Lasso That Cowboy

by Lynde Lakes

  “I saw that name in the journal,” Luke said, fighting his mounting excitement.

  “Me, too. And I know just where I saw it.” Amber grabbed the journal from the table and flipped through the pages until she came to one that listed names, dates, and document numbers. She ran her finger down the page until she found something familiar. “Here it is. Daniels held title to his properties under The Risley Corporation umbrella. It’s all coming clear now. On our anticipated trip to Las Vegas, Mr. Rhoades wanted me to look up a series of document transfers. He gave me a file that included a list that could’ve been a copy of this page.”

  “Matt can check out the company for us.” He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “We’re getting there, Amber.”

  “If Matt doesn’t find out anything, I want to go to Vegas and check this out for myself.”

  “We’ll do it together. But be forewarned, Matt could find out something crucial to send us in another direction.”

  “I’m worried, Luke. I know I’ve said this before, but bad things keep happening. People who get involved with me are dying. Maybe you should leave me here in Richmond.”

  “Not a chance. Everything is going forward. The cops have a copy of the journal. The FBI has a copy of the suspicious pages. Your memory is coming back. Giving the authorities time to check things out works in our favor, and in the long run, will save time.”

  Her green eyes flashed. “Waiting gives you time to ride in the rodeo tomorrow, right?”

  “That’s a low blow, Amber. We need the input from Matt and the authorities to check out leads safely.”

  “Sorry. I’m edgy. I just want this to be over.” She looked up at him with serious eyes. “Have you ever broken your word?”

  Was she talking about his vow to De La Fuente, or the vow to himself? He desperately wanted to tell her he had always been this stand-up guy, but he’d been a rat, and part of his cure for that was telling the truth. “Not since I stopped drinking. My goal is to never break a promise again.”

  She touched his face. “I feel like the snake in the garden of Eden for trying to lead you astray.”

  Now he knew for sure she had shifted focus and was talking about trying to seduce him last night.

  “Friends should make people want to be better,” she said softly, “not trip them up.”

  “Don’t worry about it, li’l darlin’, you can’t corrupt me.” He grinned and winked. “Unless I let you.”

  She gave a small smile and shook her head.

  “Back to the Nevada connection,” he said. “Don’t think for a minute this is something you can handle alone. I’m going to see you through this.”

  She nodded, but he didn’t like the guarded look in her eyes.

  ****

  Holding Alicia’s hand, Amber hurried across the grounds to the rodeo entrance, past a parking area with a haphazard jumble of horse trailers, campers, pickups, recreation vehicles. Rodeo enthusiasts had transformed Buck’s ranch into something big and overwhelming. Amber felt like running in the opposite direction. At the gate, she flipped open a small plastic case and showed her pass.

  “Is Daddy really going to ride a bull?” Alicia asked, voice squeaking with trepidation. She wore a straw Texas hat, pink denim vest, blue jeans, and cowboy boots with pink trim. She clung to Amber’s hand tighter than usual, looking like a little Shirley Temple cowgirl with her hair in curls and dimples that flashed even when her smile was less than enthusiastic.

  Amber’s heart warmed at the child’s courage. “Sure is, Rosebud. But don’t worry, everyone says he’s great at it. Like a cowboy Superman.”

  Alicia gave another brave little smile and lifted her chin. “’Course! I forgot—my dad’s a Superman!”

  Due to the time constraint, Amber squelched an urge to hug Alicia and, instead, merely gave her hand a squeeze. “Hurry, we don’t want to be late.” Luke had asked her not to bring Alicia out into the heat until just before his ride. Amber was happy to comply. With unknown killers tracking her, she was uncomfortable in crowds anyway.

  She and Alicia climbed the bleachers, searching for the section reserved for special guests. Loud rodeo fans filled the stands wearing colorful western attire and cowboy hats. Over the aromas of hot dogs and popcorn, Amber smelled sweat, horses, cattle, and hay.

  “There’s Aunt Molly,” Alicia shouted with glee.

  “Good eyes, Rosebud.”

  “Glad you got here in time,” Molly said, moving down and making room for them on the bench. “Luke’s up next.”

