Home on the Ranch: Oklahoma Bull Rider

by Christine Wenger

  Jesse could see the blue lake through an opening in the conifer trees. The private property belonged to Camp Care. And who owned Camp Care and the lake? None other than Judge Richard Connor and his family, the sidewinder responsible for him being here.

  Actually he didn’t mind. Ricky had been hounding him to help out at Camp Care for a few years. Jesse’s two brothers, Luke and Reed, had already spent a couple of years each as ramrods. It was Jesse’s turn, but he didn’t even get a chance to volunteer.

  He grinned. If he really objected, Ricky would have let him go, but even though he wanted to help his brothers with their houses, that would wait.

  The kids of Bunkhouse 13 needed him.

  Jesse would love to help Sara, too, if he could. In reading Mickey’s file, he figured that she had a hard go of it, both before and after the accident. He was sure that a widow with a young son could use a positive male role model in both of their lives.

  But she seemed scared to get involved with him. She was interested, he was sure of that, but wary. She didn’t appear to trust him anymore than she had Michael Sr.

  He chuckled. Not trust Jesse Beaumont? Why, that was impossible!

  He reached the clearing and stood in awe of the pristine lake surrounded by trees. Visible through the water as it gently lapped at the shore were small, colorful stones.

  And sitting cross-legged near the shore on a patch of grass was Sara Peterson.

  She didn’t see him, so he had a chance to observe her.

  Her face was turned up to the waning sun, and although her blond hair was in a bun, some strands had gotten loose and stirred in the slight breeze. Sara didn’t move, and it appeared that she was either meditating or she had fallen asleep.

  He hated to disturb her; she was so calm and peaceful, unlike the Sara Peterson of yesterday who came to the assay office in a thunderstorm of doubt about him and a hurricane of fury about his lack of credentials.

  In the evening, when the sun was a blaze of colors as it set, Sara Peterson looked like an ethereal being, a goddess.

  “Hey, bull rider, who’s watching the kids in Bunkhouse 13?” she said.

  A goddess? Have I thrown a horseshoe?

  Yes, I must be totally off my gait.

  “A roving ramrod is watching the kids,” Jesse replied. “I guess there are several who relieve us when we want to take a break.”

  “You needed a break already?” she asked.

  “I needed to take a walk and look at something other than four walls full of graffiti and listening to a bunch of boys having a burping contest.”

  Sara stood up and did some yoga stretches he recognized from his own routine. He wished he had a camera to capture her surprise when he joined her in her routine.

  “A bull rider who does yoga?” she asked, eyes wide.

  “A lot of us do yoga. It helps the bones and helps the brain. And when I remember to do some deep breathing before the chute gate opens and my bull comes bucking out, that helps, too.”

  “I can see where yoga and deep breathing would help you with your—”

  He sat down on the patch of grass, and to his surprise, she sat down next to him.

  “Riding. They help me with my riding. Remember? I’m a bull rider. You remind me of that often.”

  “I imagine you have to love it, or you’d get another job. Maybe in an office.”

  “That’s not for me, Sara. Not a chance. I’d starve first. I work at my family’s ranch whenever I can with my two brothers, and my father when he’s able. It’s been in my family since the Oklahoma Land Rush.”

  “A real ranch?”

  He laughed. “A real ranch. Horses, bulls, calves. We rope, brand, vaccinate and ride. We have a bull riding school for new riders, and an equine program for special needs kids that’s run by accredited therapists when there’s enough kids to participate. A lot of the PBR bull riders help out.”

  “I think I owe you an apology. You obviously are a qualified cowboy, but you still aren’t a qualified therapist.”

  “Are you referring to your son, who won the burping contest?”

  “He what?”

  “According to his bunkhouse mates, he was the winner. Everyone owes him a candy bar when the canteen opens.”

  “Canteen?”

  “The store. They get to go three times a week, starting tomorrow. Some money from their tuition goes to an account for them at the canteen.”

  Sara stared at the lake. It was sparkling with orange highlights from the setting sun. “Mickey doesn’t need that much candy. I’ll put it aside for him.”

  “The hell you will!” Jesse took a deep breath. “Sara, don’t deny your son his victory. Don’t you realize that he was laughing, grinning and interacting with his peers? As sure as the sun is setting right now, Mickey is coming out of his shell.”

  She crossed her fingers. “I wish.”

  He could barely hear her, but those two little words held a lot of hope. “And it’s only been one day. After the burping contest, there was talk about a farting contest. It’s lucky that Mickey has that window next to his bunk now, isn’t it? I remember you complaining about it.”

  She nodded. “I thought about him catching a chill, not about airing out the cabin during a farting contest.” She looked into his eyes. “I guess another apology is in order. I seem to be apologizing to you all evening.”

  “Stop apologizing, then.” He held out his hand for a handshake. “Shall we declare a truce?”

  She tilted her head. She was clearly thinking about it. “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not you suggested the burping contest.”

  The laugh burst out from somewhere deep inside of him like a bull busting out of the bucking chute. He never thought that Sara Peterson had the ability to joke, or was she flirting with him?

