“Compliments of your daddy.” The grizzled old man’s grin crinkled his leathery skin, lifted the corners of his bushy gray mustache and exposed one gold tooth among his others. “He made me traffic manager and gave me these wheels. Pretty spiffy, huh?”
“Absolutely. We’ll need your help a lot with all the visitors in town. Parking at the fairgrounds is bound to be a nightmare.”
“Not with me in charge, it ain’t. I got me a bunch of retired yahoos with nothin’ better to do and put ’em to work directin’ traffic.”
Julie chuckled. “Good for you.”
“How’s about a ride? Or did you bring your truck?”
“No. I hitched into town with Dad so I wouldn’t add to all the extra traffic.” She stepped in and settled on the bench seat next to the bony nonagenarian. “Much obliged.”
“No problem, ma’am. Where to?”
“The picnic grounds, I guess.”
Julie was sorely tempted to ask him to drop her near the encampment where some of the rodeo participants had grouped their trailers, but quickly thought better of it. Competition was scheduled to last for three weekends. There was no hurry finding out who anybody was.
She huffed, then glanced at Rusty, hoping he hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t just anybody she wanted to learn more about. It was that cowboy who had smiled and winked at her during the parade.
And the first thing she’d need to learn, she reminded herself, was whether or not he was with someone, namely the gorgeous cowgirl in the pink Stetson. If he was spoken for, Julie figured she might as well go home and card wool or rake the barn. There was no way she could hope to compete with a blonde, shapely woman who looked as if she were Miss Rodeo America, or recently had been.
Man, that was a depressing thought, she countered, disgusted for having entertained it. Either she believed her life was in God’s hands or she didn’t. It was that simple. And that complicated. The hardest part of trusting her faith completely was making sure she stayed out of the Lord’s way instead of trying to figure out His plans and help them along.
Pastor Ethan Johnson was one of the few people in whom she had confided a tiny bit of frustration with her personal life because she could tell he understood. He should. New in town, he was basically in the same boat: single, eligible and determined not to be pushed into anything by well-meaning do-gooders.
Julie’s biggest problem was with her father. He wanted all his kids married and having families, as if that would help him hang on to the spirit of Jasper Gulch that was their heritage.
She had nothing against tradition. She simply wasn’t positive her dad was right about some of the notions he insisted on espousing, such as leaving the old bridge the way it was instead of improving it. For a man who had been so instrumental in putting together this six-month-long commemoration of their history, he certainly was close minded about other things.
Yeah, like who I should marry, she added with a heavy sigh. If she “accidentally” ended up in the company of Wilbur Thompson, one more time she was going to scream. Oh, Wilbur was nice enough. He was just not the man for her, no matter how successful he was or how much money he’d invested in the town via his position as bank president. No man in a three-piece suit belonged on a sheep ranch. Period.
“And I don’t belong in some fancy town house, either,” Julie muttered. She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Rusty chuckled.
“What makes you say that?”
She shrugged. “I was just thinking about Dad. I’m only twenty-four, but he acts like I’m already over the hill and keeps pushing me to marry some rich guy. If I gave in, I’d probably end up living in town and trying to be somebody I’m not. Just picturing it gives me the shivers.”
“I can sure understand that, Miss Julie. You and me, we’re a lot alike.” He laughed raucously. “If I was fifty years younger I’d propose to you myself!”
Julie joined his amusement and patted the back of his weathered, gnarled hand as it rested on the steering wheel. “Rusty, if I were fifty years older, I’d accept.”
She nearly busted up laughing when he waggled his bushy gray eyebrows at her and said, “In that case, I’d be forty-six and you’d be seventy-four. I’m afraid you’d be way too old for me.”
Chapter Two
Ryan joined Bobbi Jo at her horse trailer, took the time to properly store her saddle and bridle, then fed and watered the horses for her before following his nose and sauntering over to the picnic grounds.
Someone had covered a bunch of long wooden tables with white paper to serve as disposable tablecloths. Centerpieces displaying tiny flags, red and blue flowers and ribbons sat on each, while a bank of serving tables held enough food for the entire town, and then some.
The aroma of barbecued burgers and hot dogs mingled with that of baked beans, making his mouth water. Cold potato salad and coleslaw finished the main course, while several men were busy in a separate area slicing watermelon and offering it to the revelers filing past the dessert table.
Not one to hang out with only rodeo contestants the way most of his friends did, he freely mingled, chatting amiably as he filled a foam plate. Because he was concentrating on the food, Ryan failed to notice who happened to be dishing up coleslaw.
When his server’s hand stopped in midmotion, he looked up—and into the widest, bluest eyes he’d seen since he’d noticed the same young woman watching the parade.
He grinned at her. “Yes.”
“Um, yes what?” she asked, remaining immobile.
“Yes, I’d like some slaw and yes, I’d also like to know your name.”
She would have plopped the spoonful of cabbage into his hot beans if Ryan had not hurriedly turned his plate.
“Easy, there. Don’t make me spill the beans.”
“What?” Her cheeks flamed. “Oh, sorry.”
“Okay. Now, what’s your name?”
