To Hope

by Carolyn Brown

  Hours later, she awoke slowly, opening one eye and closing it. Then she opened both eyes and blinked several times to bring the clock on the dash into focus. She sat up with a start. “Good Lord, it’s six. I’ve been asleep almost eight hours.”

  “Yes, you have. Hungry?”

  “Starving. Did you get into my crackers? That’s an empty wrapper right there, and I know I didn’t eat in my sleep.”

  “Yes, I did. And I borrowed your socks too. My feet were cold.”

  She smiled and his heart cranked in an extra beat.

  “Where are we?”

  “We got on Interstate 70 a while back. We’ll probably make Denver by two or three in the morning. I’ve called ahead for reservations at a hotel, but I got an idea while you were asleep I want to run past you . . .”

  “Huh-oh,” she said.

  “You can veto it. I’m having someone check about renting us a couple of trailers for the rest of the time we’re in Denver. So is it a hotel or trailers?”

  “Trailers.”

  “Okay, then I’ll call and make it official,” he said.

  “Want me to drive?”

  “I’m fine until after we eat.” He pushed a few buttons and said a few words, then held the phone to his chest. “Problem, here. We can get a trailer from a rental place but there’s a scarcity of lots. Can’t find two together at an RV place. So it’s hotel or share since we’ve only got one vehicle. Your call.”

  She fluttered her eyelids. “Are you asking me to live with you?”

  “No ma’am, I most certainly am not!” he said coldly.

  “Then it’s a trailer.” Her tone dripped with just as much ice.

  “Cathy, honey, we’ll take the single trailer. Rent the biggest one possible. And I owe you, darlin’. Book us a table at your favorite restaurant for when I get back,” he said. “Okay, and a concert too. I’ll be in touch.”

  “It’ll be set up on the eleventh. We’ll stay in the hotel until then,” he said. Is she always grumpy when she’s hungry? One minute she was flirtatious, the next chilly.

  She watched the cold wintery scene speed past and didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

  “What’s your problem? If we’re going to live together for almost two weeks, I need to know if this ugly mood is something that just jumps on you out of nowhere or is it something I’ve done?”

  She thought about it for a minute. “I’m sorry. That was my fault. You hurt my feelings when you said you weren’t asking me to live with you. It came out all cold and hateful. I shouldn’t have taken it that way.”

  “So does that mean you want to live with me?” he asked.

  “No, but one minute we were teasing and the next you were so definite. Do you have a girlfriend or a significant other back in . . . where do you live?”

  “I do not have a significant other and at the present I’m not involved with any one woman,” he said. Great Scot, he couldn’t tell her that his comment had popped out because he was on this trip to get over her, not live with her. He wanted her out of his mind and his dreams. He didn’t want to measure every woman in the world by what he thought Jodie Cahill had grown up to be. No, he didn’t want to live with her for real, but he couldn’t tell her why without giving away his whole life. And strong-willed Jodie would think he was totally pathetic if she knew that.

  She almost smiled. “Okay, we got that out of the way. Evidently you get pretty crabby when you are hungry too. Either that or my pink socks don’t agree with you. Hey, look at that sign. It says there’s a Chili’s at the next exit. You up for fajitas?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And Jodie, when I’m not in the field, I live in San Antonio, Texas.”

  They checked into their hotel rooms at four A.M. and slept for twelve straight hours, waking in time for supper in the hotel restaurant before they were scheduled to be at Denver National Western every night for the next two weeks.

  Chapter Three

  “So you want to drive four miles or ten miles from the RV park to the rodeo place?” he asked as they headed to the National Western Stockyards from the hotel. The air was thin and cold so he’d brought along his black overcoat, in spite of Jodie telling him he looked more like a mafia don than a man on his way to a bull riding competition.

  “Folks I know stay at the Prospect. It’s about ten miles out,” she said.

  He made a phone call and the deal was done. “Cathy is taking care of details. It’ll be waiting for us tonight. She’ll call back with instructions.”

  She motioned at the sign in front of them. “Turn right there. We’re going to the coliseum parking lot.”

