Tyge watches as the space around us empties then refills with bull riders. Some contestants trade the number previously affixed to their shirts for a different one, close one duffle and open another. The implications are obvious and amazing. It must take a special kind of stupid to choose to ride both bulls and broncs.
Despite my scrutiny, other than the handgun which isn’t all that uncommon these days, I see nothing more among the collection of cowboy gear that I’m inclined to think noteworthy. I can only deduce that I’ve unearthed all that I can here and it is little enough. Too little.
I cast a last glance toward the chutes before seeking sustenance worthy of my efforts and hesitate. I realize the first cowboy up is Quinn and his lead posse member appears to be the “kin” who argued with him earlier. I swiftly alter course, hoping to glean at least one tidbit of information from tonight’s work. I listen to their banter. Whatever rancor was between them seems to have dissipated, but that is the way of humans, unpredictable in their emotions. For now, they appear to have set aside their difference of opinion as kith and kin often do. Perched atop a wooden rail, I can now better see the arena. I hear the excitement in Quinn’s voice as he climbs up the chute and peers down at the bull.
“Dawson.” Catching the cowboy’s attention, Quinn hands his bull rope to the other and climbs over to settle on the broad, muscular back of his ride.
I almost miss the sleight of hand that follows because I’m watching Dawson’s face. Yet it is because I note his faint, but discernable, look of regret that I catch the cowboy’s surreptitious movement. Quinn’s bull rope is dropped to the ground as Dawson pulls a substitute from a bag lying at his feet. A feeling of dread sweeps me and I yowl a warning that my intellect tells me Quinn cannot hear above the clamor around him and wouldn’t understand if he did hear. This cannot end well for Quinn.
I leap from the rail, darting through the cowboys in my path. I reach the chutes, but I’m already too late. The gate is swung wide. I hear shouts of dismay and a thud. The bull is spinning free and riderless in the arena. Quinn is crumpled on the ground half in, half out of the chute. I cannot tell if he lives and cannot help him regardless. I focus my attention on Dawson who is crouched beside him and – had I not witnessed the exchange of the bull rope – I would believe the anguish on his face to be genuine. And Dawson’s guilt, too, I can do nothing about. At least for the moment.
What I can do is find the evidence of the crime, for I have no doubt a crime of monumental proportion has been committed. There! The switched bull rope lies in the dirt beyond Dawson. His back is to it and to me as he focuses on Quinn.
I snag and drag the rope under the chute. I’m confident I am not noticed as I bury it close to a corner post as deeply as speed allows. Fortunately, there is a mix of shavings and sawdust everywhere. I must keep it safe until I can bring it to the attention of Mr. Silver Eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
Cade moved quickly in and out of the crowd as the ambulance, lights flashing but siren off as requested, pulled as close to the back of the chutes as possible. The announcer was assuring the crowd that emergency assistance was at hand as a team was paid to be at each and every performance throughout the event. He urged everyone to please keep their seat while the cowboy received the best possible care.
But Cade had seen Quinn Rivers hit the chute with a force equivalent to an unseat-belted passenger ejected from a car in a crash. If the bull rider lived long enough to get that care it would be a miracle.
Since he’d been at the far side of the arena, he reached the bucking chutes as a stretcher was being placed on the ground beside Rivers. The bull rider’s twisted torso brought a sick feeling to Cade’s stomach. This wasn’t a case of a cowboy concussed and momentarily unconscious. Rivers could not have gotten to his feet regardless.
Cade’s gaze swept the scene and found nothing to explain what had happened. Rivers’ glove was still fastened to his hand so the force of the bull’s leap, twist, and turn hadn’t caused it to tear lose. Cade suspected, if he checked, he’d find rosin had been carefully applied providing just that much more grip. Rivers wasn’t some yahoo rough stock rider. He was a year-end finalist in a multimillion-dollar association. He knew what he was doing.
The EMTs stabilized then maneuvered the cowboy onto the stretcher with as much finesse as possible given the circumstances. Cade tried to read their expressions but they were professionals and their faces gave nothing away of their assessment of his condition. One spoke into a small headset before they lifted the stretcher and began easing their way back to the ambulance.
