“You must be the therapist. Ruby Sheldon, right?” Rachel turned and extended her hand. “I definitely want to spend a lot of time with you. I think your take on this would be fascinating to include.”
“I’m not so sure,” Ruby replied. “This is Luke’s story.” One I advised against but agreed to anyway. One I’m not sure will end well.
“I disagree,” Rachel tossed a head of perfect wavy hair but managed to offer what looked like a genuine smile. “It’s the story of a comeback and the people who make it happen. That includes you. And the doctors who performed the surgeries that allowed Luke to heal. And probably whatever bull ends up underneath that cowboy. The whole thing’s one great American heart-tugger of a drama. Besides,” she leaned in to Ruby, “I want to know the secret for putting up with a guy like him. He doesn’t strike me as anyone’s favorite patient.”
“Hey,” Luke interjected, “I’m everyone’s favorite patient.”
Rachel cocked her head in Luke’s direction. “Ah, that legendary bull rider humility. A virtue among virtues, huh?”
Ruby could almost laugh at that. Maybe this Rachel reporter wasn’t the smitten buckle bunny Ruby had assumed she was. “Luke works hard. He knows what he wants and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get there. If anything, the hardest part is holding him back from overdoing it.”
“I’ll make two or three trips back here over the next few weeks, and try not to get in the way.” Rachel pulled out a notepad and pen. “Were you at a good stopping point?”
“We were just going to do some walking,” Luke said, extending an arm. “It helps if I have something to hold on to.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “And there’s that other legendary bull rider virtue.”
“Overwhelming charm?” Luke’s voice was silky smooth as he tucked Rachel’s arm into the crook of his elbow.
“Overwhelming something,” Rachel said. “Now how am I supposed to write anything down with you hanging on me like that?”
“You’ll manage. I’ll stop for a moment when I say something especially recordable.” Luke looked over at Ruby. “Twenty minutes, right?”
“Fifteen,” she corrected. “Steady pace, no running.”
“I’ll show you around the ranch,” Luke said. “Ever seen a bison ranch up close before?”
Rachel threw Ruby one last glance before heading off with Luke. “I promise to have him back by curfew,” she called, laughing.
Ruby watched them turn the corner of the barn, feeling like a large and dangerous train had just left the station without her. An unwelcome curl of jealousy wormed its way under her ribs. Part of her knew why Luke was doing this; charming the press had always been a gift of his. Another part of her felt the old sting of inadequacy rise up from a packed-away place.
“It’s started, has it?”
Ruby turned to see Granny B scowling after Luke and his new escort as they made their way toward where the bison were fenced. She hadn’t heard the old woman come up. “Seems so.”
“She’s awful pretty, that one.” Granny pursed her lips. “That’ll make it harder.”
Ruby turned to her. “How do you mean?”
“I know my grandson. He’ll be bent on impressing her. He’ll do things he shouldn’t, take extra chances to be dazzling. Never could keep that boy’s feet on the ground.”
Ruby had been searching for the right moment to ask. “Do you think he can do it, Granny B?”
The woman offered a resigned smile. “Does it matter what I think?”
“It does to me.”
Granny B put a hand on Ruby’s arm. “I think I’m glad you’re here. If he does do it, you’ll be a big part of the reason why. If he doesn’t, it’ll take all of us and then some to pick up the pieces.” She gave Ruby’s arm a squeeze. “I know one thing for sure—none of us could stop him. Never could once he set his mind to something.” They were both quiet for a long moment before Granny B added, “I’m sorry, you know. For how things ended up between you back then.”
How long had she waited to hear those words from this woman? “Thanks.”
“Even if he’s never said it, even if he’s said the opposite, he knows what he did was wrong. I think he regrets it, too, even if he can’t bring himself to admit it.” Granny B released Ruby’s arm and patted her on the shoulder. “You’ve got a special kind of strong to be here, I know it. I see it. He’ll see it, too, when he comes to his senses.”