  His phone rang by the time he locked the truck doors. He stopped under a street light and wrote in his notebook. He was glad all he had to do was mutter because if he’d had to talk he would have been a stuttering, bumbling fool. The warm glow of yellow street lights provided a spotlight for Jodie. She’d dressed in electric blue that night. Tight-fitting pants, a lacy-looking blouse that flared at her wrists and a long, blue leather duster over the top of it all. Even the sling holding her left arm steady didn’t look out of place on Jodie Cahill that night. All she needed was a microphone and she could be making a video for Country Music Television.

  “We’ve got an RV on the way,” he finally said. “This is a busy place.”

  “It’s a hundred acres split diagonally by the Burlington Northern Railroad. The actual stockyards are on the other side of the tracks. Think of a smaller triangle within the larger one on this side. That’s where most things are located: the events center, stadium and expo hall. The coliseum is outside the smaller triangle. I’m sure you’ve done your research and seen a map already though, haven’t you? Here we are.” She showed the ticket taker her pass and the two of them went inside. She’d barely found her seat in the judge’s panel when the opening ceremonies began. Two nights before she’d been in Ft. Pierce and the show wasn’t so different, but the music, lights, and excitement never ceased to thrill her.

  From that point she focused on the rides: how well the rider kept up with the bull, how many points she could award the bull for his kicks and bucks. By the end of the evening she was wound up tighter than a neurotic whose therapist was on vacation.

  As if on cue, Jimmy was there waiting. “Ready to go find our humble abode?”

  “I’m ready but I’m not sleepy. I think I’ve got my nights and days turned around with all the driving and sleeping in the day time.”

  “Want to hit an all-night Wal-Mart store and pick up food for a few days? Cathy has taken care of bare essentials like toilet paper and dish soap, but I told her we’d do our own shopping.”

  “There’s one on Smith Road not far from here. I’ll direct. You drive. The traffic will be fierce since this is the last event for the day. Hey, did you pick up a schedule?”

  “Printed one out before we left home. It’s in my briefcase. Why?”

  “Because we’re at a stock show. For the next two weeks there’s something going on every single hour of every day. Did you think we’d just go to the evening bull ride or the rodeo and go home to sit in a trailer? Not so, Mr. James Moses. I want to see it all.”

  “Even if it involves getting up early?”

  “I’m a rancher. I get up early all the time.”

  They inched along in traffic until they got on Interstate 70, where she instructed him to catch Exit 278 and then turn left onto Smith Road. Wal-Mart was less than half a mile away.

  She put bacon, sausage, eggs, peppers, onions, whole milk, two steaks, baking potatoes, and a package of sweet rolls in the cart. He added bananas, kiwi, skim milk, cans of soup, and mangoes. Together they chose whole wheat bread and smoked ham for sandwiches.

  “I’m hungry. I had thought after the supper we ate I wouldn’t want food until tomorrow evening at the earliest,” he said.

  “Supper was hours ago. I’ll make omelets and steaks when we get to the trailer. It does have a stove, doesn’t it?”

  “No, Cathy got us
a pup tent and we have to use a charcoal burner, but the outhouse is only a few feet away so you won’t freeze to death when you have to get up in the middle of the night.”

  “It has a sense of humor,” she said in awe.

  “In my circles, I’m considered quite the funny guy,” he said.

  “Lord, I’d hate to run in your circles,” she said.

  “Doubt that you ever will.”

  “Are we fighting?” she asked.

  “Seems we do pretty often. You sure you’ll be able to handle nearly two weeks in the same trailer with humorless me?”

  She put a case of Dr. Pepper in the cart. “Hey, I didn’t mean to hurt your little feelings.”

  He put in a case of Diet Coke.

  “No comebacks?” she asked.

  “My feelings aren’t hurt. We disagreed. We are adults, not kindergarteners. Is that all we need for this week?”

  “No! It’s all we need for tonight and maybe breakfast. When we see how big the refrigerator is in our pup tent, we’ll buy more. Hey, look.” She pointed toward a rack of Wrangler jeans. “Want to look like a cowboy the rest of the trip?”

