“You’re the cowboy on the cover.” She held up the book for him to see. The coloring books were free to kids. Ashni had amused herself sketching many of the cowboys last year on the tour, and she’d turned her line drawings into a coloring book. The tour paid the printing fees and gave out the books to kids at every rodeo event. Ashni had been so excited in her own quiet way. She’d shyly admitted that it had made her feel like she was still an artist, and it was a way to give back to the community.
“I am.” He smiled at the young girl, who looked to be maybe seven or eight. She was pale and frail. He saw a port peeking out of her loose-fitting pink T-shirt with a bucking horse in rhinestones that hung off her thin shoulders.
His heart broke a little each time he saw a kid battling a life-threatening disease, but he still went to the pediatric wards at a hospital in most of the cities he hit on the tour, Ashni by his side. She would draw with kids or sit and play her guitar and sing.
“I’m going to be an artist when I grow up,” she said. “It just takes practice, wanting it and expiration.” Her voice was thin, but her eyes glowed with determination. Her hair was wispy blonde on her head, just growing back.
“Inspiration,” her mother whispered, smiling at her daughter, her hand smoothing over her daughter’s narrow shoulders.
No man by her side and no ring, Beck noted, feeling more despair sweep through him. How could a man ever leave his child and the mother of his child, especially during an illness?
But men left. He knew it first-hand. His cousins knew it too.
“Well then—” he squatted down “—maybe this guy can help inspire you.” He handed her the artistic horse.
The girl’s eyes got huge. “Really? For me?” she whispered. The horse was nearly as large as she was.
Her mother blinked hard. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Bless you,” she whispered.
He stood. “My pleasure, ma’am.” He handed her two tickets that would get her in the VIP section for the finals.
“It’s too much,” she breathed. “The tour already gave the hospital tickets for many families.”
“Seats are more comfortable in this section, and the food and drink vendors come to you. Enjoy your day.”
“What’s the horse’s name?” the little girl asked, tugging on his hand while her other arm wrapped tightly around the animal.
He had no idea. It was her choice, wasn’t it?
“Absolution,” Bodhi answered. “The horse’s name is Absolution.”
What the heck? Beck opened his mouth to tell the girl his cousin was teasing, but she gazed at the plush animal’s comical expression with a steadfast devotion that broke his heart a little more.
“Hello, Abso…abso something. I’m Amanda.”
“Pleased to meet you, Amanda.” He touched her head softly and tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”
He and his cousins walked back to the arena.
“Smart move,” Bowen said. “You did a good deed and don’t have storage issues.”
“But you’re also out a mea culpa gift for Ashni,” Bodhi added. “Might I suggest a big, sparkly ring that will blind other drooling cowboys from across the bar and howl in a true Neanderthal style ‘this one’s taken, boys.’”
Beck increased his speed.
“Get her a ring or cut her loose. This is embarrassing,” Bodhi called out.
Beck peeled off to the dressing room so he could put on his chaps and wrap his ribs. He pulled off his tee, grabbed one of the many rolls of tape and began to wrap. When he competed, he wore a Kevlar vest, but the tape offered protection and stability for his often aching ribs.
“You’re in trouble, cuz. I can feel it.” Of course Bodhi couldn’t leave him alone.
Beck shoved in his mouth guard so he didn’t say something he’d later regret.
“If you love her…” Bodhi picked up the medical tape to wrap Beck’s shoulder even though he’d been pretty injury-free even this late in the season “…I don’t see why you’re cowering outside of the chute.”
Lovely image. Beck pulled out his mouth guard. “I don’t need relationship advice from a man whose relationships last an hour.”
Bodhi expertly finished the wrap and ripped off the tape with his teeth.
“I last way longer than that,” he taunted, flipping his wrist so the mouth guard jammed back in Beck’s mouth. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
Beck yanked out his mouth guard again.
