Rodeo Dreams

by Sarah M. Anderson

He’d said the same thing when Joseph had detailed the job responsibilities. “No drinking on the ranch or the rez, period,” Joseph had said. “Those are the rules.”

  “I’m done drinking,” Travis had answered without hesitation, his hand running up and down her leg. “I’ve got better things to do now.”

  Yup, Travis wouldn’t be at any more bars, either.

  “You only get one more shot. And then Ian takes over.” How many times could a guy crack his knuckles in one day before he permanently disfigured his hands?

  “Understood.” Travis turned to go, but then pivoted back around. “Oh—in case you didn’t hear...”

  He was going off script. Now what? “Yes?”

  “Mark Soleus is here from the TCB front office. He’s the—”

  “Vice president of marketing?” Her gut flipped. He wasn’t supposed to be at the rodeo for another month or two!

  “Front row, in the black hat with the feathered band.” Travis crammed his hat back on his head. He had the undivided attention of everyone within earshot. “He’s the promoter for the Harley Challenge.”

  And just like that, no one gave a hoot or a holler for June and Travis and Mitch and their soap-opera lives.

  This was it. The promoter was here. She had to ride.

  Vegas was calling.

  * * *

  “TRAVIS, YOU OLD DOG, still hanging in there!” Mark Soleus headed down the aisle behind the chutes after the rides. The guys acted like he was their high school principal, and everyone was carrying. The aisle cleared as a tense silence replaced the chatter.

  Travis shook his head at the familiarity. Once upon a time, Mark had started out on the Ranger Circuit at the same time as Travis, a young intern eager to learn the ropes. Their careers had risen in parallel, with Mark climbing past the likes of Mort and right into the front office as Travis climbed the ladder to World Champion.

  While Travis had lain in the hospital, Mark had kept on climbing. At least he’d had the decency to check in on Travis a few times during the recovery. Still, he hadn’t seen Mark since this time last year, when he’d pulled Travis aside and personally apologized for not being able to call him up to the bigs for another year.

  On the whole, a respectable guy—for a promoter.

  No need to panic. Just an old friend who could make or break him.

  “Hello, Mark—you’re early, aren’t you?”

  Mark tipped his big hat back on his head. With every raise, his hat had gotten showier. If he got another promotion, his Stetson would swallow his head whole. “Working on something different this year—wanted to see that Spotted Elk for myself.”

  So much for keeping cool. Travis’s heart began to thud. Mark was here for June—June was going to Vegas. Mark was no dummy—he’d clearly seen what he’d been looking for. She’d gotten a 90 and an 89 tonight—one point ahead of Travis. But at the same time as giddiness hit him, a tentacle of disappointment wormed its way into his head. Mark was here for June—not him. No matter how hard he tried, how good he rode, he still wasn’t good enough. Travis hadn’t been able to prove that he was still one of the best in the world.

  Hot on the heels of that disappointment came a second thought—a terrifying thought. June was getting the call, that much was sure. Would she still want him? She’d be up there, riding with the pros and he’d be—back on the rez, working with bulls and a ten-year-old. Vegas was filled with temptation. She wouldn’t...

  No, she wouldn’t. It didn’t matter if he made the bigs. He knew she wouldn’t dump him like last week’s leftovers. She wasn’t like that. He had a job and a good woman waiting for him.

  A woman who had what it took to be a star.

  He knew it would throw a wrench in the evening’s plans, but he had to make the offer, for old time’s sake. After all, part of his future job was knowing which wheels to grease. “Well, if you’re looking for something different, she’s it, all right. Can I buy you a beer later?” Mark wouldn’t mind if Travis knocked back a frosty Coke instead.

  Mark clapped him on the back, the only person in the crowd that seemed to be enjoying himself. “One for old times?”

  “Don’t remember it ever just being ‘one’ back in the old times.” Travis chuckled. If he recalled correctly, Mark was sporting some barbed wire, too. Amarillo could do that to a fellow.

