Road to Glory (18 page)

“Morning, Glory,” Hank called as she stepped into the barn.

“Hank, you seen Mr. Hargrove?”

“Went to the equipment room,” he replied, scooping corn into the bucket. “Haven’t seen him since.”

“Thanks,” she replied with a wave of her hand.

She crossed to the side of the barn and pushed the worn door open. “Travis?” she called out before stepping inside. “Travis?”

A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side. Glory gasped in surprise and looked up into his smiling face.

“What took you so long, darlin’?” he drawled. As his lips descended, she heard the door swing shut.

Chapter Thirteen

She melted against him, her lips aching for more of the kisses that had made last night memorable. Glory slid her hand up his arms to his shoulders, in hopes she could stay upright, as her knees melted. All too soon, their lips parted.

“I’ve been waiting all morning to do that,” he mused.

Glory watched his eyes open, and she could read the expression of complete satisfaction in the deep blue of them. It thrilled her to know he enjoyed their kisses as much as she. “Me too.” Hearing her own admission brought a surge of heat to her cheeks. Embarrassed, she concentrated on the buttons of his shirt. Bringing her fingers down, she pressed them against the snaps. “I suppose it was foolish to think Alma wouldn’t have come home.”

He chuckled. The sound was warm, not at all teasing or hurtful. “It might have been awkward, to have been found in your bed, or even coming down the stairs wearing a smile.”

His hands locked behind her back, and she felt secure.

“I’m a bit afraid Miss Alma would come after me with that butcher knife she’s so fond of waving.”

A smile crossed Glory’s face. “Hmm, that is a possibility,” she agreed. Something nudged her consciousness. She dampened her lips. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” she began. Beneath her fingers, she could feel his muscles stiffen. “It’s just, well, I’ve never had a lov—” She paused and collected her thoughts. “I mean, I don’t sleep around, Travis. Never have. There was only this one time.” Her voice trailed off. “But I believed he was the one.”

He moved his hand and placed a finger beneath her chin. “It’s okay. This is new territory to me, as well.”

Glory’s brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t want to lose what we’ve got going on here.”

“Me either.” Travis punctuated his statement with a quick kiss of reassurance.

Whatever words she was going to add evaporated like the dew on a summer morning. All that mattered was that he was kissing her and she enjoyed it.

“Oh, excuse me,” a male voice interrupted.

Glory’s heart thudded to a stop. She hadn’t planned on one of the wranglers walking in on them. Their lips parted, and she dropped her forehead against Travis’ shirt. His hands were steady at her back. She felt protected, and it sent a sense of calm over her.

“What is it, Hank?” She heard Travis say.

“I was coming to tell Miss Beebe we’ve got the fence tight, if she wants to check it before the vet comes tomorrow.”

“Sure, I’ll be right there,” Glory replied in a quiet voice. “Give me a second, will you?”

“Sure.” There was a moment of silence. “I’ll knock next time,” he said, and Glory heard his footsteps fade away as the door shut.

The tack room regained its peace. “You all right?” Travis asked. His hand moved back to cup her face.

Glory watched his gaze search her face. His thumb brushed softly against her cheek, and she leaned against it as she spoke. “Last night, we said there wouldn’t be regrets. I don’t have one now. Yet I can’t say I wouldn’t want what just happened between us to stay out of the limelight for a bit longer. However, it will come out sooner or later. So I’ll ask you one thing straight, Travis Hargrove.”

He grew still and gave her a puzzled look. “And that is?”

“Please, don’t let our intimate moments become fodder for gossip.”

“No, I won’t.”

“So what happens behind closed doors…?” Glory asked.

“Stays behind closed doors,” Travis told her. “You’ve got nothing to fear from me, Glory, and I’m talking honest.”

To make sure she knew, he leaned down and sealed the bargain with a gentle kiss. “Go, take care of your fence. I’ve got a few things to pick up from town for tonight’s lesson. After we check out Alma’s casserole we can leave at six and have time to run by Mickey’s.”

“Six,” she repeated and, with great reluctance, walked away.

****

Travis followed the directions Hank had given him on the back of a feed store receipt. The building stood on the main corridor just out of town. He pulled into the lot and stopped. Leaning on the steering wheel, he glanced at the sign: Cowboy Emporium. With a sigh, he stepped out of the truck, leaving his cane behind and pulling his Stetson onto his head, and walked toward the entrance. He paused at the doorway. His glance fell on the poster by the door, advertising the rodeo.

