Arizona Cowboy

by Marin Thomas

  1. Place ad in newspapers within a hundred-mile radius of each town.

  Not cheap, but not as expensive as canceling the rodeos.

  2. Drawing for a new truck.

  Who’s going to donate a brand-new truck? Tomorrow she’d visit every dealership in Yuma and beg them to give away one of last year’s models.

  3. Offer a portion of the ticket sales to a charity.

  What charity? These days there were so many causes it was difficult to find a charity a majority of people supported.

  4. Bring in a halftime show.

  How would she pay the performers? P.T. hadn’t budgeted money for extras. Besides, thanks to Clint she was already overpaying the rodeo secretary.

  5.

  Rachel tapped the tip of the pen against the pad and stared into space. The door opened and another cowgirl walked into the bar, ordered a longneck and joined her friends. “We’re out,” the woman said.

  Rachel eavesdropped.

  “What do you mean, out?” one of the other cowgirls asked.

  “They canceled our event.”

  The blond-haired cowgirl popped off her stool. “Why? We ride bulls as well as any cowboy on the circuit.”

  The women were bull riders?

  “Same old excuse. Can’t find enough of us to compete and we’re a liability.”

  “That’s stupid. Cowboys don’t sue when they fall off a bull and get hurt.”

  As the women bantered, a fifth idea sparked in Rachel’s mind. The barkeep set her chicken fingers and fries in front of her, then moved across the room and played a game of darts. Leaving her meal untouched, Rachel interrupted the women. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing you ladies ride bulls?”

  Five heads bobbed up and down.

  “You’re all professional rodeo athletes?”

  “Yes and no.” The redhead spoke. “We have regular jobs but on weekends we rodeo. We took off today to practice for the Sierra Vista Rodeo this weekend, but Shannon said they canceled the women’s rough-stock event.”

  “Riding bulls is a hobby, then?” Rachel asked.

  “Not for me,” the brunette said.

  Rachel offered her hand. “I’m Rachel Lewis.”

  “Shannon Douglas.” The cowgirl had beautiful green eyes. “I work as a ranch hand on a local spread but my main goal is to make a name for myself in women’s bull riding.”

  “I had no idea women rode bulls.” Rachel couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to sit on the back of a raging bull.

  “I’m Skylar Riggins,” the blonde said, then pointed to the redhead. “Kim Beaderman…” The finger moved to the petite woman. “Wendy Chin.” Next to where Wendy sat, “Julie Kenner.”

  “We’re not as accomplished at the sport as Shannon is,” Skylar said.

  Rachel was fascinated. “Where do you work when you’re not rodeoing?”

  Skylar spoke first. “I’m a records transcriptionist for the medical center in Yuma.”

  “I process insurance claims,” Wendy said.

  “And I teach second grade at an elementary school in Yuma,” Kim added.

  Julie spoke next. “I’m a paralegal.”

  “I’m a school psychologist from Rhode Island,” Rachel said. “Visiting my father for the summer. Would you mind if I ask a few more questions?”

  “What do you want to know?” Shannon asked.

  “How much money do women make at bull riding?”

  “Not anywhere near as much as the men,” Shannon said.

  “We’re not in it for the money.” Skylar motioned to Shannon. “But Shannon’s made some money riding.”

  “I ride bulls because I believe women can do it as well as men if they’re given a chance,” Shannon said. Rachel sensed there was more to Shannon’s reason than equal rights among cowboys and cowgirls.

  “What do the cowboys think of you ladies competing against them?”

  “We don’t compete with the men, but there are few women who ride bulls, which makes it tough to find events to ride in.”

  The more information she gleaned from the women, the more excited Rachel became. “How many women do you have to have for an event?”

  “At least six,” Wendy chimed in.

  “Would you be willing to compete in a rodeo if the payoff was small?” Rachel asked.

  “I’d trade in my winnings any day for more publicity,” Shannon said.

  Rachel grinned. “Well, ladies, I’d like to make you an offer.”

