Walker: The Rodeo Legend

by Rebecca Winters

  “Understood. Hey, you know Grandfather Walker’s cabin up on Carter Mountain is vacant. Is that far enough away for you?”

  Jesse was reading his mind. Walker nodded. “But I won’t step a foot in it if you don’t agree to let me pay rent. I want that official and documented.” He didn’t need his father accusing him of not paying his own way.

  “I’ll leave a rental agreement on the table for you to sign.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you doing for transportation?”

  “I’m taking care of it.”

  “Then you better pick up a couple of propane lanterns. The generator still works. I’ll bring you the key later today along with anything else you might need.”

  He shook his head. “The key will be fine. I’ll handle the rest.”

  His brother’s expression sobered. “When did you plan to tell the folks?”

  Walker made a noise in his throat. “I don’t know.” He looked away, then asked, “Are you competing somewhere tonight?”

  “At the Stampede in Bakersfield. Dex and Dusty already drove the horses down. Dad and I are going to fly there late this afternoon and meet them. We’ll fly home on Monday.”

  “In that case Dad won’t appreciate a surprise from me right now.” Live or die, the rodeo was the be-all and end-all of his father’s existence. “I think it’s best if I lie low until next week.”

  Jesse believed it, too. That’s why he muttered in agreement. Walker loved him for that.

  He cleared his throat. “How’s everyone?”

  “Good,” Jesse said vaguely. “Walker—don’t hate me, but you look ill,” he blurted unexpectedly.

  “Hey—I’m the walking wounded,” he mocked. “You should see the ones who can’t.”

  Jesse blinked back more tears. “Play the game with anyone but me. You used to weigh two hundred and twenty pounds. I can tell you’re nursing your chest the way I did after Screwee Louee stomped on mine a few times. After that I started wearing a vest. Let me see what you’ve done to yourself.”

  “You wouldn’t like the view. IEDs do a different kind of damage.”

  His brother’s face lost color. “I knew it. Come on, little brother. It’s time for show-and-tell.”

  Walker stood up and peeled off his white T-shirt. The cotton fabric was the least abrasive material against the skin grafts over his torso and left hip.

  Another low whistle came out of Jesse. “How long were you in the hospital?”

  “A couple of months. They’ve healed, but I keep thinking they haven’t.”

  With a grimace, Jesse jumped to his feet. “What about the wounds on the inside? Who’s seeing about those?”

  Nothing escaped his brother. He put his shirt back on. “I’m scheduled to talk to a shrink at the VA clinic in Powell next week.”

  “Good.” He chewed on his lip. Walker could tell he wanted to say he’d go with him, but thought better of it.

  Time to change the subject. “How are you doing in the standings right now?”

  “I had two pretty good nights last weekend at the Mesquite Championship.”

  “How pretty good?”

  “An eighty-seven and an eighty-eight.”

  Walker slapped his brother on the back. “Not bad at all.”

  “We’ll see what happens tonight.”

  “Who else is in contention that can measure up to you?”

  “Robby Tedesco from Phoenix and Jake Seaton from Greeley, two younger dudes you don’t know who are damn good. And then of course there’s Mark.”

  Mark Hansen, a big, black-haired local from Markton who was part Lakota, had had an intense personal rivalry going with Jesse since their high school days. Some rivalries could be good-natured fun, but not theirs. “So he’s still nipping at your heels after all this time?”

  “Yup. He scored a ninety last week in Mesquite.”

  “I guess he’s never been able to handle the fact you were world champion four years ago.”

  “He’s figuring to beat me out before going all the way to the finals in Las Vegas come December.”

  Walker’s brows lifted. “He can try, but it isn’t going to happen.”

  Suddenly Jesse gave him another bear hug. “That’s the kind of talk I’ve been needing to hear. Thank heaven you’re back home.” He finally released him. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll be by later with the key.”

  “If I’m not here, just leave it with the office.”

  He saw more questions in Jesse’s eyes, but he held back from asking them. “Got it.”

