Rodeo Dreams

by Sarah M. Anderson

  He was tired. Tired of sitting here, being unknown and invisible. Tired of scraping by at the whim of bulls. Tired of being the father figure to those kids when they never listened to him anyway. Tired of fighting Red over everything.

  The boring, comfortable life he’d passed on so many years ago—a nice house, a piece of land to work, a good woman to come home to, and maybe some kids riding the fences with him—seemed better every day.

  While the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, there was no line between Travis’s here and now and that fantasy. The house had gone with the farm. And women? Women wanted more than what he had to offer. They wanted someone who stayed home, helped with the kids. They wanted romancing. And Travis? He didn’t have that in him. He followed the rodeo.

  His mind flashed back to that Indian girl—rather, that Lakota woman—in her underwear. She was beautiful, strong and determined. He wondered if she was like that in bed, too—but hell, who was he kidding? After their argument, he’d be lucky if she didn’t sic that dog on him. Not exactly the best way to sweet-talk a pretty woman.

  But he couldn’t pull his thoughts away from her. Over and over, he replayed the way she had looked at him when she’d asked him to believe in her. It wasn’t possible that she’d been admiring his body. Was it?

  No. Gorgeous young women—smart and athletic to boot—did not admire a man like him. It just didn’t happen. If anything, she was probably gauging whether or not sleeping with him could help her get what she wanted.

  His fantasy was going to stay just that—a fantasy. He’d made his bed long ago. Now he just had to spend the rest of his life lying in it.

  The doors whooshed open for the first time in nearly two hours. He knew the odds that the customer had come to see the formerly famous Travis Younkin were slim, but he still put on his good smile and got ready to talk up tonight’s rodeo.

  But nothing got him ready for what walked in.

  “Travis?”

  He noticed the hair first. Pinned back near her temples, the rest fell long and loose down her back. He could just see the tips of each strand swaying beneath the soft curve of her hips.

  Swaying, because she was still walking toward him, every step sending out a soft tap-tap-tap from her rust-red boots. Real boots. On a real cowgirl.

  Hell, June Spotted Elk herself had just walked in.

  He tried to smile. “Hey, June. You in town?”

  Was she blushing? It looked good on her. “Oh, yeah. I got into Mesquite yesterday. Needed to pick up a shirt for tonight and some rosin. I think Jeff ate mine.”

  She was lucky that was all that hellhound had eaten. “He do that a lot?”

  “Only when I don’t run him enough. He’s out in the car if you want to say hi. He’s really a sweetheart—when he doesn’t think I’m in trouble,” she hurried to explain when she saw the look on his face. “You’d like him. Even Mitch thought he was passable.”

  She’d been hanging out with Mitch? How the hell had that happened? Surely if Mitch had picked her up at the bar last weekend, he would have been bragging about his latest true love to the guys. Just like always.

  “Really?” was all that came out.

  She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure what to do next. Well, that made two of them. “Listen. I know you’re not happy with me riding, but I do have my permit, and I appreciate that you helped with my bull rope. Mitch didn’t get it tight enough.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Sounded like Mitch had gotten something tight enough.

  She smiled. “Been busy today?”

  “Not really.” That smile was real pretty on her. It made him want her to keep talking. Which had to be why he said, “The only other guy who came through thought I was selling boots.”

  “Ouch,” she agreed. “How long are you in for?”

  “Another forty-five minutes.” A new thought occurred to him. If he asked her to dinner, then he could keep an eye on her. Maybe keep her away from Mitch and clear of Red. Then he could try to talk some more sense into her. “You got dinner plans?”

  Okay, now she was definitely blushing. It had been a long time since he’d made a woman blush, and for a brief second, he felt more...real than he had in years.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You’ll probably spend the entire time trying to convince me my place is somewhere barefoot and pregnant, and I’ll get all hot under the collar and have to try not to lose my temper again.”

  He was offended that she thought he was nothing more than a Neanderthal. “I never said that.”

  “Oh, I know.” She was still smiling, like maybe she was flirting, but it hit him wrong. “But you thought it.”

  “I can’t win with you, can I? I bet if I told you that you had to breathe, you’d stop just to prove me wrong,” he snapped. “I noticed you didn’t come here to get a damned helmet.”

  “Lay off, Travis,” she said, bristling before his eyes. And suddenly, they were right back where they’d left off a week ago. “I’ll let you know if it ever becomes your business.”

  As if on cue, his shoulder began to throb, probably because he was tensing up. Breathe, he told himself. Stay loose for tonight.

  She sure as hell wasn’t staying loose. Even though several feet separated them, he could hear the tension in her voice. “I heard you tried to convince Mort to throw me out, even after he showed you my permit. You might have mentioned that part to me, you know.”

  “Well, I didn’t think mentioning that I thought you got it under false pretenses would be the smooth thing to do, J. But now that you bring it up...”

  “Save it for the bulls, Travis,” she said, storming out without her rosin.

  All he could do was watch her stomp away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “JUNE! YOU’RE HERE!”

