The Heart Of The Game

by Pamela Aares

  Cody was thankful that Dylan turned on his heel and headed into the hallway. He hadn’t known until then that it was his brother’s forgiveness he’d been seeking.

  “Park your ass right here,” Doc Raymond said as Cody entered the ring. “The last lady rider is up next.” Like most old-timers on the circuit, Doc still called women ladies. Most of them didn’t bother to correct him. In his day, when he wasn’t stitching up unlucky would-be champions, Doc had ridden the toughest bulls the circuit could rustle up to throw under him. A three-time world champion bull rider, he’d taught Cody how to keep his seat, how to read bulls and broncs, and a few tricks for healing up when a ride didn’t go well.

  Cody glanced around the arena. Dylan was right: the event was a sellout. A sea of Stetsons bobbed in every row up to the rafters. The PA system cranked up a Tim McGraw ballad, mixing the strains of the music with the roar of the crowd.

  Cody crouched to the left side of the raised press platform and dropped the first aid bag to the ground. Ambulances were parked outside, but EMTs didn’t know half of what Doc knew about handling rodeo injuries. They’d take their cues from him if they had to.

  When the announcer interrupted the song and announced the rider for the next event, Cody’s heart stopped.

  There was no way that Beth McCormack was riding the women’s bronc event. She’d gone off to Europe to marry some British lord. Mrs. McCormack, Beth’s social-climbing mother, had been thrilled. Having her only daughter marry into the English aristocracy had suited her high ambitions for her only daughter way better than seeing Beth carry through with her plans to marry Cody. Mrs. McCormack had made it perfectly clear that in her eyes Cody would never be more than a local hick stuck playing for the Missoula Osprey farm team in the Rocky Mountain Baseball League.

  It’d taken Cody a number of painful years to get over Beth breaking off their engagement. And the whole mess would’ve been a helluva lot easier if she hadn’t waited until the week before she was to walk down the aisle and marry Cody to tell him.

  Beth had fallen hard for the English guy’s charm and sophistication. But all along Cody had suspected that the slick-mannered dude had needed Beth’s money more than her love. If she was back, riding the circuit, maybe he’d been right.

  The thought brought him no pleasure.

  The pick-up riders circled the arena and then stationed their horses on either side of the chute gate. One of them recognized Cody and tipped his fingers to his hat. Two judges wearing striped vests stood at the ready.

  He hoped Beth had her feet in place. She’d been a great rider, but every once in a while she’d pushed the limits of the mark out rule, especially with her right foot. If she didn’t have both feet properly placed when that bronc moved out of the chute, points would be deducted from her ride. And having points deducted for form had always pissed her off.

  The announcer blared on about Beth’s recent run at the women’s championship. But as the chute opened, Cody tuned everything out and focused on her.

  The bronc reared, and Beth held her position, successfully marking the horse out like he’d taught her so many years before. But then the bronc’s front legs came down hard, and he bucked his back legs so high they nearly made a vertical line. To Cody’s horror, Beth shot out over the bronc’s head and hit the dirt.

  He grabbed the first aid bag and leapt up. If the bronc’s hooves had missed Beth’s head, they’d missed it by a fraction of an inch. Cody couldn’t see her clearly as the pick-up riders grabbed the reins of the bronc and led him to the other end of the ring. One thing about broncs: some of them, once they discharged riders, were as tame as lambs. Cody thanked God Beth’s ride was one of those. He ignored the shocked voices of the crowd as he and Doc ran toward where Beth lay motionless in the red dust of the arena.

  Blood trickled from her forehead. Cody opened the first aid bag and grabbed the compression bandages.

  “Her neck’s all right,” Doc said, moving his hands from the back of her skull.

  Cody leaned in, pulled her into his arms and took the bandages from Doc. Suddenly, Beth’s body jerked with a spasm. She opened her eyes, squinting into the glare of the arena lights.

  And then she looked at Cody. And blinked. “Heard you’d be here.”

  “This is no time for socializing,” Doc huffed.

