The crowd gave the young kid an ovation for his bravery, and Tuff came out and stiffly waved his hat, holding onto his side. Disappointment painted a painful picture on his face as he came over to Wyatt.
“Looks like you have it, Holloway. Congratulations.”
“You’re a hard man to beat,” Wyatt replied. “I had a stroke of luck.”
“No luck about it. You knew what you were doing.”
The announcer proclaimed Wyatt the winner, and Wyatt went to stand on the podium to collect his purse from Half Pint Gilman.
A man as brawny as a hundred-year-old tree, and just as tall, loomed over Wyatt to hand him an envelope of cash. The skin on the rancher’s face was leathery and burned brown from the sun. Eyes the color of mint stared through the weathered cracks at the corners. The name Half Pint was clearly a misnomer, as the man was bigger and taller than anyone Wyatt had ever encountered.
“Nice work, Holloway.” Half Pint shook his hand. “You finally set your concentration on what you were doing. Keep that up and I could use you at my place.”
Wyatt appreciated the offer, but replied, “I plan on getting my own going. Nothing as big as yours, but enough to keep me from starving.”
“There’s enough grazing land around here to do it.” Half Pint inched the brim of his high hat further up his forehead. “You need some quality cattle to start up; ride on out and pay me a visit.”
“I’ll do that.”
Wyatt tipped his hat to both Gilman and the crowd, then stepped down and ambled on sore legs to Leah. She was a pretty sight amid a sea of onlookers who were mostly drab-dressed cowpokes. Her colorfully decorated hat stood out against the blue background of sky and the grays and tans of Stetsons.
Tug scrambled to the top of the railing that kept the stands separate from the arena, straddled the barrier, and shoved off over the side to land in Wyatt’s arms.
The boy’s familiarity startled Wyatt more than the sudden impact. Tug’s hands clasped around Wyatt’s neck, and his short legs tightened around Wyatt’s middle. In a quick flashback of his childhood, he saw his brother Daniel doing the same thing to him when he’d been ten years old to Daniel’s three. To Wyatt’s fast calculation, Daniel would be a man of thirty now. Too big to tag after his older brother and pester him about riding. Wyatt would have given anything to get those days back.
“I never seen a better bull rider, Wyatt!” Tug declared in a tone so heavy with hero worship, Wyatt became embarrassed. “I—I want to ride ’em just like you!”
The sweetness of cotton candy came from Tug’s breath and drifted to Wyatt’s nose. He felt the stickiness of sugar on Tug’s cheek as it bumped against Wyatt in a jarring movement while the boy turned his head toward his mother to say proudly, “Wyatt’s the best buckaroo I ever saw.”
Leah put her hands on the railing and leaned forward slightly. “I think Wyatt was very good, too.”
Wyatt had hoped to win all the events to impress Leah, but having her look at him the way she was now, he guessed that one was enough.
Rosalure presented him with a cola. “Momma said you may be thirsty, so I got you this.”
“Thanks, Rosalure.”
“Tug, let Wyatt go so he can have some room to breathe.” Leah held her arms open. “Climb back up here. You shouldn’t be down there. What if a bull got loose, or something?”
“No bull’s going to get loose, Momma. And even if one did, I could ride ’em like Wyatt.”
“Don’t be smart,” Leah countered. “You couldn’t pet one of those bulls, much less ride one. It takes years of experience.”
Tug reluctantly shimmied from Wyatt’s grasp and slipped through the railing to stand by Leah. Wyatt took the Coca-Cola from Rosalure and practically drank the entire bottle without taking a breath. He had been thirsty, and the drink was just what he needed.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Wyatt viewed Leah—who looked around the arena with a frown at all the stomping bulls and broncs in their pens, Rosalure—who cuffed Tug on the shoulder when he stepped on her toe, and Tug—who clambered onto the railing again to straddle it as if he was riding a bull, with one hand swinging in the air and letting out a “Yi-high!”
The scene made Wyatt reflect. Watching his siblings Ardythe, Daniel, Robert, Todd, and Margaret grow up was not to be. With Leah, if she’d let him, he could have a second try at family life. See how Rosalure would develop into a young woman. See how Tug would change into a man. Experiences that men like him didn’t usually get, because nobody wanted to love ex-cons.
