Be sure to read Jaclyn’s other books
Journey of Honor A love story
An entertaining historical romance set in 1848 in the American West.
The Outer Edge of Heaven
A rollicking contemporary love story set on a beautiful Montana ranch.
The Most Important Catch
A sweet, romantic tale of danger and chivalry set in modern day North Carolina
By Jaclyn M. Hawkes
What readers are saying about Jaclyn’s books:
Jaclyn, just finished your book. Made me get all choked up for a bit. And that kissing in the corn patch—oh my! You have truly done a great thing. Thank you. Charlie M. in Georgia
Jaclyn, I wanted to take a moment to let you know how much I enjoy reading your books! My favorite is The Most Important Catch, but I do love the other two as well. Please continue to write interesting, clean, and uplifting stories. We need your influence in the literary world. Cindy C. in California
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my wonderfully willing critical readers who tell me what they truly think, even when it isn’t pretty. Thanks also to my team at Spirit Dance Books LLC. You worked sometimes around the clock to help get this book out on time. I so appreciate all you do.
And, of course, thank you to my family for supporting my need to write. You are incredibly patient, as well as adorable and I love you. Jaclyn
Peace River
By Jaclyn M. Hawkes
Copyright © November 2012 Jaclyn M. Hawkes
All rights reserved.
Published and distributed by Spirit Dance Books.LLC
Spiritdancebooks.com 1-855-648-5559
Cover design by Jordan Youngberg Design
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief passages for gushing reviews and for use in a classroom as an example of outstanding literature, where the title, author, and ISBN accompany such use. All opinions expressed herein are that of the author only. This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to reality is coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.
Printed in USA
First Printing November 2012
Library of Congress control number 2012953136
ISBN:0-9851648-1-2
ISBN-13:978-0-9851648-1-2
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my husband, who looks so darn hunky in his cowboy duds and has chosen to keep me, in spite of my very expensive love of horses. He trained the best horse I ever owned and then helped me bury him when he got old. He’s a lot like the hero in this book—soft spoken and strong.
This book is also dedicated to my rodeoing neighbors, who sometimes drive all night Saturday night to make it home to fulfill their Sunday responsibilities. They are good, hard-working, honorable neighbors and friends, and I have the greatest respect for them. I wish I could ride half as well, or be half as tough. Rodeo is definitely not for wimps.
Chapter 1
Woodland Hills, California
Her running horse could be heard long before she appeared out of the mist. In the half light of dawn and the wisps of fog drifting off the river behind the track there was first the cadenced hoof beats and then the horse’s rhythmic, even breathing. Finally, like an obsidian ghost appearing through a veil, the great black horse materialized and raced ahead, his gait so smooth he seemed to barely touch the earth with each massive stride.
She rode as if she was part of him, their motion fluid, his black mane streaming past her face in the wind to whip against her jockey helmet. He appeared and blew past in a matter of seconds and then disappeared again into the mist where the track curved into the distance. For a moment there was again his breathing and hoof beats, until these too faded into the half light and it was as if the sleek ebony spirit flying down the track had never been.
Flagstaff, Arizona
The sweet sad strains of ‘This is where the cowboy rides away’ came on over the PA system as the lights started to come back on in the grandstands. Slade Marsh and Rossen Rockland listened from behind the bucking chutes where they were packing the last of Slade’s bull riding gear. The rodeo was over and the last of the fireworks had faded from the night sky leaving only the sulfurous smell and the mess the local youth groups would clean up first thing Monday morning.
It was the last night of this rodeo and for both of them it had been a profitable weekend. Together they’d taken first place in the team roping, and Slade had also been in the money bulldoggin’ and riding bulls. It had been a good rodeo but now Slade was tired.
He zipped the duffle bag closed and stood up, stretching tired muscles. There was dust on his jeans from where he’d landed in the arena dirt after his ride, and his black cowboy hat would never be the same after being stepped on by a nineteen hundred pound Brahma bull. At least the bull had only gotten the hat. He’d been aiming for Slade.
They stopped to untie their horses from the outer rail and headed back across the rodeo grounds toward the trailer that was home to them on this rodeo circuit. Leather reins in hand, they paused when they realized a street dance was starting up in the area directly ahead of them. Giant speakers that had been set up on the lawn chose that moment to emit a series of crackling static and then throbbing country music. Their horses were veterans of enough rodeos that all they did was twitch an ear and wait to see what the two cowboys would ask them to do.
“We’re old, Rossen,” Slade stated it matter-of-factly. Rossen simply turned to look at him with one eyebrow quirked as Slade went on, “We are. Just look at us. Saturday night, good music, beautiful girls under the stars. And what are we doing? Trying to figure out a way to get past this crowd without being seen so we can go home, put on some liniment and go to bed. It‘s true. We’re old.”
Rossen grinned. “You may be old at twenty-seven but I’m still only a whippersnapper at twenty-six. I’m in my prime.”
Slade had to work not to limp. “My backside hurts. Actually, most everything I own hurts. I gotta quit riding bulls.”
