It was finally time for Wolf to enter the box and ready Bullet for the calf’s release from the chute. From her vantage point, Abby concentrated on how calmly he placed the rope in his mouth and rested his hands lightly on Bullet’s reins. Every movement was as careful and deliberate as a dancer’s (though Wolf would wince at that particular comparison, for sure). He clamped his legs around Bullet just before he signaled for his calf. The mare came out at a full gallop.
Abby sent a small prayer up into the dusky air above the arena. Wolf claimed he’d worked on this move with Bullet; he’d assured her that the hock took the least of the pressure once Bullet’s forelegs sprang into action. But all that communicating had been done through texts and super-quick phone calls. Had he really done the work?
But sure enough, the calf reached the end of its line and picture-perfect, threw off the rope, and headed for the far end of the arena, Bullet in chase. Nice!
Wolf took the lasso from his teeth and threw it at the calf. Bullet stopped on a dime without his prompt and began to back away from the calf as the tension in the rope increased. Abby held her breath as Wolf bent toward the task, pulling the calf off-balance and beginning to tie him up. But then something happened. Instead of throwing his hands in the air to signal completion, Wolf slumped over the calf for an almost imperceptible millisecond, his head turned toward the horse. Abby watched in silence. She didn’t need to consult the neon timer above their heads. He’d lost a precious bit of time, no doubt about it. But why? Had he second-guessed on his tying job? Had he seen something the matter with Bullet?
He stood up, brushed himself off and walked out of the arena, Bullet beside him, her reins looped over his forearm, matching him stride for stride. The expression on his face was unreadable. But this much Abby understood: it was not a look of triumph. She stood abruptly, but Bridget and Mark each clasped a hand and pulled her down to sit again between them.
“Shouldn’t I go down there? It looks like Bullet might have gotten injured.”
“Let him have a few minutes,” said Bridget.
“The horse is fine,” Mark said. “Only injury down there was to Wolf’s pride.”
“Didn’t you notice at the end how he was kind of lying across the calf? I swear he was looking over at Bullet.”
“No, he was already behind that kid Calvert by an eighth of a second,” Mark said. Infinity in rodeo time, although Abby doubted Mark had actually been able to observe that in the moment.
“So you’re saying he gave up?” Abby asked.
“Nobody likes to get his ass kicked by an upstart kid,” Mark said.
“My brother never gives up,” Bridget said. “Never.”
Abby glanced once more at the arena. A clown was cavorting around in a barrel while the cleanup crew once again rolled over the rumpled area where Bullet and Wolf had performed.
“I was proud of him, actually,” Abby said. “He rode her cautiously, but they still turned in a good time.”
Mark looked up at the clock. “He’s just under ten. Not bad. Just needs to be a little better.”
Abby sighed and sat back in her seat. Her dad reached over from the row behind and clasped her shoulder. “Nice work on that mare. I’d never have guessed she’d just had an injury.”
“Thanks, Dad, but Wolf’s got more to do with that than me.” She turned and smiled. “He’s learned how to dial into her energy.”
One event remained, the one Abby found most brutal to watch—the bull ride. Take an animal that’s carted two hundred or more miles to his destination, unload him alongside another bunch of testosterone-driven bulls, and you’ve already got a terrified creature on your hands. Then push him into a chute, load a 175-pound rider onto his back and get two men to tighten his flank strap until he can feel it like a vice grip on his rib cage. When the bell rings, bull and rider are released, and the creature does his best to throw the human, while the cowboy does his best to ride the bull to the ground. Nothing but fear and loathing between them.
Abby looked up at the scoreboard again. The results for the calf-roping were posted: Wolf had again finished a respectable second, just behind (again) Ty Calvert. She felt herself relax for the first time since the rodeo began. On a newly healthy horse, there wasn’t a thing wrong about second place.
She smiled sheepishly at Bridget. “I just wish the bull-riding wasn’t one of Wolf’s events. It makes me a little crazy. I mean, I’m not one of those PETA folks, but I truly, truly hate it.”
