by Marin Thomas
“Heard it was self-defense.”
“It was.” When Riley Fitzgerald had flown Cruz to the South Dakota prison, his father had told him what had happened that night in the bar and it had been almost word-for-word the same facts Shorty had told Cruz when they’d met at the Gateway Ranch, where Cruz had been sentenced by Judge Hamel to do community service after tagging an office building in downtown Albuquerque.
“Hell of a bull rider, your father. Ya ridin’ bulls or broncs today?”
“Broncs.”
The old man nodded to a group of cowboys staring at Cruz. “Don’t let them wet-behind-the-ears goons get to ya.”
“Why would they bother me?”
“Name’s Roscoe, by the way.” The geezer turned his head to spit tobacco juice on the ground. “They’re all talkin’ ’bout ya.”
Let them talk. What did he care?
“They don’t think yer as good as the rumors say.”
“Just how good do the rumors say I am?” He was curious.
“Ya might be better ’n Ricky Sanez.”
“Who’s this Sanez guy?” Cruz had paid no attention to the sport while in prison. Some of the guys had kept up with the rodeo standings, but not Cruz—it was too painful.
“He’s from Brazil. Don’t speak a word of English but the kid can ride. They say he’s gonna win the NFR this year.”
Good for Ricky Sanez. Cruz wouldn’t be riding in the big-money events. His shot at fame and glory had passed him by long ago. He was okay with that—or he thought, anyway. Today’s ride would decide if he’d gotten rodeo out of his blood when he’d been in prison.
“I’m riding for fun,” Cruz said. And because he owed a debt to Shorty.
“You’ll be a regular on the circuit in no time.”
Did the old man know something Cruz didn’t? “I gotta go.”
“Nobody’s Business spins left coming out of the chute before he bucks.”
The old man didn’t have to tell him that—he was sure none of his competitors would have warned him. “Thanks.”
“Good luck.”
Cruz nodded, then moved into the shadows where he could catch his breath and let his guard down before he rode. He expected a few cowboys to know about his prison rodeo record, assuming the warden had bragged about Cruz’s success to anyone and everyone who’d listen. But he couldn’t let them get into his head.
He closed his eyes and conjured up an image of a bronc. He envisioned his ride even before he settled on the back of the bucker. In his mind’s eye he went over every detail—his grip on the rope. His feet turned out, ready to mark the horse as soon as the chute opened. He pictured the bronc turning left, its neck tight against the inside of its body. He could feel the pressure of the spin, the force of the animal’s momentum slamming into his chest. His muscles bunched and tightened as he struggled to keep his seat.
A deep chuckle interrupted his thought process and his eyes popped open. His gaze clashed with a cowboy a few inches taller and whose shoulders were a fair bit wider than Cruz’s.
“Somethin’ I can do for you?” Cruz said.
The man grinned. “Yeah, fall off Nobody’s Business.” A deep chuckle followed the statement. “In case you need a reminder, this ain’t a two-bit prison rodeo. This is the big time.”
Big time? He opened his mouth to correct the cowboy, but decided he’d let him believe he was a bigger deal than he really was. A commotion caught his attention and he spotted a reporter and cameraman heading his way.
“Looks like the jailbird’s drawing a lot of attention. A shame how us law-abiding cowboys get the short end of the stick while you and your murdering dad get all the fanfare.” The cowboy shot Cruz a glare, then walked off.
“You Cruz Rivera?” The reporter shoved a microphone in his face. “Mind stepping into the light and answering a few questions?”
“I do mind,” Cruz said. When the reporter didn’t back off, he swung his gear bag over his shoulder and shoved past the man.
The reporter followed him. “Is it true that you were a member of the Los Locos gang in Albuquerque?”
Cruz kept his gaze focused on the exit at the other end of the cowboy-ready area. He’d sit in a damned port-a-potty until it was his time to ride.
