Dances with Wolf (12 page)

Chapter Fifteen

The night before the Great Falls Roundup, the first rodeo on the Northwest Montana summer circuit, Wolf gripped Bullet’s halter tightly as he walked her down the ramp and tied her to the trailer. She calmed immediately at his touch, warming to the new gentle way he handled her. He thought about giving her a quick slap on the butt, just to remind both horse and master who was boss, but restrained himself.

Wolf had spent the last six days faithfully following Abby’s instructions, and Bullet seemed to have fully recovered. Every morning, by the time the mist had cleared the meadow, he was water-walking her in the deeper pools of the creek, ninety minutes or more until he led her back into the barn and rubbed her down. The left hock was growing stronger, more flexible. Bullet no longer shivered when he ran his hand over the area.

It was a peaceful stretch, the kind of time he’d seldom allowed himself. The ranch was at its best in the early morning, the highest branches of the pines bustling with activity as the ospreys guarded their nests. He heard the plaintive cries of up-all-night owls and took in the scent of the first-cut hay wafting over from his neighbor’s field. Mostly, though, there was stillness, a deep quiet during which he simply could not stop thinking of Abby.

Her body yielding, pulling away, yielding again. Her face, those elegant Salish cheekbones, the strong grasp of her fingers on him. He wanted her beside him again, hogging the sheets at night, and in the morning, her smile the first thing that greeted him. He had never felt such need for a woman before. It was driving him crazy.

He wanted her here, too, at this, the first event he’d competed in since hooking up with her. He’d never needed anyone out there for him, cheering him on, but this rodeo felt different. Like always, he wanted to win, but he wanted to win while Abby watched him do it. It could be
their
win.

Go ahead. Just send her another text. Tell her how well Bullet traveled, how great she’s doing…nah, she’ll think you’re pestering her. Worse, she’ll think you’re whipped.

Wolf was
not
whipped, and never would be. So what if Abby hadn’t responded to his message from an hour ago, the one in which he’d told her he hadn’t been convinced by aqua-therapy, not at the beginning? He’d gone on to tell her that he’d done everything she’d asked him to do, and that Bullet seemed happy and healthy. He’d given her props. So why hadn’t she responded?

Maybe Wolf was the one who needed therapy, not in the water, but in some damn head-shrinker’s chair. Somebody who’d tell him that getting involved with Abby probably spelled a lifetime commitment, the kind he wouldn’t be ready for until years from now, when he’d either aged out of the rodeo game, or gotten it out of his system. He wanted to be with her, sure, but not if that meant leaving his rodeo days behind forever.

About two hundred yards away, Wolf spotted a twenty-something girl in jeans with Abby’s build, and something like her confident stride, headed toward the arena. He caught his breath. Abby wasn’t supposed to join him until Polson a few days later, but had she changed her mind and driven down here to surprise him? If she had, he’d win the damned rodeo, sweep her up in his arms, and carry her back to a Motel 6. Or better yet, he’d pull her into the trailer and set her down on a fresh layer of hay, and then he’d have good luck stored up for his events. Was there anything sexier than having to suppress your moans and cries, one thin metal door from public view? They’d cover each other’s mouths, fit their bodies together like two puzzle pieces and take their sweet, sweet time. Only Bullet would be the wiser.

But the girl turned around and pulled off her cowboy hat as she signaled someone in the stands. Her hair was bright red on top with stupid stripes of cobalt blue and black underneath. This was no Abby, this was a Tacky Tania, some groupie from Great Falls. Loneliness and yearning shot through Wolf like a maverick virus, and admitting it made him sick at his own behavior. He didn’t need to be thinking about this right now. He needed to be getting into the zone.

Despite himself, though, he crouched down next to Bullet and pulled out his phone. What harm would one more text do? A client-to-trainer communication. Last-minute prep before the main event.

Got over to Great Falls in good time. Bullet 100% sound. Ready to roll. You’d be proud of us. Going to scope out the ring, then bed down for the night. If Bullet could talk, she’d say, Thanks, Dr. Abby, wish me luck.

He thought about writing, “Yours, Wolfsie,” but thankfully got a hold of himself. An hour later he got a reply:

I don’t want to say I told you so but hey! water-walking really works. Am proud of you and Bullet. Just hope you’ll take it easy on her tomorrow. Call me when it’s over. I’ll be waiting.