If nothing else, Mickey was a great promoter. Along with the picture of Glory’s bull Grave Digger in the center, Travis also noted his own name as one of the competitors. The grim line of his lips bore the evidence of his displeasure. It was a good thing he and Glory were going by to see Mickey tonight. Travis had one or two good words he wanted to get in. With a shake of his head, he pulled the plate-glass door open and walked in.

The smells of new leather and saddle soap filled his nostrils. Like coming home. Travis drank in the familiar scents. Walking toward the counter, he noted the casual way the owners had set up the merchandise—new saddles by the doorway across from the boots, jeans, and other clothing that lined the walls to the left. Behind the counter stood a burly gent whose handlebar mustache and shirt sleeves held up by garters made him the spit image of a nineteenth-century proprietor. “Howdy,” the man said, looking up.

“Morning.” Travis gave a nod.

“I think what you’re looking for is to your right, on the back wall.” The clerk gestured with the end of his pencil.

Travis turned to look and chuckled. A life-sized fiberglass bull, his hind feet extended toward the ceiling, stood mirrored in a semicircle of recessed lights. Behind it on the wall he could see a good assortment of helmets, protective vests, and other equipment that pertained to bull riding.

“I wondered when you’d get here.”

The man’s voice seemed closer. Travis looked back and found the clerk beside him, his fingers hooked beneath the straps of his suspenders. “You did?”

The man nodded. “Well, seeing as how those posters have been up all over town for days now. It’s only natural you need to get some supplies so you and the boys can get ready.”

“Yeah, me and the boys,” Travis murmured beneath his breath. He felt a friendly hand come down on his shoulder. “Well, I can’t complain. It’s been great for business. Lots of the locals coming in askin’ questions, some of the younger cowboys feeling the need to test their skill, especially with John Parker comin’ in for the big event.”

Travis drew a deep breath. “Ah, yes.”

“So, what are we looking for today?”

“A few ropes, maybe a vest or two.” From past experience, Travis knew that first-timers rarely estimated the wear and tear on their equipment; three or four rides in and their ropes might fray or, worse yet, break. It was always a good policy to have spares on hand.

“Come this way.” The man led him past the racks of colorful leather chaps. “I just got in a shipment of Brazilian ropes. I hear the professionals are leaning toward them now.”

“How do you feel about that?”

The man shrugged. “Hard to say. I guess I’m old school. If it ain’t broke…”

“Don’t fix it.” Travis smiled.

“Something like that. Here you go.” He pointed to the back wall, and Travis stepped up to inspect the different ropes on the hooks. “As you can see, we’ve got your center block, your offsets, stitched loops, rounded handholds—nearly everything a self-respecting bull rider might be looking for, except for the bull, of course.”

“Of course,” Travis repeated. “What’s the most popular with your rides in this area?”

The clerk rubbed his jaw. “Well, I’d have to say we sell more conventional ropes, with an offset handhold. Most of the youngsters around here prefer not to have their rope roll on the animal. Most pick double-stitched to give a sturdy grasp. When it comes to the tail of the rope, I’d go at least eight feet.”

Travis nodded. “You know your clientele.”

“Well, it’s important in my business to bring ’em back alive. Let me go in the back and pull one we just got in. I think you’ll like it.”

He watched the clerk hurry away, leaving him time to peruse the assortment of bells that hung on the ropes beneath the bull.

“Howdy, Hargrove.”

Travis stilled. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, and it raised his hackles. He turned to face the man standing beside him. Almost the same height, the cowboy dressed in a dark red shirt and jeans looked familiar, yet he couldn’t place him. “Howdy.”

“You don’t remember me,” the man said.

“I’ve seen a lot of cowboys in the past few weeks. I don’t suppose you’d like to give me your name?”

A smirk pulled the side of the man’s mouth upwards. “I’ve been on the circuit, trying to get my points up. Riding behind the likes of Colt Peterson and you, I thought I had it last week at Powder Springs when you weren’t riding. That must have been good advice you gave Peterson, though. He won the competition.”

“Did he now? Well, that’s good to know,” Travis responded.

“Leave your cane at home?”

