Rodeo Dreams

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “Mount up, Girlie,” Mitch said with another smarmy wink.

  She thought she saw Travis roll his eyes, but she couldn’t afford to wonder what he was doing up here if he wasn’t talking to either of them.

  Twisty Tie was waiting for her. A medium bull, he wasn’t anything special. Regular brown color, regular bucking pattern. She could do this. She was a bull rider.

  Once again, the Brazilian held her steady while Mitch pulled on her rope. And once again, he didn’t get it quite tight enough.

  “You aren’t going to break me,” she said between clenched teeth as Twisty Tie shifted nervously.

  That was apparently the sign Travis had been waiting for, because he pushed Mitch aside and took over the rope. Within seconds, she had her grip.

  “Thanks,” she said. Later, she’d try to figure out why the guy who couldn’t even look at her without scowling was helping her out, but for now, she focused on the bull.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said. “Presenting a first for you all here in Mesquite! We got ourselves a real sweetheart of a gal up there who says she’s going to win this thing tonight!”

  The crowd roared—half with laughter, half with cheers. Well, at least the Cindy Lucas section cheered. She hated the laughter, hated being the joke. Instead of letting her anger distract her, she channeled it into the ride. This was what she was born to do. She’d made it onto the circuit. Now she had to prove she belonged here, one bull at a time. Starting with this bull.

  “Give it up for June Spotted Elk, riding Twisty Tie!”

  This was it. Now was the time.

  She nodded, and Twisty Tie blew out of the chute like a tornado.

  One.

  He went left hard with a buck in the back.

  Two.

  Twisty reared up again, but she leaned forward just enough to find the center.

  Three.

  He bucked in the back again. Every fiber in June’s body wanted to lean back to find the balance, but something told her to hold. Hold? Was she insane? In less than a heartbeat, she decided to go with the hunch over instinct.

  Four.

  She kept her body forward. Shit, she was going to fall forward, smack her jaw on the bull—

  Five.

  Midbuck, Twisty did something she couldn’t see, but it felt like instead of his haunches going all the way up, his whole rear end went sideways. When he hit the ground again, June was perfectly balanced for the next buck.

  Six.

  Whatever the hell that little skip had been, he didn’t do it again.

  Seven.

  It was almost like riding a horse now—an even-paced bucking that held no surprises.

  Eight.

  When the buzzer came, she pulled her rope and rolled off to the right, landing on her feet at a fast walk.

  The crowd was still roaring, but this time there wasn’t any laughter in the mix. Instead, they were all cheering.

  “The judges have given that talented young lady an 84 for riding Twisty Tie!”

  Some people started to boo, and the rodeo clown said, “An 84? She was robbed! I’ve never seen a bull do what ol’ Twisty Tie pulled on her!”

  What the hell were they complaining about? She’d gotten an 84 on her first official ride! She’d made the short go! With a triumphant “Hiiieyeee!” she flung her hat into the arena. The crowd applauded her effort as several flashes went off.

  By the time she made it back to the chutes again, most of the cowboys were staring at her. Red scowled as she walked back to her duffel. “I bet she wouldn’t land on her feet if I bucked her off,” he sneered after she passed.

  She wanted to go over and break his arm, but she kept going. She wasn’t going to sink to Red’s level.

  The rest of the long go moved on, and then it was time for the short go. She was in the middle of a pack of seven that had made the time and far ahead of the three guys who’d made the cut, but this was round two. She needed to stay on again to stay in the running.

  This time, she went third, riding some green bull named Hi Fructose. This time, Travis worked her rope by himself, with Mitch doing the flank strap. And again, she got no answer when she said, “Thanks.”

  Hi Fructose was green in more ways than one. At the six-second mark, he got tired of bucking and just stood there until the bullfighters startled him enough that he finished out the time. The 79 she got was more a reflection of the bad draw than the bad ride but it was enough to put her in fourth for the night, behind Travis, Red and Mitch.

  She’d take it.

  As she gathered her stuff up to head for the ladies’ room to change, Mitch snagged her arm and pulled her into a sideways hug. “Girlie, I’m buying you a drink tonight!”

  June looked over to the stands. A man and a woman were standing on the bleachers, watching her—friends of friends. She wasn’t about to pass up a couch when the only alternative was the backseat of her car again. “Sorry, Mitch, but I’ve got plans.”

  “One drink—come on! I’ll even get you a fruity girl drink!”

  “I don’t drink.”

  He pulled up short. “You don’t?”

  “You don’t?” another voice echoed.

  June whipped around to see Travis less than three feet behind them. What the hell was he doing, following her? What was up with this man? And why couldn’t she hear him sneaking up on her? “No, I don’t. Is that a problem?”

  “No,” Mitch and Travis said at the same time.

  “Not all Indians are drunks,” she said. Something about the way Travis was eyeing her made her uncomfortable. It was almost as if he could see that while some of them weren’t, some of them were, and he was going to hold her parents against her.

  Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself. They aren’t talking about Mom and Dad. Dad was not a part of this equation and Mom was sober now. “If you two think I’m going to get wasted around this crew, you’ve got another think coming.”