“And what about that inmate? Is it true you beat him up bad when he tried to get friendly with you?”
Only the slightest falter in his step hinted that the question got to Cruz. He hated that details of his life were being aired in public. He just wanted to be left alone—preferably ignored.
Before he reached the exit, Sara and Dani came around the corner. She took one look at his face and her smile vanished.
“Mr. Cruz!” Dani rushed forward, oblivious to the reporter and his cameraman. “We bought you a hot dog.”
He took the hot dog from Dani’s hand. “Thanks.”
“Who’s the lady and the kid?” the reporter shouted.
Cruz gave a hard shake of his head—a warning to Sara not to follow him. She grasped Dani’s hand and stepped out of his path.
“Are you Cruz’s girlfriend? Wife? Is that his daughter? What’s your name, little girl?”
The questions were fired off in quick succession but Cruz kept walking, knowing it would be far worse for Sara and Dani if he remained by their side. He’d almost made his escape when one of the reporters said, “What’s a pretty lady like you doing with a criminal? You got a thing for dangerous men? Aren’t you afraid for your daughter?”
Cruz stopped dead in his tracks, then spun and returned to Sara’s side in a flash, where he snatched the reporter by the shirt collar, then lifted the man up on tiptoes. “Leave the lady and her daughter alone. Understand?”
The reporter nodded. Cruz released his hold and the man stumbled until he regained his balance. He glanced sideways but Sara and Dani were already walking toward the stands. If he ever needed a reminder of why he had no business hanging around Papago Springs anymore, he’d gotten it this afternoon. As soon as they returned to José’s, he’d pack his bags and head down the road. No amount of help repairing a barn was worth putting up with crude comments from reporters and who knew what else before the day was over.
* * *
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, it’s time for the bronc-bustin’ event!”
Sara smiled at Dani and clapped her hands, hoping to encourage her daughter to relax. After she’d witnessed Cruz grab the reporter by the scruff of his neck, Dani had grown quiet. Obviously she’d been affected by the chaotic scene they’d come upon a short while ago.
“This afternoon eight eager cowboys will try to prove they’ve got what it takes to ride the big buckers.”
“What’s a big bucker?” Dani asked.
Sara leaned close and whispered, “I overheard the man telling his wife next to me that the horses in this event are bigger and stronger than the ones we saw a few minutes ago.”
“Oh.”
Sara kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Don’t worry about Mr. Cruz. He’ll be fine.”
Dani’s brown eyes widened. “Was Mr. Cruz gonna beat that man up?”
“No, honey.”
“Why did he look so mean?”
“Because the man was being rude to us.”
“I don’t like that man for making Mr. Cruz mad.”
“Me, neither.” Sara pointed to the roughstock chutes. “Look. There’s Mr. Cruz. See his white shirt?” Cruz’s Western shirt stood out among the other cowboys, who wore bright colors with bold stripes.
“Is he gonna ride now?” Dani asked.
“Pretty soon.” Cruz stood off by himself while his competitors gathered in a circle and exchanged laughter. She didn’t know if it was because he wasn’t a regular on the circuit or if it was because he’d been in prison, but for whatever reason, Cruz wa
s ignored by the other cowboys.
“First up this afternoon is a newcomer to this rodeo. Cruz Rivera hails from Albuquerque by way of the White Sands Correctional Facility outside Las Cruces.”
A quiet hush fell over the crowd and a lump formed in Sara’s throat. Why had the announcer made that information public? Were they intentionally trying to get inside Cruz’s head and affect his ride? A surge of anger shot through her and she balled her hands into fists, hating that there was nothing she could do to protect Cruz from their ridicule and prejudice.
“Some of you may have heard of the White Sands annual prison rodeo. Cruz Rivera is the all-time record holder in the saddle-bronc event. Let’s see how this...cowboy handles a real bucker like Nobody’s Business.”
As if Cruz had ridden dummy horses in the prison rodeo.
