LOVE OF A RODEO MAN (MODERN DAY COWBOYS)

by Hutchinson, Bobby

  Eyes riveted on the arena, Sara felt her throat close with terror as the whistle sounded and the first man riding a bull exploded from the chute. It was Leo on a bull named Panda, and Sara watched anxiously as the bull corkscrewed. But she relaxed a tiny bit as the bull slowed, looked around in confusion and then, like a huge, docile cow, gave two halfhearted kicks and subsided, panting a little before he moved over to the exit chute standing open on the far side of the pens.

  Leo was frantic, trying desperately to spur the animal into action, but Panda wasn’t playing the game today. Leo stayed on the animal’s back for the required eight' seconds, but the ride wouldn’t score him the required high points he desired, and also the crowd was laughing.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a unionized bull,” the announcer quipped gleefully. “He only works for three seconds at a time.”

  The crowd guffawed again, and the moment Leo was out of the arena, he snatched his hat off and threw it to the ground in a fit of frustrated temper and hurt pride.

  Sara thought the ride was the best it could possibly be. Please, God, Sara was praying, please let Mitch's bull be just as tame as Panda.

  Drawn closer to the chutes against her will, she shaded her eyes and watched as Mitch cautiously tried to climb into position atop the pen that held the bull he’d drawn, an enormous gray beast named Rambo.

  Sara’s heart sank and dread filled her. The snorting, fighting Brahman was doing his best at knocking down the walls of the narrow pen, and twice Mitch was forced to retreat quickly as the maniacal bull heaved and twisted.

  The cowboys helping him were doing their best to wrap the braided rope loosely around Rambo, with a weighted cowbell underneath, so the rope would fall free after the ride was over.

  There was a weighted handhold on it that pulled tight around the rider’s hand.

  Sara suddenly wished her sister hadn’t been as graphic when she explained the details of bull riding.

  “Bull riders all have their little tricks to ensure a win,” Frankie had explained. “Some of them pull the strap up between their fingers on the second wrap to secure the grip, and almost all of them use resin to keep their hands from slipping.” Frankie’s face had been somber as she added, “When a cowboy does stick the full time on a bull’s back and then gets his hand tangled in the rigging and can’t release it, it’s as close as he ever wants to come to suicide."

  Just getting on a bull was suicidal, Sara agonized while Mitch struggled into position.

  She jumped as the chute suddenly opened and Mitch exploded out on Rambo, right arm held high, left hand stiffly clinging to the belly cinch.

  Rambo erupted into the ring like a primeval force, galloping far from the chutes into the middle of the arena, snorting and pawing the earth right in front of the barrel where Frankie crouched.

  Sara clasped her hands in front of her and moaned, feeling in her own body each sickening jolt as the bull went wild, twisting, corkscrewing and gyrating, changing direction with lightning speed. She could see the wild red eyes of the animal, hear the awful snorts and choking grunts of effort that were forced out of Mitch as the bull hit the ground, reared, turned and gyrated like a dervish.

  God, let it be over. Please, God, just let it be over soon, she prayed fervently. And after an eternity, the horn blew.

  A horrified gasp from the crowd mingled with Sara’s choking cry of terror as she realized that Mitch was still half hanging on the animal’s back. He was tugging desperately at the strap that held his hand firmly trapped, and he was being dragged this way and that as he slid helplessly down the animal’s side.

  Let go, Mitch, oh please, let go.

  Sara was unaware that she was screaming and running toward the arena.

  The clowns were already in action. Frankie’s partner raced to within a foot of the bull’s nose, waving his arms in a brave, futile attempt to distract the animal. He was forced to leap out of the way as the bull reared and bucked within inches of him.

  Frankie had already spun in close once and tried to release Mitch, but the effort failed. The bull threw his hind end in the air at the exact moment she raced in again.

  Rambo writhed as he landed, and the jarring impact twisted Mitch’s arm and hand at an unnatural angle. His body flopped helplessly with Rambo’s every frantic movement.

  Frankie danced this way and that, watching for a chance to move in.

  For a split second, Frankie’s partner was able to catch the bull’s attention.

