“In the rodeo?”
“And at the ranch. You can get a horse with a bad attitude. But Major is not one of those horses.” He waited a moment. “I think you know that.”
“Yeah.”
He looked into the mirror and nodded to Jess. Back to you.
“What else have you written about?” Jess asked. “Do you write stories? Make up characters and follow them through their adventures?”
“She writes about a girl wizard,” Becky said. “Her hair changes color when she does magic.”
“Shut up,” Lizzie told her. “She’ll think it’s silly.”
“If you enjoy it, it isn’t silly,” Jess promised her. “Tell me more about this wizard.”
Lizzie wouldn’t, but Becky had obviously enjoyed the story and shared the details as they finished the drive to Buffalo. If there was a resemblance to certain wildly popular books already in print, Dylan decided there were enough differences to make the story impressive.
“When you’re a published author, you’ll have to come to Bisons Creek and do book signings,” he said to Lizzie as they got out of the truck. “We’ll all be proud to say we knew you when.”
She gave him a shy smile. “I will.”
“But for now, we have to help Ms. Jess enjoy the rodeo. This is a youth event,” he explained to the woman in question. “For kids eighteen and under. Not quite as dangerous as the grown-up version, and sometimes a lot funnier.” Because it was the Fourth of July, the arena was decorated with red, white and blue bunting. American flags fluttered wherever you looked, and patriotic balloons had been tied to every available post. The music blaring over the loudspeaker was dedicated to home and country.
Jess surveyed the holiday crowd. “So this is the kind of rodeo the campers might want to enter?”
Ford and Garrett joined them, with the boys trailing along behind. “Our hope is to sponsor a local youth rodeo at the end of the summer,” Ford said, “giving everybody a chance to compete.”
Dylan stared at him. “I hadn’t heard about that. When did you come up with this idea?”
Caroline put a hand on his arm. “It’s still just an idea, Dylan. We haven’t made any definite arrangements.”
“You didn’t think I might want to be included in the discussion?” His brothers and Caroline exchanged guilty looks. “What did Wyatt say?”
“He’s supportive...” Garrett’s voice trailed off.
“But you assumed I wouldn’t be. Hmm, wonder why?” He shook his head. “This is turning out to be a very interesting day.” Gazing around a bit blindly, he found Jess standing beside him and grabbed her hand. “We’d better get to the stands. Lamb-bustin’ is about to start.”
“Lamb-bustin’?” she echoed. “What in the world is that?”
“Junior league bull riding. Young kids start out riding lambs. They don’t buck much and they’re close to the ground.”
“Do the sheep mind?”
“No animal enjoys having someone on its back—that’s basically like being prey. But they don’t get hurt. And sheep aren’t all that smart, so I doubt the trauma lasts.”
“What a crazy world this is.”
The boys headed up to the top of the stands to find a place to sit. With Jess’s hand still in his, Dylan followed them and took seats as far away from the rest of his family as he could manage. Lizzie and Becky sat on Jess’s other side.
“Are you throwing a tantrum?” Jess asked him. “Will it make a difference?”
“Yes. And probably not.” Dylan shrugged. “They mean well.”
“They don’t seem to take your sculpture very seriously. They regard it as something to be done after every other chore has been taken care of.”
“That worked okay when we didn’t have seven kids on the premises. Now that we do, something has to give.”
“Actually, I argued with Wyatt about this yesterday, before lunch.”
“You did? Why?”
“I told him I’m surprised that he takes your dedication to your sculpture so lightly. He described it as a hobby, or a sideline.”
“Ouch.” Not that he was surprised. “A man of the land, our Wyatt is.”
“But you stay here. You could go to a place where your art was taken seriously.”
“This is my home. They’re my family.”
The first event in the arena was, of course, the flag ceremony, with a pretty blonde girl in red, white and blue riding her Appaloosa horse around the ring, carrying a big American flag. As “The Star-Spangled Banner” blared from the announcer’s booth, the crowd stood and joined in on the words. A glance at the kids beside him showed Dylan that most of them were mumbling along, though Thomas and Marcos, of course, remained scornfully quiet.
“Now for the action,” Dylan said when the crowd sat down again.
A little girl riding on the back of a sheared lamb started out across the arena, only to slip off about halfway. Laughing, Dylan squeezed Jess’s hand without letting go. “Who would want to miss this?”
She grinned. “It is pretty funny.”
But her eyes were worried.
As soon as the lamb-busting ended, the teenaged boys started clamoring for something to eat and drink. With a glance at Jess, Dylan volunteered the two of them to supervise the process. They followed the kids down to the food aisle, where they all scattered to different stands in search of their favorite treats.
“What would you like?” he asked Jess. “Fried cookies or pickles? Pigs feet on a bun?”
“How about some ice cream?”
“Perfect.”
As they stood at the corner of the bleachers, licking chocolate-covered cones and waiting for the crew of teens to return from their forays, Jess suddenly sent him a piercing look.
“What?” he said. “Do I have chocolate on my chin?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” She reached up with a napkin and wiped his face. “But I was wondering if you remember that you owe me.”
“What do I owe you?”