“Then you don’t have to think about it, sweetie,” Bridget said, with a wave at the scoreboard. Twenty riders were listed for the final event; Wolf’s name was not among them. “Looks like he’s pulled out.”
“What?” said Mark.
“Oh no,” said Karen Olsen.
“You think Bullet did get hurt out there, after all?” Abby started to her feet again.
“Sit down, dear,” Karen said. “I’m sure Bullet’s fine. And her rider, too. Wolf has his reasons.”
“Maybe it’s all that healing work you’ve taught him,” Bridget said. “Maybe he’s seen the light.”
“Wolf fretting about a bull’s feelings?” Mark laughed. “Fat chance.”
“Hey, anybody can change,” Karen said. “Even my son.” Abby sure hoped that was true.
Bridget, preoccupied with the planned after-party, said, “At least he’ll be able to get his sorry ass out on the dance floor tonight. No saddle sores, no excuses.”
“Should we go down and congratulate him?” Abby asked. She looked from Bridget to Mark and back again. Could they see the eagerness in her eyes, in her face? She was absolutely dying to get down there, to hold him, to be held by him. Maybe she could even sneak in a kiss somehow if nobody was looking.
“Give him a chance to get cleaned up. He said he wouldn’t be more than half an hour late.” Bridget tugged on Abby’s ponytail. “You might want to give yourself a once-over, too, Abs. Don’t forget the party.” How could I, Bridge, with you here? “You could use a nice, hot shower.”
“Hey!” Abby said. “Be nice. I run around in the mud for a living.”
“Just saying…”
“Don’t you worry, Miss Perfect, I’ll bring my A-game. And a change of clothes.”
“Why don’t you ride over with us?” Mark asked.
“All my gear’s in the truck. I’ll just follow you over.” Abby sank back into her seat, willing the dreaded bull riding to come to a halt. At least she didn’t have a stake in the outcome, though.
…
The lights of the Mountain Meadow Lake Lodge twinkled in the evening light, and post-rodeo revelers had already assembled on the wide deck overlooking the mountains. Bridget had arranged for a private room with its own deck. “The first gathering of the clans,” she’d called it.
Abby looked at herself in the truck mirror, pulled out a comb and ran it through her impossibly tangled hair. She groped in the bottom of her backpack for some lip gloss. Her simple striped sundress was still in its cleaner’s plastic on the back seat. It wasn’t anything fancy, and now she wished she’d brought something with a little more bling. Wolf had impressed her in the ring; now she wanted to impress him on the dance floor.
“Abby!” Bridget called down to her from the deck. “Get up here this instant.”
Bridget had been so happy these last weeks, Abby wished she could share some of her own happy news, not just with her, but with everyone in her life. She wanted to be done with the private phase of their relationship, and to start celebrating it with the rest of the world. If Bridget and Mark could do it, why couldn’t she and Wolf?
When she reached the top of the stairs, carrying the dress over her arm, Bridget held out one hand. The glow of the outdoor lanterns was reflected in both the ring and Bridget’s face, brightly made up for the occasion. Abby wondered how she possibly could have pulled this off in the thirty minutes since the rodeo had ended. She had skipped out before the fireworks, but still…
“There she is!” Br
idget said, hugging her as if they hadn’t seen each other in thirty days, as opposed to thirty short minutes. Oh, to be a bride…
“Just need to go get myself cleaned up. I’ll be ready in a sec.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. You’re the heart and soul of this party.”
“Is Wolf here yet?” She tried for a nonchalant tone, but she couldn’t have cared less about the party at this point. She just wanted to find out how Bullet was doing, and to sneak off into some corner so Wolf could hold her in his arms.
“Nope, haven’t seen him.”
She went back out to the main room and joined Bridget, who whistled in appreciation of the sundress. “Looking good.”
“Hey, you two.” Mark appeared, wrapping his arms around his fiancée and her baby bump from behind.
