“What the heck is he doing here?” Aspen asked Gina in a whisper.
Gina shrugged. “I don’t know. But if you weren’t obsessed before, I’m sure you will be now. Kind of throws a wrench in your ‘all good looking guys are jerks’ theory…doesn’t it?”
“There goes another one!” Brad chuckled.
Aspen looked to see another child hanging on to the back of a sheep enter the arena. Still, she couldn’t keep her gaze from drifting to the handsome real-man stranger sitting just a few rows down. What was he doing at the rodeo? Park joggers didn’t like rodeo—did they?
“I’m going for nachos, Gina,” Jimmy said. “You want anything?”
“No…but thanks, Jimmy,” Gina said.
As Jimmy stood and left, Brad leaned over to Aspen and said, “Look at the program. Wild cow milking next. Man! That’s a brutal one.”
“Yeah,” Aspen said.
She was distracted, however, as a young man suddenly appeared below them in the arena. The young man walked over to the audience and hauled himself over the bars and onto the walkway in front of the crowd. He shouted something, and Aspen and Gina exchanged inquisitive glances as the handsome real-man stranger stood up and hollered something back. The crowd was too loud for either of them to hear what the verbal exchange was. Still, Aspen felt her eyes widen as the young man from the arena reached around behind him and pulled a T-shirt out of the waist of his pants. He tossed it to the real man stranger. Aspen’s mouth fell agape as the real-man stranger proceeded to strip off the T-shirt he’d been wearing and replace it with the one the man from the arena had given him.
Again she and Gina exchanged glances.
Tan all over, Gina mouthed. And totally buff!
“I saw that,” Aspen said.
“Check it out!” Brad said. “They’re recruiting a team member from the audience. They must be short one guy.”
“What do you mean?” Aspen asked.
Brad nodded toward the real-man stranger, who followed the other young man in climbing over the bar and jumping down into the arena.
“Read the T-shirt,” Brad explained, pointing to the real-man stranger. “Wild cow milking. Team Corrales.”
“Surely not!” Gina exclaimed. “You’d have to be crazy to do that!”
Brad chuckled. “Crazy…or have done it many times before.”
Aspen felt overheated—almost sick to her stomach. How could the real-man-stranger jogger guy now be on a wild cow milking team? He was a jogger!
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!” the announcer began. “Are you ready?”
The crowd whooped and hollered, applauded and shouted their assurance.
“Gina!” Aspen said. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” She watched as someone handed the handsome real-man stranger a cowboy hat. He firmly settled it on his head and nodded to his teammates—an indication he was ready.
“I’m thinking you should’ve kicked a shoe out in front of this guy a long time ago!” Gina laughed.
“Wild cow milking at the New Mexico State Fair is about to begin!” the announcer called. “Are you ready, boys?”
Aspen watched, entirely disbelieving as the handsome real-man stranger nodded in unison with the other two men poised at a chute at one end of the arena.
“The first team to successfully squirt milk into a longneck bottle and get to the circle wins!” the announcer began. “And hold your breath, folks! It really is as dangerous as it looks.”
As Tom Cochrane’s version of “Life Is a Highway” began to blast through the arena, Brad shouted, “Man! These guys are crazy!”
Aspen held her breath as a horn sounded and the “wild cows” were let out of the chutes. The crowd cheered and hollered as each team chased down their chosen cow. Aspen shook her head as she watched the handsome real-man stranger catch hold of the rope tied to the bolting cow’s neck. The shouting and cheering was deafening, but Aspen could only stare, breathless with disbelief, as the real-man stranger and his teammates wrestled with the enormous cow.
“He’s pretty good!” Brad exclaimed. “No wonder they wanted him down there.”
“He’s got her! He’s got her!” Gina squealed, clapping her hands. “Breathe, Aspen!” she laughed.
Aspen watched as the real-man stranger wrapped his arms around the cow’s neck. Digging his boots into the arena soil, he struggled as the cow twisted, charged, and turned. Still, as the other teams struggled to even keep hold of their ropes, the real-man stranger’s team seemed to be making progress.