  To Sara, it looked as if Frankie threw herself at the bull’s side, supporting her weight with one arm across Rambo's back, wrenching at the cinch entangled around Mitch’s hand.

  Then at last Mitch was sliding free, and Sara’s heart seemed to stop as she saw him tumble dangerously down between the kicking hooves.

  In the moment she should have used to dance away, out of the Brahman’s path, Frankie grabbed desperately at Mitch’s shirt and yanked him to safety.

  At the same instant, the bull’s massive head jerked back toward her, the long blunted horn connected with her cheek, and Frankie’s scream was drowned in the terrified cries of the crowd.

  Her body flew weightlessly through the air, the full force of the bull’s mighty head and neck tossing her like a rag doll up and down again into the dust.

  Sara felt the world begin to spin, felt blackness at the edges of her vision as the terrible scene stretched on and on, and she tried to get her legs to move, to carry her toward her sister, lying motionless and bleeding in the dust, toward Mitch, trying dazedly to struggle to his feet, arm hanging helplessly at his side.

  Cowboys and clowns were filling the arena in a frantic attempt to run Rambo into the exit chute, and after several abortive tries, the Brahman finally charged out of the arena and the gate was shut firmly behind him.

  “Doctor, we need a doctor,” the announcer was gabbling hysterically. “Where’s the ambulance? First-aid people, please, to the arena immediately.”

  Then Sara was over the fence and inside the ring.

  First-aid people were converging on the area where Frankie lay absolutely still, and Mitch was running across the ring, ignoring two men who tried to restrain him.

  Horror washed over Sara in waves as she drew closer to Frankie. Her sister’s face had a jagged tear, starting under her eye and laying the flesh open all the way down to her throat. Bright red blood was welling up and pulsing rhythmically out.

  Sara’s legs threatened to buckle as she got nearer and nearer to her sister.

  Was Frankie even breathing? The blood, there was far too much blood —

  An ambulance screamed to a halt and a medical team leaped down and came racing over, surrounding the fragile figure sprawled in the dirt, hiding her from Sara’s view.

  A hand closed over her arm. It was Mitch, covered in grime and barely able to walk. His other arm hung grotesquely at his side, obviously broken.

  “Mitch, oh Mitch, are you... do you think she...”

  But the anguished look in his eyes silenced her. “It was all my fault, every damn bit of it,” he said through clenched teeth, agonized remorse evident in every syllable. “I was a fool, a bloody fool to even try. Oh, God, Sara, I’m sorry. I’m so damn...”

  Before she could find breath to reply, he staggered and his eyes stopped focusing on her. He was about to pass out.

  “C’mon, Mitch, you need to see a sawbones, old buddy,” one of his cowboy friends urged, and several more all but carried him over to a waiting car. They didn’t try to load him in the ambulance; most cowboys were superstitious about riding in what they labeled the “meat wagon.”

  Sara made a move to follow them, but Jennie and Dave and Gram were suddenly all around her, and Gram was holding Sara’s arm as if she couldn’t stand up alone.

  Frankie’s inert body was being loaded onto a stretcher, and Jennie was sobbing in Dave’s arms.

  Ruth and Wilson came running, and behind them half the town poured into the arena.

  Ev
erything was chaos. The car containing Mitch and the ambulance began to move away, siren wailing.

  Before Sara could think clearly again, both Frankie and Mitch were gone from her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At the hospital, a part of Mitch welcomed the agonizing pain of having his dislocated shoulder put back in place and his broken forearm set and put in a cast.

  The physical hurt consumed him, so that at least for a while he didn’t have to think about anything else, and when the procedure was finally over with and Mitch growled that he wasn’t staying in any hospital, he was going home, the doctor simply gave him a shot of something that knocked him out until an entire night had slipped past without his knowing.

  He opened his eyes and Sara was there, sitting beside him holding his good hand. He closed them again and saw vividly the crumpled form of Frankie, body broken and what had been a lovely face split open now, bleeding into the dust.

