized the vest was torn. His mother had made the vest for Flint the year before he died. Dally had worn it for luck every time he drew for the ride. Remembering his mother, he bent and retrieved the paper he’d left in the pocket of the soiled shirt. He started to put the note away somewhere safe, but his fingers trembled as he touched it. Light a lantern, he told himself, trying to shake off the sense of helplessness that engulfed him as he unfolded the paper in the dark—the sense of something fearful he couldn’t put a name to.
But the sheer act of acknowledging the apprehension seemed too monumental an effort. Dally stepped outside the tent and allowed the moon to provide the light he needed, to ease the darkness of the unnatural fear that overtook him.
He strode to the bank where the moon glistened bright atop the water’s surface, plopped down and rested his elbows on his knees. Dally folded and unfolded the paper, wondering if he could read it again, yet knowing the act was unnecessary because he had memorized every line, word by word.
Son, you were such a little guy when you rode your daddy’s roping steer.
His mother’s words came to him now, in the sigh of the wind, the whisper of the leaves in the cottonwood trees, in the snap and crackle of the campfire not too far upstream. Dally peered at the words his mother had written before she’d died from a broken heart that had lost its true love and no longer wanted to live.
Flint always laughed and yelled at you, “Son, do or die,” and you always yelled back, “Ki yi, ki yi.”
I know nothing I can say will stop you from trying to ride that bull. So when you do, Dally, remember this. I know your daddy. He’ll be near. You just ride on luck and skill. Bow your head and ask the Good Lord to bless you, if He will. Remember that fear knows no pride. Fire up and ride, son. Ki yi, Ki yi!
The letter fluttered from his hands as Dally bowed his head on his knees and did what he’d never allowed himself to do until now. He offered up a prayer to the higher source he believed in, asking for more than a chance at drawing the bull’s name tomorrow. Asking for something beyond his sake.
“Help me be done with this thing, Lord,” Dally whispered. “You know I won’t give up the ride, and if anyone knows how stubborn that redhead can be, it’s You. She won’t ever agree to marry me until this is done.” He lifted his head and stared at the star-filled sky. “And the one thing You know best about me is that I love her with everything I am.”
His hand swept through his hair as he attempted to put into words all he felt, all he longed for. But God had not been listening on that day four years ago when Dally had begged him not to let his father die, when he’d pleaded for him not to let Augusta walk out of his life, six months later when he’d buried his heartbroken mother. Why should He be listening now?
Dally studied the ever-darkening expanse of the Texas countryside for a long time until he suddenly noticed that, despite the shadows, the moon cast light so vivid that he could see far into the distance. The rooftops of town, the canopy of trees, a bank of clouds looming on the horizon all seemed sinister elements until touched by a light more luminous than their dark outlines. The unnamed fear that had overwhelmed him only moments ago now seemed to ooze out into the night as if it were a wound that needed bleeding.
Dally focused on the moon, wondering if maybe he was being told something he wasn’t smart enough to understand. He craned his ear, trying to listen just as he wanted to be heard.
Then it struck him. Focusing on the light, he saw what scared him and he could see past the darkness. Was that the answer? To focus on what was beyond what he meant to do?
That was too simple. Too easy, to be right there in front of him if he just looked a different way. The right way, maybe?
“As much as I never thought I’d hear these words come out of my mouth”—he paused to garner a strength he’d never called upon himself to give—“will You help me do whatever it is that will put an end to this battle with the bull and bring me and Gus back together?”
The moment he prayed it, he knew he’d done the right thing. Maybe this time there would be a real chance to draw the ride that had eluded him for so long. Maybe for the first time in a long time he wanted to be done with it for some reason other than his own satisfaction. Maybe if he focused hard enough he could see life beyond the ride.
“You better ask for a lot more than that.”
The voice startled Dally from his thoughts. The clown he’d seen with Augusta most of the day strode toward Dally, appearing eerily ominous in his face paint, wig and padded suit.
“Where I come from a man’s careful about the trouble he throws a loop on.” Dally didn’t extend him any welcome and wasn’t ready to take any advice from the stranger. Especially not where Gus was concerned. “I’ll thank you kindly to be on about your business and leave me to mine.”
“Sorry.” Joey shrugged. “And I only meant to warn you that it’s going to take more than praying to win my boss’s heart again, Angelo. That’s a good start, make no mistake, but you’re gonna have to pursue her just as hard as you’ve chased that bull.”
“I don’t remember asking you for your opinion on the subject.” Dally stood and dusted off his pants leg. “And, besides, I thought you were off looking for the Garrisons.” He tempered his growl with sincere concern. “I’m assuming they’re all right since you’re standing here eavesdropping.”
“They broke an axle but lucked out when some other folks came along and offered them a ride here. Gus sent some of the hands out to fix the wagon and bring it in. She’s getting the Garrisons settled in at the hotel.”