Ruby turned to face Granny B. “I’m not looking to start up with Luke again, Granny B. I won’t say it’s entirely professional, but it’s friendship, nothing else.” A good therapist knew when something was too fragile to strain—and her heart just couldn’t take being broken again.
* * *
“I’ll see you in town for lunch tomorrow. Lolly’s does good Southern cooking like you won’t believe.” Luke waved as Rachel Hartman folded those long legs into her car and drove off. He stared long after the car until his brother, Gunner, walked up behind him.
“I don’t remember reporters looking like that,” Gunner said.
“Yes, well, what goes for press around here leaves a lot to be desired. That right there is national magazine talent, not the livestock reporters I expect you’re used to. Smart, too.”
Gunner adjusted his hat. “Smart enough to see through your dazzle?”
“Very funny.” He couldn’t quite put a finger on the strange feeling in his gut. Or, more precisely, lack of feeling. Usually the numbness was only in his leg.
“What?” Gunner asked. “You look odd. Well, odder than usual.”
“I’m just stumped, that’s all.”
“About what? Some long-legged beauty just signed on to follow your every move. I’d think you’d be thrilled.”
Luke scratched his chin. “Yeah, me, too.”
“You’re not? She seems your type to me.” Gunner looked at him as they started walking back toward the big house. “You worried she’s gonna try to pull something on you?”
Every reporter always had an angle. His talent was usually the ability to play that angle to his advantage. Luke loved the press, and the press loved him. Usually. They hadn’t paid much attention to him lately, and that bugged him, but the “off” feeling he had now wasn’t about that. “Nah, she’s seems on the up-and-up, actually. I think she’ll do a good job.”
“So what’s the deal?”
Luke stopped walking and looked at his brother. “I don’t like her.”
“You just made a lunch date with her, and you don’t like her?”
Luke ran one hand down his face. “She seems nice enough, but I don’t like like her. I mean, earlier I would have, you know...”
Gunner gave a low laugh. “Been hitting on her within ten minutes of meeting her?”
It sounded so sleazy when Gunner put it that way. “Well, flirting, at least. Going all charming on her. Trying to get a date as well as an interview.”
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Gunner asked, “And that’s not what you just did in planning to meet her at Lolly’s? I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
“I could have—gone all charming, that is—but I didn’t really want to.” Luke stared after the cloud of dust just settling on the ranch drive, genuinely stumped. “It didn’t seem worth the effort. A while back I would have been pouring it on thick with a looker like her, and a reporter besides. Today I just couldn’t seem to muster it up.”
“She looked all ‘mustered up’ to me. You charmed her, believe me. You could probably charm a woman in your sleep, you know. It’s like breathing to you. I don’t know that you could stop yourself if you wanted to.”
Luke gave his brother a glare. It wasn’t his fault he was always a hit with the ladies and Gunner was always just the rebel. But then, it had worked out for Gunner in the long
run, hadn’t it? The perpetual loner now had a beautiful wife, a stepdaughter who thought he hung the moon, and an adorable baby son. Whereas Luke had...a lunch date with a woman who’d totally failed to capture his interest.
“Wait a minute...wait a minute,” Gunner said, “I think I know what’s going on here.” He peered at Luke intently. “That knock on your head, it made you grow up. You’ve—” and he strung the next word out in a classic big brother tease “—matured. I wasn’t sure it would ever happen. Watch out for a relapse, little brother, you never know when those can hit you.”
“I could hit you,” Luke shot back, knocking Gunner’s hat off his head.
Gunner jogged over to where his hat tumbled across the lawn. “If you could catch me, that is,” he called.
“Again, not worth the effort,” Luke called as he veered left toward the guesthouse. He couldn’t catch Gunner. Not yet. And he didn’t really want to “catch” Rachel Hartman. What was up with that?
As he opened the guesthouse door, it struck him. Could it really be true? The great Luke Buckton had tired of buckle bunnies? Had grown jaded over the false, fawning beauties that used to be his favorite form of diversion?
