Road to Glory (3 page)

Besides, what had happened with Jax was over and done. Angel didn’t need to pay for Jax Martin’s lack of self-control. Glory needed to move on and forget the hurt the incident had caused. “We need to put our best foot forward,” she remarked. “It’s not often we get big names from the rodeo circuit on our local level.”

Mitch’s mouth turned down. He glanced over his shoulder. “No, they must be looking for something, if the pro circuit sent the likes of John Parker and Hargrove down.”

She took the chance and stole another shy glance toward the bull rider. Gone were Travis’ shades. His hat now firmly clasped in his left hand with his cane, his right hand over his heart as he recited the Pledge of Allegiance along with the throng. A warm rush heated the pit of her belly. She felt the pounding of her blood rise to her cheeks as the idea of his mouth caressing hers came to mind.

“Glory, you okay?”

“Sure.” She quickly turned away. Now was not the time for a schoolgirl crush to suddenly rear its head. The oath over, they sat back down, Glory determined to forget the handsome man sitting behind her.
If only it were that easy.

Chapter Two

Travis didn’t know which was worse, being down in the chutes or sitting just behind the pens able to smell the clay, the bulls, and the fertilizer they left behind. At one time the scent had been second nature to him. But now the stench made his skin crawl. He shifted uncomfortably in the seat. Squinting his eyes, he focused on the fans across the arena, doing his level best to ignore the terror welling up inside.

Stay calm
and remember to breathe
. Using his tongue, he swiped his upper lip, surprised to taste the salt from the line of perspiration which formed there.
Concentrate
.
Focus on what John Parker is saying
. Steeling his mind against the action behind the chutes, he let John’s words fill his mind while attempting to ignore the heavy thump of his heart. Like it or not, each beat echoed like the toll of drums in a funeral march. The images of the crowd across the ring wavered; he blinked and brought them back into focus.

“I’m glad you decided to come out today,” John was saying. “I was concerned you weren’t getting enough fresh air.”

The muscles on Travis’ left cheek twitched. “Yeah, P.T. has kept me pretty busy. I’m just waiting on the doc for a release.”

“How long has that cast been off now?” John asked.

“About a month, maybe a bit longer.”

Travis shifted his weight to relieve the throb that was beginning to make itself known. The pain radiated from a point above his ankle and moved along the calf of his leg with a deep burn, as if someone had an acetylene torch running along the muscles. He wished he’d brought one of the little pink pills that made the pain disappear. However, it had become too easy to rely on them; he needed to back off from them instead.

Taking a deep breath, he did his best to ignore the urge to move. He had to appear calm, cool, and collected. Travis knew Parker’s attention would be focused on his actions, not the program in his hands. The rodeo association invested a lot in their riders and stock. If you couldn’t ride, you couldn’t earn points. No points equaled no pay. No pay meant no moving up. Caught in a no-win situation, he continued to wait for the doctor to release him. He heard Parker give a grunt of commiseration.

“Been there, done that.” He sighed.

Wanting to beat him to the punch, Travis spoke. “Look, this is prime rodeo season; you didn’t bring me here just to enjoy the show.” He gave a sidelong glance in hopes of catching a break in the stockman’s stoic expression. “What are you up to, Parker? If you’re worried about a certain bull rider and his ability to ride—”

“Did I say I was worried?”

Travis paused and gave his head a little shake. “No, John, you didn’t.”

“Good. Then stop feeling sorry for yourself.” He added, with his trademark gruff growl, “I brought you here because I need a favor.”

“Favor?” Travis blinked. He couldn’t hide the hesitation in his voice. John Parker was a man who made his own way by casting a tall shadow on all in his path. The word “favor” didn’t reside in his vocabulary.

“Yeah.” John gave a nod. “I need a man who knows livestock and is willing to act as a buyer.”

Travis felt his skin tingle, and not from the air conditioning. He dampened his lips and closed his eyes to the growing knot that gathered strength in the pit of his belly. When he didn’t object, John pushed on.

“We’ve got a big Truck series that will need some fresh talent to challenge riders. I’m getting a might too old to wander from town to town, hopping red-eye flights. I’m offering you a real opportunity to get in on the ground floor. Maybe move up to management in a few years and get off this merry-go-round.”