  “No!”

  “Why?”

  “I hate jeans. They’re stiff and uncomfortable. I’d rather be a mafia don than a cowboy.” He didn’t tell her that the only time he’d worn jeans was back in kindergarten when he visited the Cahill ranch. Or that everything that happened on that day had caused him to blame jeans and a little red Western shirt with pearl snaps.

  She pushed the cart toward the checkout counter. “Just as well. Your tasseled shoes wouldn’t go with Wranglers anyway.”

  “What’s wrong with my shoes?” he asked.

  “Not one thing. They match your mafia outfits just fine.”

  “Okay. Bit of history. Except for a couple of days when I was a little kid, I attended private school where dress slacks and blazers were the uniform. Unlike someone who grew up on a ranch or in a place like Sulphur, Oklahoma, I wasn’t put into denim the day I could walk.”

  She bit back a smile. “I see. Now I understand your whole life perfectly. Except this Cathy woman who runs your life for you. Who is she?”

  “Stop being cranky. We’ll get that monster fed soon. And Cathy? Well, you are right, she’s the woman who runs my life for me,” he said.

  The cashier looked up as she scanned the items. “My husband says when I’m hungry no one, not even Jesus Christ, could live with me.”

  “I understand,” Jimmy said.

  But he didn’t stutter, stammer, and blubber around denying that Jodie was his wife. She found that rather amusing.

  When they reached the RV park he drove slowly between lots until he found the right one, parked the truck in the allotted space, and picked up four grocery bags to carry inside.

  Jodie sat in stunned silence. Surely he’d made a mistake. That tour bus couldn’t be what he’d rented. It would cost more than a five-star hotel. She watched as he lifted a key from between the two doors and went inside. She finally picked up one bag with her right hand and carried it inside.

  The RV was at least thirty feet long. She’d walked into the kitchen/living area. Two off-white leather swivel chairs flanked a small kitchen table. Plenty of cabinets to hold their groceries, a microwave, in addition to a stove with four burners and an oven, a refrigerator, and even a small stackable washer and dryer were tucked into the kitchen area. Two sofas lined the long sides of the narrow living room; one made out into a bed. And beyond that was a real bedroom with a queen-sized bed, a dresser complete with mirror, a bathroom with a shower and sheer draperies over the windows. Everything was in shades of brown to complement the sandy-colored carpet. Jodie was in love.

  “This is someone’s tour bus. Do you have a friend who’s a star or something?”

  “No, I have a very large expense account. I’ll live in cheap hotels and check out of good ones early so I can get the feel for the circuit, but when I’m staying in a place for two weeks, I think we need some luxuries. You can have the bedroom. I’ll sleep on the couch. You have to pay, though. I get to shower first every night so that I can get to work faster. Also I get to unpack my things in half the closet space, and I’m claiming half the drawers in the dresser. Oh, and I get half the medicine cabinet for my shaving equipment.”

  “Small price,” she said.

  “I’m still hungry and I think you promised me an omelet. Think you could get it done by the time I take a shower?”

  “Depends on how long you take. I won’t keep it hot so you’d better hurry or you’ll be eating cold omelet.”

  “Then I’ll shower after we eat. I’ll bring in the rest of the baggage while you cook. I believe Cathy had it outfitted with everything we need. Kitchen stuff. Towels. Sheets.”

  Jodie nodded, still amazed. She went to work putting away the groceries they’d bought and getting acquainted with the kitchen. By the time he had the truck unloaded she’d made a western omelet and toast. He left his unpacking to do later and set the table for two while she buttered the toast.

  He laid a stapled stack of printed papers on the table between them. “And here is the schedule you asked about. This smells wonderful.”

  She picked up the schedule and ran a finger down the next day’s events. “Hope you like onions.”

  “Love them.”

  She blew on a fork full of eggs until they stopped steaming and looked over the papers. “Aha.”

  “What?”

