“I’d say you’ve got bull riding pegged. Of course it’s useless, but so is mountain climbing and racing cars and sailing little boats across the ocean alone. Talk to Jo about it. Her dad died in a stock car race. She almost refused to marry Tom because of the risks.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders. “Now we’ve got that settled, let’s enjoy the show.”
She couldn’t imagine enjoying this kind of mayhem, but with Luke’s running commentary and a flow of well-wishers congratulating Luke on his recovery, she did. His fellow bullfighters approached during a lull while girls in tight jeans and skimpy tops tossed a sponsor’s T-shirts into the crowd.
The taller man, leathery as an old saddle, grinned up at them. “So I says, that looks like Luke, and Billy says no, can’t be—he’s still lazing around home milking that stomping for all it’s worth.”
“Looks like I told Wes wrong,” Billy said. “There you stand, big as life and twice as homely. When do you plan on coming back to work?”
“You can’t see the rest of me,” Luke said. “From the waist down, I’m rigged up like a dang robot. Believe me, you don’t want me in the arena with you. Not yet.”
“We’ll save your spot in the locker room,” Billy said. He and Wes trotted away as the next rider climbed into the chute.
A slight gray-haired man in a denim shirt marked Sports Medicine tapped Katie’s arm. “Excuse me, miss. Are you with this sorry specimen of a cowboy?”
Luke turned so quickly he almost overbalanced, a big grin lighting his face. “I wondered when you’d show up. Tell me I’ll never walk again, will you?” He took a few steps back and forth on the narrow walkway. “Guess I made you a liar. Katie, this is Doc Barnett. He patches up all the riders and bullfighters.”
“Orthopedic surgeon and master of reverse psychology,” Barnett said, taking the hand Katie offered. “The best way to get Luke off his butt was tell him he’d never make it. But I’m guessing you might have had a hand in motivating him.”
“He was still in a wheelchair when I met him,” Katie said, “so I’m thrilled with his progress.”
A muted groan went up from the crowd. “Gotta get back to work,” Barnett said. “Keep me posted.”
The cowboy in the dirt got up without help, and the event continued. Sidewinder was one of the last bulls to buck, by chance from a chute almost below where they stood. To Katie, he looked as big as—or bigger than—Oscar’s bull Buckshot.
“And that monster’s hooves came down on your spine?” she asked in horror. “How did you even survive?”
“Just one hoof, and he was moving right along, so it was more a glancing blow.”
Katie saw that the bullfighters were all looking up at Luke while Toby Wallace performed the ritual of pulling his hat down tight and settling his mouthpiece in place. Luke gave them a quick wave, and his hand tightened on hers as the gate swung open.
Sidewinder shot out of the chute in a single long leap then began to spin like a whirligig. Toby hung on for almost five seconds before being flung away by centrifugal force. Billy and the other bullfighters leaped in front of Sidewinder as the bull bore down on the rider, who was slow getting to his feet.
Toby scrambled to safety on all fours, but a sweep of one horn caught Wes Jenkins under the chin and lifted him off his feet. He collapsed facedown as his partners closed over him and a man on horseback sped in to rope Sidewinder.
Dr. Barnett and two helpers ran into the arena, but Wes was sitting up by the time they reached him. One of the medics held a dressing over the gash on his jaw while they helped him to the sidelines.
“He’ll be fine,” Luke said. A fine sheen of sweat covered his face. “Just two more rides. We’d better get down those steps before it gets crowded.”
Katie insisted on going down backward ahead of Luke, not that she could have done more than slow his fall. Luke continued to the rear door without stopping to chat, and they waited outside for Tom to pick them up.
Missy and JJ fell asleep before Tom had inched his way out of the parking lot, and Luke rode in silence.
“What did you think of bull riding?” Jo asked. “You had a close-up look from where you were.”
Katie didn’t want to offend. “I had no idea how intense it would be. And I’m really, really glad Luke’s not involved anymore, except as a spectator.”
“Bad luck that Sidewinder clipped Wes, but a couple of stitches and he’ll be working tomorrow’s rounds.”
“Surely you’re joking.”
Jo laughed. “I said the same thing the first time I saw Tom ride at Madison Square Garden. He got thrown hard against the fence and had to be helped out. I was sure he would be on his way to the emergency room. These guys take tough to a level mere mortals can’t comprehend.”
Tom pulled off I-25 onto a two-lane road then onto an unpaved driveway. “We always stay at the Foothills Lodge,” he said. “You and Luke have a two-bedroom suite—number six.”
He stopped outside a rambling two-story log building and went inside. He emerged in a few minutes with keys and handed one to Luke. Parking outside a long L-shaped section attached to a larger log building, he picked up Missy, who mumbled a sleepy good-night. “See you guys at breakfast,” he said while Jo carried JJ to one of the doors farther down the covered veranda.
“Home, sweet overnight home,” Luke said, handing Katie the key before he picked up his bag.
The door opened into a sitting room with a bathroom separating the two bedrooms.
“I’m a little wound up,” he said. “I need coffee. Join me?”
“Too funny—you drink coffee to calm down. Like the British with their tea, I suppose. Sure, I’ll have a cup. Want a cookie? There’s a couple left in the car.”