Dally headed for his tent, making a mental list of what he needed to gather before he could help the Garrisons. A shirt, his saddlebags and horse. “I’ll just get my riggings and see what Augusta wants me—”
The clown stepped in the way, forming a blockade. “No, Angelo. She asked me to tell you to wait until morning to pay your respects. And she said to tell you that she sent enough men to take care of things. You’re to stay put.”
Dally grabbed a fistful of bowtie and padded ruffles, jerking the clown’s face close. Nose to nose, he made it clear that he wasn’t a man so easily ordered around. “You sure she’s the one asking or have you got something to say about it?”
Joey’s palms reached for the sky, as if held at gunpoint. “Holster your pistols, Cowboy. They’re all tired and Gus said since you’re dirty from your ride she thinks it’s best that you wait till tomorrow to visit. She said to tell you that we’ll see you first thing in the morning before the Woolly Buckers contest, and I’ll make sure Mr. and Mrs. Garrison know that you asked about them.”
We’ll see you. I’ll let them know. Why did the Garrisons have time enough tonight to see this clown and not him? Not to mention that Joey had been
standing around every corner next to Augusta today any time Dally had sought a moment alone with her. Seemed mighty convenient and not absolutely necessary despite the fact they worked a lot of routines together.
Helping six-and seven-year-olds learn how to ride the buck out of cantankerous bouncing balls of wool would take instructors with good hearts and lots of patience. The man must have some good qualities or he couldn’t be of help with tomorrow’s sheep riding contest. Dally wanted to dislike Joey. Had every need to. But all he could muster against him so far was that Joey did what his boss asked him to do, he called her by the affectionate name she allowed only a few people the honor, and her parents obviously granted him time and trust more than most. Just how close a relationship did he and Augusta have outside of their work hours?
“Okay, Joey, or whatever else the hell your name is, I’ll bite.” Dally knew that all clowns who traveled with the competitions were called joeys. Why didn’t this one use his true name? Another reason to be irritated with him. Something didn’t sit well in the saddle here. Something that was being left unsaid.
An overwhelming feeling that Augusta didn’t want him to see her parents made Dally feel as if something was being hidden from him. Something that obviously was no secret to this Joey Cayuse. “Now tell me why it is, clown,” Dally demanded, easing his hold only slightly, “that the Garrisons will still be awake for you to tell them anything but they’re just too tired for me to pay my respects?”
Joey jerked away, ripping material from Dally’s fist. “Maybe that’s a question you should ask yourself, Angelo. I’ll bet you’ll find almost four years’ worth of reason when you get the answer.”
Almost? What the hell did he mean by that, Dally wondered, as the tramp disappeared into the night. Why hadn’t he simply said four years?
Chapter 7
Parents and youngsters alike sat on bales of hay that had been placed along the wooden maze of corrals that held the sheep and other animals waiting their turns to outwit their riders. Augusta spotted her mother and father in the crowd and nearly tripped over the lamb that had just sent its six-year-old rider boots over bottom to the dirt. Was Maddy with them or had Joey managed to keep her daughter entertained at the hotel as instructed?
Dally was in the chutes working the animals. He didn’t need to see Maddy until Augusta could conduct the meeting on her own terms.
“Let’s hear it for little J.D. Williams, folks.” The announcer led the crowd in a round of applause.
Augusta remembered to straddle the lamb, act like it threw her as well, then landed backward in the dirt. She jumped up, dusted off her backside and limped elaborately to the sideline. Anytime one of the children didn’t make his ride, she or one of the clowns made sure he felt better by pretending an adult couldn’t handle the job any easier. The clowns’ main functions were to add encouragement to anyone’s effort.
“Seems that nobody can sit that ornery ol’ critter, J.D. Don’t take it too hard, partner.”
All of a sudden a little blond girl, no bigger than two bits, ran out in her hat and boots and laid a big kiss on little J.D.’s lips. The boy turned every shade of crimson, but his grin stretched for ear to ear.
“Hey, now. See there, cowboy”—the announcer chuckled—“there’s always something fine comes from making a good try. Let’s hear it for five-year-old Sandra Jean Goff for making that cowboy’s ride worthwhile.”
“Where’s your shadow? I thought he was supposed to be helping with this.”
Augusta swung around to find Dally waiting for his turn at the chute opening for the next ride. He’d spent most of the morning making sure the bellropes were secured tightly around the sheep’s underbellies and each rider had a secure hold on the rope when the flag dropped to signal it was time to begin the ride.
“I let him sleep in,” she informed, not wanting to think he could go searching for Joey and start any more trouble. She’d asked Joey not to participate in the children’s event so he could watch over Maddy and give her parents an opportunity to visit with some of their friends. Knowing at some point she would have to admit the truth to Dally and let him meet their daughter, Augusta had tossed and turned all night trying to figure out the right way to tell him. To make him understand. “You shouldn’t have been so unfriendly to him last night. He was just doing as I instructed.”