But Bodhi beat him to the punch line. “You should have kept the horse. Least you’d have some company in bed.” Bodhi tipped his hat and was gone, leaving Beck to flip off empty space.
*
Ashni finished packing as slow as she dared. The entire wedding party and many guests were meeting for a late brunch in the hotel, and then she was heading to the airport—much to her parents’ disappointment.
Usually she was happy to get back to Beck, but she was still smarting from the pointed questions about her lack of marital status and reminders of her age from supposedly loving and well-meaning family and friends.
Usually she blew it off. But even her parents had sat her down this time and demanded to know her plans and what she was doing with her life.
Hurtful. It’s not like she didn’t have accomplishments. She was making a difference to a lot of kids who were rodeo fans, but now, she was having doubts. It had started at Christmas. She’d been thinking this was the year Beck would propose. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d signed up for another year on the tour before discussing it with her. She’d been stunned. She wanted to stop living a life on the road, but she hadn’t told him. She’d been upset there was no ring. And that hurt and pissed her off because she shouldn’t rely on Beck for her happiness.
Her passivity irked her.
She glared at her reflection in the mirror. “You are your own woman. Educated. Talented. A professional. You don’t need a proposal to complete you. You’re just twenty-nine not forty.”
She needed her usual calm but instead felt anxious. And her stomach swirled nauseatingly, something it had been doing more often lately. Too busy with work and planning the art classes she’d teach over a week break in Montana, she’d barely had time to breathe, much less eat a meal.
“Marriage isn’t everything.” She faced her reflection, hands on hips, willing the information to sink fully into her psyche. Really, she was letting her mom’s doubts and her aunties’ clamoring ruin what should have been a precious and beautiful memory with Reeva and her family.
“Get over it,” she muttered zipping her suitcase shut. Her Indian clothes were already in a garment bag ready for her parents to take home.
“Be the woman you want to be,” she reminded herself in the elevator down.
She was in charge of her own happiness. Feeling bolstered by her pep talk, she went downstairs to the lobby and immediately wished she’d stayed in her room. Her mother fretted she was pale and thin. Her father was still angry that Beck hadn’t taken the weekend off to attend the wedding. He harangued her and anyone who would listen about what kind of boy was he, playing games instead of getting a real job.
And then he sat her down and called over Anju, the wife of his oldest friend and a successful matchmaker, who began interviewing her about what kind of boy she wanted. Yes, her father, who had immigrated to the United States in middle school, was suddenly intent on arranging a marriage for her.
What kind of a boy did she want?
Not even Beck at this point.
Ash contemplated becoming celibate. She too was upset he hadn’t come to the wedding—not the full two weeks, but he could have come for the weekend, missing only one rodeo. Ashni showing up solo had NOT gone unnoticed by anyone.
She was so relieved when Reeva and John appeared that she launched herself off the chair and practically tackled her cousin.
“Do you want to hide in one of my suitcases and I’ll spring you at the airport?” Reeva laughed.
“Yes, please.” Ashni was a bit embarrassed at how desperate she sounded. “Now that you’re hitched, all the marriage juju is going to be hurled at me like monkey poop.”
John laughed. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s worse,” she and Reeva answered at the same time, and then Reeva hugged her.
“It’s fine. You have Beck. Don’t let any of the family pressure you.”
Self-actualized words she reminded herself of over and over during brunch as her father continued to push his dump Beck theme. It was weird. Her father was pretty hip and happily immersed in both Indian and American cultures. He’d fallen in love with a beautiful strawberry blonde from San Francisco in med school and had defied his parents and married her in Vegas one weekend before their separate residencies started. But now he was talking arranged marriage, having her finally apply to medical school, and packing her up back to Denver.
She was more than a decade beyond his ability to boss her, but still, it hurt that they didn’t approve of her life. She was a pleaser by nature, and all the side-eyes had left their mark, and she felt bruised. Reeva had always been the one to casually flaunt public opinion, and no matter who said what, she kept her good nature.
