by Marin Thomas
“Sure.”
“Don’t tell P.T. we’ve added a women’s rough-stock event to the rodeos.”
“Why not? The mayors are thrilled with my idea.”
So it was her idea when they were alone and his when they were in public. He didn’t care whose idea it was, he didn’t want to risk looking bad in his mentor’s eyes. “P.T.’s old-fashioned about some things and he isn’t a big fan of women riding broncs or bulls.”
“And you didn’t see a need to mention this to me earlier?”
“Guess I forgot.” P.T. would blame Clint for not putting a stop to Rachel’s idea when he’d known his boss would disapprove. Right now the mayors were excited about the women’s event but there were no guarantees the added attraction would be as successful as Rachel boasted.
“I’ll be back late tonight,” she said.
Clint reached into the front pocket of his jeans and removed his keys. “Use my truck.” Damn Mel. The mechanic was taking forever to fix Rachel’s Prius.
“The ranch truck is fine.”
“I’ve got a GPS in mine. The Phoenix medical center is listed in My Favorites.”
“I printed off directions from the internet.”
Clint swore the woman was part mule.
“The tires on the ranch truck are old. I’d hate to see you stranded on the side of the road in hundred-degree heat.” Every cowboy who passed by and caught a glimpse of her blond hair and short skirt would volunteer to change her flat and a whole lot more.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“I’ll reimburse you for gas.”
Ignoring her offer, he said, “Tell P.T. that Lauren and I are thinking about him.”
“I will.”
Clint hung out at the corral, waiting for Rachel to leave. She made two trips into the house—one for a tote bag and another for a small cooler. A few minutes later she honked as she drove away. He decided she looked darn good sitting behind the wheel of his truck. Maybe there was a bit of cowgirl hidden inside the career woman.
Shannon shouted for help. Curly refused to enter the chute—damned stubborn bull. Like Clint, the bull was tired of bossy females.
THE MEDICAL CLINIC where P.T. received care was a modern facility with lots of windows. Rachel checked in at the front desk and received her father’s room number. When she stepped off the elevator, the floor nurse informed her that P.T. was undergoing radiation treatment. Rachel was encouraged to make herself comfortable while she waited.
P.T. had a private room with a window overlooking a courtyard three floors below. The room was spacious enough to fit a hospital bed, a writing desk and a recliner. The walls were painted taupe—not the stark-white color or pale yellow common in many hospitals.
Nervous about her father’s reaction to her visit, Rachel sat in the recliner. As she wiggled into a comfortable position an object poked her hip. She stuffed her hand beneath the cushion and pulled out P.T.’s eReader. Curious, she turned it on and discovered P.T. was reading Planet Destiny.
P.T. cared enough about Lauren to keep his promise and read the teen’s science-fiction love story. She closed her eyes and imagined herself as a teenager. If she’d lived with P.T. back then, would he have shared her interest in the TV sitcom Friends? Would they have watched episodes together? Discussed the characters and laughed over the jokes?
A noise in the hallway caught her attention and she popped up from the chair. Her father entered the room, his face pale and drawn. Dressed in Western jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, he wore athletic shoes instead of cowboy boots.
His eyes widened when he noticed Rachel. “What are you doing here?”
Not the greeting she’d hope for. “Dad.” The word sounded strangled and she cleared her throat. “Thought you might like company this afternoon.”
“How long have you been waiting?” He sat on the side of the bed.
“Not long. How did your radiation treatment go?”
“I’d rather have gone to a rodeo.”
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“Stop fussing, daughter.”
Rachel pulled out the desk chair and sat while P.T. reclined on the bed. “Everything set for the rodeo this Saturday?”
“There was one hiccup that had to be ironed out,” she said.
P.T. frowned. “What happened?”
Clint advised her not to speak about the women’s event. She assumed everything else was fair game. “Your rodeo secretary retired.”
“Barb?”
“Her daughter had a baby and needed her help.”
He motioned to the desk drawer. “Hand me my cell phone.”
“No need. Nancy Smith agreed to work all three rodeos for Barb.”
“Any other problems?”
“Nope.” The lie slid easily off her tongue.