  The grimace on Mark’s face said he remembered exactly what Amarillo could do to a fellow. “Those were the days, weren’t they? Gonna have to pass this go ’round. Flying out on the red-eye tonight. Just have to get a few things set up.”

  “Oh?”

  Mark nodded, but he had that sly grin on his face—a grin Travis remembered all too well. Mark was up to something. “I’ll catch you next time.”

  “Um, excuse me.” Mort appeared. “I got that list you wanted, Mr. Soleus.”

  “Thanks.” Mark dismissed Mort with a wave of the hand. “Travis, have a look at this, will you?”

  Could be worse. Travis got to call Mr. Soleus by his first name.

  He turned his attention to the list. Ten names, ranked in order, were neatly typed out on the paper.

  His name was first. June’s was second.

  The adrenaline hit him like a sledgehammer. “Mark?”

  Mark clapped him on the back again, just like old times. “There’s always a next time, Travis. Round those guys—and gal—up for me, will you?”

  “Mark—”

  “Working on something different, old dog. I’ll give you ten minutes. But—” his voice dropped down as he shot a nervous glance to where Ian was glowering behind June “—watch out for that big guy. He nearly killed Willis earlier.”

  If Travis—and June—were going to Vegas—the last thing they had to do was worry about Ian. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Mark went back to where he’d set up camp in the front row, leaving Travis alone as the center of attention. He knew he needed to get going, but Travis wanted to stare at that list a little longer, just until he was sure that he wasn’t having the best dream ever. He wasn’t a has-been yet, by God. But he only had ten minutes and everyone was waiting for him.

  “Okay, guys. Mark wants to talk to the following riders. Me, June, Red, Randy, Mitch, the Preacher, Garth, the Brazilian, Don and Carl.”

  “Ten?” Randy’s voice cracked like an egg under a Mack truck. “I thought— Didn’t it used to be only one?”

  “Said he was doing something different. But I don’t know what that means. It could be something—or nothing.”

  He looked at the faces before him. Mitch and the Brazilian—he still couldn’t think of the guy as Paulo—were standing shoulder to shoulder. Mitch was grinning wildly, but the Brazilian looked unchanged. He was the only one.

  Seven other faces were trying not to be happy—not yet. The remaining forty or so were trying not to be down. On the whole, it was like watching a bad poker game.

  Except for June. She wasn’t even attempting to fake it—that grin beamed down to him from a good twenty feet away. Even with Ian shadowing her, she still looked just like she had the other day, before she’d dragged him back into the woods and had her way with him.

  Vegas. They were going to Vegas.

  A lot of crazy things happened in Vegas.

  People got married in Vegas.

  The vision of June standing next to him in her red boots, holding a dime-store bouquet of flowers as she said “I do,” was interrupted by the congratulatory handshakes and slaps on the backs that were erupting from the cowboys. Within minutes, the guys who would try again next season were headed out to console themselves at the nearest bar. The lucky ten moved toward where Mark was patiently waiting.

  “As Travis might have said,” he began without any other introduction, “we’re going to be trying something different this year
.”

  Everyone looked at June. At least Travis wasn’t the only one.

  “Normally, the big show is on a Friday and Saturday night. But this year, we’re trying to expand our target market—appeal to a newer, younger audience.”

  It didn’t seem to matter that Mark was still speaking. June was the center of attention, plain and simple.

  I’ll be damned, Travis thought. Mort was right, and now the front office wanted in on the action. Everyone was seeing light blue dollar signs.

  “So,” Mark continued, “what we’re going to try this year is what I like to call ‘Future Stars of the TCB.’ Tuesday and Wednesday of that week, the bottom ten of the Harley Challenge Circuit ride against the top ten of the Ranger Circuit. Get a little more exposure for the Ranger Circuit, give people the chance to see what they should come back for next year.”