  With sick and awful certainty, he knew that he’d destroyed the chance he’d had for happiness. How could Sara go on loving him, knowing what he’d done to Frankie? Worst of all, how could he live with himself? He’d wrecked it all the moment he’d climbed onto that bull. He’d been playing some macho game at the rodeo, and a beautiful woman had paid.

  Sara’s sister had paid.

  “Frankie? Is Frankie...?” he demanded urgently, opening his eyes and forcing himself to meet Sara’s gray gaze.

  “They flew her to Spokane. She has a broken collarbone, a couple of fractured ribs, and she needs...” Sara’s best efforts to control her voice failed, and she dissolved into exhausted tears.

  “She needs plastic surgery for her face. It’s a mess. Mom’s gone with her, and we won’t know for several days whether...”

  Sara couldn’t go on, and she didn’t have to. Mitch knew exactly what she was trying to say. They wouldn’t know whether or not Frankie’s face would be deformed for life.

  Because of him. Because he’d been a proud and stubborn fool, thinking only of himself. She’d paid for his stupidity, and he wasn’t sure he could stand the pain it caused him now.

  The deep, sick ache in his shoulder and arm grew incredibly worse as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and wound the sheet around himself. He cursed in a low, steady stream as he moved, head swimming, stomach rebelling, toward the locker in the corner of the room.

  “Where’re my pants?”

  “Mitch, what are you doing? Get back into bed, the doctor…”

  Sara tried to hold on to his good arm, but he shook free and moved away from her.

  “I’m getting out of here, Sara. Can you drive me back to the ranch?” His voice was remote and cold, as if she were a stranger.

  “Mitch, your arm—I’m calling the nurse.” She moved to press the call button by the bed, and he turned on her so ferociously she froze before she could touch the button.

  “Don’t treat me like some stupid kid,” he grated at her. “If you can’t drive me home, say so and I’ll call a cab. But get it through your head that I’m leaving. Now.”

  Sara swallowed hard and told herself not to be hurt. After all, he was in pain and most likely still groggy from whatever the doctor had given him. Silently she helped him retrieve his clothes, his boots, his Stetson.

  “Your mom and dad were here till late last night. Your mother said she was going to help Gram at Bitterroot this morning and would come by the hospital about noon to see you. Why don’t you let me take you there? We could have some lunch, relax by the pool...”

  He shook his head impatiently and cursed under his breath when she had to carry some of his things for him.

  When he’d paid his bill and signed himself out, she flinched in sympathy when his lips grew white and his face stiff as he bumped his shoulder slightly climbing into her car.

  “Mitch, darling, I’m sorry,” she said, and leaned across to press her head comfortingly against his good shoulder, and he moved deliberately closer to the window and turned his head away from her.

  “What the hell have you got to be sorry for?” he snarled, and she missed the pain in his voice and heard only the sarcasm. After that, she simply drove him home.

  When they arrived at the ranch and she made a move to get out of the car, he said, “Don’t bother coming in, Sara,” and then climbed painfully out and slammed the car door. “Thank you for the ride,” he said, already moving away, just as if she were some stranger he was dismissing. “I’ll get the rest of my gear later.”

  Sara spun gravel all the way down the drive, her feelings shifting from fury at his rudeness to raw hurt at his cruelty. Her face burned with embarrassment at the way he’d treated her, and her chest hurt with suppressed emotion.

  She’d left Floyd to manage everything alone at the office just so that she could be at the hospital. She’d wanted to show Mitch that for once she was there beside him when he needed her. And this was how he reacted.

  By the time she stormed through the door of the clinic, anger had the upper hand.

  Floyd was waiting at the front door. “Doctor, I’m so glad you’re back, there’s a terrible emergency,” he announced, and Sara snapped impatiently, “For heaven’s sake, Floyd, skip the dramatics and just tell me what it is.”

  Dozens of possible calamities with animals raced through her head, and it took a moment to adjust when Floyd said dolefully, “It’s the electricity. I plugged in the sterilizer and every fuse in the place blew, I tried replacing them, and the whole panel started smoking, so I had to turn everything off. I’ve called the electrician, but he’s not come. There’s no lights and the instruments aren’t sterile, and the fridge holding the vials of medicine needing to be kept cold is starting to defrost. And you can hardly see your hand in front of your face in here.”