Cade was pleased to see his staff keeping the milling cowboys shepherded back and out of the way. Only one competitor hovered beside the stretcher, then one of the flank men placed a hand on the cowboy’s shoulder gently urging him aside. When he turned to stare at the stretcher as it was carried away, Cade recognized him. Dawson White was another bull rider, one he’d seen frequently in Rivers’ company. It would be unimaginably difficult to see a friend in that kind of shape. Harder yet to climb on a bull’s back moments later and complete a successful ride. But that’s what these competitors would be required to do moments from now, knowing that Rivers was being sped to the hospital, not knowing his fate. Cade made a mental note to speak with Dawson before his ride.
Even as the lights of the ambulance disappeared from sight, the announcer was sweeping the crowd back to the performance, reminding them that every cowboy who’d ridden a bronc earlier or would step down onto a bull in this event put himself – life and limb – at risk.
Cade moved into the crowd of cowboys and made a split-second decision to do something he’d never before had occasion to do. Signaling them to move away from the chutes and the blare of the loudspeaker, he waited until they quieted and focused their attention on him.
“What just happened was rough. Bad. I know you’re all rattled. What I want to know is whether you want to move forward with this event tonight or if you want to push it out.” The crowd would be disappointed and some sponsors might complain but his primary concern was the safety of the contestants. If they couldn’t focus, the risks of them climbing on a bull became exponentially greater.
After some shuffling of feet and whispers amongst themselves, one said quietly, “We’ll ride.”
Cade took a moment to search their faces, then nodded. He understood and respected that decision. He looked for Dawson among those gathered and didn’t see him. For a moment, he wondered if Quinn’s friend had followed the ambulance. Then he saw him close to the bucking chute that had been the scene of the accident.
He walked over as the cowboy kicked at the dust in the chute. As Cade neared, one of the staff called. “Here it is, Dawson. I’ve got it.”
Dawson reached for the bull rope as the staffer handed it to him.
“That Quinn’s?” Cade asked.
“Yeah. He’ll want it.” Dawson studied the rig in his hands a faint frown upon his face. He glanced at Cade then turned away abruptly. “I’ll put it in his bag and get it to him at the hospital when I’m done here.”
“You going to be okay to ride?” Cade knew Dawson hadn’t heard the question he’d put to the others, suspected he’d be the most shaken among them.
“Sure. Yeah. Sure.”
And even though Cade himself wasn’t sure how ‘okay’ the cowboy would be, the choice was his to make. He watched as Dawson walked away with Quinn’s bull rope, twisting and turning the rig in his hand as he looked down at it. Probably wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in that chute when the gate swung open, Cade thought, just like they all were.
Cade said a quiet prayer as he propped himself against a post. He’d watch from here until this event was over. He’d seen all kinds of wrecks through his rodeo years, seen competitors injured, even killed, and most had been due to some freakish but explainable incident. He had no explanation for what had happened to Quinn. He hoped the cowboy survived and, if he did, maybe he could provide an answer of some kind.
The second cowboy out of the chute completed his ride without incident, but Cade suspected he’d be disappointed with the less than stellar performance that was reflected in his score. No doubt his head wasn’t in the game and with good reason. As the gate opened on the next ride, Cade heard Trouble’s yowl in almost the same moment he felt a firm tug on the knee of his jeans.
He glanced down at the black cat and had a moment’s confusion. The cat sat amid a tangled length of thickly braided rope. Recognition dawned as he caught sight of the cowbell, whose weight allowed the rope to fall off the bull when a cowboy’s ride was over. The rope was a bull rope and the rosin that had been applied had picked up a significant amount of sawdust and shavings, probably as Trouble had dragged it over to him.
When he bent to pick it up, Trouble sat back on his haunches with a satisfied air. Cade could almost see the ‘finally’ as a cartoon bubble over the cat’s head. But he suspected this particular bull rope signified something far less funny than a cartoon. That suspicion was so strong he was almost hesitant to put his hand on it. Trouble’s vigilant stare didn’t allow for that as an option.