Travis tensed; clearly this wasn’t a chance meeting. Taking his time, he reached for a cowbell and gave it a closer inspection. “My leg is getting stronger, thank you.”

The cowboy nodded. “I hear Big John is coming in for this little rodeo. Rumors have it that if you can’t ride, you’re done.”

“There are always rumors,” Travis replied. He was getting tired of this now. The kid was baiting him, but he wasn’t sure for what reason. “You didn’t say what your name was.”

“No, I didn’t. The name’s Jax, Jax Martin, and I’m the bull rider that’s gonna take your place. I hear the rodeo’s looking for new talent. Time for the old to make way for the new.”

The smirk on the kid’s face didn’t bother him half as much as the smugness of his attitude. Travis chose his words with caution. “When I was going up, a man saved his breath, used his actions to make up for his lack of words.”

“Oh, I plan on that. I’m a bit late for this little school you and Davis are holding, but I want to see just what this great advice is.”

Travis caught the cold glint in the man’s eyes, and the distaste he already had turned to dislike. “Let me tell you a bit about the rodeo: no man is handed the brass ring; you got to earn your way in by the sweat of your brow. So, cowboy, if I were you, I’d concentrate on my skills, not running my mouth.”

Eyes narrowed, Travis didn’t back down nor back away. Instead, he stared into the man’s eyes and waited. Seconds ticked away like hours, and just when he was sure a fist might come in his direction, the cowboy stepped close, shoving his shoulder against Travis’. “You’re going to remember me, old man, because you’ll be at home when they put my name on the next gold buckle.”

Travis studied the bell in his hand and listened to the sound of the man’s boots as they skimmed the carpet on the way out. A bull rider with a chip on his shoulder was never a good thing. Perhaps, when he was through here, he’d make a phone call to Big John.

“He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” The clerk took that moment to enter the aisle.

“No, no problem.” Travis smiled.

“He’s been hanging round here since the first of the week like he was waiting for you to come in. I run him off once when he was talking to some of the kids. I’m sure sorry about that.”

“It’s a free country. I reckon he can hang where he wants to,” Travis replied. “May I see those ropes?”

“Sure.” The clerk handed them over. “Jax Martin’s mouth gets him in more trouble than he’s worth, but I bet you’ll take him down a notch or two when you get him in the ring. Most folks here in Palmer will be grateful, especially Miss Beebe.”

Travis stilled. “What’s Glory got to do with this?”

The clerk’s face turned as red as Jax’s shirt. “I’ve said way too much. I think that’s something that will have to come from her.”

Some eight hundred dollars later, Travis carried out his purchases, including several good ropes and a couple of vests. Opening the door, he laid them in the back of the extended cab and climbed in. He slipped the key into the ignition and backed away. As he drove back through town, he couldn’t help but think about what the clerk had said, or, more correctly, what he’d refused to say. It was evident that Jax and Glory had a past. Only one person might tell him, and she was over at Mickey’s place.

Travis drove past the entrance to the Glory B and, a half mile down, took the next right. Just off the gravel road stood a smaller single-story bungalow where he could see Mickey’s truck in the back and a smaller red sports car parked beside it, in front of the barn. He eased the truck to a stop and walked to the screen door.

“Mr. Hargrove.” Alma spoke in surprise as she opened the door for him to enter. “Didn’t expect to see you till this evening. Things all right at the Glory B?”

“Yes, ma’am, they’re fine. I thought I’d see if there was anything you wanted me to bring when we come back by.”

Alma smiled. “Thank you. I do have a list of some things you could bring from the pantry. Mr. Davis has been a bit busy, and he’s lacking a few of the better things to eat.” She made sure her voice rose on the last sentence.

“I have not been too busy,” Mickey shouted from the back room. “I just don’t think people need to eat Brussels sprouts.”

Travis grinned.

“Maybe you can lift his spirits some,” Alma replied. “The doctor wants him to take a few quiet days, and he’s all but tore the place apart.”

“Sure.” Travis nodded and walked toward the door to the back room. “Howdy, Mickey.”

“Howdy yourself,” Mickey snorted.

Mickey was laid back in his bed, a scowl on his ashen face. Travis noted his hands held the sheet against his chest; however, it did not hide the bulge of the bandage wrapped around his bruised ribcage. “How you feeling?”