“Is Lauren doing well?”
Rachel didn’t dare tell him the teen had hitched a ride into town with Satan’s sidekick. “She’s helping with the rodeos.”
“Good. And Felix?”
“Felix is fine.” She didn’t mention that the black cat spent most of his day lying on the bench by the front door waiting for his master to return. Hoping to take her father’s mind off home she asked, “Do you play cards?”
“I’ve been known to play a game of poker now and then.”
Rachel dug through her purse and removed a deck of cards. “I’ll teach you double solitaire.” She scooted the desk chair closer to the bed. “Whoever wins buys dinner.”
“Nothing I like better than a challenge.”
They played cards for an hour and it took that long for Rachel to muster the courage to voice a question she’d been dying to ask for years. “Why didn’t you come to my high-school graduation?”
Her father’s gaze flew to her face. After a moment he set his cards aside. “I wanted to be there.”
“What stopped you?”
P.T. stared into space. “I assumed you wouldn’t want me there.”
Throat aching, Rachel struggled to swallow. Her vision blurred and her chest tightened until she couldn’t breathe. She left her father’s bedside and stood before the window. “I wanted you there.”
“I’m sorry, Rachel.”
She’d gotten the apology she’d hoped for but the words failed to erase years of hurt and pain.
“Your aunt sent your graduation announcement from the local newspaper and a picture of you in your gown, holding your diploma.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “The framed photo is on my nightstand.”
Funny how she’d believed P.T. hadn’t cared about her when in reality he had. She studied her father’s reflection in the window glass. He appeared frail, hardly the forbidding man she’d assumed he’d be. What if he doesn’t beat the cancer?
Rachel shoved the thought aside. She didn’t want to consider she might not have enough time to renew her relationship with her father.
Chapter Eight
“Folks, gate number three is where the final ride in the men’s bronc-bustin’ competition takes place. For those of you attendin’ the thirty-fifth annual Canyon City Rodeo and Livestock Show for the first time, C. J. Rodriguez is a rising star in this event.” Cheers echoed through the stands. “C.J. needs an 87 tonight to take first place. Let’s see if his horse, Freckles, cooperates!”
The chute door opened and Freckles leaped for freedom. C.J. hung on tight, spurring high on the bronc’s shoulders. When the gelding’s front hooves hit the dirt, daylight shone between C.J.’s backside and the saddle. The cowboy and bronc engaged in a ballet of spins and bucks, testing each other’s strength and stamina. Right as the buzzer sounded, C.J.’s hat flew off. He leaped from Freckles, landing on his feet. In dramatic fashion he swept his Stetson off the ground and bowed to the fans, triggering an ear-deafening round of boot stomping and applause.
“That was some mighty fine ridin’ from C. J. Rodriguez!” the announcer hollered from his booth above the stands. “C.J. makes bronc bustin’ l
ook like a walk in the park. I gotta feeling that young man is headin’ to the finals in Vegas later this year.”
While the announcer recapped the men’s winning rides, Rachel and Lauren stood in the cowboy-ready area with the female bull riders waiting for the women’s event to kick off.
“Excuse me. Are you Rachel Lewis?”
Rachel twirled and came face-to-face with C. J. Rodriguez. The cowboy wasn’t much taller than Rachel but his movie-star looks and cocky grin made him appear six feet tall. “I’m Rachel.”
He tipped his hat. “Just wanted to thank you for bringing in these talented women—” he swept his hat toward the lady bull riders gathered behind Rachel, then winked at Lauren whose mouth hung open as she stared at C.J. “—to ride bulls. Haven’t seen this much excitement at a small-town rodeo in a long time.” He plopped his hat on his head. “Good luck today, ladies.”
“Wow. He’s hot,” Lauren said, her gaze glued to C.J.’s backside as he strolled off.
“Was that C.J.?” Dixie Cash said, shoving a paper bag at Rachel. Dixie was the newest cowgirl Shannon had found to participate in the rodeo.
“Yep. He stopped to wish you ladies good luck today,” Rachel said. “What’s this?” She jiggled the bag.
“A sample of my homemade soaps.”
Rachel opened the bag and sniffed. The scent of spice and flowers tickled a sneeze out of her.