“Hey, Mark. Hey, No-Name. Or should I say, Lazarus?”
Bridget laughed. “No, that one’s been nixed.”
Over Mark’s shoulder, Abby saw her parents, along with Jess and Karen Olsen, and she waved to the four of them. A moment later, there Wolf was, walking slowly, and a little stiffly, toward them. “Hi guys.” Wolf kissed his sister on the cheek.
“No hug?” Bridget complained like a little girl.
“Of course, baby-mama.” He shook Mark’s hand and gave Bridget a hug, then Abby, too—not an especially intimate one, but that would come soon enough, in private. “I’m a little sore, is all. And pretty exhausted, to be honest.” He did look tired; Abby felt bad he had to come straight to a party after such a work-out.
“I’ll say,” Bridget said, wiggling her fingers in his face. “You looked right past my ring.”
“Very pretty. Gorgeous, in fact. Just like you and your baby-to-be.” Bridget and Abby awwww’d at the same time.
“Nicely put, my man,” Mark said. He threw an arm around Wolf’s shoulders. “You were amazing out there, by the way.”
“You sure were,” Bridget and Abby said, at exactly the same time, like groupies.
“And with Bullet just back,” Abby said. “I mean, could it have been any better?” She was dying to ask him—had Bullet’s hock looked okay, or not? But she didn’t want to bring up even the possibility of bad news, not at this happy occasion.
“Nope,” he said, not too convincingly.
She waited until Mark and Bridget got distracted by some new incoming guests, and whispered, “How’s Bullet? She okay?”
“She’s doing great,” he said.
Relief coursed through her. She hadn’t been wrong, thank God, to green-light Bullet. “And you? Are you aching head to toe?”
“I’m all right. Nothing a little ice bath won’t fix.”
“How about the moment right after you tied off? Didn’t I see you hesitate? Were you checking the hock?”
“No, she was solid through the ride, real solid.”
“What was it then? Were you checking your knot?”
He thought for a moment. “I don’t know, I just…all I had to do was shoot that hand up, but I hesitated. I’m not sure why.”
“But then you dropped out of the bull-riding, too. You sure you’re okay?”
He paused, then exhaled. “I knew I couldn’t beat that kid. So I gave up.”
“You did not,” she whispered. “I don’t believe you.”
This wasn’t like him. She knew he was avoiding telling her the whole truth—but what was the whole truth? She couldn’t tell, and it was so frustrating to stand here in a polite circle when all she really wanted to do was be alone with him and figure out what was really going on. She had the sudden desire to put her hands on him, to gentle him through this awkward moment.
“After I screwed up the calf-roping, I knew I couldn’t place higher than second overall,” he said. “And second’s no damn good to me.”
“Second’s pretty good, considering the state of your horse, don’t you think?” She’d almost said our horse, but thought better of it. He shrugged, a surly expression on his face. Maybe this was what it was like for a true competitor—all or nothing. But to Abby, getting that close to first, with your health intact, and Bullet strong and fit after weeks of uncertainty, was a victory fit to celebrate.
Mark, focused on them again now, said, “Prize money’s still pretty good, though, isn’t it?”
“It’s not about the money. It’s about being the best at what I do. And today, I just wasn’t.” Abby had never seen him so down-hearted. She searched for something, anything, she could say to Wolf to cheer him up.
But Bridget jumped in before she could think of anything. “Listen, while all four of us are in the same place at the same time, I’ve got an idea,” she said. “You and Wolf are maid of honor and best man—why don’t you two help us pick the wedding champagne? I want something fantastic, but booze is a no-no for me in my current state, so—”
“A champagne tasting?” Wolf finally piped in, not exactly bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Really?”
Abby couldn’t have agreed with him more—did everything have to be a group activity? Some of us have our own lives to lead. But then, she had a moment of inspiration and declared, “I can host!”