  In the middle of tying on her spurs, June looked around until she found the enthusiastic feminine voice. Arms spread wide for a hug, the Preacher’s wife was barreling down on her behind the chutes at a decently sized outdoor arena that was already packed for a Friday night. An expectant hum hung in the air. The weather was the sticky sort of warm but the bugs weren’t too bad yet.

  It was a good night to ride.

  June smiled big. “Hey, Mrs. Lucas!”

  “Cindy, sweetie. I’m so glad you made it! Luke wasn’t sure if you’d come after Travis and Mort had that fight....”

  Everyone knew about the run-in with Mort. Still, Cindy was one of her allies. “Oh, well, I understand they got that straightened out. It’s all good.”

  “I’m so glad. You know,” Cindy said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “Mort isn’t one of my favorite men, but he was right. I’ve got cousins down here, and they’re all coming to see the lady bull rider!”

  Lady bull rider? June smiled. “That’s great, Cindy. I hope to do you all proud.”

  As Cindy described the huge extended family that would be in residence tonight, June saw Travis arrive and set up his bull rope. Their fight at True West came back to her. What the hell had been wrong with her? She’d gone and promised herself that she wouldn’t let her physical attraction to Travis become something that she let him or anyone else use against her. And then, the very next time she’d seen him, she’d flirted with him.

  He leaned over to dig through his duffel. June leaned around the Preacher’s wife for a better view. She knew what was wrong with her. It was that Wrangler butt. Because even when he was scowling at her, he was still the best-looking man on this circuit. Simply the best.

  But there was more to it than that. After a lifetime of her father smacking her around, it was nice to hear someone profess they just wanted to keep her safe.

  Damn it. She tried to shake her head clear of Travis and focus on her one and only fan. Then, before her eyes, Mitch descended
upon him.

  Mitch’s words came back to her again—If you find anything good, you’ll tell me. He’d known Travis was supposed to be at True West—and hadn’t warned her. And now she could see him pressing Travis, no doubt trying to find out how his personal appearance went and whether or not he’d seen anyone interesting there.

  “Then Jim married Charlotte...” Cindy was saying as she flipped through pictures on her phone.

  June nodded and threw in an “Oh, really?” when Cindy paused, but she was keeping an eye on Mitch and Travis. Where was the Brazilian? Finally, she spotted him, all the way down at the other end of the chutes. He was watching the other two men.

  Didn’t look like Mitch was having a lot of luck. June hadn’t seen Travis so much as move a facial muscle since Mitch had walked over.

  “Their daughter goes to Texas Christian University....”

  Travis finally seemed to acknowledge Mitch’s presence and shoved a plastic bag into his hands. Then he set about rosining up his bull rope. Whatever their conversation had been, it was over.

  “She’d love to meet you....”

  June snapped back to Cindy. “Oh, of course! I’d love to meet her, too! Bring her down after the rides tonight, okay?”

  “Thanks, June. And good luck tonight—we’re rooting for you!”

  Mitch made his way over toward June. It took several minutes, because he stopped and talked to just about everyone, but there was no mistaking his target.

  “There she is!” He sidled up to her. “Have fun today, Girlie?”

  Fun right about now would be decking someone. Starting with Mitch. “Don’t try to sweet-talk me. You knew he was going to be there and you didn’t tell me.”

  Mitch looked like a Shakespearean sprite pleased with the mischief he’d spread. “Okay. Yes. That was kind of lousy.”

  That was the worst excuse for an apology she’d ever heard. “Do I look like the kind of woman who takes ‘kind of lousy’ for an answer? Or did you not meet my dog?”

  His smile faded. “I’ll make it up to you. The Brazilian and I will work your ropes.”

  “Fine.” She needed someone to do it and the last thing she wanted was Cindy to look at her funny if the Preacher got too close. She couldn’t afford to have anyone think she was in it for the buckles. Especially the wives.

  “Oh, now,” he pouted, thrusting the bag out to her. “Look, I come bearing gifts!”

  “What is it?”

  “Rosin. Travis seemed to think you needed some.”

  She snatched the bag and peered inside. Both black and amber. “He got these? For me?”

  “He didn’t explain. I don’t think he’s talking to me.”

  Both kinds. Because he didn’t know which one she used, but he knew she needed it. This bordered on a sweet gesture, from a bull rider. Better than flowers. Travis had thought enough of her to buy her a gift. Despite the fact that they’d had more arguments than conversations.

  The schoolgirl crush she’d been trying to keep buried threatened to break free and start growing. But she wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore, and Travis wasn’t some unattainable idol. He was right over there, twenty feet away. She could walk up to him and thank him for the gift. She could wait for him after the rides tonight, offer to buy him a drink. She could...

  She slammed the door on her thoughts. That’s the kind of thinking that got her shot down yesterday. Should she be surprised that he’d bought her rosin, or surprised there wasn’t a helmet in the bag, too? She had to pay him back. That’s all there was to it.

  “Yeah,” she explained when Mitch kept staring at her. “I couldn’t find it at the store, but he said he knew where he could get some.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mitch said, a wicked grin on his face. “You want me to tell him thanks for you?”

  The last thing she wanted was Mitch running interference for her, because interference was all she was going to get from him. “No, I need to pay him back. Thanks for bringing it over.”

