You can’t let yourself be vulnerable again, she told herself. You can’t let anyone else determine the direction of your life. You’re in charge. Have to be.
But somehow those words taunted her with their empty certainty. She thought of the sermon she’d heard on Sunday. How the pastor had spoken of how we want to control our lives and what a foolish notion that is. How little control we actually have.
And, at the same time, how important it was to place every plan we make in God’s perspective and see it through the eyes of eternity. What will last, what will persevere?
And what will glorify God?
Lauren tossed over onto her side again. Was she being selfish? Was she focusing too much on the things of this earth and not seeking God first?
She turned onto her back, staring up the ceiling of the room that had belonged to her over two months of the year for nine years. She remembered the many dreams she had spun here. Dreams of being on her own, away from family and obligations, and trying to keep everyone happy.
Was it so wrong to want to take care of herself? Trusting other people to do so had been a huge mistake. She knew Jodie wanted her to keep the ranch, but Jodie didn’t need it. Erin didn’t seem to care. So it was up to her.
And Vic wanted it for his brother. Needed it for his brother.
But surely that couldn’t be reason enough for her to give up on her own dreams and plans. Dean had Vic to take care of him. Whom did she have?
She closed her eyes and breathed out a prayer, the only thing she knew she could do right now.
Guide my decisions, Lord, she prayed. Help me to make decisions that will glorify You.
But even as she prayed, part of her held on to her own ideas. Trouble was, she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted God, either.
Chapter Nine
Vic tightened the cinch on his horse, checked the rigging, rope and bridle. Once he was sure everything was secure, he adjusted the padded leather chaps he wore to protect his legs. Behind him he heard the clang of horses’ hooves against the metal fences outside, the bawling of steers, waiting to be ridden.
The day was rodeo perfect. Plenty of sunshine and enough of a breeze to keep the bugs off the animals.
Ahead of him, he heard the crowd gathering in the stands, the country music echoing in the arena.
Ten minutes before showtime.
Then a sudden attack of nerves was unwelcome and surprising, as memories slammed into his mind.
Dean falling off the horse. The cry of agony as his leg got caught in the fence.
That one moment that changed everything.
Could he really do this?
Every time he rode out into the arena, he felt the responsibility of the care of the cowboys and the stock. But Lauren would be in the crowd this evening.
Distraction or welcome presence?
He paused before getting on, taking in the building’s energy, the contestants gathering, the whinny of horses, the bellowing of steers and bulls.
The energy and the possibility that things could go well or go very wrong.
Help me be strong, Lord, he prayed, resting his head on his saddle before he mounted. Help me stay focused. Help me to keep my concentration on what I need to do.
Because knowing Lauren was in the crowd made a difference whether he wanted to admit it or not.
He drew in a deep, calming breath, the smells of dirt, horses and hot dogs bringing up older and better memories. Those were the ones he had to cling to, he reminded himself. The cowboys he rescued. The horses and bulls he got safely into the back pens. His unsung successes that were part of every rodeo pickup man’s story.
“Vic Moore. Glad to see you here,” a high-pitched voice called out.
Vic turned around to face a young man in his late twenties. Tall, lanky, his upper lip curved over a chew of tobacco, his black cowboy hat square on his head, wearing a plaid shirt and Wrangler blue jeans—Walden Proudfoot was the embodiment of a rodeo cowboy and one of the best pickup men in the business.
Walden slapped Vic on the shoulder, nodding his approval of his presence. “So glad you’re working with me. I missed you.”
“I missed being here.”
“When I found out you were partnering with me, I knew I was in good hands.”
Vic laughed, thankful for the confidence Walden had in him.
“How’s Dean doing?”
“Still a struggle.”
“He miss rodeoing?”
Vic shook his head. “He’s never mentioned it.” The focus of Dean’s anger and bitterness seemed to be his disability more than his inability to ride broncs again.
“That’s too bad. He was a solid rider.”
“And what about you? When are you going to quit this game?” Vic asked, steering the conversation to a safer topic.
“I don’t know. Hauling five horses around from rodeo to rodeo gets tiring and expensive. I’m done by the end of the season, but each time spring rolls around, I get the itch.”
“It’s in your blood or not,” Vic admitted. “How’s your brother Ziggy doing? Has he ever finished in the money?”
“Nope. Still a donator.”
Vic had to laugh at the term given to cowboys who never made any money but kept competing. He asked after a few more friends who had ridden the circuit with them, swapped a few more stories about other rodeos.
And then a voice booming over the mic called out the individual competitors of the events. They each came out to stand in a circle facing the audience.
Vic rode out with Walden when their names were announced, cantering their horses around the arena, hats lifted in greeting.
He scanned the crowd, heard his name and saw a woman with dark hair, standing, waving both arms, cupping her hand around her mouth and whistling. Jodie.
What a character.
But it was the reserved blonde beside her who snagged his attention. He inclined his head toward her and then, a second later, she was out of his sight.