  “What’s that?” Skylar asked.

  “How would you like to compete in the Canyon City Rodeo on Saturday, June twentieth?”

  “Are you serious?” Shannon’s eyes sparkled.

  “Very serious. Five Star Rodeos is promoting the event, as well as two other rodeos—one in July and one in August.” Rachel looked at Shannon. “Can you find another cowgirl to ride by next Saturday?”

  “I guarantee it,” Shannon said.

  “And all of you will help spread the word about the event?” Rachel asked the other women.

  Kim elbowed Skylar in the side. “We’ll use our jobs to promote the event and our Facebook and Twitter accounts. Shannon has over fifty thousand Facebook friends and hordes of fans who follow her blog about rodeo.”

  “I’ll check with the PTA moms at school to see if they can afford to sponsor an end-of-year field trip and take the kids to the rodeo,” Kim said.

  “Are you willing to be interviewed by the media?” Rachel asked.

  “If you can get a newspaper reporter interested in me I’ll talk their ear off and give a few colorful quotes,” Shannon said.

  Now all Rachel had to do was convince the mayor of Canyon City that a women’s rough-stock event would draw big crowds. Hopefully, if she succeeded in Canyon City, the mayors of Boot Hill and Piney Gorge would keep Five Star Rodeos on their calendar. Rachel flipped her notepad to a clean sheet of paper and passed it to Shannon. “Write down your names and cell numbers.”

  “You can have my firstborn if this works out,” Shannon said.

  “I’ll be in touch, ladies.” Eager to return to the ranch and spill the beans to Clint, Rachel left the tavern but came to a screeching halt when she noticed Clint’s daughter sitting behind a skanky-looking man on a Harley Davidson hog.

  Chapter Six

  Eyes on Clint’s daughter, Rachel cut across the parking lot of Gilly’s Tap House. “Lauren.”

  “Hey, Rachel.”

  Rachel studied the Harley thug. She guessed his age to be at least forty if not forty-five. His frizzy brown hair fell to the middle of his chest and tattoos covered his neck, arms and the backs of his hands. An array of metal rings pierced his eyebrows, nose and lip. Mirrored sunglasses concealed his eyes. He flashed a toothy grin, mocking her perusal.

  “I don’t believe I caught your name,” Rachel said.

  The brute removed his shades to reveal beady dark eyes. Rachel didn’t flinch. She’d dealt with teenage gangsters before and learned never to show fear.

  “Rocky,” the man said.

  “Rocky what?”

  He chuckled. “Rocky Balboa.”

  Smart-ass. Clint should keep better tabs on his daughter. “Hop off the bike, Lauren.”

  “Rocky’s taking me into Yuma to get a new tattoo.”

  “Did your father give you permission?”

  “I’m eighteen. I don’t need my dad’s okay for anything. Besides—” Lauren inched her miniskirt higher to reveal a picture of a butterfly on her hip “—I already have a tatt.”

  Okay, so Clint didn’t care if his daughter had a tattoo. “Does your father know you left the ranch with Rocky?”

  “Is this gonna take long?” Rocky groaned.

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  Rachel and Lauren spoke in unison. Rocky set the bike’s kickstand and fiddled with the buttons on his leather chest, aligning the swastikas in the same direction.

  “I was bored, so I walked to the road and hitched a ride into town
.” Lauren pointed across the lot. “I would have driven myself but you took the truck.”

  Typical teenager—blame everyone else for their bad decisions. “Mel said he’s having trouble getting the paint color for the Prius.” Why was Rachel defending herself? She had a right to drive her father’s vehicle.

  “Rocky’ll bring me home before dark.” Lauren nudged the man’s meaty shoulder. “Right?”

  Good guy or not, Rocky needed to find a friend his own age. Rachel removed the notepad from her purse and scribbled down the bike’s license plate number. “You leave this parking lot with her and I’ll file a missing persons report. You won’t make it halfway to Yuma before the highway patrol arrests you for kidnapping.”

