“Anything you want. We can go see the tigers.”
Because whatever she wanted was what he wanted.
* * *
MONDAY MORNING STARTED for June with a cup of strong black tea, a humongous blueberry muffin and a 6:00-a.m. ESPN radio interview. Mark—he’d insisted on “Mark,” especially after he noticed the hand-holding with Travis—had her day packed with interviews with any available sports writer. They were lining up for Travis, too. The angle was inevitable. The woman who dared to ride bulls. The aging, broken pro, back for one more shot at glory.
Mark only had one caveat. “Don’t mention you’re dating—not even to Cosmo,” he had explained, looking a little embarrassed to have to bring up the subject.
June understood. More men would want to see her ride if they could harbor the fantasy that she was available. Same reason Playboy bunnies were always single. Still, it felt dishonest.
But Travis had agreed. “Let them think what they want, sweetheart,” he’d said from the tangle of sheets in their deluxe suite as he’d kissed his way down her leg on his way to appreciate the new peach-colored pedicure she was sporting. “As long as we know the truth, it doesn’t matter a bit.”
As June finished another interview in time to watch the bulls being unloaded, she thought about what the truth was. The truth was, Travis had been acting a little funny the last few days, and she wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t tell if it was nerves about being back in Vegas, where he’d nearly died, or the fact that the bull that almost killed him was in the same zip code.
After the bulls were in their pens, June went to see that bull. They had No Man’s Land in a separate pen that was decorated with streamers and a banner that said “The Bull No Man Can Ride.” Later, they’d charge tourists ten bucks a pop to have their photo taken in front of the only bull in the world with a perfect record of bucking off cowboys.
It was still early—people wouldn’t start filing in for another hour and she had fifteen minutes until her next interview. June stood off to the side and watched the animal as he ate his hay. No Man’s Land didn’t look like evil incarnate. He looked like any other bull, really. He was big, yeah—almost twenty-six hundred pounds of muscle beneath a sleek black coat. And yeah, even though his horns had been tipped, they were still spaced on his head so that he could get both of them into a rider at the same time. He made Hallowed Ground, the bull she’d ridden to make the circuit, look like a cuddly plush toy.
But that didn’t change the fact that No Man’s Land was just a bull. She’d had good draws and bad this season. This bull wouldn’t be any different. And the five-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus he came with?
She could live on that for a long time. She could take care of her mom. They wouldn’t be poor, not ever again.
The temptation was huge. Eight seconds in the arena to solve all of her problems forever.
“I could ride you,” she whispered to him.
The bull gave her a bored look and blew snot all over the bars of his pen as if he were saying, Yeah, right.
But then she thought of Travis, of his wreck. He’d thought he could ride this bull once, too—and see what it’d gotten him? Nothing but agony. He’d lost everything. He’d gotten most of it back—he had her now—but that didn’t change the fact that, for three years, he’d lived in his own private hell.
She could ride this bull. She knew it.
But Travis... She’d seen the way he’d broken out in a cold sweat when Mark Soleus had told everyone about the bonus. She’d backed him up when he’d gone off on Randy Sloap late one night in a bar, when Randy had boasted that he might ride that bull. “No one is getting on that damn bull,” Travis had shouted. “It’s not worth it.”
She could hear him saying, “This’d be a stupid thing for you to do, sweetheart,” when she told him she’d give it a go. And he’d be right.
She had a long career ahead of her. She had Travis. Would she really risk both of those things to ride No Man’s Land? Just to prove she could?
She couldn’t think about that now. She wasn’t going to draw No Man’s Land—he wasn’t in the regular competition. She had to focus on bulls she would draw. The Future Stars first, then the Harley Challenge finals.
ESPN was going to show the Future Stars. June knew it was crazy but she couldn’t help thinking that her dad might catch the rides from prison. Then he’d know he’d been wrong about her—about everything. No one was going to keep her off the bulls. She could do whatever she set her mind to.
She’d made it this far, by God. She and Mom would already be fine this winter. If she made it to the finals, they’d be sitting pretty for a couple of years. They wouldn’t have to go back on welfare. She would have done what she set out to do—take care of herself and her family. Prove that she could ride what she drew. She didn’t need to get on No Man’s Land. She had a responsibility to her family that went beyond this potential short-term gain.
A family that included Travis now. They were living together, after all. They had a future together.
This was who she was. This was what she was born to do.
* * *
“HERE’S TO THIRD PLACE, Travis!” Mitch said as they clinked their cups over their celebratory all-they-could-eat breakfast buffet. So what if it was 12:40 in the morning? Apparently, it was never too early for breakfast in Vegas.
Travis shot him a hard look, so Mitch quickly added, “And fourth!”
“And eleventh,” June added with a small giggle. Fourth place was not a bad place to be her first year. Just like she’d always known, Travis was still the man to beat. He was going back to the pros, no doubt about it. But what was clear was that Mitch wasn’t going to be the one doing the beating. “Eleventh is good, Mitch.”