Grown up?
Well, he was twenty-four. Stranger things had happened.
Chapter Eight
Wednesday morning, Luke stared at the vicious little contraption Ruby had shown him during their last session just before Rachel Hartman had arrived. Rachel had some conference call this morning, and he was glad to face the device without an audience. “I’ve named it,” he growled to Ruby as she set it down on the floor. It looked like a giant blue blister, a half bubble of rubber that sat flat on the floor just waiting to tumble him over.
Ruby straightened up. “It has a name. It’s a Bosu Balance Trainer.”
“Well, I’ve renamed it. That thing’s name is JetPack.” He waited for her to make the connection.
It took her half a minute, but that look came into her eyes. The one that usually had “grow up” attached to it or some other maturity-soaked phrase. She’d been good at them at eighteen, she was a master at them now. “You’ve named a useful therapeutic device after the bull that threw you.”
“Well, I hate that little blue thing.” He did. Lots of his therapy made him feel stronger, like he was healing, but that nasty hunk of rubber took him down a peg every time he stepped on it.
“This isn’t supposed to be fun and games. Therapy is hard work. The Luke Buckton I knew wasn’t afraid of that.”
“And I’m not now,” he shot back. She would throw that phrase “the Luke Buckton I knew” in every once in a while because it got under his skin. Even though he knew she was manipulating him, he still rose to the bait every time. It bugged him how well she could play him, even though that’s exactly why he’d asked her to come on board.
She stood on the other side of the thing. “Okay, cowboy, up on the little blue ball that threw you.”
He kicked off his sneakers. He could do that now. Things were coming back to him, slower than he’d like, but coming back just the same. “Can I pop it once I master it? Gunner’s got an axe in the barn with this thing’s name on it.”
Ruby didn’t even flinch. “No. One hand today.” Before, he’d needed to hold both her hands or the back of a chair to stay balanced on the thing. Evidently he’d graduated to one hand, which suited his plan perfectly. He walked over to the little dinette and picked up the large manila envelope Nolan had forwarded yesterday. “I’ve planned some distraction.”
“I prefer you pay attention.”
“I will. I’ll be listening to you. You’re going to read me my fan mail while I do my time on the blue beast.” He set the envelope down on a nearby table, but not before reaching into it like a raffle bowl, fishing dramatically around until he pulled up a single envelope. “You read, I’ll balance.” He held out the rose-colored envelope, mildly amused to see the address written in a swirly feminine hand. Three-quarters of his fan mail came from women.
Ruby looked at the envelope, clearly came to the same conclusion about the author and broke the seal with an incredulous look. “If it will keep you from complaining the whole time...”
“Guaranteed complaint-free compliance. Fan mail is always entertaining reading.”
She unfolded the pink paper. “For you maybe.” She extended a hand, which Luke took and stepped onto the jiggly rubber ball. It was like trying to stand on one of Gran’s Jell-O salads. It only put him half a foot off the ground, but he’d tilted clean off the dastardly little thing more times than he could count.
“‘Dear Luke,’” Ruby began.
Women always started “Dear Luke” while men and kids, when they wrote, usually addressed him “Dear Mr. Buckton” or “Mr. Luke.”
“‘I’ve been praying for you every day since your accident.’” Ruby’s scowl softened a bit. “That’s actually rather sweet.”
“We ought to write her back and tell her it’s working,” Luke replied, shifting his weight from side to side the way Ruby instructed. “Go on.”
Ruby returned to reading. “‘I think you’d be on your way to champion if JetPack hadn’t done what he did. You’re very brave to do what you do, and I love watching you. Ray Knight is a good rider, but he wouldn’t be in first place right now if you were still on the tour.’”
“She’s smart, this...one,” Luke commented, his remark cut off by a momentary loss of balance.