“The answer to one probing, self-immolating question.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, damn it. That.”
He took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay. Go for it.”
She hesitated, staring at him, her brows lowered in concentration.
“My ice cream is melting,” he reminded her.
“Right.” Now she took a deep breath. “Suppose you had to choose between your family and your art. Which one would you keep?”
Chapter Eight
Jess had no idea how Dylan would answer her question.
Evidently, neither did he. She waited, chasing drips on her ice-cream cone, while he finished his, wiped his face and hands and threw the napkin in the trash. He didn’t say a word.
Becky and Lizzie reappeared with drinks and giant pretzels in their hands. Thomas and Marcos came up with roasted turkey legs while Nate brought a flavored ice cone that was half blue, half red. Justino and Lena each carried a foot-long sub sandwich and a giant drink. Jess wondered if Lena would consume the whole thing, and how she stayed so thin if she could.
Walking back to their seats, Dylan kept an eye on the kids but didn’t volunteer any of his usual quips and comments. Even after they sat down, she could tell his attention was not focused on the ribbon pull, a timed event where kids had to run out and pull the ribbon off a goat’s tail to stop the clock.
She’d given him a problem to solve. He remained preoccupied, and spent most of the afternoon with his elbows on his knees and his hands gripped together, staring across the landscape into the distance. Jess noticed the worried glances from his brothers, but didn’t spend much sympathy on them. The whole family had been taking Dylan for granted. Someone ought to wake them all up.
She did, however, miss his hand holding hers.
When the saddle bronc event started, his awareness returned to the arena. He looked at her and smiled. “Hi.”
“Welcome back.”
“Thanks. Now you�
�ll get to watch some serious riding—these high school kids have been practicing for years.”
She accepted that he wasn’t ready to talk. “Why don’t they just go pro?”
“There are rules to protect them. The animals they’ll be riding here aren’t as big as the ones on the pro circuit, and not as skilled. There’s a score for the rider, but also a score for the animal in these events. And sometimes the animal gets hooked on adrenaline just like the human does, and tries its best to get rid of the pesky critter between its shoulder blades.”
“Imagine that.”
He talked her through the rough stock events, as he called them—saddle bronc, bareback and bull riding. Despite the fact that these animals were smaller and less aggressive, Jess thought the sport seemed too dangerous.
“I can’t imagine sitting here and watching my child or my husband get thrown around,” she told him as they walked to the barbecue tent for dinner. “Would you let your child compete in a rodeo at those upper levels? As you did?”
Dylan grinned. “Hey, that’s another question. I’m not sure I owe you that one.” He sobered quickly. “Look, we’re helping these kids learn to ride a bucking animal. The chances that any of them will go on to compete are slim—it’s more about the fun and the riding skills at this point. Ford rode bulls in college, Garrett did bareback and I was on saddle broncs. Wyatt’s such a big guy, he was into calf roping, and he was a master at it.”
“None of which answers the question. Would you let your son or daughter ride a bull?”
When he met her gaze, the pain in his eyes seemed out of proportion to the subject. “If I had a son or a daughter, I would do everything in my power to protect them from ever getting hurt, including rodeo rides.” He tried to brighten up. “But then, I’ve got that artistic taint, you know. You ought to survey the rest of the family, see what they think.”
“I might just do that.”
After dinner, Jess discovered, there was a rodeo dance. The teenagers from the Circle M were anxious to stay, and once Caroline had reminded them of the rules—no going outside, no going to the bathroom alone, no leaving with anyone whether known or unknown—they were given permission to enjoy themselves. Ford and Caroline joined the dancing right away, and were a pleasure to watch.
“That’s called a two-step,” Dylan said in her ear. “Want to learn?”
“I’m not much of a dancer...”
“Yet,” he said, and grabbed her hands. “Slow, slow, fast-fast.” He demonstrated, moving his feet side to side. “That’s all there is to it. Slow, slow, fast-fast.”
“Slow, slow, fast-fast. That doesn’t seem too hard.”
They joined the crowd and shuffled around in a circle, saying the words to each other. Occasionally she got confused, and Dylan smiled. For longer and longer stretches, though, she kept going and he grinned. That grin made her feel happier than she could remember ever being before.
Which was a scary experience. But not scary enough to make her stop.
“Okay,” he said after their second circle, “we’re going to try something new. Just relax, keep doing what you’re doing. I’m going to pull a little on this hand and let this one go—keep dancing...”
The next thing she knew, Jess had turned in a circle. “It’s a spin! I did a spin!”
“Yep. Do it again.”
By the end of the song, she’d also learned to go under his arm and come out again, and they were beginning to look as natural as the other couples.
“This is so much fun,” she told him as they walked off the floor holding hands. “I could dance all night.”
“Sounds like a song I heard once.”
Garrett straightened up from the wall. “You two picked that up fast.”
“Jess is a lethal weapon,” Dylan explained. “She takes karate. You want to watch that you don’t make her mad.”
The other Marshall held his hands up. “I’m a man of peace myself. But can I have the next two-step?”
“Of course.” Only after she said it did Jess notice the frown on Dylan’s face. Maybe she should have asked him. But really, what harm could a dance do?