Not Ash. She was sure there was some meditation she should be chanting about peace and calm and understanding as she pushed food around on her plate.
She didn’t need to head to the airport for another hour, but maybe she should escape now. She was flying into Boise so she and Beck could drive to his granddad’s ranch in Montana. Beck would help his granddad on the family’s legacy ranch and compete at the Copper Mountain Rodeo, and she would teach an art class at an after-school program called Harry’s House.
She’d never taught before but Sky Wilder, who was an accomplished metals artist and married to one of the top bull riders in the world before he retired this year, had contacted her after seeing the coloring book and rodeo comic story she’d included in the back.
It would be good to feel like an artist again. And she loved working with kids.
She checked her watch and then scrolled through her phone, hoping to catch Beck’s first event—bulldogging. She loved watching him. He was so fast and fluid and fearless. And sexy. Her tummy flipped just thinking about him, and her anger and frustration faded a little.
“Oh, hey.” Reeva waved imperiously to get the bartender’s attention. “You have satellite, right? Find the rodeo channel. Please.” She smiled the last word.
Not many people ever said no to Reeva, and soon forty people were watching Beck on Raider fly over the line while Bodhi kept the galloping steer straight and practically before she blinked, Beck had slid off Raider, grabbed the horns, and with a quick twist, the bull was on its back legs up and then Beck released, popped to his feet and waved to the crowd with his hat.
“What?” John turned to her. “What just happened?”
“Fierce athleticism and magic.” Ashni felt her heart swell with pride.
Beck’s time was faster than any of the other cowboys by more than two seconds. And then he was being awarded his buckle and prize money.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer Jerry Williams’s voice rang out over the PA system with its familiar, warm timbre. “Please give a round of applause to your Idaho Panhandle Pro Rodeo steer wrestling champion this weekend: Beckett Ballantyne.”
Beck strode into the arena still wearing his electric-blue chaps with white stars and tipped his hat to the crowd. Ashni felt her heart leap. This never got old even though she’d seen Beck in the winner’s circle many times.
And then everything went pear-shaped. Usually the awards were fast—one question from Jerry, a couple of sentences and thanks to the crowd and then pictures with the sponsors, but this time Jerry was spinning it out—throwing out hints and asking questions about the Copper Mountain Rodeo and going home with his “special lady.”
Weird.
Ashni frowned. What was Jerry doing? But as he continued to push Beck—asking him if he had any special plans with his lady over his short break—it became unfortunately clear what game Jerry was playing.
Ashni felt sick to her stomach, but she laughed, twisted her hair into a low bun at the back on her neck and tried to stomp down the unusual combination of anger, humiliation and tears as Beck dodged the questions, looking as awkward as a snowboarder would at a pool. Beck said he didn’t have anything special planned. Ashni avoided looking at the anger stamped on her father’s face and the pity filling her mom’s gaze.
She quickly made the rounds, hugging everyone, saying she’d see them all at Christmas if not before and then she made her escape into the Denver sun, wheeling her suitcase toward her ride share even as she made changes to her flight.
*
More than an hour after Jerry pulled his stunt putting Beck in the hot seat, Beck still felt riled. He’d come in third in the saddle bronc after he’d started in first. The prize money and buckle should have been his.
He knew his success hinged on preparation and focus. Why had he let Jerry get to him? Bodhi had probably put Jerry up to the stunt—totally juvenile, but he hadn’t needed to respond in kind. He felt disloyal, as if he’d publicly rejected Ash, insinuating she wasn’t special. Instead he’d been rejecting the spectacle and publicity. He hated being put on the spot.
He needed to stop worrying. He and Ash were solid. But thank God she’d been at the wedding, likely too busy to watch.
She hadn’t texted him like she usually did before and after he competed when she wasn’t present, nor had she checked in last night or answered his text.
Probably busy.
She and Reeva were as tight as he was with his cousins. He checked his watch. He had time before her flight arrived.
