“So I could find one punch machine, use it for all the letters, find the exit, and I’d be done.” She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“No cheating. Each punch is in the shape of each letter. We’re wasting time. Race ya.” Stetson vaulted to the entrance.
“Hey, no fair.” She ran after him, but he disappeared into the maze before she could catch up with him. She made a series of turns and stopped at a dead end. She turned back but couldn’t remember where she’d come from.
“I found the A,” Stetson called.
“No fair, you’ve obviously done this before.”
“They change the routes often, and besides, do you honestly think I could remember exactly where to go?”
“Don’t you have to find the letters in order?” She’d turned so many times, she didn’t know if she was coming or going.
“It doesn’t matter what order, as long as you find them all.”
Kendra turned and stopped at a set of wooden stairs that led up. “I’m back at the observation tower. How did I do that?”
“It’s not the observation tower. It’s part of the maze. Go on up. There’s a letter punch on each one. And stop tricking me into helping you.”
She climbed the stairs. A large sign emblazoned with the letter E greeted her. She punched her card and spotted Stetson several rows away from her toward the back of the maze.
He looked up at her. “Hey, what’d you find?”
His gaze revved her heart. Why did he have to be so good looking?
“I’m not telling. You’ll have to find it yourself.” She raced back down.
Soon she found the M, and Stetson found the E. Ten minutes later, they both needed only the Z.
Kendra turned a corner she’d surely turned at least fifty times before. This time the Z greeted her. “Aha.”
“Don’t be bragging too much, little lady. I’m hot on your trail, and you still gotta find the exit.” He sounded close.
A competitive spirit drove her every step as she charged around a corner, smack into Stetson’s very solid chest.
His arms came around her. “Whoa.”
Oh, how she wanted to stay there. Such strength and gentleness. She pushed away and cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
“You all right?” His hands rested on her shoulders, and his gaze locked on her lips.
She swallowed hard. “Mmmm-hmmm.”
five
Footsteps neared. Kendra backed away from Stetson as a woman rounded the turn.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.”
Stetson tipped his white hat. “Excuse us, ma’am.”
The woman disappeared around a corner.
Had she imagined he’d wanted to kiss her? Make light of it, just in case.
“See you on the outside, clown.” Kendra grabbed the brim of his hat, jerked it low over his eyes, and vaulted past him.
“Hey. No fair.”
She nearly took out a boy of about nine. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She slowed her pace, sucking in several deep breaths. Why had Stetson’s proximity stolen her oxygen?
“Ha! I found the Z in spite of your shenanigans.” His voice came from close behind her.
“I bet I still get to the exit before you do.” She sped around a turn.
“I’m not a betting man, but we’ll see.”
Kendra glimpsed the exit. “I found it.”
A hand clamped on her shoulder. “Me, too.”
He slid past her, way too close for comfort.
She could still win, but at the risk of more contact with him. “You cheated.”
“You did, too.” He took off his hat and put it on her head.
Her breath stalled.
He jammed the hat low over her eyes.
Everything went black. She laughed.
“I won.”
Kendra raised the hat and chased after him.
❧
Stetson’s vision blurred, as usual, as they walked the stalls of the Texas Cowboy Hall of Fame. A few of the legends his father had called friends had shrines here.
Lane Frost. He’d read the account of Lane’s death, framed above the display, countless times. But it always hit him fresh. And took him back to the day his dad died. At least the part at the end offered comfort:
Lane went to meet our Lord and Savior to get his greatest award ever: he assured his destination in the spring of 1988 when he made the decision to accept Jesus as his personal savior.
“Wow.” Kendra’s tone echoed awe. “That’s cool. He was a Christian.”
“Yeah, good thing he was prepared for eternity when he took that last ride.”
“Sad. He was very young.”
“Yeah.” So was my dad. “You know those vests the riders wear these days?”
“Uh-huh.”
“One of Lane’s friends, Cody Lambert, came up with it after he died. And Tuff Hedeman was a good friend of his, too. He helped start the PBR and CBR.”
She shuddered. “So is everybody here dead?”
“No. George Strait has a display here.”
“George Strait rides bulls?”
“He’s a team roper and holds the George Strait Team Roping Classic every year. My dad competed in one of the first ones he held. Roping’s not my thing, but I competed a few years back to honor Dad.”
It always felt like home here. Among the rodeo paraphernalia, awards, and memorials, he felt closer to his dad. Even though Dad didn’t have a display.
Kendra hugged herself. “I guess you come here a lot; that’s how you know so much about it all.”
“My dad was a bull rider at the same time as Lane Frost. He died the year before Lane.”
“I’m sorry.” She grazed his elbow with gentle fingers. “You must have been pretty young when you lost him.”
“Four. I’ve always wanted to come here and see his display.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
“My mom and I nominated him, but it hasn’t been approved yet. This place gets countless nominations every year.” Stetson swiped his face with the back of his hand. “Let’s look around some more.”
“Didn’t you say something about a mechanical bull? Now that sounds fun.”
Stetson laughed. “We’ll have to do that another time. My backside’s still kind of sore from that hook last night.” Another time. Another date. Definitely. He’d hold her to it.
