Emily suppressed a smile and twisted to view Tracen’s reaction. “Yeah, pull in your horns.”
Tracen crossed his arms over his chest. “Sweet filly, huh? More like a wild Mustang.”
The clerk gave a raspy chuckle. “Then you better pony up, son.” He lined up Emily’s receipt with her credit card and read her name before handing them back. “And you have a hog-killin’ time tonight, Miss Emily Van Arsdale. I’m much obliged for your business.”
Emily nodded, aware of the hush that fell over the tent as the salesman announced her name. The gentle expression he wore didn’t reveal any awareness on his part of who she was, but the curious looks she got from other customers ruined the anonymity she was going for with the hats.
Tracen lifted a brow. “Shall we go now, little filly?”
Emily followed him out under the stars. Groups of people milled about, waiting for the bigger events to draw them back inside the arena. Emily wondered if she’d missed all the mutton busting by now. She was going to suggest they return to the rodeo when Tracen’s fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arm, and he yanked her behind the tent they’d just exited.
“Photographers,” he muttered.
Boy, a little attention made him a whole lot grumpy.
“Come on, I think we can get in through a back door.” He led the way around the large barn-shaped building.
Laughter and shouting grew louder as they neared the rear of the arena. Turning the corner, they ran into an area sectioned off by hay bales. Inside, Howie bounced around on top of a mechanical bull.
Emily’s insides jumped. Scared for Howie, she analyzed his movements. One hand clutched the horn, while the other waved in the air. His legs bounced against the sides of the beast and his head whipped around in a way that made her teeth hurt. All he needed was to squeeze with his inner thighs and relax his upper body — like a tree rooted to the ground and bending in the wind.
Howie only lasted another second. Dirt pillowed up around the red air mattress as he landed with a thud. But he was safe. Which was especially important to Emily now that she knew the role he’d played in her father’s life.
Tracen gave a belly laugh and waved. “Hope you have a good chiropractor, Travolta,” he called.
Honey ushered Howie over. “Leave the urban cowboy alone.”
Howie pushed his hips to one side, then the other, stretching his back and grimacing. “It’s been awhile since I rode Brutus.”
Emily patted him on the arm. “Very entertaining, Howie.”
Howie cracked his neck and grinned down at her. “That’s what it’s all about.”
A carnival-like call came from speakers inside the ring. “Who’s next? Anybody else brave enough to go for a ride?”
Emily glanced around, already feeling herself buckle and twist along with the machine. There seemed to be no line. Somebody had to step up. And her muscles longed for the challenge.
“Come on, cowboys. If you’re not going to ride a real bull, at least give this one a try.”
Oh, she should let Tracen have a chance. But Howie had all his attention. Other bystanders crowded in little circles to chat, forgetting the action. A few even wandered off. What a waste of a mechanical bull.
“How about a cowgirl?” The voice doubled its dare. “I’ll go easier on a lady.”
Still no volunteers. Emily couldn’t stay away any longer.
****
“TRACEN.” HONEY LEANED IN toward him while Howie accepted congratulations from the last rider thrown off Brutus. “I’m afraid Howie might really be hurt, and he’s just trying to act tough in front of me.”
Ah, wasn’t that sweet? With all of Honey’s bossiness, her softer side never failed to surprise Tracen. He motioned for her to run off. “Go get a drink or something, and I’ll find out for sure.”
Tracen ignored the mechanical bull operator calling for another rider as he focused on Howie. His friend turned toward him with a grin. “Your turn, Tracen. Gotta impress your woman.”
“Yeah.” Tracen snorted. “Like you impressed her?” He glanced over his shoulder to check on Emily. She seemed to be engrossed with people watching — probably looking for those annoying photographers to pop up again.
Howie held up his hands in mock defense. “If you’re too intimidated to follow my ride, I completely understand. I’d likely make you look bad.”
Tracen clicked his tongue. “You took quite a tumble there, Howie. Are you sure you’re all right? In the head?”