That’s why he couldn’t let Scudder drag up information about his past. As far as Wyatt was concerned, he’d paid his debt to society.
“Mighty fine showmanship.” The drawled compliment came from Tiberius N. Tee, who came up to the group with Geneva Kirkland as his companion.
“Owen, darling, Nanna doesn’t think it’s a good idea to be straddling that railing. You could fall off.” Geneva gave Leah a worried appeal. “Leah, you should tell him to get off.”
Leah looked as vexed as a hive of disturbed bees. “He isn’t hurting anything.”
Wyatt noticed Leah refused to acknowledge Tiberius.
Moving in, Tee tried to cluck Tug’s chin, but Tug growled at him. Tiberius merely chuckled and leaned his elbows on the railing so he could look down at Wyatt. “I mean it. Mighty fine showmanship. But you know, you did look a little tired on that last bull. The Vibratrel could make a new man out of you. Get your heart going. Put some fire of ambition into your blood.”
“I don’t need any gadget to put fire into my blood. It bums pretty good on its own.” Wyatt folded his arms in a gesture of defense.
Tug struggled to get down and ended up on the arena floor again next to Wyatt. He ran around a small circle, pretending he was riding a bronc.
“I didn’t see you at the booth, Leah,” Geneva said, her chin high.
“No. I was busy.”
“With Mr. Holloway?”
Wyatt was the recipient of an arched, penciled brow.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Leah kept her tone down, but Wyatt could see she was on the verge of yelling at her mother-in-law. Wyatt couldn’t blame her. A married woman shouldn’t be going around with a man who wasn’t her husband. And Hartzell was a likeable enough fellow. Wyatt sided with him over his wife’s indulgences. A man could only put up with so much.
Tiberius wouldn’t give up on the sales pitch, and went into a long litany of the benefits about the Vibratrel, while Leah and Geneva got into a whispered argument about propriety and Rosalure eavesdropped with wide eyes.
After a spell, Leah abruptly snapped her head up and exclaimed, “Where’s Tug?”
Wyatt, who’d been listening with half an ear to Tee, spun around in search of the boy who’d been doing circles around him seemingly not more than a second ago.
“I don’t know. He was just here.”
“He’s not now.” Panic issued forth from Leah’s cry. “Tug! Tug! Where are you?”
No reply came.
The arena had been a bustle of activity earlier, as hands took the steers and horses back to the corrals. But things had seemed to be quieting down, with only a few of the cowboys lingering over smokes.
“Tug!” Leah shouted to no avail. Turning helplessly to Wyatt, she uttered, “You don’t suppose . . . He wouldn’t have gone back to . . .” Her voice cracked, but Wyatt knew what she was talking about and had already taken off in a run.
* * *
“Tug, don’t move.”
Wyatt’s voice was calm, unlike Leah’s heartbeat, which was so frantic her chest hurt. They had found Tug in Cricket’s corral, trying to sneak up on the bull while holding a lasso he’d picked up somewhere. Her son froze upon Wyatt’s words, and turned with round eyes at being caught.
“But—” Tug began, but Wyatt cut him short.
“Be quiet. And don’t move.”
Some twenty feet away, Cricket grazed on a portion
of hay that had been thrown in his pen. Had the food not been there to distract him, surely the animal would have been bothered by Tug’s intrusion. As it was, Leah was so angered that no one had been in attendance in the corral area to keep on eye on the bulls, she could scream.
“Oh dear Lord in heaven,” Geneva breathed softly, squeezing Leah’s hand so tightly, Leah’s bones throbbed. “Mr. Holloway has to get our Owen out.”
“He will,” Leah reassured. If anyone could rescue Tug it was Wyatt.
Inside the pen, Cricket’s chomping went deathly silent. His ears pricked and he raised his head. Slobber ran from his nose where a ring caught a glint of the sun.
“Tug, oh, please stay still,” Leah whispered, closing her eyes, unable to view the scene for a moment. But when she heard the gasps and soft, excited voices of the crowd that had gathered to witness what was going on, she had to open her eyes.