“This guy knows what he’s doing. See how he’s got her by the neck and the nose?” Brad hollered over the roar of the crowd.
Aspen watched as the real-man stranger wrestled with the cow. One of his teammates, a very husky, powerful-looking cowboy, anchored the rope. The cow bucked and fought, kicking the men and knocking them around without mercy. She was doing damage too! Aspen winced as the cow managed to land a hoof to the cowboy holding the milk bottle. The real-man stranger, boot heels dug into the dirt, twisted the cow’s head, and she forfeited for a moment, pausing in her wild thrashing. The third team member struggled to milk the cow as the real-man stranger struggled to keep her still enough for him to do it.
“They’ve got her!” Brad laughed as the husky cowboy anchoring the rope pulled the hat from his head and began waving it in the air.
Seconds later, the cowboy with the bottle was running toward a circle near the chutes. The husky cowboy waved his hat in the air a moment before letting go of the rope. The real man stranger was the last to let go. The cow easily rose to her feet and lumbered away. The husky cowboy threw an arm around the real-man stranger’s shoulders as they headed toward the chutes.
The deafening roar of the crowd caused Aspen’s adrenalin to pump even faster. She watched as the real-man stranger waved to the crowd, pulled the hat off his head, and threw it into the air in celebration of victory.
The entire event began and ended in less than two minutes. Aspen stood stunned, unable to believe she’d just witnessed the park jogging guy help win a wild cow milking event.
The announcer hollered out the names of the winners, but the crowd roared too loud for Aspen to discern them.
“What did I miss?” Jimmy asked. He took his seat beside Gina, smiling at her. “Nachos?” he offered.
“No, thanks,” Gina said.
“Wild cow milking, dude!” Brad answered. “And you should have seen this guy they pulled out of the audience, man. He was awesome!”
“You should have kicked off a shoe in the park long ago,” Gina mumbled under her breath.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Aspen said, rolling her eyes.
“Here he comes. Man! He’s pretty banged up!” Brad said, pointing to the real-man stranger as he sauntered across the arena toward them.
“That guy? He looks familiar,” Jimmy said.
Aspen watched the real-man stranger climb up out of the arena. His T-shirt was torn, and blood trickled down one arm from his elbow and from one corner of his mouth. The people he’d been sitting with stood up, swarming him as he returned to his seat. Stripping off the torn T-shirt, he replaced it with the one he’d been wearing earlier. Wadding up the torn team T-shirt, he wiped the blood from his face and arm. Everyone near him slapped high-fives with him—smiling, laughing, and offering congratulations.
Aspen simply sat still, too stunned to believe it all.
She stared at the back of the real-man stranger’s head, wishing he would turn around, wishing she could get one more look at his brilliant smile.
“Hey, man!” Brad called as the crowd simmered down.
Aspen wished then she wouldn’t have wished the real-man stranger would turn around—because he did—and looked right at her!
“Hey!” he called, rising to his feet again and turning toward them. “Arachnophobia girl!”
Aspen forced herself not to throw up from being mortified with embarrassment. Likewise, she forced a smile as the real-man stranger climb
ed the rows of seats advancing toward them.
“Great job, man!” Brad greeted, offering a hand.
The real-man stranger shook Brad’s hand and said, “Thanks, man!”
“You look familiar,” Jimmy said.
The real-man stranger frowned a puzzled frown for a moment and said, “You too.” He looked to Gina and then Aspen. “But I recognize you two lovely ladies from the park yesterday.” He smiled and winked at Aspen. “No spiders today, right?”
“Not yet,” Aspen managed. She could feel the crimson blush on her cheeks.
“I figured it out! Rake Locker, right?” Jimmy asked then.
“Yeah,” the handsome real-man stranger chuckled.
“Jimmy Jensen,” Jimmy said, offering a hand.
