Road to Glory (4 page)

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Travis as he lumbered toward the rail. She slouched down a mite, catching a good view framed between Mitch Ralston’s chin and open program. If only she’d taken the outside seat, she could hear what they were saying. Her mouth grew dry, and she concentrated on their lips, hoping to catch a word.

Colt murmured something, and the muscles on Travis’ jaw grew tight. Then the younger cowboy held out a hand, and they shook. Glory noted Travis didn’t return to his seat. Instead, he stared at the man’s retreating back as he made his way to the first chute. Her heart ached. Some might call it pity, but she didn’t think so. She understood the feeling of being an outsider, feeling like you didn’t belong. It had been that way most of her life, growing up with only her father and Alma, and trying to make a mark in a man’s world.

The number tacked to the black vest Peterson wore for protection fluttered as he removed his Stetson, handing it to another cowboy for safekeeping. Taking one of the helmets from the rail, he pulled it down over his head and made sure the face guard was in place before clambering up the side to hand over his rope to the wranglers around the chute.

Glory watched as they threaded the six-inch braid beneath the bull just behind his front legs. She heard the animal anticipate the feel of the rope tightening by banging his horns on the metal bars, what cowboys referred to as “rattling his cage.” The man at the back of the box tightened the bucking rope. The bull lashed out with a hind foot, and the spectators laughed. Glory noted Travis didn’t.

Branded on the hide of the buff-colored Brahma was a number, large enough to catch Glory’s eye, and suddenly her lungs were without air, as if crushed. Scrambling to open her program, she flipped through until she came to the page giving the animals’ information. Glory’s heart skipped a beat: Six Killer. Eyes wide, she glanced from the bull to Peterson, then to Travis.

In the shadows, she could almost detect the lines of Travis’ face deepening as the muscles of his hands tightened around the rail. Six Killer, the bull that had stomped him, would be ridden by the man who stood between him and destiny. The tension in the arena vibrated, almost palpable. She could see the quick rise and fall of Travis’ chest as he watched Peterson straddle the fifteen hundred pounds of pure dynamite.
God, what must he be thinking
?

Her head whipped around, and she stared at John Parker. The rodeo bigwig sat immobile just a few rows back, his hand covering his mouth and his eyes glued on the man at the rail. Every protective bone in her body cried out for him to do something.
Take Travis out of here! What kind of man are you that you would force him to face this so soon?
Her heartbeat quickened. She scooted to the edge of her seat and watched the turmoil roll across his face, his chest rising and falling quickly as he anticipated what would happen next. The need to do something overwhelmed her. Glory wanted to guard Travis somehow, yet she was unsure what to do.

Overhead, the announcer spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, the next rider up is Powder Springs’ own Colt Peterson. He’s number one on the leader board since Travis Hargrove went on the injured list months ago. This is going to be an interesting ride, folks. He needs one good clean ride to put some distance between them. It seems that fate has played a hand in his ride. He’s drawn the same bull that put Hargrove in the hospital and out of the competition for the rest of the year.”

Glory rolled her eyes. Good Lord, Travis’s humiliation must now be complete
.
The entire complex knew he was about to be eliminated from the competition. Why rejoice in it? She glanced back, sending daggers to John Parker, but he didn’t notice. If he wouldn’t do something, darn it, she would. Shifting her weight forward, Glory made ready to spring into action.

Seconds seemed hours as Glory’s gaze took in Colt, Travis, and the action in the chute. Colt’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear the words. Her heart hammered against her chest as Peterson lowered his body onto the bull. He pressed his helmet down one last time and beat the rope tight into his palm.

The animal’s flanks quivered, and she wondered if bull and rider could taste the same fear already residing in her mouth. Her hand reached out and grasped the metal pole in front of her. She looked toward Travis and saw his knuckles grow white. Then she saw Colt nod. The wranglers backed away. Like a gunshot, the gate swung back.

The bull exploded.

Rising up, Six Killer leaped and twisted in the air. The crowd screamed, drowning out the announcer’s description of the ride. She turned her head. Travis’ sleeve seemed to quiver as the muscles beneath it began to shake. The ground thundered and shook as the beast rose in the air and came down with a jolt, dancing across the clay with the cowboy clinging desperately, hoping for that eight-second ride.