“Bless you,” Dixie said.
“They smell delicious.” When Rachel learned Dixie made organic soaps and sold them in tourist shops, she’d insisted on buying several bars to take back to friends in Providence.
“Let me know which ones you like best and I’ll put together a gift basket for you.”
“That would be great, thanks, Dixie.” The more Rachel learned about the women bull riders, the more they impressed her—not only with their courage but their ingenuity and talents outside of rodeo.
All the same, Rachel prayed the six rides would go off without a hitch. She’d lied to the stock contractor, insisting Clint had threatened to take Five Star Rodeos business elsewhere if the man refused to bring additional bulls for the women at no extra charge. Clint had volunteered to be a bullfighter and Rachel was counting on high ticket sales to make up for the added expense of paying a second bullfighter to cover the event.
The announcer mentioned the mayor’s name and Mitch McDonnell’s chest puffed like a bullfrog. He waved to the crowd and flashed a big grin. He had no qualms about allowing the public to believe adding women’s bull riding to the program had been his suggestion. What was it about men needing to be the brains behind every good idea?
She wondered if a bruised ego was the reason Clint had balked at setting up a practice pen for the women. As a matter of fact, her go-to man’s reluctance to lend a helping hand puzzled Rachel. He acted as if he didn’t want to her to succeed, which didn’t make sense because he had as much at stake as she did in the summer rodeos.
“Ladies.” Rachel spun at the sound of Clint’s voice and gaped.
Dressed in long red athletic shorts, black socks that covered his knees, a red-and-yellow short-sleeved jersey and white shoes with cleats, Clint looked ridiculous.
“I viewed the bulls for today.” Clint’s mouth tightened. “There’s one I don’t like.”
“Which bull?” Shannon asked.
“Hot Chocolate.”
“That’s mine,” Julie Kenner said. The young woman had competed in barrel racing in high school and had attended a bronc-riding clinic for women a year ago. This afternoon would be Julie’s first experience riding a bull.
“Hot Chocolate is bigger than all the rest,” Clint said. “He’s at least a twenty-point bull.”
Julie rolled her shoulders. “Doesn’t matter. I won’t last eight seconds anyway.”
A little piece of Rachel’s heart broke off at the realization that Clint had taken the time to check out the bulls then warn Julie about hers—especially seeing how he didn’t support a women’s rough-stock event. “I don’t want you getting hurt,” Rachel said. “I’ll ask the officials if they’ll allow you to ride a different bull.”
“I’ve already checked and they said Julie would have to scratch if she didn’t ride Hot Chocolate,” Clint said.
Blast it. The fans would not be pleased if Julie didn’t compete. They’d paid to watch six women ride bulls, not five.
“I’ll be fine,” Julie said.
“If you’re determined to ride Hot Chocolate, then here’s what I want you to do.” Clint stared the young woman in the eye. “The minute the bull clears the chute, release the rope and lean to your right. The bull’s momentum will throw you. Once you hit the ground, I’ll move between you and the bull while my partner distracts Hot Chocolate. Get to the rails as fast as you can.”
“Got it.” Julie tugged on her riding glove.
“Are you sure?” Rachel asked Julie.
“No worries.” Julie joined her friends who’d gathered in a circle, heads bent, hands clasped. Rachel guessed they were saying a prayer and sent a silent request of her own toward heaven, asking the powers that be to keep each woman safe.
“I don’t have a good feeling about today.” Rachel inched closer to Clint. She caught a whiff of sandalwood cologne and decided he was the best-smelling thing she’d sniffed all day. Maybe the butterflies in her stomach warning of impending danger were meant for her and not the lady bull riders.
“Randy and I will keep everyone safe.” Clint stared at the VIP section. “Mitch McDonnell appears happy with the turnout.”
After putting up a stink earlier in the week about constructing the makeshift practice pen for the women, Rachel was pleased that Clint wanted to converse with her. “Let’s hope word about our women’s rough-stock event spreads and we sell out next month’s rodeo.”
“Shannon’s radio interview was a big hit,” Clint said.
“Lauren gets credit for that coup. She phoned the station and told them that you suggested they put Shannon on the air.”