The knot grew tighter. Travis wanted to run. Instead, he heard himself ask, “So you thought of me?”

John’s grey eyes turned to steel and bored into his. “Yeah, Travis, you.”

Mouth dry, unable to think straight, he had to remind himself to swallow. He wanted to clean his ears out and ask him to repeat.

“I’m not hearing the word no,” John remarked, slow and even.

Travis watched as he closed his program and nodded toward the pens. “I need the best I can get, a man who can look a bull in the eye and tell what the critter is thinking. The fact that both you and your brother know good horseflesh as well puts you high on the list. To me, it sounds like a win-win situation.”

Travis pressed his lips together until they became a thin straight line. Anger rattled his brain. He wanted the chance to ride, not be some castoff stray the rodeo thought needed a handout. He wasn’t ready to give up the gypsy in his soul or shake the wanderlust from his boots. “You got the wrong cowboy,” he replied with a shake of his head. Travis watched Parker’s brow arch.

“Have I?”

Suddenly, the state-of-the-art stadium felt more like a barbed wire pen. Trapped, Travis pictured himself leaning back in a chair, his feet propped up on the desk in some windowless office in a Wichita backroom. The image made him shudder. He wasn’t ready to become a desk jockey or a slave to paperwork and deadlines. Damn it, he was a cowboy. Travis drew a ragged breath before he spoke. “Look, John, um, I’ll admit I may be a bit busted up, but I’m not ready to hang up my spurs and become a suit. You’ll see; the doc’s gonna clear me any day now, and then I’ll be back riding.”

“Sure you will.” When he didn’t reply, John Parker continued, “I’m not asking for forever; that’s the beauty of this. You can try it for a while. Let your leg heal. Once you’re better, you can go back to riding, and if not…”

Travis held his breath. A pinch of pain rolled across his face. He was glad the lights were dim and John couldn’t see how deeply his words hurt.

“And if not, well”—John gave a shrug of his shoulders—“you’d have a full time position to fall back on.”

The bile hit the back of his throat, and he tried to wash it away, along with the uncertainty. Resentment built in his chest. The smooth tone of the words implied John didn’t expect to be turned down. The hackles on the back of Travis’ neck rose and matched his building dislike for the situation. “Who put you up to this?” he demanded in a low voice so those sitting around them wouldn’t hear his flare of anger. “Doc Walters?”

“No one, son.” John shifted his feet, and Travis heard the leather of his boots creak as he leaned closer. “Look, have you given any thought to those bills?”

Closing his eyes, Travis envisioned the growing stack on his kitchen table, most from hospitals, doctors, and the therapist. Sure he did. Every day brought another round of formal white envelopes, some marked Past Due. MRIs didn’t come cheap. His savings seemed to be dwindling faster than horned flies could suck blood from a steer’s head. However, male pride prevented him from saying so. “I’m getting by,” he lied. “Besides, I plan on riding soon, and…”

John cut him off. “Look, boy, there’s not a cowboy who hasn’t been in your shoes. As much as you want to ride again this year, your season’s over.”

A deep emptiness settled between Travis’ shoulder blades. His gut twisted as Parker’s words echoed.
Your season’s over.
His eyes focused on the red clay in the center of the arena, and he sat mute.

“We both know the rodeo pays good money.” John voice brought his attention back to the conversation. “But how much of it did you save? Eight, maybe ten thousand?”

Travis swallowed.

“I know those medical bills must be higher, taking into account that rod in your leg.” John nodded toward the limb Travis had stretched straight. “The rodeo likes to take care of its own.” John’s voice softened. “Your sponsor has moved on, and that disability paycheck is mighty lean. You’re gonna need some income and something to get your mind off that leg till it heals good and proper.”

The knuckles on Travis’ hands turned white as he gripped the arms of his chair. He closed his eyes and focused on the wisdom of his friend’s words. Like any other cowboy following the circuit, he’d not put away as much as he should have. The cost of his surgery was over twenty-five thousand and counting. An influx of cash would do wonders in keeping the wolf away from his door.

“If you take this job, you’ll have travel costs on a rodeo-issued credit card. We’ll even furnish you a laptop so it’s easy to send contracts and information on livestock.”