Garrett led her to a place on the floor with the next appropriate tune. She was still saying “Slow, slow, fast-fast” to herself, but things seemed to be going pretty well.
Then he said, “Dylan mentioned you’ll be staying past Sunday to work with the kids on reading and writing.”
Jess nodded. “I’m really excited to have this opportunity. I didn’t realize how much I would enjoy spending time with teenagers.”
“And Dylan, too, I guess.”
She lost her place in the pattern and stumbled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You two are...involved?”
“Why would you ask? And why would I tell you either way?” And that was assuming she knew the answer, which she did not.
“You will be leaving eventually, right?”
“I have a life in New York.” Sort of. “What’s your point, Garrett?”
“I’d hate to see my brother hurt because he fell too hard and then had to let go. It might be best to put some distance between the two of you—”
A hand clamped on Garrett’s shoulder and jerked him around to face a furious Dylan. “Being a minister—hell, being my brother—does not give you the right to interfere in my life. Back off. Now.”
To his credit, Garrett did not seem flustered. “Just looking out for you, Dylan. You’re not the best at protecting yourself.” He considered Jess as the other couples danced around them. “I didn’t mean to insult you. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, fascinating woman. But he’s my little brother.” In the next moment, he was gone.
“Let’s dance.” Dylan took her in his arms and they moved into the now-familiar rhythm. “I’m going to punch him one day.”
“You haven’t yet?” Jess was pretty irritated by the encounter herself. In her opinion, the older Marshall brothers needed some guidance when it came to living with their younger brother.
“Not since I was thirteen. But I think the time might have come around again.”
They danced till the music changed, then went to stand against a different wall from the one Garrett was leaning on. Dylan pressed his fingertips against his eyes. “I think the time has also come for this day to be over.”
Jess glanced around the dance hall. “Maybe Caroline does, too. Looks like she’s rounding up the teenagers. Will there be fireworks before we go? I love fireworks.”
Dylan grinned. “Me, too. But the animals don’t. No sense causing a panic in the pens.”
She hadn’t thought of that, of course. “Got it.”
The drive home was quiet. Becky and Lizzie both dozed off almost as soon as the truck left the rodeo arena. Even Caroline nodded sleepily in the front passenger seat. Becky leaned against the window glass, snoring slightly. But Lizzie stayed sitting up straight, until Dylan turned a corner and her head fell against Jess’s shoulder. The girl didn’t wake up, but continued to sleep.
Jess smiled—she’d never had a child sleep on her shoulder before. Or anyone else, that she could remember. Her love affairs, such as they were, hadn’t included falling asleep sitting on the couch.
After a long silence, she was surprised when Dylan spoke out of the darkness. “I didn’t answer your question.”
She kept her voice low. “I didn’t know if you’d decided.”
“It took a long time, especially after Garrett staged his intervention at the dance. I was ready to hop on a plane to New York right about then.”
“He cares about you. They all do.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “And I care about them. Which, when I get down to it, is the answer. I was gone for five years. I came home on purpose and I don’t plan to leave again. Ever. If that meant giving up sculpting... I would.”
“I hope your brothers realize how much you’re prepared to sacrifice for them.”
“The Marshall brothers stick together. Ford came back
from San Francisco. I’ll be here, on the ranch. It’s what we do.”
Jess pondered his choice for the remainder of the drive. She admired Dylan’s dedication to family—what a gift, to have such a fine man so committed to you and your welfare. At the same time, she regretted the artistic talent that would never be given full expression. As long as he remained part of the workforce on the Circle M Ranch, and as long as his brothers continued to take advantage of his willingness to help out whenever he was needed, Dylan wouldn’t be free to stretch himself to his full potential. He would only continue the work that fit into his lifestyle, without considering how much more he could accomplish. She would love to see what he could do with those two sketches, the one of Wyatt and the mother and child. But she felt sure he would never push himself on those pieces as long as so much of his energy went to ranch work.
He simply couldn’t afford the emotional and physical drain. He was running close to empty as it was.
Wyatt, Susannah and Amber were on the front porch of the house when the truck and the van pulled up. The drowsy teenagers straggled to the bunkhouse and the cabin, except for Nate, who sat down on the porch floor with his little sister in his lap. Wyatt came over to Dylan’s truck and opened the door for Caroline, then Jess.
“I wanted to talk to you for a minute,” he said. “The sheriff’s deputy was out this afternoon. His opinion echoed yours, Dylan. Having the teenagers here practically guaranteed this kind of incident, as far as he was concerned.”
Caroline made a growling noise. “Yes, law enforcement is quick to suspect kids, whether or not there’s evidence.” She glared at Wyatt. “I am willing to bet all the money Jess lost that this was not one of our kids.” Then she turned on her heel and walked toward the cabin without waiting for a response.
“I didn’t say I agreed with the man.” Wyatt heaved a sigh. “I’m tired and I’m going to bed. Good night.” His boot heels sounded on the porch as he went inside. Susannah, Amber and Nate had already vanished.
Ford watched his fiancée stalking up the hill. “I think I’ll go smooth ruffled feathers. Night.”
A Husband in Wyoming Page 13