  She batted away the compression bandage and wiped some of the blood from her forehead with her sleeve.

  “For goodness’ sake, I just got thrown.”

  “You’re a damned lucky young lady,” Doc said. The waver in his usually metered voice told Cody that he too had thought the horse had stomped her skull. While Cody held her, she let Doc examine her head and neck.

  “Satisfied?” Beth wriggled out of Cody’s grasp and crossed her arms. Doc rocked back on his heels and grunted out a yes.

  Cody scooped an arm under Beth’s shoulders and helped her to her feet. She waved to the crowd and shot them a broad smile. The crowd cheered. Seeing that she was okay, people in the stands took advantage of the break and headed for the beer and food tents set up outside.

  “You’ll be icing that right away,” Doc said as they reached the side of the arena.

  “Sure. Right after I have a word with this cowboy.”

  “Right after, then.” Doc knew better than to argue with Beth. He trundled off, muttering that he needed something stronger than a beer.

  “Doc’s right, you should ice,” Cody said in the calmest tone he could. He leaned against the metal door to an empty chute and calculated all the possible ways to remove himself from a damned awkward situation.

  “I didn’t even hit hard,” Beth said, touching her hand to her forehead. “It’s an arena scrape. You should recognize one when you see it.”

  He’d always liked her pluck. If she’d been born into a different family, they might’ve made a good couple.

  “Up to your usual?” she said. Seeing the question in his eyes, she added, “Rescuing damsels in distress.”

  He heard the invitation under her teasing words. And knew in that moment that what he’d once felt for Beth didn’t come close to the intense, stirred-up feelings he had for Zoe.

  “Riders. Rescuing riders. Doc roped me into it.” He hadn’t meant to sound so frosty.

  She crossed her arms and held her elbows in tight, watching his face. “I can take a hint. What’s her name?”

  “Name?”

  Beth smiled, but her eyes remained cool. She lifted a brow. “Whoever she is, she’s a lucky girl. Let’s hope she’s smarter than I was. That she knows a good man when she sees one.”

  He hadn’t seen Beth in years, but she could still read him in an instant. The ability was one he respected—hell, he’d built a career reading ballplayers. But evidently her keen perceptions had failed when it came to the English guy. She turned to leave, and he put a hand out to stop her. Just because he’d rebuffed her attempt to reconnect didn’t mean he didn’t care.

  “You’re still a special, wonderful woman.” He meant it kindly, but his words sounded flat.

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Save the flattery for your bronc, cowboy. You might need to charm him.”

  Cody was still running the conversation with Beth through his mind as he hauled his chaps out of his gear bag and strapped them on. There’d been months when he’d obsessed about winning her back. Months of trying to shove down a pain he hadn’t had words for. But maybe the guy had done Cody a favor. It would’ve been worse than stupid to get married at that point in his life. But hindsight didn’t erase the memories of the pain he’d felt. Pain he’d worked hard to bury and never feel again.

  He shook off his warring thoughts and unwrapped the saddle Dylan had brought for him. The scent of the leather, the feel of it in his hands, felt so right. Almost as right as slipping his hand into his catcher’s mitt. But not quite. Not anymore. So much had changed since the days he’d competed.

  He checked the stirrup length. Perfect. His brother remembere
d. He attached his bronc rein to the halter Dylan had loaned him.

  With a deft move he leaped down into the adjacent empty chute to do a few stretches and warm up his muscles before his ride.

  Though he ran through his routine, he was antsy and couldn’t concentrate. Seeing Dylan for the first time in years had ripped open a knot he’d kept tightened up for too long.