“And pay?” Travis asked, even though the words wanted to stick in his throat.

“All through direct deposit,” John explained. “All you have to do is get an electronic signature and send the paperwork back to the account manager. They’ll do the rest and send a copy to you. You sign and send it to the rancher to do the same. It’s a sweet deal. Even better since I’m sending you to Palmer.”

“Why Palmer?”

“Well, they have this little rodeo. I thought since you were planning on riding next year, you could help out the kids. Maybe if your leg is better, you could get a few rounds under your belt again.” Parker scratched his neck. “I hear from the sponsor that Peterson is gonna be there.”

The boom had been lowered. Peterson had taken his place on the circuit. He had to agree. Yep, the whole setup sounded good. Almost too good.
What was that old saying, “Buyer beware”?
He shifted his gaze to the animals thumping around in the pens.
If I take this job, it would be easy to find out if I could compete again.

“You interested?” he heard John ask.

Travis waited, sure the sinking feeling would send his stomach toward his feet so he could decline the offer.
Funny, it didn’t happen
. Not wanting to fully commit, Travis whispered, “Yeah, I’m interested.”

“Good.” John sat back satisfied. “Now let’s enjoy this rodeo for a bit. We’ll talk again after lunch. I’ve asked a few ranchers to join us. I want to get some more information on the stock around Palmer.”

Travis leaned back against the seat and breathed. Yeah, maybe he could do this.

****

Glory sat wishing she could think of a reason to turn around. Instead, she leafed through her program, reliving the conversation she’d had with Travis Hargrove and cringing inside.
God!
How stupid to bring up his “accident.”
No bull rider wanted to remember being nearly stomped to death. If she dared, she’d love to reach up and slap her forehead. Even better, just sink down one of those cracks along the concrete, never to be heard from again.

Glory pressed her bottom lip against her teeth and let the events turn over in her mind. At least Mr. Hargrove had been diplomatic. Instead of leveling a dark glare, he’d been very gracious, smiled, and even tipped his hat. Her knees had gone weak at the chivalrous gesture. Turning her head, she could see him embroiled in a conversation with the rodeo buyer, John Parker. It looked serious. She fiddled with the edges of the program, wondering what they were talking about.

“Glory?” Mitch’s voice brought her back to the present. “I asked if you wanted some popcorn. You okay?”

“Me?” She blinked and realized the crackle of the papers in her hands had disturbed his conversation. Thank heavens the lights were dim enough Mitch Ralston wouldn’t see the heat flooding her cheeks. She glanced at the cattleman sitting next to her. “No, thanks.” She brushed off his concern with a shake of her head. “I’m fine.” Ignoring the compelling urge to turn and stare at Travis Hargrove, Glory focused back on the action in the arena.

The first round of rides went well. Most of the riders were new to the circuit. Today’s events would give them some of the first points in their career. Their fresh faces lined along the top “opry” rail were sprinkled with seasoned cowboys, many who’d become mentors while the season progressed. Each of the new riders’ faces were deep in study as the wizened counterparts whispered close in their ears or pointed at the animals they might ride as the afternoon wore on.

She recognized some of the cowboys by the colorful fringes lining their bat-winged chaps. The overall effect added to their swagger as the bull riders moved around the chutes. All sported spurs, which when raked against an animal’s sides would help urge the beast to jump and twist, part of the effort to earn higher scores and a place on the leader board.

Clapping for a good ride, she noticed a tall, broad-shouldered cowboy ambling his way down the corridor between the seats and the chutes and held her breath as he stopped before them to climb up the rails. Beneath the white Stetson that signaled he was a good guy, she recognized the profile. He turned his head, and she watched his gaze sail past to someone in the crowd. Glory knew immediately who corralled his attention: Travis Hargrove.

She tensed as a strange pricking across her skin drew goose bumps down her arms. Her gaze transfixed, she heard Mitch Ralston whisper in her ear, “Hey, isn’t that Colt Peterson?”

Glory dampened her lips and gave a nod. Before Portland, he had been tailing Travis, but their close rides had led to a fierce rivalry. Only a few hundredths of a point had separated them. Now, with Travis out of commission, Peterson emerged as the front runner in their competition, and all the odds leaned toward him going to Vegas for the nationwide competition there.