“So says you,” he grumbled, staring at the heaping pile of scrambled eggs with a little less than his normal, teasing attitude. “You could still win this thing. I can’t. And neither can Paulo.”
Resigned to being eighteenth out of twenty, Paulo could only nod. Poor guys. Looked like Brazil would have to wait another year.
“So? You’re still young. You’ll be back next year.” Travis sniffed his biscuits and gravy and apparently found them wanting. “On second thought, I’ll try the French toast. Be right back.”
“June,” Mitch said as soon as Travis was out of earshot. “What if there isn’t a next year?”
“What are you talking about? Of course there’ll be a next year. Travis is right. You’re only twenty-three, and Paulo is—” She looked at him. He notched an eyebrow in challenge. “Okay, I have no idea. But seriously—”
“I’m going to do it.” Mitch was staring at her, looking almost as scared as he had when he came out of the closet.
He was making her nervous. “Do what?”
“Do what, now?” Travis asked, settling back in beside her. “What’d I miss?”
Mitch swallowed, looking like he was gulping down a bucket of sand. “Ride No Man’s Land.”
“What?” Travis lurched forward, sending his plate dangerously close to Paulo’s lap. A couple wearing matching wedding-themed T-shirts paused and then headed for a table on the other side of the room. “Mitch, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m going to ride No Man’s Land,” Mitch patiently explained, still looking like a cornered hog.
“The hell you are,” Travis icily replied, sitting back down with cold precision. “Don’t make me call your mother.”
“I need the money, Travis. I can’t hold out another year.”
He sounded serious.
“What on God’s green earth could you need that money for that badly?” Travis demanded, his toast forgotten. “Are you in trouble?”
“No—it’s just—Paulo and I want to start our own school in Brazil...”
“Oh, Mitch,�
� she said, “is that a good idea?”
Travis cut Mitch off before he could respond. “No, it ain’t. Sell a kidney or something. You aren’t getting on that bull.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Usually, Travis’s Poppa Bear attitude got to her, but this time she wasn’t on the receiving end. And she happened to agree with him. As much as she loved Mitch, he wasn’t the rider Travis was. And Travis hadn’t been able to ride that bull back in his prime.
“Don’t get me wrong, Mitch,” Travis continued. “There have been plenty of times I’d loved to have seen you ground into chopped liver. But I owe it to your momma to keep your butt out of the hospital.”
“I got a helmet...” he weakly offered. “I already signed on. I go tonight.”
Travis froze with that look on his face—the same one he’d worn when he had nearly punched Mitch out. He wouldn’t beat the man senseless to keep him off that bull, would he? Just to be sure, June grabbed Travis’s belt and held him in the chair.
“You’re okay with this?” he said, turning a cold eye to Paulo. “You’re okay with just letting him throw his life away?”
Paulo met his glare and then, very slowly, took Mitch’s hand in his—on the top of the table. Yeah, those actions spoke louder than words.
“You knuckleheads are insane, you know? If you—you know,” he said, “love each other, you wouldn’t let him do this. It’s not worth the pain.”
The beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead, and his shoulders were tensing up. He had every right to be terrified, and she needed to back her man up. The trouble was, how did she back him up when she’d been thinking about doing the same thing?
“Mitch, honey, there’s got to be a better way.”
“I want to go home. And I want to take Mitch with me.”
Shoot. Paulo was talking. They were serious about this, a united front that couldn’t be reasoned with. June couldn’t even appreciate the accent.
“I can’t be a part of this, Mitch. I can’t.” Travis stood up so fast that June lost her grip on his belt. “I’ll refrain from telling your momma you were an idiot at your funeral.” He crammed his hat back on his head and took out so fast that his limp was obvious.
“It’ll work out, Travis,” Mitch shouted after him. “It will, June, I promise.”
She caught up with Travis in front of the last row of nickel slots. He was pacing like he was mad at the ground.
“Babe?”
“Does he want to die? Is that it?” The faster Travis walked, the worse the limp got. She needed to talk him down, and fast. If his hip seized up, he’d be in trouble tonight.
“So he’s young and stupid. It’s his life.”
“What’s left of it,” he snorted. “God, he just doesn’t know. He doesn’t have any idea what that bull can do, does he?”
The gamblers pulling the one-armed bandits were starting to stare. She needed to get him out of here and into bed so they could get some sleep before the afternoon media blitz began, but that was looking like a Herculean task. She’d be doing good to get him anywhere near a bed, period.
“It’s his life, Travis. It’s his choice.” All the while, she had the same argument running in her own head. It’s my life, my choice.
“I’m calling his momma. Maybe she can talk some sense into him.”
Like Caroline at one in the morning was the best option. “Oh? Would that have worked on you?”
Would it work on her? No.
At the mention of his mother, Travis shot her the meanest look he could muster. The space around them got a little less crowded. “You’re taking his side.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just not going to let his stupid decision wind you up until you can’t ride tonight.”
“I could cut his rope. He couldn’t ride without it.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” June grabbed his arm and dragged him to an empty elevator. “Travis, this isn’t about you. This is Mitch—and if he wants to try his hand at the impossible, what’s it to you?”
