A Reference to Murder

by Kym Roberts

  “I better get over there. There’s a reason the CBR has over sixty bulls at this event. If one doesn’t pass its medical exam or is disqualified for any reason, the riders can draw one of the other bulls. Are you okay if I leave you here for a minute? You can sit in my car,” he offered.

  “I’m coming with you. I want to make sure Scarlet’s okay.”

  Mateo pulled his cell phone out as he started jogging toward the arena, while I made my way at sloth’s pace. I caught a glimpse of him slipping through the crowd but then lost him somewhere around the entrance. The media seemed to have multiplied since our press conference, and the crowd lining up for the event looked to be record size. There was well over the expected number of fans milling around the gates trying to find a faster way into the arena.

  I made my way through handfuls of people all asking if the rumors were true—was Dalton Hibbs really alive? Trying to ignore the crush and avoid being crushed myself, I suddenly found myself next to Aubrey and Liza Twaine.

  Perfect.

  “Charli! Why didn’t you tell me Dalton was alive?” Aubrey’s young, upturned face held an expression of betrayal. I wanted to tell her that was exactly how I felt about the way she was hounding me. Instead, I let her down easily.

  “We just found out.”

  She began adjusting the camera on her shoulder and fiddling with her mic. “Scarlet knows?” she asked.

  “Yeah, she’s inside watching Dalton now.”

  “So he’s been approved to ride?”

  Her question caught me off guard. “Why would he need approval?”

  “Because they took him off the roster. It’s almost like being disqualified.”

  “All I know is that Scarlet said he was going to ride Twisted Mister.”

  Aubrey turned toward Liza, who was on her cell phone and repeating everything I said.

  “Where’s he been?” Liza asked Aubrey even though she could have asked me herself. I was her unwilling source; the least she could do was give me the time of day.

  Aubrey parroted the question. “Where’s he been?”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake! If you want to know where Dalton was, ask him yourself.” I would have stomped off, but I’d reached the security checkpoint and there was no turning back. Plus, at my speed, I wouldn’t have made it ten feet before Aubrey was in my face with a camera lens. Instead, I paid attention to everything around me, except the incessant questions Aubrey threw my way. None of them were worth my time.

  Aubrey and Liza got to slip through with their press passes and didn’t bother to wait for me to catch up. Which was totally fine by me. I made it through security fairly quickly thanks to my volunteer pass and suffered relatively few jolts to my ribs despite the desperate tension of the crowd to get inside and see for themselves that Dalton Hibbs was very much alive. I kept walking, or rather slothing, after I got inside and made my way down toward the arena’s underbelly, where most of the bulls and riders awaited their turn. I kept going and didn’t stop to do anything else. I even passed the restroom calling my name.

  Because I still had my pass, I made it through to the waiting area for the cowboys and looked around for Mateo, with little luck.

  Travis entered the room and stopped in front of me. He’d added his riding gear to his black shirt covered with sponsor patches. The left sleeve was cut and rolled up to show off his bicep, but the true purpose was to keep it clear of the bull rope he’d use during his ride. A black leather protective vest lined with high-impact foam matched his black chaps trimmed in gold and a prominent car manufacturer’s logo was displayed across his chest. Both his chaps and his vest had intricate designs and had to have cost a fortune. His black felt hat was back on his forehead but still covered most of his chocolate-brown hair. He looked good, but even with Cade clearing him from any wrongdoing with my earlier encounter with the bull, the man made me uncomfortable.

  “I’m glad you’re okay, Princess.”

  “Charli,” I corrected him quickly. Only a few were allowed to call me Princess, and Travis wasn’t one of them.

  “Sorry, Charli.” He wore a sheepish grin, which seemed totally out of character. “I’m glad I ran into you, because I wanted you to know that the whole prayer vigil scene was just an act.”

  “An act? You mean you really didn’t wish Dalton was burning downstairs in another dimension, or are you just saying that now because he’s alive. Your behavior certainly didn’t look like part of an act last night.”