  They would be coming back for June. But this was still Travis’s last, best shot and he needed to be the old pro he was. No one else looked like they’d gotten past hearing their names yet. “What are the stakes?”

  That sly grin said Mark knew he’d ask that question. “The purse is two hundred thousand dollars.”

  Jesus Christ. That was more money for one rodeo than had been for the whole Ranger Circuit. “Anything else?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, the top three will have a guaranteed slot in the Harley finals. And then there’s No Man’s Land.”

  “No Man’s Land?” nine riders asked at once as Travis’s mouth froze shut in terror.

  “The stock contractor has offered a five-hundred-thousand-dollar purse to the first person who can ride No Man’s Land.”

  No Man’s Land—the bull that had nearly put Travis six feet under.

  June piped up from the back. “Isn’t that the bull that’s never been ridden?” she asked, looking at Travis. He could see the undisguised worry in her eyes.

  “Not once in four years.” Mark shrugged, looking like it was just another day at work instead of tap-dancing around a near-death experience. “Put three guys in intensive care. Getting harder to find anyone willing to give it a go.”

  Two other guys—and him. Just the thought of that bull broke Travis out in a cold sweat. And he hadn’t even had the five-hundred-thousand-dollar enticement. He’d just been dumb enough to think he could do what no one else could.

  Well, he wasn’t that dumb anymore. He knew he wasn’t going to dance with the devil. No way was Travis going to give No Man’s Land a second chance to finish the job. Once in intensive care was more than enough for him. But he knew there’d be someone here brave—or stupid—enough to give it a go. Half a million dollars was a lot of money.

  “So anyone gets a crack at him?” That was Mitch. Hell, was he thinking this was a good idea?

  “That’s right, son. Five nights, five chances. But I recommend you do your homework before you go jumping off, feetfirst. Right, Travis?”

  “Yeah.” If by homework, Mark meant watching the tape of his wreck...

  “You ten are the preliminary list. If you maintain your rankings for the next two months, you’re in the Future Stars ride. But, be warned, if you fall too far, you can be replaced.” Travis shot a glance at Red. He’d been listed third—but if he got the crap beat out of him one more time, he’d be hard pressed to make any time at all. “Check your name on the list to make sure your contact information is correct. My secretary will be in touch in the next month. Otherwise, I’ll see all of you in Vegas!”

  To hell with No Man’s Land. All Travis wanted to think about was him and June.

  Him and June in Vegas.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “THIS PLACE IS CRAZY!” June whispered in his ear, like she was afraid the town would take offense.

  Travis pulled her out of the way of a pirate on stilts careening dangerously down the sidewalk. “I know.”

  He didn’t remember the Vegas strip being this insane, but now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure how much time he’d spent strolling up and down the sidewalks. He’d spent far more time at sponsored parties and in the bars, getting ripping drunk with Barb. He’d thought that’d been love. Right up until he saw her flirting with Chet Murphy. Right until he’d lost it all to that damn bull.

  Now, walking around and holding June’s hand, Travis watched the freak parade, instead of being a part of it. Tomorrow, the media blitz would kick off in full swing in preparation for Tuesday’s rides. Travis had tried to prepare June for the onslaught. He wasn’t sure if she understood how hard it was to tell seventeen interviewers the same thing in seventeen different ways.

  Travis didn’t want to think about that right now. He just wanted to focus on June. Despite the October heat, her hair was loose under her straw hat, trying to hypnotize him with each step she took. But she made up for it by wearing a skimpy little pink tank top with “I Love Vegas!” splashed across her chest in rainbow colors that Mitch had snagged for her. It wasn’t something she’d get for herself, but Travis liked it on her anyway. Hell, there wasn’t much he didn’t like on her.

  So much had happened in two months. For starters, he’d publicly asked June out four times before she publicly said yes and they became an official couple.

  He’d gotten used to the idea of Mitch and the Brazilian and managed to keep his mouth shut about it. He wouldn’t say it’d been easy to let go of the fact that Mitch had lied to him for a couple of years, but June had made a big deal about friends and family. Which had meant they’d all been having lunch together at little diners on Saturdays for a while now.