In the heartbeat of time that he straightened, rope in hand, he saw it. The handle, braided into the center, had been severed nearly in half at one end. The smooth edges of the cut sides told a clear story. The edges on the other side were frayed where they’d given way to the g-force of the bull’s bulk twisting and turning in the air. It had been carefully thought through, skillfully done by someone who knew the sport intimately, knew and was known by the rider. Onlookers would have been unable to see the damage and unlikely to notice even had it been obvious. The cowboy, himself, would have checked his gear earlier, handed his rig to someone he trusted to have his back so he could focus his attention on the bull whose number he’d drawn.
Cade wished he were wrong, wished like hell he wasn’t seeing what was before his eyes.
He met Trouble’s steady gaze and gave the cat a nod. What the hell. One or both of them was a loony tune. Or maybe it was neither. On that possibility, he pulled his phone from his pocket and made the call to Ryder.
Ending the call, he looked up and found Tyge watching him from a distance away.
* * *
At the end of the night’s performance, Cade waited patiently while competitors and staff assembled around him on the arena floor. The space was remarkably quiet with the announcer on the floor with them. Even the din of the ever-present animals was muted in the background.
Aleta, who’d put the word out for him that everyone was to gather for a brief meeting, stood close to his side, clipboard in hand, alert and prepared as always. His gaze sought and found Malone and he realized she centered him in a way no one ever had. She was the missing piece of his life. He put that thought aside to address the crowd.
Though he didn’t turn on the mike he held in one hand, his voice carried clearly, even echoing faintly. “Thank you for coming. I won’t keep you long. One of our own was hurt tonight and each and every one of you handled yourself and the unfortunate accident professionally and respectfully. I want you to know how much I appreciate that fact, how much I appreciate each one of you.”
Cade hesitated. Even now, as he was calling it an accident, he was convinced that Trouble was right. It was no mishap that had sent Rivers in an ambulance speeding through the city.
“I know you’re waiting to hear how Quinn is doing. All I can tell you is he’s in surgery. I’m headed to the hospital when we finish here and I’ll share what I can as soon as I can. Over the next few days, Aleta will have updates in the show office as we get them.” If the cowboy lived that long. The thought lingered in his mind but those were words he wouldn’t say.
Stepping back, he handed the microphone to a steer wrestler who also frequently held Cowboy Church services when on the road. The man led them in prayer and asked them to continue praying for their fellow competitor and his family in the days to come.
Aleta waited with him while the staff and contestants dispersed. “What else, boss?”
“I won’t know more until I get to the hospital.”
“Wait,” she put a hand on his arm as he turned away. “That veterinary intern you want me to keep busy? She’s not worth crap for office work. What am I supposed to do with her?”
In as few words as possible, he explained, watching as her eyes widened. He ended with, “Bottom line, I suspect she needs an excuse to get out and about the grounds. So, without letting her know you know, explain some of the staff functions and tell her you’d like for her to be productive while she’s here and not just another pretty face.” He paused. “If she is? Pretty that is.” The comment could be unfortunate if she were not.
Aleta nodded. “Very.”
“Anyway, ask her what she can do to lighten the load you have and then allow her whatever latitude she takes.”
“And I’m supposed to explain that to the rest of the staff, how?”
Cade shrugged and answered even as his gaze and thoughts tracked Malone across the arena. He wanted her to go to the hospital with him. “However you can. That’s why you’re my right hand and lead staff member and why you’re the only one of them who’s going to know who and what she is.”
Aleta rolled her eyes and started away from him but decided to have the last word. “You’d better hustle, Malone is getting away.”
Cade stifled both a retort and a curse word as he saw Malone exit with Joss at the far end of the arena.
Aleta’s soft laugh, still holding a tinge of sadness from the night’s disastrous ride, drifted over her shoulder.
