LOVE OF A RODEO MAN (MODERN DAY COWBOYS)

by Hutchinson, Bobby

  Frankie grinned at the sudden scowl on Sara’s face and added, “Don’t get homicidal, Sis, it was definitely a case of women chasing Mitch most of the time. He never resisted all that much, mind you. But he never made any great effort with any of them, either, that I could see. That’s probably what attracted them to him.”

  “He did with me,” Sara said pensively. “Make an effort. He’s been so patient and understanding. Till just lately.”

  She looked past Frankie, at the pine trees just catching the sun on their highest tips and added, “I’m not sure he even wants to get married anymore, and I’m scared to ask him right out.”

  Frankie studied her sister, and a worried frown creased the tanned skin on her forehead. “What d’ya mean? What’s changed? The few minutes he was here last night there was some pretty heavy electricity going on between the two of you.”

  Sara grimaced. Mitch had come to Bitterroot with a crowd of cowboys, old friends of his here for the rodeo that he said he wanted her to meet. She’d felt farther away from him than ever with so many people around.

  “That electricity was because he hadn’t bothered to tell me until last night that he’s competing in nearly every single event today. I found out accidentally, from that friend of his, Tom Coleman.”

  “Is that what’s got you upset, that Mitch’s riding today? Heck, Sara, he’s an old hand, one of the best. There’s no need to worry about him.”

  “I know that, I guess. It just bothers me that he’d want to ride. He’s not a rodeo cowboy anymore. And the thing is, he didn’t even tell me he was going to.”

  She remembered not telling Mitch about the vet practice, either. But that was different, she rationalized. The reason she hadn’t told Mitch was because it meant so much to her, and she’d been afraid he wouldn’t understand or approve.

  A shock of recognition ran through her. Was that exactly why Mitch had kept quiet, too? Did rodeo competition still mean as much as that to him, as much as her vet practice meant to her?

  She met Frankie’s gaze and all her worries boiled to the surface and spilled out in a confused mass of words. “Frankie, I’m not certain anymore that Mitch wants to get married and stay here. I know he misses the rodeo life, I just didn’t realize till now how much he misses it. And then there’s my job. There’s never enough time for us to be together. Before, it was my fault, the darned practice keeps me busy day and night. But since he got involved with planning this benefit rodeo, it seems he’s the one who’s always busy and hasn’t time for me. And on top of that, I deserted him at our engagement party,” she added with completely irrational logic.

  Frankie frowned and stretched her legs out. “Maybe it’s good for you to know how it feels to get put on the back burner, then,” Frankie pronounced with a wry grin.

  One look at Sara’s stricken expression sobered her. “Look, Sis, I’m no expert on relationships, heaven knows. My one stab at marriage left a lot to be desired. I was all of fifteen when I got married and Brian was killed before I really had a chance to grow up much,” she said. “But I learned one thing. Marriage has a lot better chance at success if both the man and the woman have jobs or interests of their own, something they enjoy doing. You’re great at your job and you love it, and that’s wonderful. I was like a burr on Brian’s chaps, trailing around after him all the time with not one thing of my own to do. Looking back, we’d have made out a lot better if I’d taken up pottery or something.”

  She reached over and took Sara’s hand in hers. “What I’m trying to say is, if Mitch decides he wants to give the rodeo life another go, you’d better send him off to do it with a smile rather than try to keep him here, feeling lassoed. Maybe he needs to take another crack at it, just to find out it’s not what he wants.”

  Sara’s head bent forward and her hair shielded her expression. “It seems lately there’s never time to really talk with him and find out what he does want.”

  Frankie shrugged. “If it’s just a matter of time, for heaven’s sake take some out of your busy schedule, make time for loving the way you would for anything else. Now,” she said, getting to her feet and stretching her long arms over her head, “how about a dip in that pool before breakfast? It’s liable to be the last time I’m really clean all day. Bullfighting’s dirty work.”