  “This bites.” Lauren climbed off the bike. “You’re not my legal guardian.”

  Rocky revved the Harley engine then tore out of the parking lot, spewing bits of gravel and dust into the air. “You’re a very fortunate young lady, Lauren.”

  “Really? How’s that?”

  “Rocky was a bad seed and could have easily held you against your will and had his way with you or left you for dead in the desert.”

  “I thought you were cool because you liked my hair, but it was all an act, wasn’t it?” Without giving Rachel a chance to reply, Lauren stuck her iPod earbuds in and headed for the truck.

  Relieved she’d extricated Clint’s daughter from the clutches of Satan’s helper, Rachel drove back to the ranch. When she parked in front of the house her cell phone went off. “We’ll discuss this later,” Rachel said.

  Lauren slammed the truck door and stormed off.

  “Hello?”

  “Rachel?”

  “Dad?” Surprised to hear her father’s voice, she asked, “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m fine. Thought I’d see if any problems cropped up with the Canyon City Rodeo.”

  Rachel’s breath caught. Had Clint informed P.T. that news of his condition had leaked out and the mayors were threatening to pull the plug on their hometown rodeos? “Everything’s going as planned.” She crossed her fingers.

  “Good to hear. Remember, if you run into a snag, Clint will help.”

  Her go-to man was fast becoming her runaway man.

  “Clint’s been a godsend to me through the years.”

  P.T.’s words triggered an ache in her chest. She doubted he realized when he bragged about Clint, he twisted the knife in her heart a little deeper.

  “Rest assured things are running smoothly.” Change the subject. “When do your radiation treatments begin?”

  “Tomorrow.” A forlorn sigh drifted into Rachel’s ear.

  Through the years P.T. had failed her on many levels, but he was still a human being and she worried about him. “I plan to visit you this Sunday.”

  “I don’t want any visitors. You stay there and take care of business.”

  Darned if she’d beg.

  “Rachel.” P.T. cleared his throat.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m asking a lot—”

  “Stop fretting about the rodeos, Dad. Take care of yourself and do what the doctors say.”

  “You sound like your mother when you scold me. Talk to you soon.” P.T. disconnected the call. When Rachel stepped from the truck she came face-to-face with a scowling Clint.

  “What did you do to upset Lauren?”

  “She’s mad that I wouldn’t allow her to ride into Yuma with her new friend.”

  “I’m her father. You have no business telling Lauren what she can and cannot do.”

  “If you’d acted like her father instead of her best friend I wouldn’t have had to intervene today.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I ran into Lauren at Gilly’s Bar.”

  “You drove the old truck and the Prius is still in the shop, so how did Lauren get into town?”

  “She walked to the highway and hitched a ride with a creep on a Harley.”

  Clint’s face turned ashen.

  “Was she drinking at Gilley’s?”

  “No, but I stopped her from going with Rocky to get a new tattoo.”

  The nerve along Clint’s jaw pulsed.

  “What Lauren did was dangerous and immature. If you don’t set boundaries with her she’ll end up in a situation she can’t handle and one you can’t rescue her from.”

  “Don’t tell me how to discipline my daughter. You don’t know anything about our situation.”

  “I’ve seen your situation a hundred times over in my experience working with teenagers.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “You feel guilty for not being there for Lauren most of her life, so instead of being a real father, you’re trying to be her friend so she thinks you’re cool.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Okay, then, how will you handle Lauren’s hitchhiking? What’s her punishment?”

  Clint whipped off his hat and shoved his fingers through his hair. “For God’s sake, Rachel, the girl’s bored out her mind. So she made a mistake. I’ll talk to her about it and she won’t do it again. End of story.”

  Rachel sympathized with the teen’s predicament—stuck on a ranch for the summer without friends. “If she’s bored, make her help with chores. Don’t allow her to sit around all day complaining.”

  “She’s a girl. That’s what girls do—complain.”

  “You’re making excuses for her because you don’t want to play the heavy.”

