We exchanged phone numbers and Adri and Jordynn floated out of the shop like angelic beings.
I shot Marta a pleading look. “Can you watch the kids?”
“My pleasure,” she said, cleaning up the nail station. “But don’t get mad when I feed them dessert for dinner and let them stay up till midnight.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I said. “Hey. Can I confess something?”
“Sure,” Marta said.
“This is going to sound terrible, but now that Keith’s more than just some cowboy I met at the rodeo, sometimes I hate watching him on those wild bucking horses. A part of me doesn’t want to watch it anymore. I never know when he might be trampled to death.”
I waited for her to chastise me, but I couldn’t help it. I loved seeing Keith’s skill with a horse, which I had to admit I found sexy, but I never knew when he might get bucked off and trampled like a rag doll. It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before.
“I totally get that, sis, but it’s not like you didn’t know going into it.”
“I know,” I said. “Just venting.”
She pointed a bossy finger at me. “Not that it’s any of my business, but put on your big girl panties. Cheer for your husband and trust that all will be well.”
“My panties are none of your business,” I said, wagging a finger back at her. “And my marriage isn’t something you should be commenting on, either. It’s against the rules.”
“Since when have rules ever stopped either one of us from speaking our minds?”
And that made us both laugh.
“Fine,” I said and grabbed a western hat from the window display. I set it gracefully on my head. “Nobody will ever guess I’m just an orchard farmer’s daughter pretending to be a cowgirl.”
“That’s another thing you’re worried about, isn’t it,” she said. “You’re embarrassed you’re not a real cowgirl, whatever that is.”
“So what?”
But she was right. I wasn’t used to insecurity anymore. I thought I’d left that all behind when my ex and I divorced, but there was something about rodeo wives and girlfriends that made me question myself. Looking at them, practical and yet beautiful in their western clothing, made my slightly-over-the-top rhinestones feel cheap.
Okay, so maybe they were more than slightly-over-the-top rhinestones. They were all out blingy, but I liked to dress flashy, and Keith liked it, too. At least I thought he did.
“Well, as long as you look hot, no one will judge—definitely not your cowboy hubby.”
My heart fluttered, a little bit proud and a little bit nervous, thinking about seeing Keith on the back of a bucking horse again. And trust me, we aren’t talking gentle, trained horses, but unbroken, wild horses. And no matter how many times he’d been hurt, he just kept climbing back on. If only the rest of us could do that in life, we’d all be courageous.
“So,” Marta said. “What did you make of all that bull crap about Violet? Do you think they really knew her?”
“I don’t know why they’d lie,” I said.
Marta was just being protective.
She shrugged. “Well, if they did know her, then they should’ve known better than to talk about her to Peyton.”
I thought about Peyton’s question to Adri and wondered, did people hear from Violet?
“I hope she never comes back,” I said. “Is that awful?”
“I don’t know,” Marta said. “I think it would be good for Peyton to know what really happened to her, but, then again, if it’s something bad, then she’s better off not knowing.”
“How could it be something bad?” I asked. “She sent divorce papers. She had to be alive and well to do that.”
“That was a long time ago,” Marta said. “If anyone’s heard from her since then, it hasn’t hit the rumor mill.” And nothing gets past the rumor mill in Castle Orchard.
“Anyway, we have to stop bringing that woman up,” I said. “She’s gone. Keith and the kids are my family now.”
“Right,” she said, but not very convincingly. “That’s why you keep obsessing about Violet ever since you fell in love with Keith.”
“Ouch,” I said.
Marta spontaneously threw her arms around me and squeezed. “Sounds like you weren’t ready for the honeymoon to be over. Let’s go, I’ll help you pack.”
“You’re right,” I said and helped lock up the shop. I closed the door behind us.
“Just find me a rodeo cowboy while you’re there,” Marta said. “Okay?”
“Be careful what you ask for,” I warned. “You might just get your wish.”