So, there it was, an invitation from Abby. “Call me…I’ll be waiting.” Wolf, perched on the only empty barstool at the Fatted Calf, downed a pint of Moose Drool before his hand, quite independently of his brain, reached yet again for his phone. He slapped a five-dollar bill on the counter and sauntered through the double doors out to the bar’s rickety porch. A dozen cowboys, their girls in tow, spilled down the steps and out into the Great Falls night. Two or three raised their glasses toward Wolf. He shrugged back, barely acknowledging them.

It was the usual crew: Cal McNair, Woolly Lambert, Checchi O’Hara, their All-Round buckles loosely cinched around well-worn Wranglers. Some dumbass kid with a blonde on each arm, a burgundy MSU baseball cap worn backwards like the know-nothing teenager he was.

Before he could find a quiet spot down the street, an unwelcome memory crossed his mind. A conversation he’d had with Roy only a week ago.

“You know this kid Ty Calvert, from Billings?”

“Never heard of him.” Wolf had been lying. He’d heard of Calvert, but he hadn’t paid him any mind, not yet. Every year, there was some new hotshot college rodeo kid nipping at his heels, but Wolf had always managed to outclass the competition. This year would be no different.

“Kid just won the National Collegiate. Grapevine says he’s headed our way to do the whole summer circuit.”

“I’m not gonna lose any sleep over Tim Calvert.”

“Ty. Ty Calvert. What’s wrong, old man, you losing your hearing, too?” Roy chuckled. “The kid’s times are pretty good. Damn close to yours, in fact. He takes chances, you know? And he’s got a couple of real good heelers.”

“Must have a rich daddy, too. You know I never had the money to invest in more than one good horse at a time.”

“Well, don’t give this kid even a single chance to one-up you. We’re not getting any younger, you know.” Bonner had stared right at Wolf, then lowered his eyes.

There’d been no missing his meaning. Roy, and Roy alone, knew about Wolf’s recent creakiness. That was a polite word for it, actually. He’d hyper-extended his right knee last season, and it had been making a weird snapping noise ever since. On top of that, he’d pulled an oblique muscle at some point in the late winter. He’d recovered, but he was paranoid. Would he be one of those cowboys who had to retire at twenty-five because his body simply gave up on him?

Under the light of a flickering street lamp, heart pounding annoyingly like he was a know-nothing teenager himself, he made the call.

“Hey, you,” he said.

“Hey yourself,” Abby said.

“Didn’t wake you, did I?”

“I just got under the covers with Stella. She says hi. How’s it going so far?”

“Bullet traveled down real easy. I bandaged her hock, but not too tight, just like you suggested. I think she’s starting to crave the extra attention.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

She laughed under her breath, and his heart soared. He pictured her in a sheer nightgown, that flawless, muscled body just waiting there for him.

“I kind of wish you were driving over here tomorrow,” he said. “You know, just one last look at Bullet.”

“I thought you said she was a hundred percent.”

“She is, it’s just…”

“You want some company, that it?”

“Well, Bonner’s not going to make it. There are just a couple of guys here to hang out with. Celebrate with,” he corrected himself. “Anyway, I thought you’d like to witness one of your first professional triumphs. That’s all.”

“Wow, we are sure of ourselves, aren’t we? Just don’t ride her too hard tomorrow and undo everything you’ve been working on this week.”

“No worries, I know what I’m doing. I wouldn’t have entered her if I thought she wasn’t ready.” Wolf tried to soften his voice. In the echoing silence at Abby’s end, he came across like a bit of a jerk, didn’t he? “Hey, forget what I just said. I’m grateful to be here, and I owe it all to you.”

“You’re very welcome. Anyway, you’ve been checking in a lot this week and I appreciate that. I think she’s probably ready. As long as you take her slow on the curves, let her find her own pace once you’ve roped the calf, I don’t think she’ll let you down.”

“Got it.” Wolf wiped his palm on his jeans. He was sweating, and it was a cool evening. What the hell was happening to him?

“Change of subject,” she said. “Have you gotten a call from Bridget?”

“Nah. She’s not big on texting, you know. She likes the old face-to-face. You’re bringing her down with you to Polson next weekend, right? Mark, too?”

He pictured his sister, cringing in the stands with Abby. Bridget hated bull riding. He sure hoped Abby didn’t agree with her. Some animal lovers got carried away.

“I think you should call her. She’s…got a lot going on.”