“Bring my crutches, would you? Behind the seat.”
Luke was seated on the small sofa when she returned; his braces lay on the floor.
“I didn’t know you could walk without those,” she said, handing him the crutches.
“I’ve been practicing around the house with no one watching. Yeah, I’ve taken a few tumbles, but I’m getting better at it. Coffee’s ready if you’ll pour.”
They sipped in silence until Luke set his mug on the coffee table. “Did you mean what you said, that you’re glad I’m not involved with bull riding?”
“Are you planning go back?”
“No—yes. If I’m able. I need to prove...”
“That you’re not scared?”
“Hell, I know I’m scared. I need to prove I’m not scared off. I’m thirty-six—there are older guys, like Wes, still working—but I’m about ready to quit. Would my working a little longer be a deal breaker?”
She wanted to say, “Even once could leave you disabled for good,” but didn’t. “I’ll hate it, but do what you have to. I’ll be there peeking between my fingers.”
“Bless you, girl. I figured you’d understand.”
“I don’t, except it’s important to you. As long as there’s an end in sight.”
He pulled her into his arms. “Dang, I’ve got me a good one.” A light kiss became deeper until he released her before she could pull away.
“Go to bed, Katie, before I lose it,” he said. “We’ve come this far—we can wait and do it right.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
LUKE WAS GONE when Katie woke the next morning. A note written across last night’s day sheet sat propped in the bathroom sink.
Breakfast in the lodge. Hope you slept better than I did.
She smiled and dressed hurriedly to join him. In the spacious common room, sofas and chairs upholstered in Pendleton blanket fabric faced a sandstone fireplace with a chimney soaring two stories to a cathedral ceiling. Mounted elk, pronghorn and mountain sheep trophies on the walls stared past a chandelier fashioned fro
m intertwined antlers.
Twenty or so guests sat on benches at a long table in the dining room. A second table held chafing dishes of eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage, pancakes, flour tortillas and green chili. Fresh fruit and biscuits and breads rounded out the array; servers with coffee and juices circulated around the table.
She filled her plate and slid into the space Luke had saved for her. “Morning, darlin’,” he said. “I thought you might like to sleep late.”
She blushed, wondering if everyone assumed they had spent the night in each other’s arms.
“Today’s event starts at noon,” Tom said. “We promised the kids we’d hit the concourse beforehand, so the bus leaves here at eleven.”
Missy and JJ grinned at her over their plates of pancakes and bacon. “Daddy wants to see his friends at the booths,” Missy said.
“And we’ve been awful good.” JJ gave his mother a pleading look. “Haven’t we?”
“Pretty darn good,” Jo said. “You each get to choose one souvenir.”
JJ started bouncing in his seat, and his father frowned at him. “Don’t blow it now.”
“We’ll sit with you today,” Luke said. “Katie got the backstage tour last night.”
After a leisurely breakfast, they returned to their suite to gather their belongings. Luke checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes to lift-off. Come here.”
Katie went into his arms. “Not long enough to get into real trouble,” she said.
“Don’t throw down a challenge like that. Now where were we?”
Small fists banging on the door broke them apart. “I may have to go back East and persuade ol’ Brad with Marge’s .38.” He held up both hands. “Just fooling.”
Katie tucked her shirt into her jeans with shaking hands. At that moment, Luke’s joke seemed to have real merit.
Today’s competition was less shocking to Katie after her introduction the night before. As Jo had predicted, Wes Jenkins worked the arena with his fellow bullfighters, apparently unhindered by the row of stitches along his jaw. The event ended with no one carried out of the arena. Missy and JJ counted themselves the biggest winners, taking home a sparkly pink cowgirl hat and a miniature bull rider’s vest signed by the cowboys.
“What do you say, Katie?” Tom loaded their bags into the van. “Would you go to another event?”
“On my own, maybe not. With family, absolutely. Thanks for including me.”
“You’re as close to family now as not—just a matter of time,” Jo said.
“From your mouth to God’s ear,” Luke said, and they all laughed.
* * *
KATIE’S PHONE RANG the next morning a few minutes before she was ready to flip the sign on the Queen’s door to Open. Her heart began to pound when she recognized her cousin’s number.
“You want the good news or the bad news?” Greg asked.
“Bad—let’s get it out of the way.”
“Your husband bounced on more beds than the test pilot for a mattress factory. The good news is that you’ve got enough evidence to make him beg for an uncontested divorce.”
She should be delighted, but all she felt was shame and sadness that she had been so oblivious.
“Katie? You there?”
“Of course. Could you deliver a hard copy to my lawyer?” She gave him Mr. Foster’s office address. “And send one by registered mail to my post office box. I don’t want any chance of this leaking out.”
“I don’t know why not. He sure doesn’t deserve any breaks.”
“You’re right, but he’ll be more reasonable if I show I’m not out to humiliate him. And a million thanks—I knew I could count on you.”
“My pleasure, cuz.”
Katie went through the rest of the day on autopilot, jerked into reality only when Mr. Foster called shortly after two o’clock.
“Your cousin delivered the documents, Kathryn—pretty damning. How do you want me to proceed?”