  Clowns began to shovel up manure to prepare the arena for his event. Wanda and Suzy greeted Amber with big smiles, then returned their attention to the arena. Amber’s skin prickled. She felt eyes on her again, and glanced around. The only person looking in her direction was the woman sitting two rows back behind Alicia. There was nothing menacing about her. She was about Amber’s age and wore no makeup, understating her otherwise striking bone structure. She was tall—maybe a famous model playing down her good looks to avoid unwanted attention. Amber forced herself to return the woman’s wide, engaging smile, then scanned the crowd again, looking for the cause of her uneasiness.

  Molly searched her face. “Something wrong?”

  Amber hesitated, then said, “Just excited.”

  “Have you ever seen a bull riding competition?” Suzy asked.

  Amber shook her head. If she hadn’t been so worried, she would have enjoyed the prospect.

  Suzy winked mischievously and lowered her voice so Alicia wouldn’t hear. “It’s the wildest, most dangerous event.” She had a horror-story-teller’s eeriness to her young voice. “At the rodeo in Reno one of the top riders was gored to death.”

  Amber stomach knotted. “Who thought up this so-called sport? A guy with a death wish?”

  “Cut it out, Suzy,” Wanda said, sharply. “You know that seldom happens.”

  “Well, I just hope Luke’s medical and dental plans are paid up,” Suzy persisted. “Remember what happened to Matt a couple of years ago.”

  Amber’s heart pounded. She darted a look at Molly. “What?”

  “He got hooked up on the rope, but he got loose. Suzy just likes to scare first-timers.”

  Suzy laughed. “The Devil made me do it. Shoot, by the time I was six I’d already been dumped in the dirt by sheep and calves. And I’ve been training on my dad’s mechanical bull practically forever.” She lowered her sunglasses with strong-looking fingers and looked slyly over the top. “Riding a big, bad bull is the natural next step. Next year you’ll see me out there. It’s no biggie.”

  Amber shook her head. “I wish I had your guts.”

  Suzy winked. “Luke says you do. And I think he’s plumb right. Now, get ready for Luke to show you his stuff. Although an eight-second timer is used, bull riding isn’t a timed thing. It’s a scored event. Which means he’s gotta look good, too.”

  Amber smiled. She couldn’t imagine Luke not looking good in anything he tried.

  The PA system screeched again and the announcer said, “Our last rider is a champion we haven’t seen around for a spell, folks, Luke Ryan.”

  Luke was perched on the top of a chute fence, looking like the king of the cowboys in tight jeans and protective black leather chaps.

  The announcer’s voice boomed again. “You gonna show up your brother, Luke? He’s top man so far today.”

  Luke gave a tight smile, then like a trooper, he saluted with his black Stetson.

  “Westley shouldn’t tease the brothers like that,” Wanda said. “Good thing Luke can take it.”

  Amber frowned. Luke had admitted he hadn’t ridden in a long time. She hoped all went smoothly for Alicia’s sake. The tale about the cowboy gored to death by a bull echoed in her head.

  In the grandstands around Amber, people were getting restless, some stretching. The PA system screeched, then a voice announced that Luke was getting into position. The crowd settled down immediately, as though the main reason they were here was to watch Luke
ride.

  ****

  The five o’clock sun scorched the rodeo arena like the fires of Hades. Livestock stench hung in the dead, sweltering air. Luke scratched his head. Something didn’t feel right. Just nerves, he told himself. He took a deep, fortifying breath. Although his driving need to prove himself had lost importance in the last few days, he was still primed to do this. He couldn’t let jittery nerves mess him up. It had been a couple of years since he’d jockeyed a bull in public, but the rules came as second nature to him. Grab the rope with one hand. Keep his free hand away from the bull and the rope no matter what—or he’d be disqualified. And stay on the snorting critter for the eight-count.

  He’d damned well better put on a good show. He glanced toward the reserved section of the stands where Amber and Alicia sat watching with the other female members of the George and Ryan families. He didn’t want to disappoint his two girls. He wasn’t sure why that mattered so much. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. The sun bore down harder. Beneath his black leather protective vest, sweat soaked the back of his denim shirt. His vest, or flak jacket as he called it, was hot as hell, but it could save his life if the bull tried to gore or trample him.