“I’m relieved my daughter’s found something to take her mind off how miserable she’s been this summer.”
“Me, too.” Rachel hadn’t heard the teen utter a word about being bored or tired of the ranch since she’d become her assistant.
“Ladies and gents…get ready for the first-ever Canyon City Rodeo women’s bull-riding event!”
“Showtime,” Clint said.
Rachel reached for Clint’s arm but he stepped away and her fingers brushed his hand. “Be careful.”
“Will do.” He strolled off.
“Our first female contender is Skylar Riggins. She’s a twenty-three-year-old medical transcriptionist from Yuma, who claims she can tame any bull, whether he’s got two legs or four.” The announcer snickered at the lame joke. “Skylar’s gonna strut her stuff on Mr. Loco.”
Rachel watched Skylar adjust her headgear while Shannon tightened the straps on her friend’s protective vest. The face mask over the helmet made it impossible for Rachel to read Skylar’s expression as she settled gingerly on Mr. Loco’s back. Skylar wrapped the bull rope around her right hand then signaled to the gateman. The chute door swung open and Mr. Loco went to work.
The bull was strong but Skylar hung on tight, her slim body jerking with each buck. As the seconds ticked off, Clint moved closer to the bull, should Skylar get tossed. His partner, Randy, waved his arms attempting to gain the bull’s attention.
Rachel switched her gaze to Skylar just as she sailed through the air. The buzzer sounded a moment later. Clint rushed forward, positioning his body between Skylar and Mr. Loco. Randy approached from the other side and grabbed the bull rope which distracted Mr. Loco long enough for Skylar to climb to her feet and run for the rails. Once the bull realized his rider had vanished, he trotted off to the bull pen on his own.
“Looks like Mr. Loco got the best of Ms. Riggins. Better luck next time, missy!”
Wendy rode second and hit the dirt as soon as her bull cleared the ch
ute. Kim was third but got thrown at the five-second mark. Dixie, the youngest of the women at twenty-three, kept her seat for six seconds.
“We’re down to two cowgirls, folks. Let’s see if Julie Kenner, who’s another Yuma gal, can tame Hot Chocolate, a bull famous for bein’ feisty.”
Julie scaled the chute rails and plopped onto the back of the bull. Rachel squeezed her hands into fists so tightly her knuckles ached. The chute door opened and Hot Chocolate went to work. The first buck almost unseated Julie. Rachel waited for the young woman to release the bull rope as Clint had instructed her to do, but Julie held on. The bull twisted right, left, then right in quick succession and Julie slid sideways.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd when Julie hung upside down along the bull’s side, her head dangerously close to the animal’s back hooves. Hot Chocolate spun toward the chute and Rachel prayed the bull wouldn’t slam Julie against the metal rails. The buzzer sounded and the crowd went wild. Julie struggled to regain her balance but instead slipped further beneath the bull. If Julie released the rope now, she’d fall beneath the bull’s belly and get stomped.
Risking his own safety, Clint rushed to Julie’s side. Once he freed her hand from the rigging, he tugged Julie off Hot Chocolate. He dragged her by the arm away from the bull’s vicious kicks, then released her next to the rails before helping Randy distract the bull.
“Are you all right?” Rachel rushed to Julie’s side.
“I might have dislocated my shoulder.” Julie cradled her arm against her chest, her face tight with pain.
“Lauren, you and Wendy take Julie to the first-aid station. I’ll be there as soon as Shannon finishes her ride.”
“Julie scored a seventy-eight! Not bad for hangin’ upside down most of her ride. We got one more cowgirl ready to strut her stuff. Shannon Douglas from Stagecoach, Arizona, is about to tame Sweet Sassafras!”
While Shannon settled on the bull, Clint and Randy stood on either side of the gate ready to leap into action. Rachel imagined how tired Clint must be with little time to catch his breath between each ride.
“Shannon’s no stranger to bulls. She’s competed in rough-stock events since she graduated from high school and was named rookie of the year in 2010.” The JumboTron displayed a picture of fireworks as music blared through the stands. “Let’s see if Shannon can make it to eight!”