“So he told you?” Dally stretched the rope around the lamb and made sure the boy was ready to ride. “He should mind his business where you and I are concerned.”
Augusta was burning up in her clown suit, and Dally stirring her anger even more so didn’t help matters. “You should remember your manners as well as the fact that we’re not married.”
“Not because I don’t want to be,” Dally reminded with a note of challenge as the flag waved and he swung the gate open wide. The sheep lunged out of the chute and made a mad dash for the other side of the field.
“Look at the wool fly,” one of the chute roosters crowed, instigating a round of laughter from other critics who sat atop the chutes and passed judgment on the rides. “You’d think she was being chased by a coyote or something. Ain’t got a bit of buck in her.”
Dark, angry-looking clouds loomed over the western horizon, promising a possible summer thunderstorm. Though Augusta eagerly wished for some good old Texas wind to cool the day down, she hoped the storm waited to arrive until after the children’s rides were finished.
“Storm’s brewing,” one of them noticed.
Both kinds, Augusta decided, praying for the contest to end for other reasons than the possibility of getting wet or muddy. Hell felt like it was fixing to break loose between her and Dally, and it was a bigger storm than the one that might be swelling on the horizon.
“I’m going to go talk to your folks as soon as this is over,” Dally informed her when she made it back. Luckily the boy had ridden the lamb the full ten seconds and she didn’t have to fake another spill on her backside.
“I’ll wave them over now,” she insisted, realizing that now was the better time for him to pay his respects. That way, she was sure Maddy was nowhere in sight. “I’ll handle the chutes. You go take a break.”
Dally stared at her a minute, then nodded. She waved at her parents to come this way and watched Dally make his way toward them, his lanky backside and stride still something that could set her heart fluttering no matter how angry she might be at him.
She had to concentrate hard on keeping her mind on the task at hand instead of on watching Dally with her parents. But as soon as she released the chute to let a rider go, she dared a glance at Dally. She liked the way he shook her father’s hand and stood at ease with him. The way her mother smiled as she talked to him. Both of her parents thought a lot of Dally and had always considered him a good match for her. Both of them thought she’d been wrong for not contacting him and telling him about Maddy’s birth. And even though she’d asked them not to talk to him about Maddy until she did, she’d also not asked them to lie if he found out the truth before she had a chance to tell him. She couldn’t cause a rift between him and her parents when they had wanted her to tell him the truth from the beginning.
She’d known from the moment she made the decision to return to Texas that everyone would learn that Maddy was her daughter, not her sister, as most back east believed. She was tired of living a lie, and Maddy was getting old enough to start asking about the truth.
The promise of rain scented the air. Lightning flickered against the sky, its accompanying thunder silent at first, then becoming a low grumble. The crowd began to thin. Slim Doogan came hurrying up to whisper something in the announcer’s ear.
“It seems, folks, that a decision had been made to swap out the team roping and wild cow milking events due to the inclement weather.” The announcer held up his hands as if warding off an attack. “Now, folks, Mr. Doogan assures me that the committee thought long and hard about what was best for all concerned.”
“Long and hard?” another man jeered.
“The mayor probably got into a wager with Tempest LeDoux over it and lost. Everybody knows she’s the one running the show.”
“Hey, Doogan, speaking of running the show,” one of the chute roosters yelled. “Anyone know who’s looking strong for best all-around?”
Slim’s gapped grin stretched wide. “Dang sure ain’t me, that’s for sure and shooting. I been bucked off everything that’s crow-hopped my scrawny hide.”
The crowd laughed.
Augusta had been keeping up with most of the events because she’d had to handle the clown routines between each of them. If she were guessing, it looked like it might be that cowboy who got in trouble a while back. Rowdy somebody. She never remembered his last name. She sure hoped he won. She’d never thought he got a fair shake about all that bad business that happened a few years back.
“Some feller who used to live around here,” Slim confirmed her calculations. “A few folks’ saddles are riding rough over it.”
“Well, we’re mighty thankful you gave us the news, Mr. Doogan.” The announcer hurried Slim on his way. “We hope you draw a better ride tonight.”
By the time evening came, raindrops patted tentatively, smearing Augusta’s face paint and dampening her clothes. Two of the events had been delayed but not called off. She’d just finished the hat drawing and managed to waylay Dally’s ride on Bone Buster one more time. He’d drawn Hell Fire and Slim, unfortunately, had drawn the brindle.
“That’s a real shame, Dally.” Slim held out the paper he’d drawn. “I’ll trade’ja if you want.”
Dally shook his head. “I’ll take it legal or I don’t take it at all.”
Guilt consumed Augusta as he turned to her and stared, his eyes looking at her with a longing that broke her heart. Rain glistened on his Stetson, molding his shirt to define the muscular sinews of his shoulders and arms. He wanted the luck of the draw so much. He’d never forgive her if he ever learned the truth.
Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy Page 47