“Someone around here has to be the adult,” he grumbled, taking up residence on the far side of the elevator.
Like name-calling was the mature thing to do. “Look, you want to know the truth? The truth is, Travis, that I’m grateful to that damn bull. If it hadn’t done its best to kill you, I never would have gotten my chance with you. You wouldn’t be the same man you are today. And I got news for you, buster, I happen to care for the man you are today, scars and rods and Poppa Bear attitude and all.”
He scowled at her, but the look wasn’t packing the same punch as it had minutes ago. “That’s no reason for Mitch to throw his life away.”
“It’s his choice. He’s got to live with it—just like you did. He’s not trying to prove you wrong or show you up. He just wants to live happily ever after.”
“You are taking his side.”
“Are you always this damn stubborn?” she shot back.
“About time you noticed.”
“Let him go. If he gets hurt, be the friend he’ll need. You can say you told him so. And if he walks away, be happy for him. That’s all you need to do.”
“Anyone who gets on that damned bull is insane,” he said, his voice weighed down with seriousness. “Completely insane.”
Wasn’t that the definition of bull riding?
But she didn’t say anything. She pulled him into her arms, holding him tight. She knew he was upset, but she hadn’t expected him to be actually shaking in fear. “It’ll be all right, babe.”
She hoped like hell she was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ONE.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six—
June buried her head in her hands, trying not to see Mitch’s wreck replay in her mind. The truck that she, Travis and Paulo were riding in tailed the ambulance at close range as it wove down the streets and occasionally took to the sidewalk. The whole thing had an air of the unreal to it. She wanted this to be the most vivid nightmare she’d ever had.
But it wasn’t.
Mitch had almost ridden the damn bull. He had been fast closing in on seven seconds when No Man’s Land hit him with just a little extra oomph, and suddenly, Mitch had been down in the well, and then his butt was hanging off, but he hadn’t been able to let go of the rope. And No Man’s Land had spun and spun and then spun some more, twisting Mitch’s arm so much that the sounds of the bones and tendons popping had been easy to hear over the terrified screams of the crowd. And that had just been his arm. In the midst of all that spinning, Mitch had gotten his feet and legs stepped on a few times, just for good measure. When the bullfighters had finally gotten him free, he’d collapsed in a heap, his arm and right leg jutting out from his body at angles so unnatural that for a second, June was sure they belonged to someone else.
Almost ridden the damn thing. But not quite.
Travis was sitting stone-faced next to her, but that wasn’t enough to stop the tears that dripped down his face. Paulo was a lot more animated, feverishly praying in a mix of Portuguese and English. No matter the language, the anguish was unmistakable.
They hadn’t let Paulo in the ambulance.
Please, June prayed, please don’t let him die without Paulo. Don’t let him die alone.
“Less than five minutes,” the driver muttered. “Almost there.”
At least they had a ride. When the EMTs hadn’t let anyone in the ambulance, this guy had appeared next to them, shouting, “I’ve got a truck—let’s go!” like a cowboy angel of mercy. And they’d gone.
“I should have cut his rope, that’s what I should have done,” Travis said to no one in particular. His voice was flat, lifeless. “I should have done something.
Anything.”
“Not your fault, Travis.” It was the most inadequate thing she could think of, but it was all she could think of that didn’t start and end with “Please.”
“Here,” the driver said as he screeched to a halt. “Go! Go!”
The three of them ran toward the ambulance. The emergency room bay doors flew open and doctors and nurses poured out.
“Mitch!” June screamed as they opened the ambulance doors. “Come on, honey! Stay with us!”
“Still alive,” the EMT said. “Now get out of the way.”
The wheels of the gurney hit the ground with a clunk, and Mitch let out a moan. It was about the sweetest sound June had ever heard.
Like a robot, Travis pulled her and Paulo back as they wheeled Mitch out.
How was he still alive?
They’d run the IV directly into his neck, because it was clear that his arm wasn’t completely attached anymore. Beyond that, it was hard to tell what was what. They’d already cut off most of his shirt—just the left cuff remained—and his pant legs were flayed to the hip. His femur was seeing the light of day in a way that God never intended. Everything else was blood.
“Should have cut his rope,” Travis repeated as they raced away with what was left of Mitch.
Is this what Travis had looked like? Is this how he’d clung to life, his bones in the open air, his clothes cut off in a hasty attempt to keep him in the here and now? Her stomach rolled so hard that she threw up in her mouth. Scars were one thing. Scars were just souvenirs of a near-death experience.
This was an entirely different beast.
Paulo paused at the E.R. bay doors as Mitch disappeared inside. “June,” he shouted, his voice raw. “I need you. I need to understand.”
Of course. He wouldn’t be able to get through the forms and the jargon and the pain. “Come on, Travis,” she said, trying to pull him in with her. “They need us.”
He wasn’t having any of that. “Why didn’t I cut his rope?” Travis pulled away from her and staggered back until he landed butt-first on the curb. “Why didn’t I do it?”
Rodeo Dreams Page 22