“Better your backside than your head.” Rossen laughed and added, “Backsides are optional, heads aren’t. Although Jesse probably wouldn’t agree. You’re right. You’d better quit riding bulls.”
Slade groaned and said, “Jesse. Now you can see why we’re avoiding the dance. It’ll be a meat market. Let’s try going through the south parking lot and cutting through the warm-up arena.”
As they trudged across the lot, Rossen said, “Someday, Marsh, we’re gonna meet some girls we actually look forward to being with.”
“I just hope we’re not too old to enjoy them.”
Rossen chuckled. “Hey, we enjoy girls. Sometimes they make us laugh.”
Slade answered in a voice devoid of energy. “Sometimes they just make us tired.”
“Sheesh, you’re negative. I have half a mind to drag you back to that dance just to perk you up.” They skirted a row of cars waiting to exit the parking lot, their horse’s feet clip-clopping on the pavement.
Shaking his head, Slade said, “Can’t dance tonight, I smell like a cow pie.”
Rossen let out a laugh. “I gotta teach you to be more selective on your landings.”
“How ‘bout if you just teach me to stay on until I can jump down nice and easy?”
“How ’bout if I just teach you to stay off the bucking stock?”
They reached their trailer next to the row of stalls where they kept their horses, then tied them up to start stripping their saddles and bridles. After brushing them down and ge
tting them settled for the night, the men headed back to the big six horse trailer with living quarters.
Rossen went in to see about scrounging up a late dinner while Slade loaded their gear into the tack storage, then settled his tall frame on the trailer step to take off his spurs. Rossen’s head appeared inside the screen door. “Nuked pizza okay?”
Slade sighed. “After I learn to dismount bulls, I’m gonna learn to cook.” He leaned back on his elbows with a soft groan.
Rossen stepped past Slade and folded his 6‘2" length into an old lounge chair. “Might be quicker to learn to like frozen pizza.”
They sat in the dark in companionable silence until the bell dinged on the microwave. Slade went in and came out with two plates and two bottled waters. Handing one of each to Rossen, he sat back down on the step and tentatively started on his pizza.
They were quietly eating when they were approached by a pretty brunette in a low-cut, cropped tank top stretched dangerously tight over her well-endowed chest, and with tight, low-rise jeans, and cowboy boots.
Walking up, she said, “There you two are! I’ve been looking for you at the dance.” She turned to Slade. “You said you were going to come swing dance with me. We talked about it this afternoon, didn’t we? I thought we had plans.”
Her voice had just enough whine to grate on Slade’s nerves. Trying for patience, he looked up at her and replied, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you thought that. I’m not much of a dancer anymore. Two left feet I guess.”
Putting both hands on her hips, she said, “I know that’s not true. I’ve seen you dance. Come on! There’s still plenty of time.” She took both of his hands and tried to pull him up off the step, nearly dumping his plate. “It’ll be fun!”
“I don’t think so, Jesse. Not tonight. I’m exhausted. In fact, if you two will excuse me, I’ll go have a shower, wash the arena dirt out of my hair and hit the hay.” He stood up, stepped into the trailer and firmly shut the door behind him.
From inside the trailer he heard the whiny tone again. “Oh, now why does he always do that? He’s such a party pooper! Hey! What about you, Rossen? You can come dancing with me!”
“Naw, I’m right behind him. Some other time, maybe. By the way, you rode great tonight. It’s too bad you knocked that third barrel down. You’d have been in the money.” A second later Rossen followed Slade into the trailer, saying over his shoulder, “Night, Jesse.”
Slade peeled off his shirt and kicked out of his boots on the way to the shower. In the tiny bathroom he ruefully examined a skinned mark on his shoulder where the bull’s hoof had barely missed him as it stomped on his Stetson. That was way too close for comfort. He’d just about decided that after the National Finals Rodeo this year, he’d quit the bulls for good.
He studied his image in the mirror. Dark, almost curly hair, probably a little too long, and just now dusty. A hint of five o’clock shadow below brilliant green eyes with a trace of fine lines around them. Smile lines? Or just too many years and too much sun?
Sometimes he wondered why he was still out here. Wasn’t this the exciting life? Danger and adrenaline? Action? The roar of the crowd? He looked at the man in the mirror. Something was missing. He was still out here searching for something. He just wasn’t sure what.
He showered and put liniment on the sore spots he could reach and went to bed. Maybe tomorrow he could find some enthusiasm.
He took a big breath and let it out in a sigh as Rossen spoke out of the darkness, “How can she even breathe in that shirt?” That little hint of humor somehow made Slade feel better.
When Slade woke up, he couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, but he felt strangely at peace. For whatever reason, last night’s unrest was gone and he felt that everything was all right. Maybe his life was going in an okay direction after all.
Rossen was already up and loading the trailer to get on the road to the next rodeo. They had two days to drive eight-hundred miles and get their horses settled in to rest. They’d checked and fueled the truck the day before so all that was left to do was secure everything for the trip and load the horses. Then they had to find fast food again for breakfast.