“You sure about that?” Wolf asked, probably thinking he was the last person her mom would want to see over at Chez Macready. But he was going to be spending a lot more time in Abby’s life from now on. Her mom would have to get used to that, so why not start now? Yes, Abby would host them all. She was starting to feel a major inspiration coming on.
“Totally sure. The weather’ll be gorgeous. We’ll have some champagne on the deck, and then I can make dinner for us.”
“Sounds good to me,” Bridget said. “Thanks, Abs.”
“Tell your parents. They’re welcome, too.”
“Why don’t you invite Luther while you’re at it?” Wolf asked.
“Done deal,” Abby said. “Luther’s always welcome.”
“Are you sure you want to take this on?” Wolf whispered. She nodded quickly. She knew it might be borderline suicidal to volunteer to cook for nine people on short notice, but she couldn’t have been more sure—she just needed to tell Wolf why.
Chapter Nineteen
Pain was an old companion, but Wolf was reluctant to give it any quarter this time around. His knee was killing him, and he had definitely pulled an oblique. How ironic was it that the very day Bullet showed she was still every bit the first-class roping mare, he was set back by two injuries of his own? If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. He was used to it, though. His life had always been a struggle; why should that change now?
He ached “from stem to stern,” as his dad liked to say. But no point in leaking the news to Abby or Bridget, but especially to Abby, that he’d been injured. They’d just freak out and tell him he needed to quit the circuit. And he’d never quit the circuit. Being a rodeo champ? It was all he knew and all he had. If he wasn’t competing in the ring, what the hell would he do with his days?
It was downright aggravating not being able to pick Abby up in his arms, though, or take her for a spin around the dance floor. She looked so fresh in that sundress, her hair swept back, her bronzed shoulders glinting in the sunset, her joyful face turned toward him, waiting, he could tell, for him to sweep her up in his arms.
The only face-to-face time he got with her wasn’t what he expected at all. He went to the bathroom to wash his face and take a small fistful of Vitamin I—cowboy speak for ibuprofen—in private, and when he pushed the door open, Abby was there waiting for him. She planted a wordless kiss on him, one that made him forget his pain for a minute. Then she led him toward a little nook next to the coat rack, pressed her head into his chest, and ran her hands up and down his back. He flinched—the pain was tremendous—but thankfully she didn’t notice. He’d endure a whole lot worse to be this close to her.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, finally pulling away.
“It’s been a great chat so far,” he said.
She kissed him again, then said, “About this
champagne tasting thing.”
He laughed. “Like we don’t have enough get-togethers on the docket already.”
“This is different, though. Just hear me out.”
“Shoot.” She looked down, suddenly shy.
“What is it?” he asked. “Tell me.”
“Well, would you feel comfortable telling our folks that we’re together? And Bridget and Luther?”
It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected her to say. “You, uh, sure we’re ready for that? All the scrutiny? I mean, you know our parents.”
“I know, I know. If we’re telling my mom, we may as well tell the entire Flathead. But I kind of want to share it, you know?”
“Love is in the air, I guess, with all these weddings.” He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this step, honestly, but being scared had never stopped Wolf from taking risks in the ring, so why should it stop him now? “Okay, let’s go for it.”
“Really? You sure it’s not too soon?”
He didn’t think—he just let his instincts guide him. “Of course not. If we’re going to do this thing for real, we can’t be sneaking around like a couple of kids. Let’s let ’em in on it.”
“Oh my God, I just got goose bumps.” She pressed herself into him, and he couldn’t suppress a groan. Thankfully she took his pain for passion, although he hoped he’d be able to show her his real passion soon enough. All he wanted was to please her—in the ring, in the bedroom, in this new relationship they were embarking on. If she needed to make a big deal out of a champagne tasting, why not let her?
“I’ll be proud to tell them we’re the hottest couple in Bigfork,” he said. “It’s kind of ingenious, really. Bridget’s getting addicted to all this bridal attention. Let’s save her before she turns into a monster.”
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