  “Call the electrician again, right now.” She shut the front door and leaned her back against it.

  A glance into the murky waiting room revealed half a dozen pets waiting patiently with their owners despite the gloom.

  “The man says he won’t come unless you personally guarantee him payment. He says the last time he was here, the owner never paid him for the job,” Floyd announced.

  “Tell him... tell him I’ll pay him. Just tell him to hurry.”

  If the electrician charged very much, she wouldn’t have enough for her other expenses. But she couldn’t manage without electricity. Sara glanced up at the stain on the ceiling where the roof had been leaking. In the bathroom, the plumbing was faulty. The roof needed replacing. She’d listed all the things wrong with this place the day she’d signed the lease, she remembered now. Nothing had been done, although her invisible landlord was still raising her rent.

  All the frustrations of the morning suddenly became focused.

  Sara marched into her office, pulled out her cell, and dialed the number of the lawyer, Martin Leskey, and when he came on the line, Sara didn’t give him a chance to launch into any long-winded speeches. She related the message from the electrician, reminded Leskey that she’d asked for repairs and coolly demanded that something be done immediately...this morning, before she paid any electrician’s bill.

  “I understand your concern, my dear, but I must warn you that my past dealings with the owner have been less than satisfactory, and I’m very much afraid...” Leskey droned.

  “Who, exactly, is my landlord?” Sara interrupted.

  “The property is leased from Equity Holdings,” Leskey said.

  “Damn it all, I know that,” Sara exploded. “Give me the name of the person. I’ll phone and deal with him directly.”

  There was a rustling of paper, and Sara could imagine Leskey meticulously sorting through his voluminous file folder. “Very well, I see no reason, even though she doesn’t want to be bothered. After all, these are emergency circumstances, ahhh, here we are.” Martin cleared his throat and Sara chewed her thumbnail impatiently.

  “Crenshaw is the name, E. Crenshaw.”

  Ugly visions of a cat named Queenie made S
ara shudder. It couldn’t be the same Emily Crenshaw, it was impossible. The name was just coincidence. Emily Crenshaw was nearly destitute. Wasn’t she?

  “What does the E. stand for, Martin?” Sara inquired. An incredible, unbelievable suspicion was growing within her.

  “It stands for Emily. She’s an extremely eccentric elderly person, I must warn you...”

  “I know her,” Sara said weakly. After a long pause, during which her painful dealings with Emily Crenshaw flashed before her eyes, Sara finally became aware again of Martin, breathing patiently...and silently, for once, into the other end of the receiver.

  “Mr. Leskey, you told me once that if I ever needed legal advice, you’d be happy to help me. Well, I do now.”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Is it possible for you to inform Emily Crenshaw that my business is suing her for the bill she hasn’t paid for treating her cat, and also that the amount of the electrical repairs will be deducted from my next quarterly payment on the lease?”

  “I see no reason why not. I’ll get on it immediately.” Martin actually sounded as if he might enjoy the hassle he’d undoubtedly endure with Emily Crenshaw. “I admire your spirit, Dr. Wingate.”

  “One last thing. Did Doc Stone know that Emily Crenshaw owned this building?”

  “Oh my, yes. Doc had numerous problems with that lady over the years. Yes, he knew indeed.”

  Sara clicked the phone off. She’d been made a proper fool, and Doc hadn’t said a word.

  With shaking hands, she tapped out another number.

  “Stone here.” Doc’s raspy, impatient voice sounded in her ear, and Sara had to take a deep breath before she could say a word. She felt like going over and giving Doc a shot of something lethal, she was so furious with him. Without any preamble, she blurted, “You knew Emily Crenshaw wasn’t poor, you knew she owned this damned building. For all I know she probably owns half of Plains. How could you let me make such a fool of myself?”

  Doc’s dry chuckle came over the connection. “So you found out about poor Emily, did you? I wondered how long it would take. She’s a bad one, a proper con artist.” He sounded amused and absolutely unconcerned. “Everyone in Plains has had some dealing with Emily over the years, and every one of them got stung.”