  The two of them were pretty much what they’d always been. Travis hadn’t heard the Brazilian say anything since that one night, and Mitch was still as irritating as ever. He didn’t kiss June or whistle at pretty ladies anymore—at least, not when it was the four of them. The good news was, Travis still could be friends with Mitch. The bad news was, Mitch still called him Poppa Bear when he wanted to needle him.

  Travis had gotten used to driving home—home now being South Dakota—after every ride. He’d gotten used to the manufactured home the Real Pride Ranch was temporarily providing him and June, rent free, because it beat the tar out of his camper. He’d even gotten used to Joseph’s scowling face as he said, “How’s the temporary housing?” every morning, like maybe something had changed during the night.

  He’d gotten used to riding horses again and to spending his free time with a fifth-grader. He’d gotten used to Ian’s bluster and to spending a day or two a week fixing up June’s mom’s house. He’d gotten used to root beer instead of plain old beer. He’d even gotten used to Jeff tailing them through the grass as they rode across the ranch. Travis had finally realized that the coydog wasn’t stalking them—he was covering their flanks.

  He’d gotten used to living with June. Four days out of the week, he made her biscuits and gravy for breakfast; she cooked him steaks and buffalo burgers—as well as broccoli and salad—for dinner. During the day, they worked bulls together under the careful eye of Robin—at least until he went back to school. In the evening, they watched TCB tape of the bulls they might draw, comparing notes. And when she finally flipped the TV off, they went to bed and rediscovered the concept of making love every single night.

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that, and he didn’t want to. Every time she mounted up on him, the rush was as high as the first time. Every time she looped those feet behind his back and held him on top of her, he wanted to figure out a way to be more in her, more a part of her.

  He was riding better than he had in a long time—maybe even better than he had before the wreck. He’d finished the season in first place, four points ahead of June. Something about him felt right. All the missing pieces in his life had finally been swept out from under the couch cushions and put in place. Hell, he wasn’t even taking the Percocet anymore—just an oc
casional ibuprofen. He was whole again, with a real shot at making the finals. He could still do it, still be one of the best in the world.

  He wanted to think he would have gotten here on his own. He hadn’t needed help to beat Red, to beat anyone. Even her. He might not have the same body he once had, but he was a smarter rider now and that counted for a lot. He was one of the best. Having a good woman to ride with, a good job in the off-season? Well, that was just...icing on the cake.

  It was a damn good cake, though.

  As they walked along the garish Strip with Mitch and the Brazilian trailing behind them, he kept running his finger over the diamond ring on his key chain. Since he’d picked it up in Rapid City three weeks ago, he’d been obsessed with making sure it was still there, at the ready.

  The problem was the timing of the thing. He was afraid that if he popped the Big Question before the rides, he’d throw off her concentration and that wasn’t what he wanted. If he was going to beat her, he wanted to do it fair and square, on the back of a bull—not because he caught her off guard with a ring.

  But if either of them did as well as he thought they might, it was going to be a long time until Sunday.

  He’d checked, though. People could get married here on a Sunday.

  He forced the question from his mind. He couldn’t let the whole marrying June thing distract him from the ride. He knew exactly what could happen when he let a woman turn his head before he climbed up on the back of a bull. No matter what, he had to stay focused. Ride first. Marry June second.

  “What do you want to do, sweetheart?”

  Her eyes lit up with an almost childish glee. “Are there still white tigers here?”

  Mitch let out a whoop that nearly sent Travis out of his boots. “Yes! Tigers! And then the Cirque du Soleil, and is Cher in town? And an Elvis act!”

  Lordy. How had June managed a whole summer with those two? Still, Travis couldn’t hold a grudge. They’d taken good care of his woman until he’d gotten his head on straight. If that meant suffering their presence a little, so be it. They had two days left.