  And the encounter with Beth had shocked him. Not because he was so surprised to see her, but because he’d never imagined feeling as deeply for anyone else as he once had for her. He’d actually told himself he’d never drop that deep again. But Zoe had gotten in there. He hadn’t even realized how deep until tonight. And all they’d done so far was kiss and talk. He could only imagine what a deeper relationship would do to him, but the rational voice he trusted warned him. Zoe’s combination of beauty, spunk and intelligence combined with the vulnerability he’d sensed not far below her bravado-laced surface was a perfect formula to drag him into territory he’d sworn off. He’d given up rescuing. Had learned the hard way that people had to find their way themselves. But as he repeated his mantras and the truth that supported them, he couldn’t lie to himself. The vein his desire for Zoe had opened wouldn’t be shut off or bandaged with rational mantras.

  “Heads up!” one of the arena hands shouted. The bronc Cody was to ride charged down the chute. Cody crawled over the divider and balanced on the rail. With a slow and steady hand he put the halter on, talking to Desert Devil the whole time. He’d ridden the gelding’s sire, Blaze Runner, years before. If visuals were any indication, the bronc’s bloodline ran true.

  Cody cinched the saddle and measured out the bronc rein. Two rodeo hands hovered nearby, but he didn’t need the men’s help. Cody knew how to avoid riling a horse in a chute. It was something he’d tried to teach younger riders, but they’d all thought a riled-up horse would bring a better score. Cody knew better.

  He grabbed the rein, then sat deep in the saddle, tightening his grip. Positioning his heels well in front of the gelding’s shoulders, he leaned back. And tried not to grin as he nodded and the chute opened and the announcer blared out his name.

  Desert Devil leapt so high that it was easy to mark the bronc out. Cody found a rhythm and swept his feet forward and back—from the gelding’s shoulders to his flank—as he bucked and leaped. Desert Devil was doing what he loved, and Cody was in the flow with him.

  The whistle sounded, ending his ride all too soon. He double gripped as the pick-up man rode in. Only then did he hear the roar of the crowd. They’d gotten what they paid for.

  The buzz of a near perfect ride on a great bronc felt good. Real good. Still, he knew his back would feel the effects tomorrow. He might be in shape, but he wasn’t a kid anymore.

  He smacked the dust off his chaps and unstrapped them. And tried to sink into the still-zinging rush of the ride.

  But the jubilant feeling didn’t salve the smack of common sense that stung him, didn’t push images of Zoe from his mind.

  He needed to wise up or he’d be right back in the same situation he’d been in with Beth, his heart all in before his brain could dose him with reality. He might be near to reaching his dream of being a star in the majors, might even win his place on the team in the spring. But none of that changed the fact that Zoe wasn’t from his world and never would be. They might share a love of horses, even a passion for competition, but the similarities stopped there. He’d better rein in the desire she’d fired before it bucked him into a mess he didn’t need.

  He braced as several reporters headed toward him, camera operators stringing behind them like fish tethered on a line. The crowd might’ve gotten what they came for, but he was caught in a net he’d let fall over his head. He’d damned well better pay attention to keep it from cinching any tighter.

  Chapter Twelve

  When his mother didn’t answer her door, Cody tried the handle. Unlocked, as usual. For a woman who’d been married to an undercover agent, she was hopelessly trusting, never worrying about crime. Musty fumes and cool air met him as he walked through the hallway and toward the kitchen. Other kid’s kitchens had smelled of fresh-baked cookies or dinner cooking. But the kitchen at his house always smelled of clay.

  He ducked under the doorway that led to his mom’s studio. Though the day was brisk, even for Montana in November, she had the doors and windows wide open. Cody studied her for a moment as she considered the form on her work table. Not wanting to give her a scare, he tapped his keys against the doorjamb.

  She jumped anyway.

  “Lord, Cody, you near stopped my heart.”

  But she smiled. And from her stance, he could tell she wasn’t surprised to see him. Evidently Dylan had told her that they were back on speaking terms.

  “You should lock your door if you don’t want strange men sneaking up on you.”

  Her smile faltered. “I’d like to think you’re not a stranger.”

  He hadn’t intended to steer the conversation into the emotional realm; this was meant to be a quick and light visit. Then he’d hop on a plane in the morning and get back to his workouts, back to his life.