  As Sara tugged on her bikini, Frankie’s advice went round in her head. “Make time for loving,” Frankie had ordered.

  If only it were that easy. Time was a commodity that seemed in short supply, and you couldn’t just mix up a batch the way Mom did baking powder biscuits. Didn’t Frankie realize that?

  Choking clouds of dust, blistering sunshine and a booming loudspeaker joined the bawling of cattle and the din of an excited crowd at the rodeo grounds that afternoon.

  Brightly colored lawn umbrellas shaded tables set up in a pasture off to one side of the arena where the women of Plains had set up refreshment stands.

  The stands were Gram’s idea.

  Lemonade, iced tea and soda drinks were going fast, along with mouth-watering home baking.

  Sara was beside the stock pens in case an animal needed her, close to the chutes where the cowboys prepared for their events. So far she hadn’t had to do too much, but she’d been staying conscientiously near the animals just in case.

  Near Mitch as well, she admitted to herself. In case he needed her?

  The microphone blared. “Ladies and gentlemen, from the end chute we have Leo Anderson on Good Times. Leo needs seventy-two points to reach top score today ahead of local favorite Mitch Carter. Now to get the lead in the bucking event...”

  Sara listened to the announcer, knowing that Mitch would be next out of the chutes after Anderson. As it had done all day, her stomach knotted into a nauseous mass and her fists clenched helplessly as she watched the man she loved clamber up the sides of the chute and casually get into position over the heaving, frothing bulk of the maniacal horse he’d drawn in the bareback riding competition.

  The animal was named Last Chance, and by the look in his eye, he wanted nothing more than to kill any man who dared to climb onto his back.

  Sara felt about Last Chance the way she had about most of the animals Mitch had ridden here today. They ought to be humanely put down in the interest of human survival. Mitch’s survival, to be exact.

  Rodeo always drew criticism from animal rights groups about cruelty to the stock, but in Sara’s opinion, Mitch was the one who’d endured most of the punishment in the bone-wrenching moments he’d spent in the ring. Her own body ached in sympathy and she’d flinched with every blow.

  But Mitch didn’t feel that way at all. Sara knew that for certain. If he did, he’d stop doing it, wouldn’t he? He’d already competed in calf roping, steer wrestling and saddle bronc riding. Either he or the professional cowboy called Leo Anderson had won most of the events, and it looked as if Mitch might be the overall winner of the day if he kept it up, an astounding feat considering he’d been away from rodeo for so long.

  The announcer was introducing Mitch. For a split second, Sara caught her fiance’s eye, and he gave her a cheerful, carefree wink and then settled his Stetson tight and low on his forehead.

  He was enjoying himself. He was doing what he longed to do.

  A sense of foreboding rose in her, a sick certainty that he’d already gone far away from her in some way she couldn’t explain. This was very much his world, and none of hers.

  The signal sounded, the chute opened, and her fingernails bit deeply into her palms as the man she loved erupted on Last Chance and the crowd went wild.

  “Want some lemonade, Doc?”

  Mitch held one of the Styrofoam cups he was carefully balancing out to Sara. His brown-checked shirt was covered in ground-in dust and torn at the elbow from the tumble he’d taken off of Last Chance a few moments before, and there were sweat stains under the arms.

  He’d recovered his hat and dusted it off, jamming it back on his head first thing. It didn’t quite hide the long, a
ngry scratch that started left of his eye and disappeared under his hat into his hairline.

  Sara’s worried gray eyes seemed to engulf him as he took long, thirsty drafts of the cold drink, and he did his best to avoid her troubled gaze. He’d already had an upsetting few moments with Ruth, and he sure didn’t need more of the same from Sara, he thought irritably.

  Hell, he’d been a rodeo rider most of his adult life, didn’t these women of his understand that? Hurtling off of Last Chance before the buzzer sounded was embarrassing enough without tears and lectures about broken bones from both his mother and his woman.

  The only slight consolation was that Leo Anderson had failed to stay on his mount for the allotted time, either.