  She held out her hand and he shook it. “I have to admit that I did.”

  “I knew it!” She laughed. “What more do you have in store for the little wranglers?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  * * *

  Jesse offered his hand to start back, and she took it, relishing in his warm, calloused fingers that closed over her cool ones, and noticing how little effort it took him to help her up.

  As they started back along the path, Sara found herself liking Jesse Beaumont a little bit more. Anyone who does yoga was okay in her book, but more importantly, anyone who could get Mickey Peterson burping and laughing with other wranglers had performed a great miracle.

  Sara had first started doing yoga when one of her counselors had suggested it. She knew that she had to do something after the accident to be able to relieve stress.

  It was still hard to believe that she lost her husband and part of her son on that day. Her life had changed and she had had to adjust to a new normal, which consisted of many, many counseling appointments for her and Mickey, mostly Mickey.

  Some of the appointments were covered by her insurance, partly. She felt that she was working just to pay counselors, psychologists and psychiatrists and none of them accomplished a burping contest to get Mickey laughing and giggling with a budding bunch of friends.

  But Jesse had.

  She had to chuckle when she thought about how Jesse suggested the burping contest.

  Jesse Beaumont was just a kid himself.

  No. He was more than that. He could relate to kids. He knew just what made them tick.

  And Mickey was enjoying being a kid again.

  They reached a fork in the path. Jesse would go left for Bunkhouse 13, and Sara would go right for 16.

  But for some reason, she didn’t want to leave him just yet. She wanted to ask him more about his bull riding—about anything.

  Jesse checked his watch. “I still have some time before the roving ramrod
has to rove on, so I’m going to grab a snack at the chuck wagon. Cookie said that there’s always something set out for staff. Would you like to join me?”

  Sara was hoping that he’d ask. She wasn’t ready for the noise and craziness of her bunkmates just yet. If he hadn’t asked her, she would have gone alone and further pondered in awe the fact that Mickey won a burping contest over seven other boys.

  Mickey successfully interacted with other kids his own age and obviously something about Jesse connected with Mickey. Whatever his motivation, she never knew that her son could win a burping contest.

  She was so proud!

  Maybe Camp Care was a great idea after all.

  “I’d love to join you. I’m not ready to turn in yet,” Sara said.

  “Great.”

  They walked straight ahead to the chuck wagon, and Sara shivered. When the sun went down, the temperature plummeted. If she visited the lake at sunset again, she’d have to remember to bring a jacket or sweater.

  Jesse immediately pulled his Camp Care sweatshirt over his head, flipped it to the right side, and handed it to Sara. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners?”

  “No. I can’t take your sweatshirt. I should have brought something...”

  He pushed it toward her, and his hands touched hers. Her heart did a silly little flip in her chest that she couldn’t explain.

  “Put it on. It’s getting cold,” Jesse said.

  Sara hurriedly donned the garment. It was still warm from Jesse’s body, and she inhaled his scent. Nice.

  She rolled up the cuffs. “Tomorrow I’ll bring my own sweatshirt.”

  “It’s a date!” Jesse said quickly.

  A date?

  “I didn’t mean that,” she began to explain. “I meant when I do yoga and meditate by the lake, I’ll have to remember to bring a sweatshirt.”

  Jesse grinned. “I knew what you meant. It’s a date. I’ll meet you by the lake tomorrow night. Same time. Same patch of grass. I’ll see if I can get a roving ramrod to cover for me.”

  “I—I...um... I suppose that’s okay.”

  “Good! And we can continue to get to know each another. Right?”

  She shrugged. “I guess so.”

  He stopped walking. “Gee, Sara, don’t sound so excited.”

  “I haven’t dated since the accident.”

  Sara couldn’t fathom why on earth she told Jesse that. It made her sound like such a loser.

  “What’s wrong with the men in Henderson Falls?” he asked.

  “Oh, it’s not their fault.” She smiled, enjoying their banter. She was getting the hang of it. “I like to stay home with Mickey.”

  “Maybe you need Camp Care more than Mickey does. Mickey is settling nicely into Bunkhouse 13, so maybe his mom can take a well-deserved break.”

  She reeled on him just as he opened the door to the chuck wagon for her. “When are you going to quit lecturing me? You don’t even know me or my situation.”

  “Look, Sara, I read and reread my wranglers’ folders for Camp Care until I practically memorized them.”

  She felt his warm hand on the small of her back as he herded her through the door. “Let’s finish this conversation inside.”

  “Let’s not finish it at all.”

  “C’mon, Sara. I’m not your enemy. Let’s figure this out, for Mickey’s sake.”

  “Speaking of Mickey, I should make sure that he’s wearing his jacket. There’s no heat in the cabins.”

  “Give the kid some space,” Jesse suggested.

  Sara took a deep breath and walked through the door. She figured that she could take some parenting criticism from the bull rider in exchange for a hot cup of coffee, but not much criticism.

  She steeled herself for one of his lectures.

  Sara noticed a group of three women in the corner of the chuck wagon, and they all stopped talking and looked up. A couple of giggles escaped, and Sara knew without a doubt that they were talking about Jesse.