  She headed over to the friends of friends, but Mitch caught up to her. “Hey, Girlie!”

  Roll with it, she thought with a heavy sigh. “Yes?”

  He pulled out a folded piece of paper. “My number, if you need me,” he said with a nod to the stands.

  She could trust him—no matter how irritating he might be. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Be careful, June.” He leaned over and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “And you totally rocked.”

  Her cheeks flushed. Girlie or June? Gay or straight? Irritating or trustworthy? She sure as hell wasn’t going to get the answers to those questions tonight. When he stepped clear, June found herself under the inscrutable glare of Travis. Her temperature spiked up as she met his gaze. There it was again—that intensity that cut through all the crap. If only she could read it better. Was he mad at her? Or at Mitch?

  “He’s going to beat you up later,” she said to Mitch in a low whisper.

  “He’s going to try, but don’t worry about my ugly mug. See you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  JUNE TOOK THIRD on Saturday, with her combined scores enough to make her third overall. Her take-home was a respectable twelve hundred dollars. Most of the other riders looked at her with something closer to understanding now and she made sure to change in the ladies’ room after everyone else cleared out, with Jeff standing guard. She emailed her paper to her professor, wired Mom money to buy groceries for the week and hit the road for Florida.

  She’d taken third. She’d cashed her check.

  She was a professional bull rider.

  CHAPTER SIX

  FLORIDA WAS HOT.

  The stickiness that settled into Travis’s bones wouldn’t budge, no matter how much he cranked up the camper’s AC. He hated Florida. And it was only April. He
shuddered to think how God-awful this place would be in another two months.

  It had been Florida where he’d met Barb. She’d been a real looker. Everyone had always said how good she looked on his arm. Now he knew Barb never would’ve raised up a couple of kids on a ranch somewhere. Not when she was making the rounds on “reality” shows these days.

  It was probably for the best that Barb had ended with the wreck. That he’d never had to see her in person again. That the note had been short and sweet, just a “Hope you get better, Travis. Good Luck.”

  Damn, but he hated Florida.

  Here he was anyway, because the purse for this rodeo was a whopping twelve thousand dollars. Winning a share of that could put a guy right back into first in the Ranger rankings, and right back into the pros. Winning a share of that could prove that a man could still ride a bull with the best of them.

  If he could win Florida, he’d be sitting pretty.

  Travis and Red were in a dead tie now, with Randy making a respectable push and Mitch and that Brazilian hanging around.

  And June.

  Travis lay on his bed Thursday night, sweating. He ran through last weekend’s show again in his mind. He’d won it by the margin of a point, with Red hot on his heels. But he couldn’t stop thinking about June’s first official ride.

  She’d said she didn’t dance with any wolves—that hellhound notwithstanding—but she sure looked like she danced with the bulls. No matter how many times he replayed her ride, he couldn’t see how she’d figured to stay forward, not back, ready for when that bull went sideways. Anyone else would have gone back. He would have. And that landing? Man.

  Was it possible she knew exactly what she was doing? Or had she just gotten lucky—again?

  He didn’t want to see her ground into the dust. It had nothing to do with how beautiful she was. He didn’t want to see any woman hurt like he’d been hurt. Why did that make him the bad guy?

  His shoulder ached again. Something about that woman made him tense. He focused on breathing and relaxing his muscles. He checked the clock. Just after ten. Tonight he could sleep. Tomorrow he had to get up early and drive down to Orlando for his weekly True West torture test.

  He wondered if June would show up.

  * * *

  “LOOK WHO’S SITTING PRETTY!”

  The smart-aleck voice cut through the sound of the store’s speakers playing an old Garth Brooks song for the fifth time.

  Mitch. Just the person Travis wasn’t in the mood to see—especially not while a small but steady stream of autograph seekers were coming into the store. He finished smiling for the blue-haired lady who was explaining how much her grandkids love bull riding in an accent that sounded like she’d migrated from New Jersey that morning before he turned a wary eye to Mitch. “What are you doing here?”

  “The Brazilian wanted to see the Mouse House.”

  Travis rolled his eyes. At some point, Mitch had taken pity on the poor guy—said he knew a thing or two about teaching a fellow English—but he didn’t seem to be making much progress. Travis couldn’t remember having heard that Brazilian guy talk. Ever.

  “How’d playing tourist work out for you?”

  “You should come with us sometime,” Mitch replied, collapsing into a spare chair. “A little machismo might rub off on you.”

  “Don’t need any,” was all Travis could get out without cussing. A woman with young kids walked in, and everyone knew that little pitchers had big ears.

  “I’ve got Mitch Mojo to spare—you could learn something.”

  “Like what you’re trying to teach June?”

  “Travis!” Mitch feigned shock. “My delicate sensibilities!”

  “Don’t give me any of that—”

  “Mr. Younkin?” A boy stood before him, front tooth gone as he held out a notebook. “Can I have your autograph?”

  At that exact moment, Mitch and his mojo didn’t matter at all. In this kid’s eyes, Travis could see the kid he’d been, back when cowboys and Indians were neat and riding bulls looked like the best kind of fun there was. “Sure,” he said, tousling the boy’s brown locks. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Jamie,” he said, the smile growing wider. “My daddy likes to watch you ride.”