Ruby held his hand steady, waiting patiently for him to regain his footing. When he nodded, she looked back at the letter. “‘Of course, you’re far better looking than Ray, so there’s that.’”
“Well, there is that. Ray’s got a face only a mama could love, even if he can ride.”
“‘I want you to know,’” Ruby continued, “‘that I do hope very much you recover soon so we can all see you in the arena again. You’re amazing, and you’re my favorite.’ That line’s punctuated with five hearts, in case you were wondering.”
“Five hearts is very motivating.”
“Who knew?” She peered at the bottom of the letter. “‘All my love to my brave hero, Christi.’ With an i. And each i has a little heart for the dot.”
“Seven hearts. I’m full of inspiration.”
“You’re full of something, that’s for sure. But you did just do a whole minute without griping. You might be on to something.”
Of course he was on to something. Fan mail was fun, stomping around on this silly wobbly ball was not. Luke nodded toward the envelope. “Read me another.”
She went through half a dozen letters, the writers ranging from cutesy teenagers to army veterans, from smitten young women and admiring up-and-coming riders. This was fuel for him. Sure, he loved attention, but being looked up to always seemed to bring out a drive in him, a hunger to show the world what he could do. Plus, it gave Ruby a sense of all the people watching and waiting for him to get back in the arena. This was bigger than just him, and he needed to make her understand that.
He was patting himself on the back for the cleverness of his idea—and how quickly it had made the time on the balance ball fly—when she pulled a final letter from the envelope. “Two minutes more,” Ruby said, genuinely smiling. “Time for one last dose of admiration.”
A child’s lettering filled the front of the envelope. Ruby unfolded two sheets of lined notebook paper filled with the same writing.
She held out her hand for Luke to take it and continue his movements. “‘Dear Mr. Buckton, I want to know...’” She stopped, her eyebrows furrowing as her face went a bit pale.
“Go on,” he said, shifting his weight as required.
“No,” she said quickly, “I think we’re done.”
“No we’re not. I’m not skimping on this. Keep going.”
Ruby placed the letter facedown o
nto the table.
“Hold on there. What’s up?” When she didn’t answer, he stood still on the ball and squeezed her hand. “Read it, Ruby.”
She pulled her hand free and began stuffing it back into the larger envelope. “You don’t need to read that one.”
Luke stepped down off the ball. Apparently the letter said something negative. He felt a pang at that, but pushed it back. Being a celebrity meant taking the bad with the good—he couldn’t just ignore the parts he didn’t like. “I read them all. Let’s hear it.” If he was the type of man to run from something that might hurt him, he’d never be able to make his living climbing on the backs of angry bulls.
Slowly, she retrieved the letter. She looked up at him once more, clearing her throat twice before she read: “‘Dear Mr. Buckton, I want to know how you call yourself a real cowboy after giving up like you have.’” Ruby hesitated, choking on the accusation that sunk to Luke’s gut like a load of stone. “‘I broke my leg last fall when my horse threw me, but my dad told me to get back up and ride just as soon as my cast was off. So why aren’t you back? I never heard nothing about you breaking anything, so where are you? Lots of people look up to you, and I used to...’” Ruby’s voice cracked just a tiny heartbreaking bit right there, and Luke felt his body go still and cold. “‘...but now I think you’re just scared. My dad says that’s no way to be a champion. Why are you letting Ray Knight take what oughta be yours? You probably don’t even read your fan mail, so I won’t be surprised if you don’t answer me.’” She looked up at him with glistening, pain-filled eyes. “‘Your former fan, Eddie Parker.’”
It wasn’t the first mean letter he’d ever gotten, but this one cut so deep he couldn’t seem to drag air into his lungs. He wanted to laugh it off, to give her some quick and witty comeback, but his throat was closed up too tight for words.
Instead he snatched it from her hands, wadding the words up in his fist as he turned...and tripped on his bad leg, sending him careening into the table and sending the letters flying all over the room.
The Bull Rider's Homecoming Page 6