  “This discussion is over.” Clint took two steps before Rachel’s voice stopped him.

  “Don’t you want to hear about my idea to increase ticket sales?”

  She’d saved his daughter from making a grave mistake—the least he could do is let her bend his ear. “What idea?”

  “Five Star Rodeos is going to promote a women’s rough-stock event alongside the men’s competition.”

  “What event?”

  “Bull riding.”

  Rachel was nuts. Between controlling his daughter and supervising business activities, the noose around Clint’s neck tightened a notch. “Do you have any idea what you’re getting into?”

  “How difficult can it be to add one more event to the schedule?”

  He kicked a clump of dirt with the toe of his boot. “Where are you going to find enough women willing to ride bulls?”

  “Five cowgirls signed on already and they promised to find one more before the rodeo.”

  “I assume you ran into these women at Gilly’s?”

  “Yep.”

  “Were they drunk?”

  “No. They ride bulls for fun, but one is a serious contender. Shannon—”

  “Douglas?”

  Rachel nodded. “She’s a ranch hand in the area.”

  Clint knew of Shannon Douglas. The young woman was making a name for herself in bull riding and never missed an opportunity to promote the sport. “Who are the other women?”

  Rachel dug out her notebook from her purse. “Kim Beaderman. She teaches second grade in Yuma. Skylar Riggins is a medical transcriptionist. Wendy Chin works for an insurance company and Julie Kenner is a paralegal.”

  “What were they doing at a bar on a Friday afternoon?”

  “They took the day off to practice for the rodeo in Sierra Vista but Shannon said the promoters canceled the women’s bull-riding event at the last minute.”

  “And you offered to sponsor a competition for them.”

  “I’ll phone the stock contractor tomorrow and ask him to bring a few extra bulls for the women to ride,” Rachel said.

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot against the ground. “Then you tell me how it works.”

  “The bulls women ride aren’t as tough and wild as the ones you see in the men’s competition.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The men ride twenty-two to twenty-three-point bulls. The animals are scored according to their meanness and killer instinct.
In women’s bull riding they use seventeen- to nineteen-point bulls. The bulls are screened carefully to make sure they won’t turn on a fallen rider.” The further he explained, the paler Rachel’s face became. “Most stock contractors won’t invest in raising bulls for women’s events because there’s no money in it.”

  “We don’t need special bulls. Shannon said she’s as good as any cowboy who—”

  “I’m aware of the woman’s talent, but she doesn’t have the same level of experience as guys who’ve just graduated from high school.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After mutton bustin’ competitions there’s no organized women’s rough-stock events in high school or college. When Shannon began competing she didn’t have anywhere near the hours of practice on bulls as male competitors her age. And because few rodeos sponsor saddle-bronc or bull riding for women, it’s tough for Shannon to gain the experience she needs to ride a twenty-three point bull.”

  “You’re saying people wouldn’t pay to watch women ride bulls?”

  “I’m telling you that you’ll have a problem getting P.T.’s stock contractor to agree to bring bulls for a women’s event.”

  “I believe rodeo fans will travel a long way to watch a group of brave women ride bulls,” Rachel said. “Once the mayors are on board with the plan, the stock contractor will be forced to cooperate.”

  P.T. put Rachel in charge. If she was dead set on adding women’s bull riding to the schedule, so be it. Clint wasn’t having any part of it. “You’re in charge, so I’ll leave you to your business.”

  “Clint, wait.”

  Now what?

  “Remember, we’re telling the mayors that you’re running the rodeos, which means the women’s bull-riding event has to be your idea.”

  Peeved that P.T. had put him in this position and doubly ticked that he couldn’t control his daughter, Clint grasped at straws. “I’ll get the mayors to sign on to the idea in exchange for a favor.” Why the heck was he having trouble keeping his gaze off Rachel’s mouth?

  His stare must have unnerved her because she licked her lips. “What do I have to do?”

  “Let Lauren help with the rodeos.”

  “She won’t want to do menial office work.”