  She wiped her hands on a wet rag, but kept her eyes on him. The lines around her eyes mapped out sadness, but he saw a strength in her he’d never noticed before. Maybe he hadn’t been looking. Hell, he hadn’t been around. The few emails and phone conversations they’d shared didn’t tap into the deep layers he’d fought to keep his distance from.

  An indescribable emotion burst in his veins, shooting little bubbles of heat prickling through him. He couldn’t believe that he wanted to close the distance between them and hug her. Four years melted away and he gave in to his impulse, gathering her in his arms and squeezing tight.

  She let him hug her and then stepped back, her eyes searching his face as she did.

  “That girl must really be something.”

  She’d been talking to Kat.

  “Kat leaps to conclusions,” he said.

  But after a sleepless night rehashing his disturbing experience with Beth and having been taunted by his incessant thoughts, even he couldn’t deny that meeting Zoe had affected him more than he’d imagined possible. Somehow the layers he’d laminated around his heart were beginning to show gaps in the glue that had held them solid. Like a trickle of water finding its way across a parched desert, the feelings she’d loosed from their confines were snaking out. If he hadn’t met her, he doubted he’d be standing in his mother’s sculpting studio right then.

  “I’d like to meet her.”

  He wouldn’t lie and say that Zoe didn’t mean more to him than he wanted to admit. In the crucible of his family, he’d learned to have no tolerance for lies.

  But he could change the subject.

  “There was a line half around the block at Clark’s Diner. Got any toast?”

  “And strong coffee.” She took off the paint-covered smock and laid it across a chair. “You may need it. I have a few things you need to hear.”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. There was more gray than he remembered.

  “That was a fine ride you had last night.”

  “You were there?”

  She ignored his surprise and only said, “Coffee first, Cody.”

  Cody sat in his old seat at the kitchen table. The chairs were smaller than he remembered. And more uncomfortable. His mother poured steaming black coffee into the mug he’d always used at family breakfasts. He fingered the handle, not wanting to remember the last time he’d been in the room. If she hadn’t intervened, he might’ve killed his dad that night.

  “You’re sculpting again,” he said, breaking the awkward silence. Her hands had always been muddier than her children’s when they’d been young. But she’d given up her art when his dad had started flipping out. It was another score he’d like to settle.

  “I have a show in the Riverside Art Gallery in the spring.”

  “From the looks of the finished pieces in your studio, your show sho
uld be a hit.”

  She sat across from him, her hands cradling her mug. How many breakfasts and meals and homework sessions had he navigated at this small table?

  “Means so much to hear you say that.” She sipped from her mug. “How long are you staying in Missoula?”

  “My flight’s at ten tomorrow.”

  “I’d hoped you’d stay longer.”

  “I have a training schedule to keep up if I’m going to win a spot on the team.”

  She nodded.

  They both knew that his workouts weren’t what would keep his visit short.

  “Then I’ll have to give you the abridged version of the story,” she said. “You always wanted the bottom line first, unlike your sister.”

  “It’s a guy thing.”

  Though he wanted to hear her out, a part of him wanted to bolt and run back to the life he’d made for himself. The opposing forces of caring too much while knowing that he could only ever do too little were already tearing him up.

  His mom’s eyes crinkled with her gentle smile. “Don’t I know.” She sat back in her chair. “I’m crossing a line here.” He heard the hesitation in her voice. “And I’ve run this conversation through my mind so many times that it has permanent tracks.”

  “Mom.” He touched his fingers to her hand. “Just lay it out.”

  She linked her fingers with his and looked down at their joined hands. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

  “Mom.” He pulled his hand away and made a circling motion to encourage her to keep on with what she had to say—the same motion he made to the mound to signal a pitcher to throw whatever pitch the guy had in mind.

  “I’m muddling this,” she said. “Already off track.” She took a deep breath. “Right... the short version.” She looked down at the mug she clutched tightly, as if reading something in the steam rising from the coffee. “Your father carries a burden only he can release. But he’s made strides.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him. “Maybe Dylan has told you?”