“Oh, yeah!” the handsome real-man stranger exclaimed, shaking Jimmy’s hand. “We worked at Sam’s Club together in high school.”
“That’s it,” Jimmy said.
“Rake Locker?” Gina whispered. “Mercy! Even his name is perfect.”
“How you been?” Rake asked Jimmy.
“Good, and you?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Hey, Rake!” someone called from the row below.
“Gotta go,” Rake Locker said. “You guys have fun.” He looked at Aspen, pointing an index finger at her and adding, “And you keep clear of spiders.” He nodded to Gina as he turned around and said, “Nice seeing you girls again.” He added, “You too, Jimmy,” over his shoulder as he made his way back to his seat.
“Rake Locker, huh?” Gina asked.
“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “He’s a pretty cool guy…if I remember correctly.”
“I’m sure,” Gina mumbled, looking at Aspen. “He sure remembered you.”
“How could he not?” Aspen grumbled. “It’s hardly been over twenty-four hours since I made a complete fool of myself.” She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and felt sick to her stomach. “Arachnophobia girl?”
“At least you made an impression.”
“All right! Bull riding is next,” Brad said, pulling Gina and Aspen out of their private conversation.
“Arachnophobia girl?” Aspen muttered to herself. How horrifying! She glanced down to where the gorgeous Rake Locker sat laughing and talking with friends. Rake Locker? What kind of a name was Rake Locker? Just the coolest, most masculine name Aspen had ever heard—in her entire life!
Late that night, after the rodeo—after Aspen had to literally struggle out of Brad Spencer’s clutches—Aspen sat on her couch disappointed, tired, and confused.
First of all, she’d been entirely duped. Oh, sure, Brad had seemed like a nice enough guy. He’d treated her so politely, been so charming all evening—until he’d dropped off Gina and Jimmy at Jimmy’s car at the park-and-ride. It was then that his true intentions were revealed and his true nature reared its ugly head. Oh, sure, Aspen had dealt with guys like Brad tons of times before. And that was the point—she was sick of it!
“I dropped thirty bucks on each of those rodeo tickets!” Brad had said. As Aspen struggled to get out of his car, he’d taken hold of her arm and growled at her, “And all I get is a ‘good night, Brad’ from you?”
Aspen reminded him that they hardly knew each other, but Brad didn’t think it was a good enough excuse for not at least making out for an hour or two. In the end, Aspen had slapped him, plopped thirty dollars down on the seat of his car, and walked away.
“Just check another jerk off the list, Aspen, and move on,” she said to herself as she sipped her cider. Gina had text messaged and said her experience with Jimmy was no better. Aspen shook her head, wholeheartedly disappointed with life in general at that moment.
And then there was the dashing Rake Locker—gorgeous, jogging, wild-cow-milking hunk of delicious masculinity!
“Arachnophobia girl?” she mumbled to herself. Gina had spent the rest of the rodeo assuring Aspen that Rake Locker calling her “arachnophobia girl” was a good thing. At least he’d remembered her, Gina had argued. But Aspen took no comfort in it. It was a lousy, rotten end to the evening—and very late.
Glancing up to the old key-wind chiming clock on the wall, Aspen frowned. Surely it was later than eleven. Yep—the pendulum of the old clock wasn’t moving.
“Great,” Aspen grumbled. She’d been having trouble with her uncle’s old clock. She loved it more than almost anything, but it had been sticking of late, even making her late for work once the week before. She’d have to take it in for a cleaning. She hoped the business card her uncle had given her for the clock shop he preferred was still taped to the back of the clock.
Picking up the remote, Aspen turned on the TV. A Magnum, P.I. rerun was on. The satellite guide said it was midnight. She’d watch a few minutes of TV and then go to bed and try not to be sick over the fact that Rake Locker thought of her as “arachnophobia girl.”
Chapter Three
“No way!” Aspen argued. “After what happened last week…there’s no way I’m going to the park for lunch.”
“Come on, Aspen,” Gina whined through the cell phone. “Now’s your chance! Spider or no spider, he noticed you…and remembered you at the rodeo.”