  His neck prickled not from fear of the bull, but from a rising foreboding. He glanced around. Was his instinct real or a backlash from Amber’s uneasiness? Dammit. It was too late to abort this. With all the mental strength he could muster, he cleared his mind for the ride—split attention meant disaster.

  His gut tightened as the dark-skinned vaquero dropped the gate behind the bull he’d drawn. The Brahma bull was kicking the hell out of the chute below. Luke rubbed his championship belt buckle for luck, then swung his leg over the top of the iron fence, clearing his mind of everything except the snorting black bull who’d earned the name Stomper.

  Luke inhaled, eased down and centered himself on the two thousand pounds of stomping fury. He checked his bull rope of braided leather tied around the bull’s middle, just behind the strongly muscled shoulders, then plowed his glove into the strap. Beneath the leather, a film of sweat coated his hands. Damn. He readjusted his hold—it had to be right. He flexed his hand and settled his grip into its spot. Adrenaline shot through him. He dug in his muted spurs and nodded to the chute keeper. “Ready!”

  With a clunk the chute gate opened and the Brahma bolted into the arena. Stomper bucked and twisted under Luke, doing his damnedest to catapult him to the hard ground.

  Luke hung on. The bull whirled and kicked. The weighted cowbell hanging from the bottom of the bull rope clanged loudly—Luke’s basic lifeline—a weight to help the rope slide off the bull when he was ready to dismount.

  Luke saw flashes of fencing, colors. The crowd roared. He was in sync, merged with the snorting, thrashing power, counting the eight seconds in his head. Anything longer increased his chance of getting tossed—trampled. He wouldn’t risk the added danger with Alicia watching.

  A blaring horn declared the end of the eight seconds. He leaped. Midair, something tore into his thigh. It burned like a bullet. His leg gave as he landed. He went down inches from the stomping hooves. The crowd gasped and shot to their feet.

  ****

  “No!” Amber screamed. Her hand jerked to her throat, and her breath froze. Luke struggled to scramble out of harm’s way. The bull crushed Luke’s black Stetson and twisted to stomp him. Red seeped through Luke’s Levi’s. Blood! He was hurt!

  “Daddy!” Alicia cried out. Her scream turned to wracking sobs.

  Amber’s heart pounded. Luke could be stomped to death right before his daughter’s eyes. She hugged Alicia close, obstructing the child’s view with her body. She wanted to squeeze her own lids closed to block the horror, but she locked her gaze on Luke as if her riveted focus would protect him.

  Terrified shrieks and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

  Amber clung to the weeping Alicia and prayed with all her might, promising anything, everything. As though God had answered her prayers, clowns distracted the bull, and the stomping devil charged toward the exit gate. Amid the crowd’s gasps, bullfighting clowns herded and blocked the bull’s return. Luke glanced at his flattened hat, but left it. Then, he limped briskly toward the fence with an eye on the snorting fury.

  “Look, Rosebud, your daddy is going to be all right.” Please don’t let Alicia notice the tremors in my voice.

  Alicia pulled away from Amber and stood on the seat behind them, a level higher, to see for herself. Amber glanced back to be sure she was okay, then returned her attention to Luke. Just as he got to the barricade, he crumpled and fell to the ground. He didn’t move. Amber gasped, her outcry joining those of the crowd. Oh, God. Luke, I’m coming.

  “Get a medic to that cowboy,” the announcer boomed over the tense murmurs.

  Amber turned to Molly. “I have to go to Luke. Can you watch Alicia for me?”

  Molly glanced around. “Where is she?”

  Amber looked where the child had been, then scanned the stands. She was nowhere in sight. It was as though the crowd had swallowed her. Panic constricted Amber’s throat. Please, no. “Dear God, she’s gone! Molly! Wanda! Suzy! Quick, fan out and help me find her.” They all dashed up and down the grandstand steps, calling Alicia’s name.

  This couldn’t be happening! Alicia was gone!

  A hot, clammy sweat coated Amber’s skin and plastered her clothes to her body. From her purse, she dug out one of the pictures Luke had taken of her and Alicia at the Mexican ruins. Over and over Amber repeated to anyone in her path, “Please, have you seen her?”