  “You’re saving my life right now. You know that, don’t you?”

  Jesse nodded. “Look, Walker…I realize you don’t want to see the family yet, but when I get back we’re going to spend time together. I’m usually at the old arena before anyone else is up. I don’t have to tell you what it would be like to practice with you again.…”

  “Maybe,” he whispered. Walker hadn’t been near an arena in over six years. The need to get away from his father had been all consuming. He’d decided to take his pain out of the country where he could try to blot it from his consciousness. The fact that several months before he’d gone overseas his best friend Troy, one of the top steer wrestlers in the state, had died in the box from a fatal concussion, had made it easier to leave.

  “At least think about it. If nothing else I’d like you there giving me pointers only you can give. You’ll be good luck against Mark.” Jesse smiled when he said it, but Walker saw shadows in those blue eyes and was convinced Mark had burrowed deeper into his brother’s psyche than anyone knew. The thought troubled him. “It’ll be like old times.”

  No. Nothing could ever be like the old times. Guilt consumed him that he had to think way back to remember when he’d been truly happy. “I can’t make any promises.” Not even for you, Jesse.

  So what kind of a monster did that make Walker?

  “Right.” He shoved his hat on his head in seeming resignation before heading out the door.

  Once his brother had gone, Walker left for West Yellowstone, Montana, in his rental car. Instead of flying into Yellowstone Regional airport in Cody, he’d flown into the airport there three days ago. At the time he’d placed an order for a new black Ford Super Duty F-450 truck, which was now ready to pick up.

  He didn’t mind the two-hour drive from Markton to do business, not even with the steady stream of traffic. Until he talked to his parents, it was necessary to keep a low profile, and that meant staying away from the airport too close to home.

  Once he’d taken possession of his truck, he bought all the items and groceries he’d need to move into the cabin. By midafternoon he was ready to head back to the ranch. On his way out of West Yellowstone, he stopped at a drive-through for a malted milk with a double cheeseburger and fries. The doctors had told him to force the calories in order to put on the twenty-five pounds he’d lost.

  Though he couldn’t finish all his lunch, he figured he was making progress. By the time he’d reached the ranch, taking the private road used by the Spurling Natural Gas Company to fill their trucks on land the Codys leased to them, he still hadn’t thrown up. To his amazement he even tolerated a Snickers bar. The chocolate tasted good. It surprised him, considering how sick he’d been after his flashback.

  His out-of-the-way approach to the cabin via the dirt road reminded him he’d returned to God’s country. There were times in the past six years when he’d wondered if he would ever see this vista again. Its beauty robbed him of breath.

  Twelve-thousand-foot Carter Mountain jutted in the air ahead of him. He’d climbed it countless times with his brothers as each raced to get to the top first. The boundary of the ranch ran all the way up into the Shoshone National Forest near the summit where the water drained into the south fork of the Shoshone River. Above the highest peak, the sky blazed as brilliant a blue as the moisture-filled gaze of the woman at the parade.

  He’d recently left a land of people with dark eyes and hair.
In the sun, her hair swirled ash-blond with a sheen like fine corn silk. The feathery cut brushed her neckline, a style he decided suited her curvy figure, even though he’d only glimpsed her for a moment.

  She’s a mother and someone else’s wife or significant other, Cody. Forget what you saw.

  Until he got a grip on his PTSD, he wasn’t fit company for himself, let alone a woman. No female would be thrilled to learn he’d been exposed to a chemical agent and might possibly be sterile.

  Once Walker reached the cozy two-bedroom cabin nestled in the firs at nine-thousand feet, he jumped down from the cab, startling a white-tailed deer that pranced off into the pines.

  His grandfather Walker, who’d died a year before Walker was born—and for whom he was named—had built this place in the ’40s to enjoy nature with his family. It included a loft where the little kids could plop their sleeping bags and pretend they were camping out. He’d refused to put in electricity, clearly a man after Walker’s heart.