Sara expected applause or at least a shout or two of encouragement, but the rodeo fans remained silent and the cowboys near the chutes stepped away, offering no help or encouragement as Cruz straddled Nobody’s Business.
“What’s Mr. Cruz doing?”
That Dani hadn’t questioned her about the announcer’s prison comments didn’t surprise Sara. Dani was focused solely on Cruz. “He’s tying the rope around his hand so he has something to hang on to.” As soon as she’d spoken, Cruz nodded his head and the chute opened. The horse bolted and Sara’s breath caught in her throat when she thought Cruz would fly backward off the horse. Then she realized he was leaning back on purpose and raising his legs high to spur the horse above the shoulders.
Time slowed to a crawl as Cruz and Nobody’s Business appeared more like dance partners than adversaries. The fluid motion of his body as he rode through the horse’s twists and bucks was a beautiful thing to watch. The cowboys who appeared uninterested only minutes before now clung to the rails, their gazes glued to the action.
Time ceased to exist and when the buzzer sounded, Dani jumped out of her seat. “Did he win?” she shouted.
The fans around them stared as Sara coaxed Dani to sit down. “We have to wait and see what the judges think.”
Cruz leapt off the bucking bronc and amazingly landed on his feet. His hat had flown off after the first buck and he walked a few feet away and scooped it from the ground, then headed to the open chute.
“Well,” the announcer said. “Looks like Cruz Rivera took care of business on Nobody’s Business.”
The crowd remained silent.
“Let’s see what the judges think.”
A minute later the scorers’ table lit up with a seventy-nine.
Sara knew enough about rodeo to understand that was not a winning score. Maybe Cruz had made a mistake during his ride and the judges had marked him down for that.
“Looks like our first score of the event is beatable. Next up is a young rookie from Santa Fe. Let’s give Mark Hall a warm welcome.”
The crowd applauded and clapped and that made Sara angrier.
“C’mon.” She stood. “We’ll find Mr. Cruz and congratulate him on a great ride.” She took Dani’s hand and they made their way out of the stands. They hadn’t even arrived at the cowboy-ready area before Cruz intercepted them.
“Let’s go,” he said, his face a blank mask.
“I saw you ride, Mr. Cruz!” Dani’s voice was filled with excitement.
Cruz’s heart squeezed painfully. The kid had no idea how much he needed her smile right now. But the worried look in Sara’s eyes reminded him that they had to get out of there before...
“Hey, jailbird!”
Cruz stiffened but didn’t acknowledge the voice behind him.
“Where are you running off to? Don’t you want to stick around and watch a real cowboy bust a bronc?”
“Keep walking,” Cruz said, his eyes on the exit. He’d gained plenty of experience ignoring taunts from fellow inmates but he had his limits, and if he was pushed too far, he’d fight back. He didn’t want to get into an argument in front of Sara and Dani. It was humiliating enough that they heard the taunts.
“You run away, Rivera! We’ll meet up again and I’ll beat your sorry ass in the arena!”
As soon as they stepped outside, Cruz grasped Sara’s arm and practically pulled her to his truck across the parking lot. Dani had to run to keep up with them. By the time they got into the vehicle and backed out of the spot, a crowd of cowboys had gathered near the entrance to the arena—a cowboy send-off party. Lucky him.
Was this what waited for him at every rodeo he entered? Had Shorty even considered that Cruz might be ostracized by his rodeo family? When he reached the town limits, the silence inside the truck was as thick as glue. Damn it. This was supposed to be a fun day for Sara and Dani.
“Are you all right?” Sara whispered.
Her question sounded like nails on a chalkboard and he winced. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Dani stared out the window with a forlorn look on her face. When his eyes returned to the road, he spotted a root-beer stand and said, “Anyone hungry for ice cream?”
“I am!” Dani shouted.