“Julie.”
“Pleased to meet you, Julie. I’m Ryan. Ryan Travers.”
From behind him came a testy “Hey, quit holdin’ up the line. Other folks are hungry.”
Ryan nodded politely, balancing his plate on his palm and touching the brim of his hat with his free hand. “Guess I’d better move along. I’ll be sittin’ right over there by the watermelons, Miss Julie, in case you want to join me later.”
“Aren’t you going to eat with the other cowboys? Dad reserved a couple of tables for all of you.”
“I’d just as soon make myself comfortable where I don’t have to worry about impressing anybody. It’s so crowded over there nobody will miss me.”
Although she didn’t comment, didn’t even smile, he got the feeling she’d do her best to at least stop by before he was done eating. Why he’d invited her was almost as much a puzzle to him as her obvious personal interest. He’d chosen the life of a traveler a long time ago and, although he was no longer a rookie, he was far from ready to retire at twenty-seven. Given the ages of many of his fellow riders, he probably had ten more good years in him, provided he didn’t suffer any bad injuries.
That was the main drawback with earning a living as a rodeo rider. Every time the chute opened, he stood a chance of being hurt. Maybe even crippled. Or killed. He never allowed himself to dwell on worst-case scenarios, but they lurked in the back of his mind just the same.
Which was one of the reasons he avoided romantic entanglements. That, and the conviction he didn’t deserve the kind of lasting happiness he’d seen some of his buddies find along the way. There were too many dark shadows in his past, too many sins for which he’d never forgive himself, let alone share with a naive, innocent woman like Julie Shaw. Her daddy was the town mayor. That pretty much said it all.
Ryan sighed, unwrapped his plastic fork and dug into his food. Sure, it was a boost to his ego to have a pretty girl notice
him, but that didn’t mean he intended to take her interest seriously. He’d tell her about his rodeo career, impress her properly, then bid her goodbye the way he always did when he met someone interesting on the road.
That was one of the perks of traveling from rodeo to rodeo. Nobody expected him to hang around, so there were no hurt feelings when he left town. His life was simple. Fun. Rewarding when he won and tolerable if he happened to finish out of the money, which, thankfully, didn’t happen too often.
If the time ever came when he wasn’t winning regularly and building up his bank account enough to make everything worthwhile, maybe he’d hang up his spurs and invest in property where he could raise good bucking stock. Until then, he’d keep riding and choosing his venues to turn the best profit. That was one of the benefits of belonging to the PRCA. Their organization provided plenty of opportunities all over the country to compete for high stakes.
Ryan sensed a presence behind him and gave the front brim of his Stetson a poke with one finger to raise it so he could look up more easily. It was her! Julie. And she was obviously planning to stay because she was balancing a laden plate of her own.
He smiled and rose as best he could in the confines of the attached bench. “Ma’am. Can I fetch you a drink? The lemonade’s real good.”
“Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”
“No problem. Just keep an eye on my food for me. I’ll be back in two shakes.”
“Of a lamb’s tail,” Julie added, blushing and averting her gaze. “I raise sheep for their wool.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Her head snapped around and she stared at him. “You have?”
“Uh-huh. Stay put. I’ll be right back and you can tell me more about it.”
It was all Ryan could do to keep from laughing as he turned and headed for the lemonade. Clearly, Julie was used to being disparaged for her choice of livestock. Little wonder, since she lived in cattle country. If his vested interests had been in ranching, he might feel the same. However, because he was only passing through, it made no difference what kind of damage her flock did to the grazing lands thereabouts. After all, her daddy was a cattleman as well as a local politician. Chances were, he had enough influence to keep Jasper Gulch ranchers from running her out of town on a rail.
Ryan’s grin broadened as he made his way back to his table with a plastic cup of cold lemonade. Julie’s story was likely to be interesting. And she was certainly easy on the eyes. This promised to be a really nice afternoon. One he was looking forward to.
* * *
If someone had asked Julie how long she’d been sitting there, talking to the fascinating rodeo cowboy, she’d have said it had only been a short time. That was why, when the PA system sounded off, inviting revelers to gather at an old wooden bandstand at the edge of the main picnic area, she was astounded. One glance at her watch confirmed that she’d lost track of time.
“Uh-oh. I’m supposed to be with my family when my father makes his speech.”
“About the celebration, you mean?”
“That’s part of it. There’s also a time capsule buried behind the stage. It was put there during the christening of Jasper Gulch a hundred years ago and everybody’s pretty excited about digging it up and seeing what’s in it.”
“Surely you must already know. I mean, didn’t the town’s founding fathers write it all down back then?”
Julie shrugged. “Beats me. I suppose they must have, but there’s no telling what happened to that record. A lot of artifacts were ruined back in the fifties when a sprinkler system in city hall malfunctioned and everything in storage molded.”
“What a shame.” Ryan got to his feet and began to gather up their trash. “You go join your family. I’ll take care of this.”
“Nonsense,” she said, reaching for her plate. “I can clean up my own mess.”
“I’m sure you can. But you have somewhere to go and I don’t. I’m in no hurry.”
“Aren’t you riding today?”