  He remembered his grandmother with affection. Joanne Cody had lived until he was eight years old. She was the one who’d helped him spot bobwhite quail and track the raccoons. When the antelope appeared, she’d round him and Jesse up so they could watch their movement through the binoculars. In the fall she’d point out elk and mule deer to their delight. The memories continued to bombard him. Ghosts from the past.

  There was still an hour of daylight left. Before he got busy settling in, he took a long walk around the property to breathe in the remembered essence of his surroundings. The spruce trees in the front yard had grown taller and fatter. A family of jackrabbits heard him coming and leaped away, causing him to chuckle. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been even slightly amused.

  From this altitude, which was more like being in a low-flying aircraft, he could see 2,500 head of Angus cattle grazing and take in part of the ranch’s layout far below. The paved roads connecting the barns and arenas formed an interesting crisscross pattern he’d always found fascinating. With its dozens of outbuildings, including an airstrip bisecting the property, it resembled a small city. But dominating it all was the new fifteen-thousand-square-foot ranch house.

  Like a pharaoh who’d ordered a pyramid constructed to his glory, his father had outdone himself. His mother had e-mailed him pictures, but seeing it in person for the first time left him at a loss for words.

  The best he could come up with was that it reminded him of an immense, modern version of a baronial mountain lodge he’d once seen in Bavaria. Its common rooms rose in the center three stories beneath timbered beams. Most spectacular were the huge, diamond-shaped windows. They achieved a geometric amalgamation of dark honey-colored wood and glass.

  With two floors of living quarters including eight bedrooms and an equal number of bathrooms, his father could assemble the entire family and entertain the world of rodeo aficionados in a style unequaled anywhere.

  What truly impressed Walker were the grounds that had been left natural and provided the seamless blend between civilization and nature. If the landscaping had been pretentious, the whole picture would have been ruined.

  Beyond his vision on the other side of the spread, fifty thousand acres were devoted to the natural-gas wells. It all looked perfect and beautiful, a testament to his father’s incredible savvy as the ultimate rancher and businessman. No one could do it better. If the first Cody could see how Walker’s father had taken care of his legacy, the tributes would be unending.

  Walker chewed on a piece of sweet, wild grass as the sun slipped behind the mountain portending the advent of night, the time he dreaded most. Everything worked because his siblings revered their father and made it work. Every one of them worked hard and contributed to J.W.’s dream of being the greatest rodeo family of Wyoming.

  Everyone except Walker…

  Chapter Two

  May 2

  “Good morning, ma’am.”

  “Good morning.” Paula smiled at the friendly, white-haired man who was probably the owner of Whittaker’s Tackle and Gift Shop and had to be eighty at least.

  “That’s a mighty cute tyke you’re holding.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Here’s a little pinwheel on a stick for you, feller.” He handed the toy to Clay who lost interest in the buttons on Paula’s blouse and reached for it. “Now what can I do for you, young lady?”

  She chuckled, not having been called that in a long time. “I’m looking for a gift that could be used as a paperweight, or maybe a good-luck charm of some kind. Possibly something in turquoise or another stone?”

  Paula had been on her way to the Cottonwood Ranch when she’d seen the shop off the highway, patriotically bedecked with the Wyoming State flag and the U.S. flag in various sizes. On a whim, she’d pulled into the parking area.

  “Is it for a man or a woman?”

  “A man.” An exceptional one in her opinion. That is if she could find him. She hoped she wasn’t on a wild-goose chase.

  “You might want something like this.” He reached inside the counter and brought out a dark emerald-colored stone attached to a gold chain. It was shaped like a small leaf. “What you see here is genuine Wyoming jade made by a member of the Eastern Shoshone Tribe. You wear it around the neck for luck. Is this what you had in mind?”

  It was the color of the stranger’s eyes. She would never forget their unique hue. In fact she doubted she could reproduce it on canvas. The green would be like the color of the forest outside this man’s store when the sun’s rays no longer penetrated.