“Nope. Not going there. Maybe in a few weeks when he’s forgotten all about the stupid spider thing.”
“Um, Aspen,” Gina began, “I really don’t think he’s gonna forget that…ever.”
Aspen sighed as she pulled the key out of the ignition. “Thanks. I feel a lot better now.”
“Seriously, you can’t let this go,” Gina said. “What if he’s the one?”
“Tell you what. Meet me in Old Goldie tonight after work, bring a UPS man with you, and then maybe I’ll have lunch in the park again.”
Gina laughed, and Aspen couldn’t help but smile.
“Anyway, I’m taking Uncle Guy’s clock into the shop today. I’m there now…so I can’t have lunch in the park,” Aspen said as she stepped out of her car.
“So it’s really gummed up, huh?”
“Yeah. It keeps sticking at one o’clock. I’ve had it for three years. Guess it’s time to have it cleaned.”
“Okay,” Gina sighed. “But next week we’re meeting at the park for lunch.”
Aspen laughed. “You just bring that mystery UPS guy with you, and we’ll see. I gotta go. I need both hands to carry this clock.”
“Okay,” Gina said. “See you in Old Goldie after work.”
“Okay, ’bye.”
“’Bye.”
Aspen pressed end on her cell phone and dropped it into her purse. She pushed the trunk button on her key and lifted the old key-wind clock out of the trunk.
She loved the old wall clock her Great-Uncle Guy had given her before he’d passed away. The Westminster chimes at the quarter hours and strikes on the hour were deep and mellow—soothing like nothing else she knew. She’d missed the chimes and was determined to have them resounding through her apartment as soon as possible. She figured it would cost about a hundred bucks to have the clock fixed, based on what Uncle Guy had once told her. Pricey, but worth it. He’d also told her to take the clock to the Clock Shop down in Corrales to have it worked on. She was glad he’d taped a business card to the back of the clock. She pulled the business card off the back of the clock and studied it for a moment. It was an old business card, she could tell. Still, the Clock Shop was right where the card said it would be. She dropped the card into her purse and headed across the parking lot toward the little adobe building with the weathered sign out front.
The very moment she entered the shop, Aspen was entirely captivated. It was magnificent—like stepping through an enchanted mist and into a fairy tale! The room was dimly lit, the comforting aroma of thyme delicately woven through the air. Wistful, barely audible music—the type one would imagine being played in a castle centuries before—whispered through the room, adding to the sensation of having stepped into another world. Grandfather clocks stood like chivalrous, armor-clad knights, lin
ing either side of a worn red carpet beneath Aspen’s feet. Antique wall clocks of every variety adorned the walls, and weathered-looking shelves housed mantel clocks—all ticking a soft, soothing symphony.
“Wow!” Aspen breathed, awed by the calming atmosphere and sheer number of clocks in the small building. In truth, she’d never seen anything like the inner workings of the Clock Shop—not in her entire life!
“Good afternoon.”
Aspen looked down the long red carpet to the counter at the other end of it. An older woman stood behind the counter looking very much as Aspen had always imagined Mrs. Santa Claus looking. Her hair was entirely white and swept up into a soft coifed bun at the top of her head. She wore a pair of delicate half-frame reading glasses, perched on her nose in such a fashion as to add to her Mrs. Claus appearance. Aspen couldn’t help but smile at the vision of her. The Mrs. Claus—plump and gleeful-looking—wore a white blouse and red broom skirt. Aspen felt suddenly toasty warm inside.
“Can I help you with something, honey?” Mrs. Claus said.
“I think this clock needs to be cleaned,” Aspen said.
The elderly woman smiled. “Well, bring it on over, and we’ll see what we can do.”
Aspen walked to the counter, saying, “It was my uncle’s. He gave it to me before he passed away.”
“I think I’ve seen this clock before!” the woman exclaimed. “Who was your uncle, honey?”
The Time of Aspen Falls Page 4