Chapter Four
“Oh for Pete’s sake. This suitcase is way too small for all my stuff. I’m going to end up needing something.”
“You drive a bug,” Marta said. “No big suitcases allowed.”
I hefted my pink overnight bag and a pair of my fanciest cowgirl boots, the ones with the fringe up the side, into the back of my yellow VW Beetle.
“Remember these?” I asked.
“You wore those the first time you met Keith. Great choice.” Marta and I’d been gussied up in boots and cowgirl glitz just for the occasion, and I admit, I’d only dressed that way for the rodeo. The next day Marta and I were back in our designer jeans and sandals, trying to get rid of our hat-head hair from the night before. That’s exactly what I’m talking about when I say I’m not really a cowgirl. When I dress cowgirl for Keith, which I do quite often these days, I’m like those purses people buy on the corner in New York City that look close to the real thing, but aren’t.
Daddy walked toward us, coffee in hand. “Now, you be careful,” he said handing me a travel mug for the road.
“What’s this?” I peered at the logo on the side of the lidded mug. “Marshall Farms,” I read.
He frowned. “It was Marta’s idea. Too fancy?”
I looked at the mug, which was light green with red writing and a picture of an apple on the side.
“I love it!”
“I ordered them when you were in Hawaii—before Daddy could put the kibosh on it,” Marta said. “I thought we’d sell them real cheap over at The Southern Pair. It might get the word out about his booth at the farmer’s markets, you know?”
“I promise to hand some out.” I stuffed a few into my bag and let Marta load up the backseat with several more.
In the car, I slipped a pair of jeweled sunglasses over my eyes. I thought they contrasted great with my white, rhinestone-bedazzled t-shirt and chunky, turquoise bead necklace. A look in the rearview mirror confirmed it.
I was no rodeo cowgirl, but this fancy farm girl knew how to pick a pair of sunglasses.
“Tell Adri and Jordynn hi,” Marta said.
I gave her a sly look. Was she trying to make me jealous? Because I didn’t need any encouragement for that. I was already bracing myself for all his cowgirl fans, most of them as fake as myself, except that, unlike them, I was at least married to a real rodeo cowboy.
I cranked the AC and headed off. The drive over the wooded hills made me feel a peace I hadn’t felt in quite a long while, reminding me that I might not be a real cowgirl, but I was still a country girl at heart. I liked nothing better than a scenic, tree-filled view and a picnic in the grass. I was already trying to figure out how I might lure Keith from the rodeo grounds and into the woods for some rest and relaxation.
Pillar Bluff was only two hours away and was only bigger than Castle Orchard by about a thousand people. Its streets were lined with a few more gift shops, although none that made people feel as happy as The Southern Pair, except maybe the Time for Tea shop, where they served tea in antique cups, and restaurants advertising Southern cuisine to tourists. But Pillar Bluff was most known for having the best rodeo grounds this side of Tennessee, which were big enough to host an annual rodeo that brought people from all over the United States. As I followed the signs to the rodeo entrance, I worried, something I had always done more than Marta.
&n
bsp; The thing I was truly anxious about, more than the fans, was running into all those rodeo wives who had known Keith for years. Hopefully, I wouldn’t hear any talk about Keith’s ex. I hated when they asked me if we’d heard where Violet was or how she was doing, as if I’d be the one she’d call. My more compassionate side knew it was the mystery of her disappearance, the suddenness of it, that made these old friends of hers ask, but my mean side always wanted to ask them why the heck they thought I’d keep in touch with the ex. When Violet decided to vanish, she’d left a trail of trampled people behind her, and some of them still wanted answers. Hopefully, now that Keith had tied the knot, maybe they’d realize that if he was moving on, maybe they should, too.
I should’ve never come!
I stared up at a tall, beefy cowboy who had a handlebar mustache on his lip and wore a red bandanna around his neck.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I can’t tell you how many ‘wives’ come here trying to get back to the RVs. Not gonna happen today.”