  His laugh sounded a little self-deprecating. “Well it’s true, Dalton and I have always had a healthy rivalry, but—”

  “This is the Bible Belt, Travis. You said the man could, ‘burn with the devil.’ I hardly see that type of hatred as healthy competition.”

  Travis scrubbed his jaw, the whiskers of his week-old growth scratching across his one leather glove. He looked over his shoulder toward the room full of people. “If you knew Dalton, you would know that he often says he’s going to burn with the devil for doing this, or doing that. It’s what he says. He would get a kick out of me saying that at a eulogy for him…at least in private he would. In public, we put on a show.”

  “A show? That’s a sick show.” My voice carried to the people at the edge of the room and earned the attention of Sly Alexander along with a few other cowboys waiting for their call.

  Travis looked around and when he saw a few autograph seekers lurking a few feet away with headshots in their hands, he grabbed my arm and pulled me down the hall.

  I hissed with pain and he dropped my arm faster than a dead skunk.

  His grimace was apologetic. “Sorry. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  I nodded but kept my mouth shut, lest I really say what I was thinking. Once out of earshot of anyone else, I turned back toward Travis but suddenly felt like that caged animal…again with this man cornering me.

  Get a grip, Charli. This is your chance to get inside information from the ring of riders.

  I didn’t wait any longer to ask the question that had been eating at me. “Did you know Dalton was alive?”

  Travis winced. “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He looked around before answering. “I overheard Erik talking to Taylor about the lack of media attention in Hazel Rock. He suggested if one of us disappeared before the show, the media would come in droves. So even when the graves were found, I just couldn’t believe it was Dalton.”

  “Did anyone else hear that conversation?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you tell the sheriff?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “I figured that was up to the promoters. And it wasn’t like the sheriff was telling the press that one of the bodies actually was Dalton.”

  I had to check myself and not blurt out that Dalton’s phone and belt buckle were found at the scene. It wasn’t my place to disclose that to anyone. Mateo would share that when he was ready. But it definitely drove me and Scarlet to the belief that Dalton was dead. Mateo too.

  I changed the subject. “Why would someone drug one of the bulls?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why would one of the cowboys drug a bull?”

  Travis thought about it for a minute, and it took everything I had not to fill in the silence with more questions. But this question was extremely important to me personally, since I’d unwittingly gotten caught in the middle of it.

  He finally answered. “I suppose you could improve your score by having a bull that was juiced up, but that’s taking a chance with your ability to stay on as well.”

  “Don’t most riders have healthy egos?”

  Travis’s smile was stunning. “You could say that, but we also know our limitations and the last thing we want is to get caught in the chute with a juiced bull.”

  “What if a rider was wanting to make sure someone didn’t stay on?”

  Travis frowned and I coul
d tell he didn’t like that idea one bit. “Again, it’s a crap-shoot. If he stays on, his score could blow away the competition. The worst part, is what it could do to the bull.”

  “So one of the stock contractors wouldn’t do it to his own bull?”

  Travis was shaking his head before I even finished my sentence. “No way. CBR-quality bucking bulls are worth a minimum of ten thousand dollars and can go up to five hundred thousand. They breed the line, and when they’re done doing shows, the bulls go off to stud. I can’t see any of the stock contractors at this level doping their bulls to increase the animal’s score. The risk is too great.”

  I’d learned more about the business end of riding in the last ten minutes, than I had in my entire life in Hazel Rock. Like the state fair, the rodeo was an annual event I’d gone to every year as a teenager. But just because I went to a carnival, didn’t mean I knew the life of a carny. The same was true about the rodeo…until now.

  “Listen,” Travis said, steering the conversation back to our earlier topic. “My stunt at the prayer vigil was just that. A stunt. Taylor asked me to stir things up. She said without Dalton, the media and the crowds would leave before the rodeo started. I kinda figured Dalton would show up sometime before the show, and the bodies would turn out to be animal bones.”