Then the singing of the national anthem was announced. Two members of the drill team came out, cantering around the ring, the Stars and Stripes and the flag of the association following.
After the anthem was sung, the cowboys all ran out, and with a roar and a blare of music, the rodeo was underway.
Vic took up his position to the right of the bareback chutes, pulled his hat down, recoiled his rope and quieted his horse.
Then with a clang of the gate, the first horse and rider burst out of the chute.
The next hour was a combination of waiting, anticipation humming through him and his horse, and an eruption of action, watching, reading, pacing the animals, and getting the rider on the back of his horse and setting him down if need be.
Vic settled easily back into the routine, surprised at how much he had missed the excitement. The expectation. The sudden quick moves as he paced the broncs.
He switched horses when the calf ropers and the steer wrestlers worked from the other end of the arena, hazing the steers. He helped chase a few of them back to the pens and between times managed to catch a few glimpses of Lauren. She was leaning forward, watching, intent.
Just like she did everything else, he thought, shifting on his horse as he returned to his position while the horses were brought into the bucking chutes.
He wondered if she thought about the kiss they’d shared as much as he had.
The announcer called out the next event.
Saddle bronc.
The one that had put his brother in the hospital.
He shoved his hat down on his head and, as he usually did before any cowboy was ready to go, uttered a quick but sincere prayer.
Lord, help me to do my job, stay focused, and keep the cowboy and horse safe.
Then the cowboys holding the chute gate got the nod from the cowboy on the horse. The gate swung open and with a lunge the horse exploded into the arena.
Vic pulled his horse back to give the bronc room, watching as the horse bucked, keeping his attention on the rider and the movements of the horse. The bronc sunfished, spun, and just before the buzzer went, Vic and Walden rode alongside the horse to release the bucking strap and get the rider off. But Vic could see the rider was in trouble. His foot had slipped too far into the stirrup.
Vic’s heart jumped; adrenaline kicked in. He signaled to Walden to take care of the horse as he came up abreast of the rider, now dangling down from the saddle.
Vic moved his horse in as close as he could get, trusting his horse to do his job while Vic did his.
“Grab my hand,” he called out to the cowboy. He reached down, almost coming off his own saddle as his horse paced the bucking horse, not fazed by its tossing head and frantic movements.
The cowboy tried, but the erratic actions of the horse made it impossible.
“I got ya, I got ya,” Vic called out in encouragement.
Then he leaned down again just as the bronc took a sudden turn toward his own horse, and he and the dangling cowboy were crushed between the two racing animals.
* * *
“What’s happening? What’s going on?” Lauren stood, leaning closer, watching the frightening scene unfolding below. All she saw were horses racing alongside each other, cowboys scattering as the horses came toward them. Vic was leaning so far over she couldn’t believe he could stay in his saddle.
“The rider got his foot hung up,” Finn was saying, his voice tense. “He can’t get out.”
The other pickup man was hauling hard on the lead rope to pull the horse back. He leaned back and snapped the bucking strap off the animal, but still the horses ran around the arena in a clump of legs and bodies.
“Where’s Vic? Where’s Vic?” Lauren wanted to run down and leap over the walls to help, even though she knew she could do nothing.
Her heart thundered in her chest. Her hands grew clammy. What was going on? Why wasn’t Vic coming up?
Then another cowboy on horseback came into the arena, followed by a group of other competitors.
“Stay with him. Vic, stay with him,” she heard Finn muttering over the fearful cries from the audience around her.
She couldn’t watch, but she couldn’t look away. It all happened so fast and yet it seemed it would never end.
Finally the horses slowed down and as they did, Vic sat up, his hand clutching the bright red shirt of the bronc rider, dragging him onto the back of his horse. While the rider clung, Vic reached down again and then, amazingly, the cowboy’s foot was free. The saddle bronc gave a shake of his head as if to say this was all in a day’s work, then trotted off, led by Walden, the other pickup man.
Lauren sat back on the bench, her heart still banging like a drum in her chest. He had come so close, she thought, remembering the sight of the horse’s dangerous hooves flailing about, inches from Vic’s head. It could have ended so badly.
Thank You, Lord, she prayed, pulling another breath. Thank You for saving Vic.
Everyone in the crowd cheered as the competitor slipped off the back of Vic’s horse and raised his hat to the crowd.
Then limped off to the chute area.
Vic patted his horse and Lauren saw his shoulders come up as if pulling in a deep breath of relief. His head turned just enough, his eyes scanning the crowd, and then he seemed to see her. He gave her a quick nod and then turned his horse back, ready for the next competitor.
“That was too close,” Lauren said, her hands pressed to her chest, her heart racing. “I thought Vic was going to fall off that horse. That was so scary.”
“Vic’s one of the best riders I know,” Jodie assured her, putting her arm around her shoulders as if in support. “He knows what he’s doing. See how he managed to get that guy off the horse? Bet he hardly broke a sweat.”
Lauren nodded, knowing Jodie was right, but her terror surprised her. Watching Vic now, adjusting his rope and tugging on his gloves, settling himself in his saddle, he seemed the epitome of calm. A quiet center in the middle of the madness going on in the arena.