Behind him sprawled the arena, which resembled a football field, except for all the dirt, the stage on which horses and bulls thrilled the crowds daily, hooves beating into the earth leaving tracks over tracks and kicking up dust to the beat of rock music blaring from the speakers. I’d gotten on the road a little later than I’d hoped and the sun was already climbing higher in the sky. The drop of sweat trickling down my spine from the heat put me in a bad mood, and I was in no mind to deal with this hefty cowboy.
“I really am Keith Black’s wife. I even have a key to his RV, see? Because it’s our RV.”
He eyed the key with a suspicious look.
“Everyone wants to marry a cowboy, ma’am, but Keith doesn’t have a wife.”
What a funny little man!
Of course, he wasn’t so little, but I planted my hands on my hips and stared up at him with a stern look. “Mister, if you don’t let me through this gate, you’re going to find yourself deep in that smelly stuff in that cow pen over there.”
The man gave the cow pen a lazy look, sniffed, glanced at my high-heeled espadrilles and then rested his arms across his barrel chest. They must pick the scariest looking guys to guard the cowboys’ RVs. I guessed this one wasn’t scared of a little horse manure, or of little ole me for that matter.
“Black’ll be signin’ autographs later.”
A passing cowboy shouted. “Sure, if the old guy’s not too sore afterward. I just saw him limpin’, but I’ll give you mine, sweetheart.”
I rolled my eyes and decided to just push past the cowboy guard, but he stepped in my way, gently taking hold of my elbow. I was about to clean his clock when my heart jumped a little at the lanky stud swaggering up.
“I believe I’ll take it from here, Bill.”
Bill? Should be Brewster or Butch!
“What’re you doing here, sweetheart?” He asked, his cowboy drawl making me melt into a puddle, like always.
I didn’t know if I’d ever get used to being married to a man who looked like he just stepped out of a western movie. He caught me as I threw my arms around his waist. His shirt smelled like dust. Everything at rodeos was dusty, and, now, so was I, but I didn’t mind.
“That cowboy over there said you were limping. And he called me sweetheart.”
“That’s Slade. He’s just mad because he can’t beat me. But Bill, here, he’s a good guy. Bill, I’d like you to meet my wife of two-and-a-half weeks.”
Bill erupted into smiles and congratulations. “Pardon me, ma’am. I hope I didn’t offend.”
He doffed his hat.
Now, how could I stay mad at a man with such good manners, never mind how late they were in coming?
“You just keep on keeping those girls away from him,” I said.
“Oh, he’s in good hands here, Mrs. Black. I keep all those girls away.”
All?
I didn’t miss the look Keith shot him.
Bill added, “Of course, you don’t have anything to worry about. Keith’s about as boring as an old mule. Can’t get him to leave his trailer half the time.”
That sounded better.
Keith said a farewell to Bill and grabbed my hand. Together we walked past pens filled with cattle and horses toward rows and rows of RVs filled with rodeo people until we got to one I recognized as ours.
“You come to watch me ride?”
“Does a rodeo queen wear a crown?”
He laughed. “But you hate watching me ride.”
“I love seeing you ride. It just terrifies me to watch.”
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
Keith kissed my forehead in mid-stride, the scent of dust and sweat tickling my nose.
“It’s awhile before I’m up, but I need to get on over there. Cheer for me, cowgirl.”
“I will. And you be careful out there,” I whispered, ignoring the endearment.
Keith called all the girls in his family ‘cowgirls’—he even called Marta a cowgirl, which was even funnier than calling me one.
“Don’t get hurt.”
“How about you stop worrying and just tell me good luck.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his mouth against mine.
I tried to keep it reserved in case someone was watching, but Keith’s lips were soft and persuasive. I’d never been one to care if a man had a muscular physique, but that was before I married a rodeo cowboy with rock hard abs and shoulders to go with his biceps. If I was that lucky, I was going to enjoy it, and right then, the heat of his body pressing up against mine almost made me forget where we were. Just when I felt like we were back on the beach, a breeze swept through and the barn-related odors reminded me that we weren’t still in Hawaii. I pulled away, wrinkling my nose.