  “The Dress Western Barbecue Lunch is tomorrow at eleven-thirty. I want to do that. It’s on Seventeenth and Broadway downtown at the Wells Fargo Atrium and the parade comes down Seventeenth at noon, so we’ll be right there. They’ll have marching bands and the longhorn cattle drive.”

  “This is wonderful. Are you a cook or is this your only skill?”

  “I can cook.”

  “More than omelet and bologna sandwiches.”

  “Boy, I could fatten you up in six months to where all you’d ever want to wear would be bibbed overalls with the top buttons undone,” she said.

  He smiled and those wrinkle-dimples deepened. He was handsome in his own way, she guessed. Not as rugged as Chris, her old flame, but not ugly by any means. He’d do to sit across the table with for breakfast for a few weeks. Especially when she could spend the time in a place like this.

  They shared clean-up, careful to stay out of each other’s way. He went to the bedroom to unpack and have a shower. She pulled out her cell phone and called her sister. Rosy sounded groggy when she answered, which caused Jodie to look at the microwave clock.

  “It’s me. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m wired for sound and forgot that you’d be asleep,” she said.

  “Anything the matter? Your arm hurting? Something important going on? Did you marry that good-looking hunk you’re traveling with?”

  “None of the above.”

  “Then call me at a decent hour and learn to check the time.”

  Jodie had barely hung up the phone when a gentle knock took her attention to the door. She wondered who’d come calling after midnight but wasn’t surprised when she found an old friend, Laney, on the other side.

  “Hey girl, I saw your truck. I’d recognize that bumper sticker anywhere. You up for a while?”

  Jodie swung the door open and hugged Laney. “I’m so glad you’re here. Want some Dr. Pepper or a Coke?”

  Laney looked around at the interior of the RV. “Wow! Did you win the lottery or rob a bank?”

  “Neither. It’s called a big expense account,” Jodie said.

  “Well, I’m going to start judging instead of riding them bulls if it means getting a sweet little deal like this. Yes, I’ll have a Coke.”

  “Have to be on ice. They’re warm.”

  “That’s fine,” Laney said. “Did you get married?” she whispered.

  “Hell, no!” Jodie blushed.

  “Then . . .”

  Jodie called into the bedroom. “Jimmy, co
me and meet my friend and rival when I can ride.”

  He’d already unbuttoned his shirt and only fastened the middle one as he came out of the bedroom.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “This is James Moses Crowe, a writer who’s covering the circuit and some rodeo events the next few months. We’re traveling together so I can answer his questions.”

  He held out his hand. “Please call me Jimmy.”

  She looked directly into his eyes without blinking. “I will and often.”

  “I’ll get back to my shower so you ladies can visit,” he said.

  “Sure you’re in a hurry?” Laney came on strong but that was her style.

  “I’ve got several hours of work before I can call it a night,” he explained.

  Laney smiled that brilliant way that brought most men crawling to her on their knees. “Then next time.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he threw a towel over his shoulder as he closed the bedroom door.

  Laney picked up the schedule pages and fanned herself. “Please tell me you are living with him in a purely platonic relationship. I haven’t seen anything that pretty in a very long time. He’s got dimples like Matthew McConaughey. I think I’m already in love.”

  “Good grief, girl. Those are early wrinkles, not dimples. Get out the Visine. You’ve been up too long or else you’ve still got arena dust in your eyes,” Jodie said.

  “Does that mean he’s off limits?”

  “That means he’s got a girlfriend named Cathy in Texas,” she said.

  Laney pressed her hand against her chest. “I am hurt. My heart is dying. I may never be able to ride again.”

  “Not until you see a pair of tight-fittin’ Wranglers and a Kevlar vest. He’s not our type, Laney. He’s a citified dandy who wears tassels on his shoes.”

  “Honey, with those eyes and curls I don’t care what he wears,” Laney declared.

  Jodie deliberately changed the subject. “Enough about my roommate. You didn’t give your ride tonight a hundred percent. With that Arizona chick coming up the ranks you can’t afford to lose points. What was the matter?”

  “Chris.”