  People glanced briefly at the photo and shook their heads—their gazes once again riveted to what was going on in the arena, and the downed cowboy. Oh, God. Luke was hurt. Amber wanted to go to him, but she had to find Alicia first. Panic tightened like a taut lasso around her chest, making it hard to breathe. She pressed her fingers to her lips to stop a scream of agony.

  Wanda notified Buck’s security men and they formed a search party. Buck called the sheriff. Seconds later, the announcer said, “We have a missing three-year-old girl. Alicia Ryan. If anyone finds the child, please bring her to the announcer’s booth so I can notify her parents and security.”

  The announcer’s worried tone brought forth the tears Amber had been fighting to hold back. She swiped at one that rolled down her cheek. Luke must have heard his daughter’s name. Amber’s insides churned. She needed to tell him what was being done to get his daughter back and find out what else he wanted done. And she needed to keep looking for Alicia. She raked her hair as indecision played tug-of-war in her aching head. She couldn’t wait. Luke had a right to know immediately. She raced down the grandstand steps to find him.

  Medics had moved Luke out of the arena on a stretcher. Now, two of them dressed in western wear with Rodeo Medic signs pasted on the backs of their shirts bent over him. They had cut away the denim and were examining his wound. Amber swallowed her panic and rushed up to Luke. She dropped to her knees, and bent over him. Luke smelled earthy, a mixture of sweat and leather. And whiskey! It didn’t make sense. He was determined not to drink. And she knew first hand that his determination was unshakable. Someone must have poured it down his throat while he was dazed.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, unable to control her trembly voice.

  As though her expression had transmitted her fear, Luke stiffened. “Where’s Alicia?”

  Amber’s heart beat a deafening roar in her ears. She forced herself to meet Luke’s gaze. “She’s disappeared.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “For crissakes, Amber!” Luke’s face twisted with anger. With surprising strength, he shoved away the two medics treating him and hobbled to his feet. Blood ran down his leg.

  Amber took a step toward him. Luke was hurt!

  His accusing eyes stopped her. “How could you let this happen?”

  Heat scorched Amber’s cheeks. “I don’t know. It’s tearing me apart.” But there was no excuse.

  A
medic grabbed Luke by the arm. “Where the hell ya going? That bullet’s gotta come out.”

  Amber’s knees went weak. Her gaze flew to Luke’s. “Bullet?”

  “In the thigh,” the medic said.

  Amber had to force herself to breathe. A sniper? She hadn’t heard a gunshot. Had the roar of the crowd drowned the sound, or had the shooter used a silencer? Amber closed her eyes, trying to piece things together. Someone had shot Luke and then Alicia was kidnapped, both incidents within seconds of each other. Oh, God. Was the shooting a distracting tactic? Or attempted murder?

  She stepped forward again, wanting to touch him. He stepped back. “Luke, I’m so sorry.

  “About Alicia—about you—” Amber’s throat constricted, and she couldn’t go on.

  Luke glared at her, then turned and limped toward the exit gate. After a half dozen steps, he crumpled and collapsed into an unconscious heap. Heart pounding crazily, Amber rushed to Luke and knelt by his side. As she bent over him, their thighs touched, and his blood seeped into her jeans, making two burgundy splotches. A medic lifted her out of the way. He checked Luke’s pulse, applied pressure, and then with his partner’s help, quickly hoisted Luke back onto the stretcher.

  Matt came running from the holding pens. He fell to his knees and bent over Luke. He sniffed, then frowned. “Has my brother been drinking?” His angry glance at Amber made it clear he blamed her for that, too.

  She met his sharp look with one just as unyielding, feeling it unnecessary to defend Luke to his brother. “Drinking is the least of his problems right now.”

  Before she could explain about the shooting, Matt turned to the medic. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “Gotta get him to a hospital to get that bullet out,” the medic said.

  “Bullet?” Matt looked stunned, but didn’t waste time asking for explanations. “Get him to my chopper! I’ll fly him to Saint Mary’s.”

  Amber wanted to go with Luke and stay with him until he was out of danger, but she had to find Alicia. “Tell Luke that I—”