“What? Do I stink?”
I laughed, knowing he would stink a lot more when he got back from his ride.
“I’ll send Quentin by to check on ya,” he said.
“Good luck, babe.” I gave him a peck on the cheek.
“I’m gonna need it,” he said and straightened his hat.
He didn’t seem to be limping anymore, if that cowboy had even been telling the truth. If anything, his long stride reflected a good mood. He was glad I came. I could see the pride in his face, and it made me happy. If only being a bronco rider’s wife was as easy as showing up to see her cowboy ride.
Quentin, a cowboy on Keith’s support team or whatever he called it, knocked on the camper door. He held an arm load of goodies.
I remembered Marta’s comment about finding her a cowboy and wondered if she’d ever met this one. He lived in Pillar Bluff, but he was in Castle Orchard working for Keith all the time. Although, maybe Queen Jordynn was more Quentin’s type. I’d have to ask Keith if Quentin would be open to meeting a blonde, white woman who looked just like me.
“They sure do treat the cowboys and their families good,” I said. “Look at all this food, Quentin.”
“You hungry?” He set it all on the tiny table and turned to offer me a hug. I gasped at his strength.
“I don’t think I feel like eating right now,” I said, catching my breath and popping the tab on a Coke.
“Alrighty,” he said. “You might want to head over in a few minutes. You don’t want to miss it.”
Of course I didn’t. Keith rode all the time. He’d be fine like always.
Quentin handed me a badge on a red lanyard. “You’ll need this to get in.”
“Quentin?”
“Yes, ma’am?” He stood with one hand resting on the side of the door, the other about to place his hat on his head.
Oh, boy, Marta definitely has to meet Cowboy Quentin.
“Manda?”
“Oh! Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “Just distracted by this heat! I was only asking you, is Keith okay? I heard someone say he was limping earlier.”
Quentin looked out the door, toward the arena. “Keith’s fine, Manda. Don’t you worry yourself, okay? He’s as happy as a kid with an ice cream co
ne that you’re here, so cheer loud and let everyone know you’re his wife.” He winked.
My jealous side wondered if the comment about letting everyone know was more than a joke, but that would be silly, right?
He let the door close and I sat down at the miniature table, all those shrink wrapped cakes and cookies spread out on the cheap table top Formica wasted. There was no way I could eat when my husband was about to ride a wild horse. Restless, I changed into my Miss Me jeans and the fringe-adorned boots, grabbed my bag – a fringe and turquoise thing from a fellow rodeo wife at my wedding shower–and stepped out of the RV. Dust tickled my nose and a roaring rose up from the arena a short walk away. My chest tightened as I picked my way past the RVs and toward the place where my very own cowboy was about to be whipped and jerked and possibly thrown from a wild animal. What Keith did for a living never failed to make me weak in the knees, in ways that were both good and bad.
The roaring got louder the closer I got to the stands. The sun was high in the sky and I pressed my hat down and popped on my sunglasses. I could hear the announcer, all full of wit and grit, explaining what was happening over the loud speaker.
“Hi.”
I stopped, turned. A woman stood beside the barrel trash can with a big smile on her makeup-less face. Now, I’m not judging. I’m just saying she had no makeup on and her highlights were way overdue, and I am the kind of person who notices something like that. Call me shallow, but I also noticed that her clothes didn’t match and her dull brown hair was twisted up in what I think was supposed to be a bun. The spacey look in her eyes sort of scared me, so I looked around to see if she was with anyone. When I looked back, I saw my mother’s image for a split second and I froze. It wasn’t her, of course, but that was the look Momma’d had in her eyes during that last year she was with us. Something wasn’t right with this poor woman, either.
The Real Thing Page 5