He swung the truck into the parking lot. “I haven’t had a root-beer float in a long time.” He hopped out, then helped Dani from the backseat. Maybe if he pretended nothing out of the ordinary had happened this afternoon, Sara would play along.
Fat chance.
“Dani,” Sara said, “why don’t you see what kinds of ice cream they sell.” Dani raced over to the adobe café and stared at the pictures of treats on the board nailed to the side of the building.
Cruz forced himself to meet Sara’s gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it.” If she believed he’d offer an explanation for today’s events, she was mistaken.
“I don’t understand why they treated you the way they did.”
Was she really that naive, or was she just trying to get him to open up and share his feelings? Typical female—always wanting to chat about their feelings. Well, he didn’t have any feelings left after his stint in prison.
Then what was that sensation you felt when Dani looked at you back in the arena?
Okay, he’d admit that prison life hadn’t stripped him of all emotion, but he’d really have to be a hard-ass to not feel anything when a child looked at him with hurt and confusion.
“I’m concerned that—”
“Don’t.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t act like you care that I was ridiculed.”
“But I do care. Is that going to happen at every rodeo you enter?”
“I doubt it,” he lied.
“I don’t think you should compete anymore.”
He chuckled—better to laugh than slam his fist into the truck door. Busted knuckles would take care of entering another rodeo. But then he’d let Shorty down and he’d already let too many people down in his life.
“I hardly think this is funny,” she said.
“I’m leaving Papago Springs in the morning.”
“You promised to stay and repair the barn.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before someone asked if you had a thing for ex-cons.”
Chapter Seven
The drive home to Papago Springs took forever and the one source of chatter Sara had counted on to help the time pass quickly was sleeping in the backseat. She cast a sideways glance at Cruz. His face was an expressionless mask, but his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel sent a silent message that he was livid. Embarrassed. Maybe even a little hurt, although he’d never own up to those feelings.
“You’re really good,” she said. “You make bronc busting look easy.”
His stiff shoulders relaxed a little. “I had a lot of practice in prison.”
“I wasn’t aware prisons had rodeos.”
“Most of them don’t. White Sands has been doing it for a while.” Thankfully Cruz kept the conversation going. “Before I landed there, I competed in a junior rodeo competition in Las Vegas. I’d never planned to follow in my father’s footsteps, but that day I discovered that I liked the challenge of trying to best a wild horse. I was hooked after that ride.”
“How many rodeos did you compete in before...”
“Only a few. But I placed in the top three each time.” He released a harsh breath. “Then life happened and my plans for a rodeo career went down the drain.”
“It’s nice that you had the opportunity to compete in prison.”
The knuckles whitened again. “Each year that I was in prison I liked rodeo less and less.” He blew out a harsh breath. “Riding in an arena with razor-wire fencing wasn’t what I had in mind when I was younger.”
“You made the best of it.” Trying to put a positive twist on a bad situation wasn’t an easy task.
“I didn’t have a choice. I was told I was competing whether I wanted to or not. I decided that if I had to ride I was going to win.”
Sara nibbled her lip, then threw caution to the wind. “You earned a better score than a seventy-nine, didn’t you?”
“I’m not a judge, but my ride was darn near perfect.” He glanced her way and the emptiness in his brown eyes hurt to look at. “But I expected a low score. They wouldn’t allow an ex-con to win.”
“If they’re going to cheat you, why bother competing?”
“I promised someone I’d ride the circuit until I figured out a plan for the future.”
It wasn’t any of her business but she yearned to know if she and Dani played a role in his future. “Have you decided where you’ll go from here?”
“Not yet.”
She ignored the weird feeling that skittered up her spine. Silence followed his comment and she thought for sure he was done talking, then he said, “I was offered a job at a boys’ ranch outside of Albuquerque.”
“Boys’ ranch?”
“My high school teacher married a rodeo cowboy with money. He bought a ranch and they named it after her deceased brother. The Juan Alvarez Ranch for Boys. It’s a place for at-risk teens.”