❧
Kendra hurried down the hall after her Sunday school class dismissed. Her heels clicked a quick rhythm on the tile floor as she darted and cut through the crowd, eager to get a glimpse of Stetson. Maybe she could accidentally bump into him. Since they always sat with their mutual friends, he’d naturally sit beside her. Maybe he’d even invite her to lunch. Alone. Her pulse raced as butterflies took flight in her stomach.
Their date yesterday had kept her awake most of the night. The tough hero-bullfighter with a marshmallow-soft heart. She’d glimpsed that tender side of him at the Cowboy Hall of Fame. He’d had tears in his eyes as he talked about Lane Frost and his dad. What had happened to his dad?
She neared the youth classroom. The door was open. Had she missed him? No, the light was still on, and she heard voices.
“So you really expect me to believe you’ve never—”
Kendra didn’t recognize the voice. Sounded like a young, teenage boy. Never what?
“I’ve never been with a woman.”
Her eyes widened. Her stomach sank. The second voice was unmistakably Stetson’s. Never?
“Never?” The boy sounded suspicious.
“Scout’s honor. Cross my heart with the cross Jesus died on. I’ve never touched a woman in an inappropriate manner. I’m living proof that abstinence is possible. And somewhere out there, there’s a woman who’s saved herself just for me.”
Kendra vaulted toward the sanctuary. A twenty-six-year-old hunk of virgin.
No, there could be no future between her and Stetson. He was even more righteous than she’d rea
lized. Way too righteous for her. And she definitely wasn’t righteous enough for him.
In the sanctuary, she spotted Rayna and Gabby sitting side by side. Normally Stetson sat by Clay and Kendra beside Stetson. She hurried to their pew and straight to Rayna and Gabby.
“Let me sit between you. And don’t make room for anyone else, okay?” she whispered.
Rayna frowned and scooted toward Clay. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just work with me.”
“Didn’t your date go well?” Gabby kept her voice low.
“Morning, everyone.” Stetson stopped beside Clay.
Clay started to move over more, but Rayna grabbed his leg and stilled him.
Kendra didn’t dare look up at Stetson. From the corner of her eye, she saw him sit beside Clay.
“Y’all going to lunch after church?” The sound of his voice sent chills over her.
But he’d never experienced chills.
“Yep.” Clay jiggled his feet, probably wondering what he’d missed.
“Want to go, Kendra?” Her name on Stetson’s lips revved her heart.
She sucked in a deep breath. “I can’t.”
“I actually have a proposal for you,” Stetson said.
Her breath caught. “A proposal?”
“Lynn is so excited about learning photography from you, it got me thinking. Maybe you could do a class for the entire youth group and help me illustrate our study on fruits of the Spirit.”
“That’s a great idea,” Rayna chimed in.
“Sure. I can do that.” Anything to get him to stop talking to her. She’d figure out a way to get out of it later.
The music began, and she grabbed a hymnbook.
❧
Stetson signed his name on the dotted line and passed the contract to Billy Joe Thornton. From behind his desk at Bradley and Associates Advertising Firm, Adam stood and offered his hand. “Welcome aboard.”
Had Gabby told him anything? What had been up with Kendra at church for the last two weeks? She’d been cold as a newborn calf born in the snow. She’d barely spoken to him. And their initial pattern of going to lunch with their friends after morning services hadn’t carried over into the last two weeks.
And last night at church, she must have attended a different Bible study, or she’d skipped.
Once Billy told him what management at Cowtown had in mind, he’d looked forward to today’s meeting. Just to get a glimpse of her. In case she didn’t show at the rodeo tomorrow night.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.” Adam propped both elbows on his desk and steepled his index fingers.
Gabby entered, followed by Rayna and Kendra.
Her eyebrows rose when she saw him.
“Ladies, you all know Mr. Thornton and Stetson. With Clay at the top of the standings and the pick for CBR World Champ again this year, Cowtown management wants everyone to know about the bullfighter who saved his life a few weeks back.”
Stetson’s gaze dropped to the tiled floor. “I don’t know that I’d put it that way.”
“I would.” Rayna patted his arm.
“We can use a lot of the footage we already have of Clay.” Adam shuffled the paperwork on his desk. “We’ll need some new photos, too, along with footage of Stetson on and off the job. Since everyone in this room is already familiar with the Stockyards, I thought we’d stick with this creative team.”
Kendra wore that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. “I’m finishing up that big For Her campaign.”
“On Monday you said you’d have the photography done by the end of this week. It’s Thursday. Are you on schedule?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Then we’ll be ready to roll tomorrow night at the Stockyards, and I want a photo shoot set for Monday.”
Billy Thornton flipped through his pocket calendar. “Stetson has an interview with Rodeo Life Magazine on Monday morning, ten o’clock at Clay Warren’s private arena.”
Adam snapped his fingers. “Check with them. See if we can do the photo shoot during the interview. If so, Kendra gets full credit for any shots the magazine publishes. And Rayna, you check with Clay. See if he can be there.”
“Done.” Billy jotted notes. “We need a catchy slogan. Team, be thinking on it.”