  She wondered if he knew they were ogling him.

  He knew all right. He lifted his hand in a cheerful greeting and grinned. “Hello, ladies. Beautiful evening, isn’t it?”

  Sara recognized the group as being from her bunkhouse, but its members’ names escaped her. She waved, too. “Hi!”

  Jesse turned toward her. “Coffee?”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “Sit and relax. I’m on my way.”

  She watched as he walked away, his boots making a rhythmic thump on the cement floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her bunkmates watching, too.

  Jesse returned and set down a steaming mug in front of her. Nothing like the smell of coffee.

  Nothing like a sexy bull rider!

  “Thanks.”

  “Sorry, the cookies were gone. Nothing but crumbs left.”

  He sat down opposite her and took a long draw on his coffee. “Good stuff, but a little weak. Coffee has to be strong enough to float a horseshoe in it.”

  Sara took a sip, and tried not to choke. “I could take the rust off my car with this stuff.” They both laughed and that seemed to clear the air. Then Jesse crossed his arms.

  Here comes the lecture.

  “Sara, if you recall, there were a lot of questions on the Camp Care application form that weren’t just yes, or no. If I remember Mickey’s correctly, and I’m sure I do, there was a question that asked, ‘What do you hope that Camp Care would do to help the applicant?’ You replied that Mickey needs a break from you, needs a good male role model and that you need to refill your well. Right?”

  “Something like that, but where is this conversation going?”

  “Do you think I am a good role model?” he asked.

  She remembered the Cowboy Code discussion and how the wranglers were hanging on to his every word. He scored with the red bandannas and the burping contest, and without a doubt he read each wrangler’s folder from cover to cover and was taking his job seriously.

  Maybe she ought to give him a break and see what else he could do.

  “Yes. I think you’re a good role model, Jesse.”

  “And let me point out that it’s going to be harder for you to get a break from Mickey and vice versa because you’re here.”

  She shrugged. “That’s obvious, but I seem to be missing your point.”

  “If you think Mickey needs a break from you, and you need to refill your well, relax a bit!”

  She spoke through gritted teeth. “What did you say?”

  “Stop smothering your son. If you want your other goals to be met, don’t take away Mickey’s candy. Don’t make him wear a jacket. Don’t listen in on our discussions. Don’t even congratulate him on winning the burping contest. Pretend he’s not here.”

  Sara stood up so quickly her chair fell over and made a banging noise that echoed throughout the empty hall.

  “Is there anything else you need to add, Mr. Beaumont, before I make an appointment to speak with Lori Floyd in the morning to get Mickey removed from your bunkhouse?”

  “I think I covered it all.” He pushed his hat back with a thumb. “Sara, what happened to our truce?”

  “I think you broke our truce when you trashed me.”

  “When you talked about taking Mickey’s candy away and making sure he was wearing a jacket, well, it bothered me. You’re not letting him be a boy, and you’re pulling him away from kids his age. Kids he is bonding with. I’m just surprised you didn’t threaten to move him from Bunkhouse 13 before, due to the burping contest.”

  “I’d thought about it.”

  Deep inside, she knew that he was right. She had to back off and give Mickey some space. She picked up the chair and sat back down.

  Yes. He was right. He was as smart as he was sexy.

  “Tomorrow the equine therapy p
rogram starts. I’ll be teaching Bunkhouse 13 how to ride. Think you can handle it?”

  “My son on a horse?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her stomach turned. “I won’t be able to handle it.”

  “Mickey will love it. Trust me.”

  “Trust?” She flashed back to her late husband telling her to trust him. That he wasn’t going to drink anymore. That he wasn’t going to stop for a drink and come right home from work.

  “This is going to be tough. I’m going to have to watch him,” she said.

  “I don’t think so. Let him be. Or I’ll carry you away over my shoulder.”

  “How dare you!”

  “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, Sara. Trust me.”

  Chapter 5

  Jesse had been looking forward to this morning all week. This was the day that he introduced his wranglers to taking care of their assigned horses. Later, Jesse and a certified equine therapy instructor would work together.

  He wanted to learn as much as he could, too.

  Jesse walked to the shower shed, which contained special showers and bathrooms shared between two bunkhouses. Each one had state-of-the-art equipment for various impairments along with huge dressing rooms. Those who couldn’t bathe themselves had help.

  As Jesse shaved, he thought about how he never tired of watching the excited, yet wary, faces of new riders when they got on a horse. He would teach them how to brush, feed and to be comfortable with their assigned animal. The wranglers wouldn’t be required to saddle or bridle their mounts, but Jesse would teach them how to clean the tack and put it away.

  The first time they mounted and sat upright in their appropriate saddles, they always looked like they were sitting on top of the world.

  And when the horse moved...there was excitement and white-knuckle fright. It was his job to get the wranglers to relax and enjoy the experience.

  He had a copy of the lesson plans and he and four other ramrods were going to take the lead on rolling out the equine therapy program. Jesse, because he had the least experience working with children, was assigned to Group A, the kids without physical limitations.