* * *
Cade’s long, focused stride reached Malone’s trailer almost before she and Joss did. Townsend had been forced to trot to keep up. Malone turned with a look of surprise as he called her name.
“Go to the hospital with me?”
Joss raised her brows and Cade gave her what was intended to be a quelling look. She proved it totally ineffective when she lifted one brow, crossed her arms and leaned against the side of the trailer.
Malone nodded. “I can do that. Let me grab a jacket.”
As she stepped inside, Cade turned his attention to Joss who still wore that knowing look. “I’m leaving Townsend with you and Trouble. Keep the door locked until we get back.”
“I will.” Joss let go of the half-smirk as a hint of worry crept into her eyes. “I’m sorry for the cowboy, real sorry, but don’t keep Malone out too much later. She’s tired.”
“We won’t be long.”
Townsend gave a soft woof as the black cat strolled into view and sat at Joss’ boots. The cat gave Cade a look as if to say ‘I’ve got this’. And perhaps - just perhaps - Cade thought, he did.
When Malone stepped back out, she wore a crimson jacket with a soft black fur collar that appealed to him on every level, even the fact that – knowing Malone – he suspected the fur of being imitation. The vivid color, the woman, the brush of fur against her smooth neck drew a visceral response.
Giving Cade a final look of warning, Joss stepped inside with Trouble and Townsend. Once they heard the sound of the deadbolt sliding home behind Joss and her companions for the evening, Malone and Cade were on their way.
With a click of his remote, Cade started his truck from half a parking lot away. It wouldn’t make it entirely warm when they got there but it did help remove a bit of the chill before he opened the door on the passenger side for Malone.
She had her seat belt secure before he slid in on the driver’s side. He felt her watching him as he pulled up the address of the hospital on the truck’s navigation screen. “What’s going on, Cade?”
“Show that much, huh?”
“Maybe not to everyone.”
It surprised him a little that she’d admit it and pleased him even more. “I’m not sure Quinn Rivers’ accident was accidental.” He told her about the rope that Trouble had brought to his attention. “It sounds crazy, I know.”
“I’m sure it would to the
authorities,” she said dryly, then added more slowly, “but there’s something about that cat.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “but not something easily explained. Ryder’s going to think I’m a nut case.”
“You called him?”
“He’s meeting us at the hospital.” Cade had second-guessed himself ever since he’d made the call, but he didn’t know what the hell else to do. Lives were at stake.
When they walked into the crowded waiting room, Ryder wasn’t the only lawman present. Detective Hendrix stood propped against a wall near the entrance, glowering. He straightened as soon as he caught sight of Cade. His scowl deepened.
Ignoring the scowl and the movement, Cade moved Malone past him, toward the huddle of Quinn’s friends and fellow competitors. Some lifted red-rimmed eyes to nod at him, others sat with head down as Cade touched a back or a shoulder. They didn’t know and didn’t care who offered comfort. A few stood as motionless as sentinels, their backs to the wall, staring outward with thoughts focused inward.
Cade could almost read those thoughts. Life was short. Life was sweet. Sure, they took risks. Every day. It was what they loved, how they earned a living, some of them with families to feed. They knew the penalty for failure, but … it wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was never really supposed to happen.
There was one girl among them but not part of them. She twisted and retwisted the straps of her purse, staring down at her high-heeled boots. Cade couldn’t see her face, just the fall of blonde hair that hid her features from sight. He would have comforted her but was too wise to believe that he could. He sighed and turned to face the business at hand, callous as that seemed. But he had one murder on his hands, already, and he couldn’t be sure Quinn wasn’t an attempted murder. If he was, Cade hope liked hell the ‘attempted’ aspect stood firm.
Hendrix waited in the center of the wide exit to the hallway as if he suspected Cade might flee. Cade sent a questioning look toward Ryder who shrugged and grimaced. It was clear he wasn’t enjoying the detective’s presence. That didn’t enlighten Cade as to who had alerted the local authorities to the injury but it did clarify that it hadn’t been the U.S. Marshal.
Turning for Trouble Page 14