Bridget was the last person on his mind. He was only thinking about Abby. He longed to wrap his arms around her, pull her into the whole scene. The sequin-topped girls, the dusty-kneed guys, the tricked-out trailers parked nose to nose. It would all be so much more tolerable if she were here. But this wasn’t her gig, was it? She’d probably consider all the rodeo excesses a nightmare, offensive even. Plus, he was starting to freak himself out a little bit, with Abby constantly on his mind. He would need to take the neediness down a notch or two.

“I’ll call Bridge in the morning. I’ve got a whole day to kill. I’d try to pry it out of you if I didn’t know how tight you two were.”

“It’s big news. But very, very good news.”

“Will do,” he said. “’night, Abby.”

“Be safe.”

So Bridget was marrying Mark, an all-around good dude, somebody Wolf would be proud to consider a brother and a friend. Bridge marrying Mark was a no-brainer.

…

A parade down the main street the next evening signaled opening night, followed by fireworks over the arena specifically designed to freak the hell out of every horse within a thirty-mile radius. You’d have to be an idiot not to understand that fireworks and horses were totally incompatible, but Wolf kept hold of Bullet’s halter during the display to settle her. Then, feeling like an absolute fool, and looking in each direction to make sure no one saw, he blew into her nostrils to calm her further. He’d die if he got busted by one of his fellow competitors doing something that kooky-looking. But it worked, just like Abby’d said it would.

It was twenty minutes before they’d call his event. He looped Bullet’s reins over his arm and cupped his mouth, trying to calm himself with his own deep breathing. Abby had sworn that humans were in need of whispering, just like horses were. Maybe she was right about that, too. He’d called his sister, and the details of her news had really floored him. As much as he liked Mark, he’d expected a lengthy engagement, not a wedding three weeks from now, and a kid in time for Christmas! Bridget, after all, was practically a kid herself.

“Listen,” he’d told her. “You’ve always known what you were doing. But this is a forever kind of decision.”

Bridget laughed. “I know it is. It’s the forever part I’m looking forward to.”

“Of course, and I’m sure you guys’ll have an amazing life together.” He tried to picture Bridget as a bride. She’d be beautiful, sure of herself, as confident as ever. But motherhood? He couldn’t picture it—his party-all-night sister rocking an inconsolable infant to sleep. He wondered if he’d ever be ready for such a step. Not just being tied down to a woman, but the responsibility of another human life—no way. Bullet was as much as he could handle right now.

Ten minutes ’til showtime. He looked around the arena. Ty Calvert and his crew were prepping two stalls down from him. He recognized him by the “Team Ty” T-shirts worn by every member of his huge team. Wolf would be embarrassed to be accompanied by such a huge entourage.

The kid
had
switched out his baseball hat for a Resistol, but underneath was the same too-broad smile, the tanned, unlined face, the prominent nose poking out from under his brim.
Cocky
.
Cocky and untested.
He felt himself tense up. What was he thinking—leaping into the first rodeo of the season on his still-recovering mare? The desire to prove himself to Abby was so powerful, it was toying with his better sense of judgment. Shouldn’t he have waited a week or two until Bullet was ready and willing? Now here he was in a finite area with 1200 pounds of unpredictability. Thank God, the woman he was trying to impress wouldn’t witness his stupidity.

The announcer hailed the first contestant, Rider Number 16, and a calf shot into the ring. The cowboy overshot the calf, dropped sideways off his horse, one foot still dangling in his stirrup, and lost the loop by the time he’d reached the calf. It struggled to its feet and stumbled around the arena, dragging rope until the rodeo clown guided it toward the waiting exit ramp. Wolf winced. In the rodeo, you were either king of the world or a horse’s ass with a clown for a keeper. It required a lot of guts to take this kind of risk. He felt sorry for Number 16, and hoped to God nobody would be pitying
him
in a few minutes.

Two more horses and riders finished the event with middling times. Wolf recognized the low-slung Appaloosa with a tiny, wiry man at the helm. It was Checci O’Hara, a strong roper, but a little erratic. Checci’s Appaloosa bolted on signal, nearly catching up with the calf in a single stride. Checci’s hat flew halfway across the ring as he overrode the calf, then signaled his horse to halt. The gelding backed up, but without his rider in the saddle. The cowboy’s stirrup had twisted, and though he’d hit the ground without falling, one leg was still stuck up in the air, making the tough Checci look like an awkward chorus girl. By the time he’d untangled it and rushed toward the calf, twelve long seconds had passed. Checci emphasized his error by roping the calf slowly and gently, then bowing in a circle toward the audience. Mechanical error, thought Wolf. A good thing no one, including the calf, was hurt. Abby wouldn’t have enjoyed watching that.