Wyatt had crouched and was in a fast walk directly toward the bull. He held a red bandanna in his hand and was waving it like a flag to distract the bull from looking at Tug.
“Run, Tug!” Wyatt hollered. “Get the hell over that fence!”
Tug kicked up his heels and ran faster than Leah had ever seen. She broke free of Geneva and went to the fence, where she held her arms open and ready to help Tug up and over the railing. When he was there, she grasped his sweaty hands in hers and pulled, taking him into her arms and holding him close.
“Tug, Tug, Tug.” She couldn’t get enough of his boyish smell as she buried her face in his hair. “You scared me.”
His hot tears wet her cheek and melted any scolding she would have given him. He’d paid for his mistake in cold fear.
“Owen Edwin! Darling!” Geneva was in tears herself, cooing over Tug while Leah held him tight. “What were you thinking?”
“I wanted to be like Wyatt.”
Her son may have been saved, but Wyatt was still in the corral. Leah’s chin lifted. Cricket had found the red bandanna more interesting than his hay and had turned with a snort in Wyatt’s direction. The bull began lumbering toward him on legs swifter than Leah could imagine. Wyatt made a dash for the nearest railing and pitched himself over it before the bull could spear him with his pointed horns.
The crowd gave Wyatt rousing applause for his heroism as he slapped the dust from his pants legs and walked to Leah. She let Geneva take Tug from her. A rush of feelings came to her as she gazed at Wyatt. The pull on her heartstrings grew and made her feel warm inside.
She had fallen in love with Wyatt.
In little ways that were now a whole, he’d become a part of her life. That he’d risked danger to himself to save Tug only made her love Wyatt more.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said when Wyatt came to her side. “What you did . . .” Her throat closed and she couldn’t continue.
Wyatt touched her hand and her pulse leaped. “It wasn’t anything.”
“It was a lot.”
Even Geneva, who’d made no bones about her reservations for Wyatt, said, “Mr. Holloway, if it weren’t for you, our Owen Edwin might not have—”
“Somebody else would have done the same thing.”
“I doubt that,” Tiberius piped in. “You showed exemplary courage.”
“Of all the stupid things to do.” Rosalure gave Tug a mock punch in the shoulder. “What would I do without a brother to pester?”
Trying to put on a brave front, Tug wiped his tears with his knuckles. “I dunno.”
“Well.” Geneva took in a shaky breath and released Tug to his feet. “You gave Nanna quite a scare, young man. But in the process, you’ve made me see that I’ve been—” Her gaze shifted to Wyatt.“ —hasty in my assumptions of your character, Mr. Holloway. May I thank you for your unselfish aid?”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I want to, and I think that the whole town should know.” Standing on her tiptoes, she waved her hand at the editor of the Eternity Tribune. “Yoo-hoo! Mr. Sheesley!”
Delmar Sheesley’s outdated, pin-checked suit stuck out like a sore thumb as he passed through the crowd to meet with Geneva. “What is it, Mrs. Kirkland?”
“I believe an honorarium is due to our Mr. Holloway for his heroism.” Geneva beamed in the spotlight as others gathered near to hear her words. “His photograph—with my grandson of course—for the front page of the newspaper. I’ll write the article myself and recount every harrowing second of little Owen’s death-defying rescue.”
Others nodded in agreement. What Wyatt had done was out of the ordinary. His actions were front-page material. But Leah was the only one who knew Wyatt’s aversion to having his picture taken, much less reprinted in a newspaper. She would have made the attempt to help him bow out graciously, had she not agreed with Geneva. Wyatt should have his story told.
“I’ll pass.” Wyatt slipped his hands into the pocket of his duster. “What I did was nothing.”
“On the contrary,” Mr. Sheesley sighted. “I watched from back there the way you took charge of the situation and brought that boy to safety. I was planning on running a story about the winners of the lawn-and-garden entrants, but what you did is far more important.” Delmar addressed Leah. “Mrs. Kirkland, I’ll have my assistant run you home in my buggy so you can get your camera. I think the shot ought to be right here. Right in front of the corral. And maybe we could encourage the bull over so he could be in the background.”
“I want my picture in the paper!” Tug jumped up and down, his chaps flapping. “No kid has ever had his face on the front page. I’m big news! I’m big news! Just me and Wyatt. Come on Wyatt! You and me.”