“How would I know if I was alive unless I felt a little pain now and then?” Howie shrugged it off as the guy by the mechanical bull called for a lady to ride. “Hey, there you go, Trace. If you’re not too worried about getting your skirt dirty, the ride operator will put the bull on an easier level for you.”
“Funny.”
“No.” Howie shook his head. “This is funny: What was the bull doing in the pasture with his eyes closed?”
Tracen glanced towards the concession booth for Honey. He’d tried to do her a favor, and in return he was ridiculed and subjected to lame jokes. “What?”
“Bull-dozing. Get it? He was sleeping. Kind of like what you’re doing now instead of riding the bull.”
Fine. Tracen would ride just to get Howie to shut up. It shouldn’t be much harder than riding a rapid. And hey, if he got hurt, Emily could nurse his injuries. He opened his mouth to volunteer.
“I’ll ride,” Emily announced in her clear, sweet voice as she leapt to a hay bale. He should have known.
She looked back at Tracen with a splash of excitement in her pool-colored eyes as the man with the microphone grasped her hand and led her toward the metal beast. Tracen pushed through the crowd to get a closer view of her upcoming performance. She would be fine. She always was. And the guy in charge said he’d put it on an easy level for females. So why did Tracen have a queasiness in his gut?
“What’s your name, darlin’?”
Maybe it was the guy touching and talking to Emily that made him queasy.
Emily leaned closer to speak into the microphone. “Emily.” Her voice boomed from a couple of static-filled speakers.
The guy’s head moved as he perused her up and down. Tracen’s stomach clenched as tight as his fists. The jerk better lay off or he would—
“Emily,” the man repeated in a D.J.-type baritone. “I thought so.”
He knew it. She’d been recognized. If he started a scene now, the news would be sure to spread. He wouldn’t be Tracen Lake, rafting guide, anymore. He’d become the guy who got into a fight over Emily Van Arsdale. Deep breath.
“Have you ever gone for a ride before, Emily?” Even the guy’s tone sounded sleazy. He held out a waiver for her to sign.
Another deep breath. Maybe she wouldn’t sign it.
Emily signed it. “No. Any advice?”
The operator gripped her waist as she climbed over the air mattress to mount, and Tracen couldn’t hear his response, but when the operator released Emily and lifted the microphone back to his lips, his words were intended for everyone to hear. “Emily Van Arsdale, ladies and gentleman. We’ve got Wonder Woman herself bull riding at our Sun Valley Rodeo. You won’t want to miss this.”
Warm, fleshy bodies pressed into Tracen from behind. He shifted his feet to keep balanced. That’s all he could do. Emily would have to do the rest.
“Are? We? Ready?”
Whoops and hollers rose around him. Emily lifted her hat in the air and smiled, though her eyes seemed to be searching for his. Before he could catch her attention, she smashed the hat back on her head and focused on her task at hand.
The grinding of gears signaled the beginning of the show. The bull leaned forward and then backwards. Emily’s hips rocked with the rhythm. A fox whistle split the air. Tracen frowned.
Brutus began to spin. Not in a rush, thankfully. The guy in charge really was taking it easy as promised. Though it might have been better had she been knocked right off. How long would Tracen have to
endure such a public display of his date?
Howie sidled up beside him. “She makes it look easy.”
“Are you surprised?”
“Well, I’m sure they’ll speed it up for her. The thing can rock sixty-five times and spin forty-five times in one minute.”
The spinning alone would cause Tracen’s dinner to reappear. He glanced at the ride operator to gauge the man’s intent. The man wasn’t even looking at Emily. He was motioning for someone to join him. Out of the crowd stepped the photographer from the calf scramble. That couldn’t be good.
The operator’s hands returned to his device as he squinted up at Emily with anticipation. Tracen shifted his gaze as well, willing Emily to hang on tighter.
Sure enough, the animal bucked harder. And harder. Emily hung on, focusing beyond the horn where her fingers gripped.