But her hands and knees were still weak, her legs still trembling.
Then she caught Finn’s grin.
“That’s rodeo,” he said. “Ten minutes of prep followed by eight seconds of panic.”
“The panic seemed longer than eight seconds,” she said, her voice shaky.
“Vic was in charge the whole time,” Finn assured her.
Lauren felt herself relax, but at the same time the depth of her reaction surprised her. Even dismayed her a bit. Vic meant more to her than she realized.
“He’s good at what he does,” Jodie said. “You don’t need to worry.”
“I wasn’t...worried.” But her heart wasn’t slowing down, a solid testament to her concern.
“Well, you seemed worried.” Jodie nudged her with her elbow. Then she got up. “But all this excitement made me hungry. I’m getting some fries. Anyone else want some? Lauren?”
“We just ate,” Lauren said, giving her a frown.
“Soup and salad.” Jodie wrinkled her nose and shot Finn a pained look. “Lauren made me eat carrot and chickpea soup and quinoa salad, if you can imagine. No bread. No dessert. I need a major infusion of starch and fat. You sure you don’t want any?” she asked Finn.
Finn shook his head, as well. “I’m good. Had a delicious veggie burger at the Grill and Chill.”
“You did not,” Jodie said with an incredulous tone, giving him a poke.
“I did. Brooke told me she was going to get George to cook more healthy options and give people more choices on the menu.”
“A veggie burger? My fiancé is eating a veggie burger? Can’t believe George got convinced to do that.”
“Brooke has some pull these days with him.”
“Do you think she has enough to get him to pull an engagement ring out of his pocket?”
“Oh, goodness, not that soap opera again?” Finn asked, a pained note in his voice.
Lauren frowned at Finn as he rolled his eyes. “What soap opera?” she asked.
Jodie just smiled her indulgence at her fiancé, giving him a patronizing look. “He’s talking about the ongoing relationship between Brooke and George Bamford. Owner of the Grill and Chill.”
“Brooke Dillon?”
“Yes. Gordon and Brooke’s romance has been years in the making. Everyone in Saddlebank has been watching it develop.”
“I think I remember her. She’s good friends with Keira Bannister, isn’t she?”
“Yep. And I worked with her decorating for the concert last month.”
Lauren couldn’t help but feel some guilt at the mention of Jodie’s concert. She should have come, but she’d been hanging on to her job by her fingernails, working late all the time to satisfy her boss, doing everything she could to keep her job.
Not that it had done her any good.
“Anyhow, it looks like things are on between them again,” Jodie continued. “And I have to go get some fries before I faint from carb deprivation.” Then she jogged down the stairs toward the concessions, her dark hair bouncing behind her.
Lauren smiled at her sister, then turned her attention back to the arena, thankful for the little interlude that helped settle her racing heart.
Vic was loping his horse around the arena, chasing the last bronc toward the chutes.
Then he turned his horse around, head up, as if he was looking for her.
Their eyes met and she felt a tingle. Then he turned and got ready for the next competitor.
A few more cowboys competed, and while they did, Finn explained some of
the finer points of the event. How the cowboy had to be positioned when they came out of the chute. How they were marked for their spurring and how the horses were marked for their bucking.
“The combined points gives the cowboy his score,” he said, just as another cowboy was bucked off.
Thankfully the following rides were less dramatic, though Lauren had to admit they were all thrilling. She cheered as hard as anyone when a cowboy made his eight seconds and called out her disappointment when one didn’t.
But as interesting as the rides were, her eyes consistently shifted to where Vic was working. The flash and drama came from the cowboys with their decorated and fringed chaps, their dramatic rides and dismounts or dumps. But the entire time Vic and Walden rode along the edges of the area, swooping in on their solid and unfazed horses, coming alongside to help a cowboy off, chase horses away.
“I noticed Vic is riding a different horse this time,” she said to Finn. “When he first started he was on a pinto horse.”
“And he’ll probably be riding a couple more before the events are all done,” Finn said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his program rolled up in his hands as he scanned the grounds. “Those horses get a good workout, and you need them fresh and alert. It’s not uncommon for a pickup man to go through four or five horses over the course of the evening.”
“They seem so calm,” Lauren commented as she watched Vic and his horse, waiting at the end of the arena. “The horses.”
“They have to be,” Finn said. “But they also need a bit of kick to them.”
Lauren was confused. “What do you mean?”
“They have to run alongside a snorty horse full of adrenaline and stay in charge. Not be afraid to push back if the saddle bronc or bareback bronc wants to challenge them. And they have to be able to do all that in a noisy arena with all kinds of other things going on and still respond to what the rider wants.”
“Does Vic work as a pickup man often?” she asked, watching as he successfully roped a horse that wouldn’t come back and led it around the arena toward the alley leading to the back pens. With a skillful flip of his wrist he got the rope off and was now coiling it up, his movements slow, unhurried.
Trusting the Cowboy Page 12