“You’re the professional—just get me out of the marriage.”
“You won’t let me go for a settlement? You’re entitled—”
“I’ve got everything I need right here. Tell his lawyer how lucky Brad is I’m not trying to nail his hide to the barn door.”
Foster laughed. “I believe you’ve learned a new language out there.”
“I’ve learned a lot out here. Now get me cut loose.”
Marge entered the kitchen. “You don’t get many phone calls. That one sure put stars in your eyes.”
“My cousin came through for me and took what he found to my lawyer. Could you get by if I have to make a fast trip to Connecticut?”
“Of course I can, and if I can’t I’ll put a Closed for Vacation sign on the door. Go do what you have to.”
“Right now I have to call Luke.” She punched in his cell number. “I need to see you,” she said without preamble.
“Is ten minutes soon enough? I’m at Mike’s office. He’s orienting me to some of the work I could do for him.”
“Ten seconds would suit me better, but I’ll try to be patient.”
“Maybe these braces can be programmed for running.”
Seven minutes later Luke stepped through the door. “Spit it out, girl. This better be good.”
She did an impromptu war dance around him. “Greg got what I need to pressure Brad. My lawyer’s going to talk to his lawyer. With luck, I should be Katie Gabriel again in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, as Auntie Rose says. But I’ll have to fly to Connecticut.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“Yes, but no. Your being there would just confuse the issue. I have to do this on my own.”
He studied the fake Persian rug in front of the door. “You’ll come back?”
She took his face between her hands. “I’ll come back.”
* * *
THE PROCESS TOOK a bit longer than two shakes of a lamb’s tail, but two weeks later Katie spotted Greg waiting for her at Hartford’s Bradley International Airport.
He took her small suitcase. “You packed light.”
“I’m staying only long enough for the hearing tomorrow and to turn the house over to you. I’ll show you a few things I’d like shipped to Colorado if you can do that for me. I’m glad my plane was on time so we can take care of the deed with Mr. Foster this afternoon.”
Katie studied the thirty miles from the airport to her mother’s house as if viewing a foreign landscape—the traffic, the endless succession of mini malls and chain restaurants, the close horizons hemming in a sky dull with early summer humidity and exhaust fumes. The serene blue of Colorado skies and the endless vistas had spoiled her for the East. Her home now lay a day’s drive west of I-25.
At least the tree-shaded road leading to her mother’s house harkened back to happy childhood memories. Bikes with training wheels now sat beside the back door, and a rope swing hung from a branch of the apple tree. The perennial border had doubled in size—Greg’s wife must like flowers—and a plot planted with young tomatoes and peppers made a brave showing in the sunny spot next to the carriage house.
Allie greeted them at the back door. “The kids are with my mom while we take care of business,” she said. “Our appointment is in an hour, so you have time to powder your nose and have a cup of tea. I made blueberry muffins.”
The Mercedes crept up the driveway so softly that Katie didn’t notice it until the door slammed. Brad approached with his hands held palms outward to show he meant no harm.
“With the hearing tomorrow morning, I knew you’d be flying in today. Please, could we talk a few minutes? And I need to show you something.”
The sadness in his face made Katie bite back bitter words begging for release. “There’s nothing left to say, Brad. We’ll tidy up the loose ends t
omorrow and move on.”
“Please,” he said again. “An hour of your time.”
“We have an appointment in an hour.”
“Half an hour, then. A short ride with me.”
Greg stepped forward, every inch a Marine. “I don’t think so.”
“Believe me, I mean Kathryn no harm.”
“Mister, I was an MP—you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen. It takes just a second...” He aimed a phantom gun.
“Search me.” Brad held his arms out. “Search my car—no weapons.”
Greg did and then came back. “Tell you what—Allie and I can follow in our car. Once he gets this out of his system, you ride to Mr. Foster’s office with us.”
Katie walked to Brad’s car before the discussion got heated; Brad nodded and followed her. If this last act would help end the connection between them, she would humor him. She wasn’t exactly afraid, but a trickle of apprehension crawled between her shoulder blades. He’d never raised his hand to her, although she had seen him grab tools from workers’ hands for sloppy work and push dozer operators out of their seats to do the job himself. What if he—
He climbed behind the wheel and turned to her with a strained smile. “Half an hour, I promise.” He started the engine and drove away at a crawl with Greg’s Wagoneer close behind.
“I’ve put the house on the market,” he said.
She stifled a dozen stinging comments that leaped to mind. “You should get a good price for it,” she said.
Brad drove through the village center and out toward what remained of farmland beyond, now carved into mini estates with a few colonial and nineteenth-century farmhouses on greatly reduced acreages. He pulled into an unpaved lane and braked beside a Federal home with peeling white paint set in a grove of hardwoods. A massive red barn loomed behind the house, and a stone springhouse crouched beside a pond dimpling in the summer sunlight.
“Built in 1814, with eighteen acres left of the original farm,” he said. “The barn needs a little work—you could keep horses here if you like. And there’s an old herb garden in back. The house is a little rough on the outside, but the architectural details haven’t been touched. All it needs is some TLC to bring it back.”
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