“Her knuckles are turning white,” Howie commentated.
Tracen’s muscles coiled, preparing for him to spring into the ring at any moment. Howie getting hurt on a mechanical bull was one thing, but Emily was so tiny and precious.
Brutus spun, throwing Emily slightly off balance. Her curls spiraled out behind her. If she let go at any time, she was sure to shoot past the air mattress.
“Hey,” Tracen yelled. He had to do something.
No one responded.
“Hey!” This time he stepped over a hay bale and stalked toward the operation controls.
He expected the operator to yell at him and motion for him to leave, but the man was too transfixed on Emily to even notice. He stared past Tracen with a smirk. “She’s good,” he commented to nobody in particular.
“Hey,” Tracen hollered again, hoping to be heard over the cheering that surrounded them. “Slow it down.”
The man’s smirk turned into a sneer as his eyes slanted toward Tracen for a moment. “Who are you? Her bodyguard?”
“Something like that.” Tracen didn’t have time to argue. He reached past the other guy for the switches that increased the levels. He flicked the one closest to him, then lifted his head to check on Emily.
Arm waving overhead, she rolled with each buck, focused only on the spot between Brutus’s horns. The bull still rocked like a raft in a level six rapid. Tracen needed to slow it down more.
The operator blocked his path. “Hands off.”
Right. Like Tracen was going to let him put Emily on display and in danger any longer.
But before Tracen could get his hands on the controls, the bull came up hard — right as Emily leaned forward. A loud crack echoed through the air as her head hit Brutus. Her body collapsed and she slid off the saddle.
****
A SWIRL OF DARKNESS and light separated into the black of night and a few display lights at a fairground. Oh yes, she was at the rodeo. The colors that blended together in her peripheral vision belonged to the faces and clothing of people staring down at her. With this awareness, the roar around her became distinct tones and voices. One stood out above them all.
“Emily, are you okay?”
Tracen. Just the presence of that man gave her a feeling of safety. So why the silly question?
“Of course I’m okay.” Ooh, a throbbing between her eyes argued with the answer she’d given. What was going on?
She pressed her hands into the ground behind her to roll into a seated position, but the ground gave way like her parents’ old waterbed. And her right hand stung as if it had been fishing around in a cooler of ice for the perfect drink.
Tracen’s warm arm lifted her from behind. “You were knocked out.”
Now she remembered. She’d been on a mechanical bull. And she’d stayed on. “No.” She didn’t get knocked out. Impossible. That stuff only happened in movies. So how did she end up on the ground?
Lights flashed in her face. Emily blinked against their brilliance. Photographers. Wouldn’t they love to publicize this story? Maybe when People magazine came out, she could read their captions and figure out what really happened.
“You hit your head.” Tracen held out his hand in front of her. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Was he serious? If he was going to make hand motions, she would much prefer the sign for “I love you” over “peace.”
“Two fingers. I’m fine. Though I’ve got this stabbing headache.”
“Yeah.” Tracen’s fingers now brushed her forehead, creating an explosion of pressure above her right eye. “You’ve got a little bump.”
Emily raised her own hand to test the damage. Little bump?
She could be a stunt double for the Elephant Man. Images of her makeup artist trying to hide such disfigurement brought laughter to her lips.
Tracen’s brows drew together as if he thought the bump on her head had knocked her brains loose.
She giggled harder. Maybe it had. She attempted to explain anyway. “Char’s going to kill me.”
Tracen’s confusion melted into a tiny smile. “Ah, yes — murder. Hilarious.”
Honey’s face appeared through the jumble of humanity, reminding Emily of her old Where’s Waldo? books. “Here.” She raised a paper cup dripping in condensation and pressed it to Emily’s forehead.
Tracen hovered over her like an EMT. “How’s that?”
Emily wiped away icy droplets from her eyebrow and blinked at the mass of faces continuing to stare at her. They were so close, she probably couldn’t stand up without knocking them over like bowling pins. “I’m feeling suffocated.”