“Dances with Bulls,” Kendra muttered.
“Hey, that’s pretty good.” Rayna wrote it on a piece of paper, underlining it several times. “Are you after my job?”
Stetson grinned at Kendra. “I’d say that’s a pretty good description of what I do.”
Her gaze darted away.
“Little lady, you’ve obviously seen Stetson here in action.” Billy tapped his chin with one finger. “I like it. I like it a lot.”
For whatever reason, Kendra obviously wanted to avoid him. But she was stuck with him. At least as long as the campaign lasted. Maybe during that time he could change her mind.
❧
Dust flew as Kendra pulled into Clay’s private arena for Stetson’s interview and photo shoot. The sun blazed down for the final week of June. Would’ve been nice if this campaign could’ve waited for cooler weather.
But it wasn’t the weather that bothered her. She was stuck. Stuck with Stetson for weeks on end—“Virgin Poster Boy of the Year.”
At least Kendra had managed to avoid him at the Stockyards Friday night since she’d been busy taking pictures.
But not this morning. Her hand shook as she opened her car door.
The reporter was blond and female. Probably a rodeo queen, from her denim and rhinestone look.
Stetson leaned against the rail fence, trying for non-chalance, but his clenched jaw revealed his discomfort. He obviously didn’t like being the center of attention, and this ad campaign was low on his list of fun things to do.
Rayna and Gabby stood near the bleachers.
Kendra joined them. “Did you hear about the clown who went to the doctor?” she whispered.
Gabby smirked, and Rayna rolled her eyes.
“He was feeling funny.” Kendra slapped her knee. “Why don’t sharks eat clowns?”
“I got it.” Gabby snapped her fingers. “Because they taste funny.”
Kendra and Gabby high-fived.
“But why are you making fun of your fella?” Gabby raised an eyebrow.
“He’s not my fella.” Kendra cleared her throat.
“Y’all seemed awfully cozy on your date at the Stockyards.” Rayna shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand. “And Stetson seemed to want you all to himself.”
“Let’s just say it didn’t work out. Speaking of work, let’s get cracking.” Kendra changed lenses on her camera and focused on Stetson.
“So what made you decide to pursue a career as a bull-fighter?” The blond tucked her hair behind her ear.
Kendra lowered her lens and glared a hole through the woman’s back.
But Stetson didn’t answer.
Kendra’s gaze shifted to him.
“My dad, Austin Wright, was a bull rider. I was four. Dad had a good ride, but when he dismounted, the bull turned on him.” He pulled his white hat lower. “The bullfighter did everything he could to distract him, but the bull was determined to kill. Dad died in the arena, with my mama and me watching.”
six
Kendra’s hand clasped her chest.
“I think I decided then and there that I’d grow up to be a bullfighter and do my best to save all the cowboys.” He swallowed hard. “So no other kids would have to go through what I did. So no other wives would have to go through what my mom did.”
Her throat clogged.
“Wow.” The reporter’s voice filled with awe. “That’s a very noble mission.”
“I’m not noble.” Humility echoed in Stetson’s tone. “Every time I help a cowboy safely out of the arena, I thank God and dedicate the save to my dad.”
Forcing herself to concentrate on photographs, Kendra refocused her lens on the very p
hotogenic bullfighter. The magazines would fly off the shelves with him on the cover.
“How many cowboys have you saved?”
“Probably about the same number as any other hard-working bullfighter.”
“Enough to win the title as last year’s CBR Bullfighter of the Year.”
“A couple of great barrel men have had my back over the years.” Stetson faced the fence and propped his booted foot on the first rail. “Most people think they’re there for entertainment, but if the bullfighter is down, the barrel man launches his barrel between the bull and the bullfighter.”
“Why did you give up touring to work at the Stockyards?”
“I love the rodeo.” Stetson pondered on something off in the distance. “And I love what I do. But I don’t love the road. I bought a farm, and I wanted to stay home and run it. I didn’t want to give up bullfighting. The Stockyards allows me to do both.”
The reporter checked her notes. “I read that during a single season, eighty-nine percent of bull riders will be injured, and bullfighters have the highest injury rate. Have you ever been injured?”
“A few times, but nothing serious so far.” Nonchalance echoed in his tone.
“Let’s get to work,” a familiar voice called from the arena. “I ain’t got all day.”
Kendra’s eyes widened. Wyatt lurked on the fence near the chutes.
❧
Stetson wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, glad the shoot was over. How had he gotten himself into this? In front of a camera was the last place he wanted to be distracting a bull. And why did the extra rider for the shoot have to be Wyatt?
He’d seen him leering at Kendra. The man just had no clue how to treat a lady.
“Got a hot date planned this weekend, clown? Oh, wait a minute, I forgot you’re seeing Kendra. And she’s gone cold.”
“Let it go, Wyatt.”
“Oh, I let her go all right. She used to really be something.” Wyatt smirked. “Wore purple streaks in her jet-black hair, lower necklines, shorter skirts. Lots of good times—if you know what I mean? And I wasn’t the first. Probably not even the fifteenth.”
Rodeo Hero Page 4