  “You and your daddy coming to the rodeo tonight, Jamie?”

  “Sure are!”

  Travis felt light. He wasn’t forgotten, and in this kid’s eyes he wasn’t a has-been. It wasn’t the same as a big check in his back pocket, but he stood taller. “You and your daddy just come on down to the back and look at the bulls, okay?”

  “Gee, really?” The kid’s face lit up like Rockefeller Plaza at Christmas as he took back his notebook. “Mommy! Did you hear? Daddy and I can look at the bulls!”

  “Sounds good!” she agreed as she juggled a little girl. Then she shot Travis a sweet smile. “Thanks, Mr. Younkin.”

  “You know,” Mitch drawled as the young family walked out, “you’re good at that.”

  Travis shrugged. A pang of jealousy spiked through him as he watched the mom through the window as she buckled in the two kids to pack them home to their father. A happy little family.

  “What do you want? Did you come here just to bug me?”

  “Me? I’m just learning at the feet of the master,” Mitch said, settling into his chair like he was planning on staying. “Anyone else come through? Anyone interesting?”

  Mitch was so transparent. “No, June hasn’t been in.”

  “Speaking of, I need to get her a shirt.”

  Travis had to have heard that wrong. “You’re buying clothes for a woman?”

  “She was going to buy a pink shirt last Friday before someone chased her out of the store. That and her rosin. Someone took care of the rosin.”

  “I didn’t take care of anything,” Travis grumped as Mitch got out of the chair—and headed straight for the ladies’ section.

  “Mr. Younkin?” The kid in front of him now looked two days over sixteen. “If I wanted to be a bull rider, what do I need to get most? I don’t have a lot of money.”

  “Health insurance.”

  The kid started to laugh, but when Travis didn’t join in, the boy took his autograph and turned tail.

  “Which do you like better?” Mitch was holding up a shirt under his face.

  “Pick it out yourself, Mitch,” he growled. Buying clothes for women. This was not good. This was Mitch on the make.

  Mitch held up a second shirt. “Come on, Travis. Which do you think she’d look better in? Pretty, or hot? She’d look good in both, but I’m thinking hot,” Mitch said. “She can pull it off.”

  Hot seemed to be a pink-and-gold-striped shirt with a whole lot of cleavage and not a lot else. Pretty was a nice white shirt embroidered with pink flowers. No one should wear white in the arena, but hell, if she always landed on her feet...

  “She can’t ride in the striped one.”

  “No?” Mitch posed in the mirror again, looking for all the world like it really mattered. “You don’t think people would want to see that?”

  “Mitch,” he growled in warning.

  The bastard had the nerve to smile in victory as he headed for the checkout. “Pretty it is!”

  Another few fans wandered through before Mitch returned with his purchases. “Why didn’t you let her pay you back?”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you let her pay you back for the rosin? You always made me pay you back—to the penny. Tax included. But you won’t take her money?”

  He should have expected that question. “She needed it that night. She didn’t have any money.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “Travis, that is the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard. She went to that store to buy rosin and a shirt. Do you think she was going
to shoplift?”

  This was getting away from Travis. “Where’d you leave the Brazilian?” he asked, desperate to change the subject. “He shouldn’t be wandering around central Florida by himself.”

  “He’s fine,” Mitch said with a dismissive wave. “He likes to siesta through the hot times.”

  “He’s going to sleep all day?”

  “Funny. Besides, June took home a nice check. She could pay you back now.”

  Mitch wasn’t going to let this one go, so Travis tried a new tack. “You gonna make her pay you for that shirt?”

  “Nope. It’s a gift. And a far sight better one than rosin.”

  Mitch’s M.O. in progress. It always started with a thoughtful gift, then progressed to dinner and dancing, and the next thing Travis knew, Mitch was talking about how his momma would love to meet the girl. It usually ended with a whole lot of screaming and occasionally tires being slashed. No woman had ever met Mitch’s momma.

  “Don’t string her along, Mitch.”

  “Who? Girlie?” He whistled. “She’s something special.”

  “She’s not some bunny, so don’t treat her like all those other girls you’ve got in all the towns on the circuit.” He’d thought at first that she might be the kind of woman who’d work her way up by sleeping with the other riders, but then he’d seen the way she rode.

  Hell, he didn’t want her to get hurt. And now, with Mitch buying her things?

  More than one way to hurt.

  “I know that.” Mitch looked wistful. Travis thought that must be the look that made women throw themselves at Mitch. Not even a tough nut like June could withstand that look. “Something special, I tell you.” Mitch sounded more intent by the moment.

  “Don’t. Mess. With. Her.”

  Mitch pointedly looked down at the table and Travis realized he was holding shards of a pen. Dark ink stains spread quickly across the tabletop. “Damn.”

  Mitch did his best impersonation of dangerous. “Unless you’re staking a claim, Travis, I don’t think you’ve got any room to talk. You can buy her rosin, and I can buy her a shirt. She can do what she wants with them.”