  “Sure thing, Girlie!” Mitch shouted behind her, drawing the attention of everyone behind the chutes. Everyone except Travis.

  Travis was still hunched over his rope, like he was hoping to shut out the world. She hated to barge in on him if he was trying to get his head in the game, but she needed to pay him back. She was no one’s charity case.

  All the cowboys were watching now, no doubt waiting to see if any of the gossip might be true.

  “I tell you, I’m looking forward to riding against Pocahontas,” Red was saying loud enough that all interested parties could hear. “I want to learn her moves—see what she’s really got.”

  It wasn’t so much the observation that had her shivering in revulsion, but the reactions. Most of the guys laughed.

  Okay, Travis, she thought as she held her head high, I won’t make you look bad if you don’t make me look bad.

  His back stiffened as she approached, even though he wasn’t looking at her. He could tell she was coming. “Hey, Travis, how much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing,” he said without turning around.

  “Are you sure? At least take back the amber. I won’t use it.”

  “Give it to your dog” was the curt reply.

  Fine. Be that way. “Thanks again. I appreciate it.”

  Yeah, that grunt said the conversation was over. As she headed back to her bull rope, the crowd broke up and everyone went back to their own pregame rituals. That’s right. Nothing to see here, everyone move along.

  “You got more out of him than I did,” Mitch said. He’d set up his bull rope next to hers.

  “That’s not saying much. He won’t let me pay him back.” June dug the superblack rosin out of the bag. This was the good stuff. He might not like her, but Mitch was right. He’d respect her if she respected the sport.

  Secretly, rosining up the rope was her favorite part of the preparation ritual that every cowboy had. Methodically running the sticky stuff over and over the rope with enough force to bind it to each part of the braid was akin to going under a trance. Her mind cleared. She didn’t think about papers or if she’d have enough money to get a hotel after tomorrow. She thought only about the bull she’d drawn, how her rope would sit tight around his chest and how she’d hold on until it was time to let go.

  Everything else would fall into place. She had faith.

  June kept her distance as the long-go rides began. Every night was set up the same. For the long go, everyone got to ride whatever bull they’d drawn. The top ten—anyone who made the eight seconds, and then the guys with the times that had come closest to the buzzer—then rode in the short go. Round two was how June thought of it. The best combined scores from both the long and the short go was the big winner. And whoever had the best score both nights was the champion of the weekend.

  The individual winners varied from night to night, but the champion was almost always one of two people: Travis Younkin or Red Willis. Cracking that ceiling was going to be a lot harder than just getting to ride, but she was going to give it her best shot. Yeah, winning would be sweet and yeah, taking the whole weekend would go a hell of a long way toward proving she could ride any bull she damn well wanted, but there was more to it.

  Beating Red was practically a necessity at this point. And beating Travis?

  He’d learn soon enough what her father had never quite been able to grasp. No one was going to keep June Spotted Elk off a bull. Period.

  She stayed clear of the platform, in case someone wanted to blame their bad ride on her existence. Instead, she guarded her rope—just in case—and braided her hair four times until it felt right while she studied the other rides. Mitch looked just as gangly up on a bull as he did walking around, all arms and legs flailing, but he made the time with an 83. The Brazilian hit the ground after 6.9 seconds. Whether or not he would make
the short go was questionable.

  Especially after she watched Travis ride. The difference between how he carried himself on a bull compared to all the guys around her was startling. Even compared to Mitch, who made the time, Travis looked fluid up there. June couldn’t figure out how he did it. He moved like a well-oiled machine for eight seconds, and spent the rest of the time limping around like the Tin Man.

  It had to be the ride. The adrenaline that ran through his body—if it was anything like how June felt, then that rush alone was why he kept coming back for more. As nuts as it was to ride a bull, she couldn’t blame him. The adrenaline was what she lived for, too.

  But more than that, when she was on the bull, she felt like she was showing everyone how wrong they were. The bulls didn’t like her, true enough—but that wasn’t because she was a woman or an Indian or poor or even all three of those things. Bulls didn’t like her because she dared to sit on them. No one was going to tell her she couldn’t.

  Maybe it was the same for Travis. He shouldn’t be out there, not after his wreck. But who the hell was going to tell him not to? The only difference was that, if Travis did it even though he shouldn’t, no one said a damn thing. Yet everyone— especially Travis—seemed to think it was their God-given right to tell her what to do.

  To hell with that.

  Even though Travis came up limping, he scored another 90. He pumped his helmet even though it didn’t have the same oomph as throwing a hat into the ring. But his smile was short-lived. By the time he made it back to the chutes, the now-familiar scowl was back.

  So far, five guys had made the time. She knew the odds were stacked against her, but she tried to focus. She would ride her bull, Twisty Tie, sooner or later. She was near the end of the long go—Mort was holding her back to build suspense, no doubt—and the wait was making her antsy.

  “Spotted Elk!” The shout snapped her back to reality. “You’re up!”

  Game time. She hefted her rope and climbed up onto the platform. Mitch and the Brazilian were waiting, as was the Preacher, but she was surprised to see Travis up there.