Leah thought it a wonderful idea, but she could see that Wyatt wasn’t going for any of it. She wished she could make him understand that he was special to her and she wanted the whole town to know just how much. Contrary to what he said, nobody who had stood by and watched Tug sneak up on Cricket would have jumped into that corral to save him. But Wyatt had. What was the harm in letting everyone know about his bravery?
“Please, Wyatt,” Leah said softly. “I think what you did was marvelous, and I’d love to take your photograph.”
“I don’t like having my picture taken.”
“But it’s I who’ll be taking it. You can trust me.”
Before Wyatt could reply, Hartzell broke through the crowd with a frantic expression, shouting, “What’s this about Tug? I heard he was hurt.”
“I almost roped him, Poppa.” A blush of excitement colored Tug’s cheeks.
“Roped who?”
“Cricket, the bull.”
“A bull?”
“You missed it all,” Tiberius butted in, his words directed at Hartzell. “Your grandson was quite a trooper. Too bad you weren’t around.”
“It was too bad,” Geneva said beneath her breath, her chin low. “Hartzell . . . I . . .”
“Don’t get wishy-washy on me, Geneva,” Tiberius said, hitching his suspenders higher. “It’s you and me for the rest of the day.”
“I don’t believe so.” Geneva appeared to be embarrassed. Leah could only speculate that it had taken a near tragedy in the family to bring Geneva to her senses. “I need to speak with my husband.”
“You don’t want to be with him,” Tee spouted in his theatrical croon. “You said yourself he spends all his time at the bank standing around and scratching his seat.”
Geneva drew herself up tall and pursed her lips. “I never mentioned anything about his posterior. And even if I did, don’t you say one bad word about my husband. That’s my job.” She brought out an embroidered handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Or at least, that used to be my job.”
“Geneva, dearest . . .” Hartzell stepped forward, taking his wife’s hand and padding her fingers. “Don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it. I’ve made a fool of myself.” Lowering her voice, she added, “And in front of everyone. What must you think of me?”
“I think that I still love you.�
��
“You do?”
“Of course I do.”
“Oh, Hartzell.” Geneva threw herself into his arms and rested her cheek on his chest. “Do you forgive me?”
“I do.”
“Oh, Hartzell,” she said again on a sigh. “Will you come home?”
He smoothed his hand across her shoulder. “If you give up that damn Vibratrel, I will.”
Geneva stiffened. “My Vibratrel?”
“Yes. For a cash refund.”
Leah waited for Geneva to refuse adamantly, and when she consented with a nod, Hartzell let out a breath. He put Geneva at arm’s length and turned to face off with Tiberius N. Tee. But when all eyes moved to the salesman, he was gone.
* * *
“Right there,” Mr. Sheesley directed. “In the center of the railing. I believe that’s the spot.” The editor gazed at Leah. “But you are the expert, Mrs. Kirkland. If you feel they should stand elsewhere, speak up.”
“Where they are will be fine.”
Wyatt stood stiff as a slab of sandstone. He’d been moved and nudged for the past ten minutes while holding Tug in his arms. If there had been any way out of the photograph, he would have bolted. But he’d been trapped. Trapped by a town that hung around like flies on a strip, waiting for the camera’s shutter to open and snap him and Tug. Trapped by a stuffy newspaper editor who claimed the article would sell extra papers. Trapped by Geneva Kirkland, who insisted Tug’s photograph in the Eternity Tribune would be the proudest day of her life. Trapped by Tug, who jabbered away at those asking him to tell them what had happened, and how excited he was to have his picture taken with his hero, Wyatt.
And trapped by Leah herself, whose gratitude had permitted her to return to her house and retrieve her camera, knowing how he felt about them. Knowing that he was not pleased to stand before a lens, and smile.
“A little to the left, Wyatt,” Leah instructed from beneath the dark cloth of the camera. Her head popped out momentarily as she frowned when he moved left. “I meant right. In the camera, you’re upside-down and I sometimes get my rights and my lefts mixed up.” Rosalure stood at her mother’s side, watching with interest as Leah made adjustments.
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