  “What’s your next event, Mitch?” Her voice was only a little unsteady, and she was doing her best to smile at him. Maybe she wasn’t going to say anything after all. A rush of gratitude and tenderness filled him, mixing with the other complex and confused emotions he’d been experiencing all day.

  How he loved her, this woman of his.

  “I’m finished for a while, maybe for the rest of the rodeo. I’m not certain yet.”

  The judges were still adding up the scores, and if he and Leo were tied the way Mitch feared they probably were, then he’d have to ride once more. But he didn’t tell Sara.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it himself. Not telling her was the right idea, he decided after a minute.

  Relief showed in her long-lashed eyes, and she relaxed as she sipped the lemonade he’d given her.

  Mitch didn’t feel relaxed. With all his heart, he wished the rodeo was over and he could take Sara away somewhere so they could talk. He needed to talk with her.

  Mitch had felt exhilarated and happy when he awoke at dawn that morning, with excitement and anticipation sending adrenaline pumping through his veins in the intoxicating way he remembered from his earlier rodeo days.

  This was what he did best, this was what he loved doing. Then, as the day progressed and he competed in one event after another, doggedly determined to make a good showing for his hometown crowd, he gradually came to the realization that something had changed in him over the past months.

  In stray moments he found himself, against his will, comparing the hectic, physically dangerous rodeo scene with the quiet, purposeful life he led on the ranch, and the rodeo was somehow less appealing than it had seemed.

  Then there were the cowboys. There was something touching and infinitely sad about the older cowboys here today.

  Older? They were Mitch’s age.

  They began to remind him, for some crazy reason, of the herd of wild horses he and Sara had seen that memorable day up in the canyon: tough, beautifully free in their way, but fighting a losing battle with time and civilization.

  These cowboys were fated for extinction just as the wild horses were, and it made Mitch sad. It seemed that every one of Mitch’s old buddies today had gotten around to telling him that they knew their time as rodeo competitors was passing by, and with many, their dreams centered around exactly what Mitch already had: a spread, a woman they loved who loved them back, and a little town like Plains where everyone knew who they were and where they lived.

  A home of their own.

  Mitch listened. He thought about hot summer days spent haying, early mornings doing chores, long star-studded evenings when he wandered out to check the horses and have a quiet cigarette under the moon.

  He remembered sitting at the kitchen table, having coffee with his father and discussing women.

  Most of all, he watched the admiration and envy on his friends’ faces when he proudly introduced Sara as his fiancee.

  Like all simple truths, the one Mitch arrived at was both profound and endlessly comforting.

  Sometime when he wasn’t looking, he’d come home. It was a disturbing thing, this finding out that he’d really come home at last, and he wanted to tell Sara, he wanted to take her somewhere quiet and try to put into words what he’d learned today. He longed to share it with her.

  He wanted to share everything with her from here on in, but it didn’t seem the right time or place to start now, right beside the stock pens with cowboys and animals and spectators milling around.

  “Have you seen Frankie?” Sara shaded her eyes and peered around.

  “She’s getting ready for the bull riding, it’s coming up next.”

  Sara turned to look at the pen of deceptively sleepy looking bulls with the distinctive Brahman humps and large drooping ears. “I hate the thought of her getting in the ring with those monsters,” she said and shuddered.

  Mitch studied the massive animals, and a shiver ran down his spine, as well.

  He hadn’t ridden bulls since his earliest days in rodeo. Bull riding was easily the most dangerous of all the competitions. It was a young man’s sport, a young man’s challenge.

  “If we’re tied for points, Carter,” cocky young Leo Anderson had declared moments before, standing with widespread legs and thumbs hooked in his pockets, “then I’m challenging you to a tiebreaking ride, and I bet I’ll beat ya, ya lucky old devil.”

  Other competitors were crowded around the chutes where the conversation took place, listening with interest to the exchange. They were Mitch’s friends, real old-fashioned cowboys in Mitch’s estimation. They’d learned their skills growing up on ranches, practicing on their fathers’ stock, learning their trade as a vital part of earning their living... as Mitch had.