As Slade bit into another rubber breakfast sandwich as they traveled, he grimaced. “This diet is going to kill us long before the bucking stock. What do you ’spose these eggs are made of?”
Rossen glanced across the truck and said mildly, “It’s probably best not to ask those deep philosophical questions while you’re driving.” He pulled out his cell phone and started to retrieve his messages, giving Slade an abbreviated play-by-play between bites.
“My mom says hi, and she loves us.
“Joey has a girl she wants me to meet.
“Ruger says Fancy foaled. He says the baby is ugly and has crooked legs, and that he wants to buy it immediately. I’ll just bet it’s ugly!
“The rodeo secretary in Laramie says we missed the deadline for the draw but since it’s us, she’ll let us register late if we do it today. What a sweetie. I think she likes you.”
Rossen paused and made a disgusted sound. “Dang! How did Angelique get this number?
“And the saddle shop in Evanston has my saddle repaired.” He snapped his phone closed. “I wonder who gave Angelique this number?!”
Slade raised a hand defensively. “Don’t look at me! You’re on your own as far as trashy women go. I’ve got problems of my own.”
Rossen opened his phone again and pulled up a number. “Ruger, its Rossen. What’d we get?” Slade could only hear Rossen’s half of the conversation, but it sounded like Rossen’s mare had had a dandy baby. Rossen ended that call and then phoned the rodeo office in Laramie to arrange their entries. He and the rodeo secretary talked back and forth and then Rossen pulled the phone away from his ear and asked, “Marsh, bulls or broncs? And are you gonna bulldog?”
At Slade’s nod with three raised fingers, he returned the phone to his ear. “He’ll ride saddle bronc, bulls, and bulldog. For Thursday and Friday . . . no, make that Friday and Saturday. We won’t be pulling in ‘til late Thursday and we’re getting too old for those photo finishes. Our horses hate us when we come peeling in, unload and rush straight into the arena. Great. Thanks.”
He put his phone away and mused, “We need a secretary. We need a cook. We need a gopher. Maybe we shoulda let Joey come with us when she offered.”
Across the truck Slade shook his head. “Your sister is a killer mechanic, but I remember her salty Jell-O. And even Joey couldn’t get a handle on our schedules.”
Rossen laughed. “No. No one could actually do that. But she is a pretty dang good bowler.”
Slade smiled and shook his head again. “I’ll try to keep that in mind for the next time I need a dang good bowler.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What we really need is a masseuse.” He leaned forward and flexed his back.
Smiling, Rossen teased, “Hey, that little redhead in Cheyenne offered. As I remember, you turned her down flat. In fact, I think you actually blushed! I didn’t think it was possible!”
Slade looked a little embarrassed and said mildly, “Yeah, well that’s not all she offered. She’d had way, way too much to drink, and I think she was like that song about how tequila makes her clothes fall off. And she didn’t have enough on to start with.”
Rossen waved a hand. “She wouldn’t have been a good masseuse anyway. Too skinny. I like all my masseuses to be large and Svedish, with those nice sweet roll on-each-ear hairdos like Princess Leia.”
Slade chuckled. “Okay, so all we have to do is find a nice large Swedish girl wearing sweet rolls on her head, who’s a massage therapist, an organizational whiz, a gopher, and a chef, who would be willing to travel around the country and live in a trailer with two men she doesn’t know and four horses. Right. I’ll get right on that.”
Chapter 2
As Carrie pounded past Eli and his son Dante leaning on the rail in the predawn light, she could almost sense Eli punching the stop
watch. Even though the great stallion had long since retired from racing, there was still something almost mythical about his amazing speed. She let him run for the pure love of it and let her mind and body simply be in the moment. She could never have explained this feeling. The horse and the wind and the mist. The way her body blended with the rhythm and motion, the magic of the half night, half day. She could even smell it. A potion of the river bottom, the mist, and the track. The ultimate cadence. Here and now there was just her, the horse, and the wind.
At length, Ebony slowed of his own volition. They jogged the track one more time, and then she walked him to cool him down. As she rode back toward the paddock, the sun slipped over the hills to the east and a new day had come.
Her mornings started the same every day. This magical time on the track with no troubles or cares was a renewal that recharged her spirit. She could face anything afterward with a full heart and a happy attitude.
She handed the still-sweating horse over to Eli at the rail, glancing around as she did so to see if Geoffrey Goulet was around. The son of one of her grandfather‘s friends, Geoffrey was actually very smart—just hopelessly self-centered. He was madly in love with her, and hung around the farm in hopes of having the opportunity to propose for the nine hundredth time. He was a nice guy, except for the fact that he was totally and ridiculously spoiled which made him a complete nincompoop. Dante actually referred to him as “Stupid Geoffrey,” which wasn’t very nice, but it did fit.
Grateful that Geoffrey was nowhere in sight, she mentally began to go over her day. With her college semester just ended she’d be able to catch up on a few things. Walking toward her house to start breakfast, she unbuckled her helmet and let her hair cascade down her back. Life was good and she loved living it.
Peace River (Rockland Ranch Series) Page 1