“Not until after three. I have plenty of time.” He patted his flat stomach. “I ate too much anyway. Need to go walk some of this off.”
“You said you compete in rough-stock events, right?”
“Yup. Bareback and saddle bronc first, then bulls last, right before the fireworks.”
“I’ll try to be there to watch you.”
“Good. Maybe your good vibes will help me win.”
Pausing, she decided to speak her mind. “I don’t believe in that kind of influence. Skill matters, of course, but I prefer to trust the Lord.”
The expression on his face told her more than she wanted to know, particularly when he said, “Afraid I can’t agree. It’s just as likely that we’re all responsible for our own fate.” He swept his arm in an arc as soon as he’d dropped their refuse in a trash barrel. “Look at all this. Do you honestly believe a divine Creator is keeping track?”
Hands fisted on her hips, she faced him. “Yes. I do.”
It distressed her to see him shaking his head. “Not me. I used to think it was a possibility once, but I’ve learned different.”
“That is so sad.”
“More than you know,” Ryan mumbled.
He had not been facing her fully when he’d spoken, but she could still make out the words. For all his bravado and flirting and apparent sense of self-worth, he was as lost as one of her lambs in a snowstorm. Her heart went out to him.
Lost is exactly what he is, she concluded.
So treat him kindly and demonstrate God’s love followed as clearly as if her pastor had been standing there, preaching right to her.
Was that why she’d met Ryan Travers? Was she supposed to minister to him? Or was she simply so enamored of this particular man that she was inventing reasons to hang around him? If her former, elderly minister, Pastor Peters, was still around, she could ask him without embarrassment. The new clergyman, Ethan Johnson, was another matter. Not that she didn’t trust him to keep the few confidences she’d already shared. She was simply shy about baring her most intimate thoughts to a person she hardly knew.
Nevertheless, Julie reasoned, there was plenty of scripture that explained how to approach a skeptic. And since Ryan Travers sounded disillusioned more than unbelieving, she already had a foundation upon which she could build.
Assured, she hurried to join her father and the local dignitaries, who were about to unearth the time capsule. Guesses about what it contained had been floating around town for months. It would be interesting to see how many of them were right. Plus, her dad had invited the press, not to mention a TV crew from Bozeman that was doing a live remote broadcast of the unearthing of the capsule before moving on to cover the rodeo action. This was the biggest party Jasper Gulch had ever hosted, and it promised to make the news all across Montana.
The old bandstand had been repaired and repainted so many times its floor rippled and the stairs leading up to the main stage had depressions worn in the center of each step. Overcome with nostalgia, Julie envisioned a community orchestra playing a waltz and finely dressed couples from just after the turn of the twentieth century dancing on the grass where groups of people now milled around in anticipation.
Julie joined her family in a row of folding chairs onstage. Everybody was there. Her mother, Nadine, was straightening Jackson Shaw’s string tie. All three of her brothers, Cord, Austin and Adam, were grouped together, chatting privately while waiting for the speeches to begin.
Faith waved gaily and patted an empty chair. “Over here. I saved you a seat.”
Trying to appear unruffled, Julie fought to catch her breath. “Thanks. I was afraid I’d be late.”
“Oh? Where were you? As if I didn’t know.”
Warmth crept up her neck. Julie knew her cheeks had to be flaming. “I was eating.”
“I saw. How did you manage to displace the barrel racer? She was with the rest of the riders, the way your new friend was supposed to be.”
“I guess Ryan is more of a loner,” Julie said with what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug.
“Didn’t look that alone to me. You two were sure having a long conversation. So spill. What did you learn about him?”
“Um, not a lot. He’s been riding professionally since he was a teenager and specializes in the three rough-stock events.”
“Where does he come from and where does he live when he’s not traveling? Who’s his family? Are his parents living? What’s his ranking so far this year?”
Julie’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t ask.”
“Then what in the world did you find to talk about?”
“Sheep, mostly.”
Faith rolled her eyes. “Well, you can probably cross that cowboy off your list. I can’t imagine anybody being as enamored of fleeces as you are.”
“He seemed interested.”
Cocking her head to gesture without drawing undue attention, Faith indicated a portly, well-dressed businessman mounting the steps to join the people already assembled on the bandstand. “Wilbur acts that way, too, when he’s trying to impress you.”
“That’s only because he gave up on you. I thought Dad was going to explode when you turned the guy down flat.”
“I do have my moments of lucidity.” Faith giggled. “Poor guy. I know he tries.”
“Who? Dad or Wilbur?” Julie gave the banker the once-over. He had pudgy cheeks to match his expanding girth and so little hair that he’d combed it in a style that made it stick to his forehead as if he thought bystanders would be fooled into thinking he had more hair.
“Definitely poor Wilbur,” Faith said.
“I know. He reminds me of that English teacher we used to have in high school. The one with the nervous tic.”
Faith chuckled. “I remember. And you’re right. Mr. Thompson does kind of resemble him.”
“You do realize, don’t you, that if I keep turning down Wilbur’s social invitations, Dad may decide he’s the right man for you after all? You are older.”
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