  The young rodeo competitors like Leo were a different breed entirely. Many of them had never rounded up a cow in their lives and had only seen a real working ranch on television.

  Instead, they were professional athletes who attended riding schools where they were simply taught to stay on a bronco or a steer for the required eight seconds in order to win the huge prizes available at commercial rodeos.

  “Well, Carter, what’ya say?” Leo had persisted.

  Mitch had grinned good-naturedly at the confident young cowboy. “You’re free to try and beat me any way you like, Leo.”

  A calculating look came into the aggressive young man’s eye. “Don’t guess an old guy like you would dare take me on with the bulls, eh, Mitch? See, bull riding’s my specialty.”

  For a moment, Mitch considered simply saying no. He had too much to lose to risk his life on a Brahman just to prove a point. But a quick glance around showed the resentment his friends felt about this newcomer and his half-veiled contempt for their older generation.

  So Mitch gave Leo what he hoped was a cool, unconcerned stare and said the only thing possible, especially because he knew in his heart that this was the last time he’d ever be competing as a rodeo cowboy. And damn it to hell, he was determined to go out a winner.

  “Sounds fine to me, Leo. If we’re tied, that is. Maybe you ought to give an old guy like me some pointers first, though, eh? I’ve forgotten a lot since the days I used to ride bulls,” he drawled.

  The crowd of men guffawed at Leo’s expense. Mitch was effectively saying that he’d forgotten more than the young cowboy ever knew, and they loved it.

  Now all Mitch could do was hope against hope that there wasn’t going to be a tie after all. He finished the last of his drink and leaned over to plant a kiss full on Sara’s lips, for love and for luck.

  She tasted warm and sweet, and he longed for a quiet place and time. The announcer’s microphone blared.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a tie score here today,” he began excitedly, and Mitch frowned and reached out and took hold of Sara’s shoulders as if he could shield her from the words booming out of the loudspeaker.

  “Sara, love, I...”

  But his attempts to explain were drowned out by the blaring sound system.

  “We got a real show here for you today. I’ve just been informed that Leo Anderson and Mitch Carter are gonna ride for a tiebreaker—” the announcer paused for dramatic effect “—and believe me, this ride will be somethin’ to see. They’re ridin
’ bulls, ladies and gentlemen, Brahman bulls. The roughest, toughest animal there is. So put your hands together and let’s hear it for Mitch Carter and Leo Anderson.”

  Sara knew she must be in the midst of a truly awful nightmare as she watched her sister cartwheel flamboyantly into the arena, wearing red-striped tights and outsized blue-jean cutoffs, held up by purple-striped suspenders over a fluorescent-yellow T-shirt.

  Frankie and another clown were now performing slapstick tricks for the audience while they waited for the first bull rider.

  Would it be Mitch? Sara agonized. Even in her worst nightmares, she’d never envisioned a situation like this, with the man she loved riding a bull and her sister out there to protect him, if she could.

  Frankie had long ago explained to Sara the role the bullfighters played in the arena. The other events used riders on horseback—pickup men—to rescue a competitor after a ride, but bulls at- tacked men on horseback as readily as they did anyone on foot, so bull riders relied on the agile ability of the clowns, or bullfighters, to rescue them after their duel with the crossbred Brahmans.

  The “barrel man”—in this case, Frankie—teased and taunted the bull with a red cape to distract the animal from the cowboy who had either slid or been bucked off.

  Frankie’s task was to attract the animal's attention until she or the other clown could help the sometimes dazed rider to safety, and if the bull tried to gore her, which he usually did, she hopped into her barrel.

  To hear Frankie tell it, the whole thing was as simple as could be. But every single spectator who witnessed the daring rescues the bullfighters made knew exactly how dangerous and complex the performance was. It called for split-second timing, an athlete’s agility and monumental courage.