  She noted the reasonable price on the little box before rubbing her thumb over the smooth surface. Clay tried to grab it with his other hand. “It’s perfect.” So perfect she couldn’t believe it.

  He beamed. “Shall I gift wrap it for you?”

  “Please.”

  “Gold or silver paper?”

  “Gold. Maybe some green ribbon?”

  The man nodded. “How come you’re clear out here?” He was a talker, but she didn’t mind. He reminded her of her grandfather.

  “I’m looking for a man who might live out this way.”

  “I know everybody in these parts and have outlasted most of them. What’s his name?”

  “I wish I knew, but I think he might be a Cody.”

  “Ah—you’re talking one of J.W.’s sons. There’ve been Codys in Park County since 1904. They settled the choicest part of the South Fork Valley of the Shoshone. Cattle, coal mining—you name it, but between you and me they made their big fortune in natural gas. Nowadays they breed quarter horses.”

  Little did the old man know she was well acquainted with the mind-boggling Cody résumé, but she wouldn’t have dreamed of interrupting him. He sounded like a publicist for the legendary Codys, whose ancestors had made their indelible mark here.

  “Maybe you didn’t know they’re one of the first rodeo families west of the Continental Divide. John Walker was a champion until he got his leg stomped on. Now he has to use a cane. Tough as a buzzard. Keeps those boys of his in line. The daughter, too.”

  If Paula wasn’t mistaken, one of his boys with short-cropped black hair and a lean, hard-muscled body had prevented a crisis yesterday, but boy was a misnomer. He’d met her criteria of a real man.

  In case she’d been right and the stranger was a Cody, she hoped to meet him for a few minutes this morning so she’d have a chance to give him this small token in appreciation for what he’d done. But if she was wrong, she didn’t want to bother J.W. or his wife, Anne, unnecessarily. She could find out the information she wanted by inquiring at the ranch office.

  “Here you go.” He put the package on the counter. She gave him her credit card. When the transaction had been made, he slipped the box in a sack and handed it to her. “Hope you find the Cody you’re looking for.”

  “So do I. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. Come back again.”

  “You can count on it.”

 
In another ten minutes Paula turned into the entrance of the Cottonwood Ranch, passing beneath the giant arch of elk and deer horns. She hadn’t been out here since late fall, but everything looked just as immaculate and prosperous as before. New buildings or old, she had to admit it took an iron hand to keep this ranching empire preserved in such A1 condition year after year. J.W. fit the role of the quintessential patriarch.

  She drove to the parking area in front of the ranch office and turned off the motor. “Out you come again, Clay.”

  Leaving the pinwheel behind, Paula pulled her son from his car seat and looked around. There were half a dozen cars, trucks and rigs, some with horse trailers, parked on either side of the gravel drive.

  She set Clay down with a kiss in his sweet-smelling blond curls and grasped his hand. Together they started walking toward the remodeled, log-cabin-style bunkhouse. After years of being exposed to the elements, the weathered gray wood formed a dramatic contrast to the backdrop of shiny, green-leafed cottonwood trees.

  In the distance she could see the original homestead in the same log-cabin style up on a rise overlooking the river. More pockets of open-crowned cottonwoods maybe a hundred feet tall grew in clusters from thick gray trunks along the shore.

  The first time Paula had noticed them, her thoughts had flown to the early pioneers who’d crossed the Great Plains needing the shelter and fuel these trees provided. She could only imagine their joy at discovering them. Surely the magnificent sight had inspired the first Cody drawn to this area.

  If Paula had lived back then and had come upon this view, she would have said X marks the spot and immediately put down roots. In her contemplative mood, she hadn’t realized Clay had stopped to pick up stones, making for slow progress. While she indulged him, it gave her a chance to concentrate on the rugged landscape rather than yesterday’s close call that could have been an ugly, painful incident for her son.

  Her gaze took in spectacular spires and pinnacles above sweeps of meadows as far as the eye could see. If she turned in the other direction she feasted on rolling foothills and forests of evergreens. Snowcapped peaks beyond the Shoshone River took her breath.