He headed back to the ridiculous ping-pong and fish-bowl game, hoping to win the other massive artistic horse grand prize the guy had put up after he’d won the first, only this time he didn’t have Bodhi’s help and his hold hand was aching something fierce. Usually he iced it after a ride, and Ashni would gently massage his hand, stretch the muscles and tendons.
“Deal, cowboy,” he scolded. Ash had better things to do than coddle him. Still, he couldn’t shake the weird feeling he had in his belly. Winning the second grand prize for Ashni, even though it was wildly impractical, would make him feel better. Except it wasn’t there.
“’Nuther cowboy won it over an hour ago. Didn’t miss a shot. Never seen nothing like it,” the attendant explained. “Still plenty of other things to win to charm your lady or lots of ladies.” He laughed.
But not the horse.
And Beck had no idea why winning the ridiculous-looking artistic horse seemed so imperative. It was weird. Bulky. Impractical. They lived their lives on the road—motel rooms or the small living suite in his rig.
He walked back toward the livestock stalls, muttering some not nice terms about uber-skilled ping-pong-chucking cowboys under his breath.
He’d buy her something special in Marietta. Take her somewhere nice to dinner tonight, although he cringed thinking about all the wedding talk. Between Bodhi and Jerry, he was starting to feel like he had a target on his chest.
He entered the area where the competition horses were held. The dimmer light and familiar smell of the animals and sawdust instantly soothed him in a way that people—except Ash—never could.
He came to Raider’s stall and the champion quarter horse shook out his flowing black mane and snorted a welcome. The last of Beck’s tension drained from his body. He greeted Raider, scratching his majestic neck and silky mane. He complimented the horse on how well he’d done and snuck him a few treats as they walked to the horse trailer.
Raider tossed his head and whinnied as if basking in the compliments. He walked like a champion. He’d definitely been on his game today in his two final events.
Beck walked him to his rig and up the ramp firmly. Raider never liked this part. He no longer balked, but every gleaming muscle tensed.
Beck spoke softly to him and secured him in the trailer using his voice and body to reassure and praise. He smoothed his callused hand down Raider’s gleaming and muscled shoulder and finger-combed his silky black mane.
“Done good today,” he said softly. He took his two new buckles—a first in steer wrestling and another in tie-down roping—and held them out for Raider to sniff. It was a ritual for them both. And over the past six years he’d been on the pro rodeo circuit, quite often he and Raider had come out on top.
Raider snorted and nuzzled his shirt pocket, looking for the expected treat.
“Greedy,” he teased. “I already gave you two apple slices.” He laughed softly and scratched Raider’s forelock before slipping him a carrot and another slice of apple.
Raider’s velvety nostrils and mouth tickled his palm, and Beckett smiled, gave the horse another pat, and then checked his water and feed for the trip home to Marietta before adding another layer of bedding for the trailer.
“Behave now,” he cautioned. “And I’ll go get your partner in crime.” He walked down the short ramp. “After that we need to head to the airport so I can find mine.”
He re-entered the arena stables and headed straight to Gallatin, who seemed judgy, as if offended at being passed over for Raider.
“I’ve got you,” he soothed, amused by the spirited horse. He’d already decided not to sell him.
His phone rang. His heart soared.
“Hey, baby, your flight early?”
“Hey, baby? Is that how you greet your mother?”
Beck winced. His mom, Madelyn Leigh Ballantyne, had never gone by Maddy nor had she deigned to dump her maiden name upon marrying any of her four husbands—all soon discarded. None of her sisters had either, as if the Ballantyne name signaled royalty.
It didn’t, although in Marietta and the large surrounding ranching community, the name meant something special. But all three daughters had fled the ranch for college and a life far more urban than Montana’s wild beauty and wide-open spaces. By the time he and his cousins had been competing in high school rodeo, their mothers had all been divorced and their dads all out of the picture, so the three of them had started competing using their mothers’ maiden name.
The Cowboy Says I Do Page 2