  God, I wish they were animal bones. But I’d seen the tattered and blood-stained plaid shirt sleeve, the one I’d wrongly thought belonged to Dalton and I didn’t know any animal that wore a Western-style shirt. Even Princess, who apparently had been known to dress up for Halloween, didn’t do that.

  A few riders walked by on their way out for their ride, and greeted Travis. The exchange was friendly; Travis wished them luck and then waited for them to pass through the doors to the arena before continuing.

  “A few years ago when I finally made it up in the CBR, Erik Piper decided that if he had a little drama in the circuit and a little animosity between the riders, ticket sales would increase. He learned it through a true hatred between Wyatt Hibbs and Sly Alexander. Ever since then he’s picked rivals and made us sign gag orders that prohibit any talk about our real relationships.”

  “Yet here you are, telling me the truth? Why?”

  “Because I don’t want you to think poorly of me.”

  “Everyone thinks poorly of you. Why would you care what I think?”

  “I would think that would be obvious. You really don’t think our chance meetings have anything to do with luck, good or bad, do you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You define your nickname, Princess. You’re tall, elegant, and have eyes that make me want to throw in the towel. I’d love for you to go out with me.” For the first time, I saw a bit of sincerity in Travis. He wasn’t saying he loved me, thought I had a great personality, or felt a connection between us that couldn’t be denied. He was saying he found me attractive, in a very nice way, and I found myself wanting to experience a first date with an attractive bad boy from the circuit.

  It had been months since anyone had asked me out; even well before I moved back home. The last date I had was with a new fifth-grade band teacher back in Denver. Our dinner and a movie turned out to be a fast food deli and a nap for him during a foreign film with subtitles. I would have cut the poor guy some slack, since he’d been working long, hard hours for months due to a band competition, but the truth was, he tipped his cards by snoring louder than a chainsaw. That and subtitles were a bad combination and there was no way I was signing up for that for the rest of my life. It was our first and last date.

  “You’re asking me out.” I stated the obvious and looked down at my bandages and the dirt smeared on my shirt and shorts.

  He laughed; a hearty, attractive sound that showed a part of him I’d yet to see. I didn’t think he was laughing at me, or my situation, but rather his timing. It was charming.

  “What cowboy wouldn’t want to go out with a beautiful western princess who wears hay in her hair, has a pet armadillo. and lives in a barn?”

  With a declaration like that, I felt I should come clean. “She’s my daddy’s pet. He took her in when she was abandoned as a baby. I was pretty reluctant to adopt her until I was told she’d die in the wild because of her coloring.”

  “All the more reason I’d like to take you to dinner. A good woman, who won’t kick an orphan out of its home, is definitely my kind of woman.”

  I blushed at that. Literally blushed. But the whole time he’d been laying on the charm, I couldn’t help but think that having an inside track to what was going on would be a very good thing.

  “I’m going to have a constant companion for the next couple weeks. If it’s all right with you, can I bring a third wheel?”

  I could tell he was a little disappointed, but he didn’t bat an eye before agreeing to have someone join us for dinner.

  “Good, because I will be picking it up in a little bit.”

  “It?” He seemed a little confused and leery. I guess a woman with an armadillo would do that to you.

  “The doctor ordered me to use a donut to sit on for the next couple weeks due to a bruised tailbone.”

  Travis laughed and that mischievous look in his eyes that he wore so well, returned. “As a man who’s had a companion donut or two in his career, I would be honored to have a third wheel join us for dinner. Seven o’clock okay with you?”

  I told him seven would be great. He tipped his hat with a wink before he disappeared through the doors to the arena. I couldn’t help but smile. I finally had a date—even if it was to find out more information about Dalton Hibbs.

  Chapter Twenty

  I couldn’t find Mateo anywhere, so I slowly made my way back toward the bleachers to see if Dalton had already ridden Twisted Mister. I thought about easing myself down onto the bleachers but then decided against it. The arena was full and I’d have to ask several people to move down to make some room. Then I wasn’t sure I could ease myself down, without grabbing a hold of someone. Standing, had more appeal.