Tracen turned his back to her, motioning for people to give them room. Goodness, it was as if she was an accident on the side of the freeway causing drivers to rubberneck.
One guy didn’t back off. Rick — the guy who had helped her onto Brutus in the first place and had given her the advice of focusing on a spot on the bull’s head. Was that how she’d hit her head?
He crossed his thick arms and lifted his dimpled chin in a challenge. “Does the lady want to go for another ride?”
Maybe if she didn’t feel like she’d just survived a lobotomy. Tracen shot to his feet. “You can’t be serious, man. I’m having your certification revoked. You’re way out of line—”
A bulb flashed. Photographers recorded their every move. And while Tracen had her best interest in mind, the media could twist the situation…
“Tracen.” She pushed away Honey’s lemonade and gripped his wrist to haul herself to a standing position. Though she’d planted her feet on packed dirt, it seemed to shift underneath her as if she were still on the inflated mattress. Whoa. She closed her eyes and focused on staying balanced. The stabbing pain inside her skull didn’t help any. At least she’d stopped Tracen’s tirade.
Strong hands steadied her on either side. Opening her eyes, Emily found Tracen grimacing down at her as if he were the one in pain. “What do you need?”
She needed another chance at a first date since this one involved her being knocked unconscious. “How about a redo?”
Tracen tilted his head, his cowboy hat shadowing his eyes. “A redo?”
Where did her cowboy hat go? Didn’t matter. With Tracen so close, she didn’t have time to think of anything else.
“A redo?” This time the question came from Rick. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
What did Rick care if they went out on a second date? Unless — Shoot. He thought she meant redoing her ride. She must have looked like a total spaz flying off the bull. She who was supposed to move gracefully — with athleticism.
Tracen would understand her embarrassment. She’d probably made him feel better about getting stuck upside down in the trampoline harness. But what about everybody else who had witnessed her humiliation? She scanned the crowd watching her. Having her reputation destroyed in the tabloids was one thing. Losing face in front of a tiny town where she wanted to be accepted was something else.
Tracen spun to face the mechanical bull operator. “Listen here, you—”
“I’ll do it.” Emily stepped between the faceoff.
“What?” Tracen gaped.
“A–l–l right.” Rick dragged out the words. His presumptuous hands moved to assist her toward the beast.
Tracen knocked them away. “I’ll assist her if she’s going to ride.”
If. Tracen said if. The pounding in Emily’s temples faded as she prepared her argument. No doubt Tracen planned to stop her from proving herself.
Rick held up hands in mock retreat as he stepped away.
Tracen glowered before turning back to her. “Emily, please don’t do this.”
She didn’t have a choice. But she had to make light of it for Tracen’s sake. “Haven’t you heard of getting back in the saddle?”
Tracen gave a violent shake of his head. “That saying is about climbing back on a horse.”
Was it? She didn’t know. “Well, how about this saying: I’ve got to grab the bull by the horns.”
She still couldn’t see his eyes very well, but if she had to guess, she would say he rolled them. “You already lost to the bull.”
The churning in her gut came from his lack of faith in her, not the past failure. “You don’t think I can do it.”
Tracen ducked his head and lowered his voice, as if suddenly aware of the scene they were creating. “I don’t think you should do it. Not with an injury.”
He cared. So he should understand. “That’s why I have to do it, Tracen. To prove to these cameras, and to Sun Valley, that I’m not afraid.”
She reached for his hands to connect, so he knew she wasn’t just being argumentative and that she needed his support. But her physical plea backfired when his large hands folded around hers as if she were a precious treasure. It might be nice to let him play protector — to forget everything but his presence.
“When you try to prove things” — Tracen drew her hand toward his ribs, reminding her of the first time she’d touched him — “you end up with scars.”
Emily stared up at him, wondering if he was reliving his moment on the river. The scar on his side wasn’t the only scar left from his wild raft ride.
Finding Love in Sun Valley, Idaho (Resort to Love Book 1) Page 14