  Over to my left Sly was straddling a bull in a chute, as the bull kicked the wooden pen. I couldn’t help but notice his choice to wear a black cowboy hat instead of the protective helmets that so many of the younger riders had donned for safety purposes. Sly was busily messing with his bull rope, making sure his grip was good and the rope was wrapped tight around his hand. He pounded on the rope around his riding hand as three cowboys stood by to keep him safe, if the bull acted up in the pen. One held his hand straight out to protect Sly’s face and head, while two others were ready to pull him out. If things went south.

  Two more cowboys stood inside the arena, one to unlatch the gate, another to pull it open with a rope. Two clowns positioned themselves on each side of the field, and another one stood in the middle, ready to distract the bull away from the rider if he fell off.

  The scoreboard said Sly was riding a bull named Missile Tow. It also listed the next four riders. Dalton was in line after Sly and was scheduled to ride Twister Mister.

  I looked around the crowd for the cowboy and vet tech I’d seen down in the pens before I’d gone for a rough ride, but didn’t see anyone who came close to the pair. With the number of plaid shirts scattered through the seats, there was no way I’d recognize the cowboy at a distance. And that bright white lab coat was nowhere to be found. Nor did I see one familiar face sitting in the bleachers in my section; this was the one time of year that outsiders completely outnumbered the residents of Hazel Rock. Gazing down toward the other end of the chutes, I finally spotted Scarlet and Cade on the opposite side.

  A clank of metal followed by a cheer from the crowd signaled the gate opening and I turned back to see the bull charge from the gate. The bull immediately dipped his head low, and Sly lost his grip with his feet. He leaned so far over the bull’s head that he appeared to be lying across his back. His feet rose toward the rump and his left hand, which was supposed to be high in the air, was dangerously close to touching the bu
ll’s neck.

  Missile Tow bucked, twisting his hips to the left, as his head went to the right; the change of direction cartwheeling Sly off the bull’s front right shoulder. Sly’s legs were sprawled wide from the force, and his brown leather chaps flew through the air like wings—until they landed on the ground and buckled as Missile Tow turned toward him.

  The crowd gasped. Despite the throw, Sly wasn’t free from the bull’s force. His riding hand was stuck in the bull rope as the bull continued to thrash and shake Sly like a rag doll. His shoulder strained in an unnatural position as he tried to grab for the rope, as he got caught under the bull’s front legs. Clowns dressed in bright pink and high impact vests ran in front of the bull’s vision yelling, “Hey, hey, hey, hey!” to distract the beast as another tried to help Sly release his hand from the bull.

  Sly curled his body into a ball under the bull, still trying to loosen his hand as hooves attacked his ribs, hips, and legs. His hand finally slipped loose and he fell to the dirt floor.

  Another gasp traveled through the onlookers as Missile Tow turned on Sly again, his head and horns slammed into Sly’s upper torso as the bull rolled the cowboy’s limp body across the ground. A rodeo clown risked everything to distract the bull by running directly in front of it and then turning away from Sly. Missile Tow took the bait and ran as a roper on a horse moved in and two gatemen opened the exit chute for the bull to escape. Missile Tow took the path of least resistance, and the gate closed behind him.

  But Sly remained in the dirt. A clown stood over him and waved for medical staff to come into the arena as a hush fell over the crowd.

  Mateo walked up next to me. “You should be resting. Come on. I’ll take you to get your donut.”

  “Wait. Don’t you want to know if he’s going to be okay?”

  “He’s got a good medical team looking at him with an ambulance on standby. They’ll take care of him. Let’s go take care of you.”

  “I’m walking; he’s not moving.” Even though I didn’t know Sly personally, he’d sat in The Barn and he’d even bought a piece of book art for his mom. His mom. A guy who does that, will win a woman’s heart every time. I couldn’t leave.