Another roar of the crowd drowned out the announcer’s words as the animal sunfished. She heard the arena gasp as Colt’s rope seemed to jerk from his hand. Air quickly filled the gap between the seat of his denims and the back of the Brahma.

Glory found herself on her feet. Instead of looking at the rider scrambling to get to safety, she focused on the cowboy at the rail, the one with a death grip on the cane by his side.

“Excuse me,” she whispered to Mitch Ralston and hurried to the aisle. She glanced up as Travis turned to face her, hooded by the shadow over his face. A cold, hard expression glimmered in his eyes and caught her off guard. His limp grew pronounced as he struggled to get away. Her feet anchored to the ground, she watched him walk past. John Parker reached out to grab his arm. Travis shifted away. If words were spoken, she couldn’t hear them. He headed toward the arena doors.

Glory moved forward, her footsteps quickening. The doors were her goal—until someone grabbed her arm. Glory looked to the left and found John Parker’s fingers on her wrist.

“Don’t,” he said. “Let him go. This is something he has to do on his own.”

Her face contorted in anger as she snatched her arm away. “Maybe someone’s left him alone way too long.” With one last glower of fury, she rushed up the steps after him. The crowd roared behind her and broke into a round of applause. Glory ignored it. She could feel her eyes water as she stared at the departing back of a man still mired in hurt. Her heart ached for Travis. Eyes focused on the white shirt in front of her as it disappeared behind the closing doors, not knowing what kind of comfort she could give, Glory didn’t hesitate. She hurried after him.

Chapter Three

“Mr. Hargrove, wait!” Glory cried as she made the mezzanine only to see him disappear among the throng crowding around the different vendors to place their orders. A shaft of light drew her attention to the exit as the door opened and closed. “Excuse me,” she cried, using her shoulders to squeeze through a gap in the crowd. “Pardon,” she whispered again, hurrying around the crush of people standing in lines. She pushed through the exit and spilled out into the sunshine. Chest heaving, she glanced both ways in search of his retreating back but encountered only an empty walkway. Her brow furrowed. He couldn’t have gone far.

She walked toward the rail and paused to look over. Gazing down at the ground below, she could see only a few people meandering by. She continued down the ramp, her hand on the warm metal. Her eyes focused on the people emerging from the center—couples, parents with children, but no sign of Travis Hargrove. As she came to the bottom of the steps, the scrape of a boot drew her attention to an alcove under the canopy near the ticket booths.

Hope soaring, she took a tentative step forward, then stopped. She backed up and twisted the ring on her right hand. A grimace turned the corners of her lips toward her toes.
What am I going to say or do?
A man does have his pride, after all.

She swallowed, refreshing her dry mouth, and rejected the idea of barreling in there. She could hear Alma’s voice and feel her penetrating glare. “Stop twistin’ your fingers, Glory girl, or one day you’ll wring ’em right off.” She stopped and shook her hands, then blew a deep breath. Perhaps if she could make it look like some sort of accidental meeting. Reasonable doubt could be a good excuse, couldn’t it?
What sort of accident can you justify?
Who’s gonna believe that you were out here all alone?
He had to have heard her call. Any man with a lick of sense would know she came to find him. Moving back up the ramp so he wouldn’t see her, Glory gave a stomp of her foot to vent her frustration. She needed to think.

Her conscience kept up the argument. The likelihood of them ever seeing one another again would be small. She could say something like,
I saw you leaving and wanted to wish you good luck
. Glory shook her head. No, no, if he was just leaving, why did she follow him out?
Oh, crap, it’s just like Alma is always saying, I leap in before engaging my brain. All right, I’ll go back to my seat, and if Mitch Ralston asks, I just went to the bathroom.

She was so engrossed in her thinking, Glory didn’t hear footsteps coming up behind her. She turned to leave, but the steep angle of the walkway increased her forward motion. Eyes focused on the ground, she barreled toward the front entrance and rammed into something that felt like a brick wall.

Air whooshed from her lungs. She staggered back. Her feet lost their grip on the pavement. She was falling—she could see the concrete rising to meet her, and, with a small cry, she put out her hands and closed her eyes, braced for impact. Expecting a jaw-shattering thud, she was surprised to hear a metal cane clattering to the ground, and instead of pain she felt two strong hands grab her arms and hold on tight. Her hands encountered cloth rather than concrete. Somehow, Glory remained upright, safe in a warm embrace against the side of the arena wall.

For a moment, she was still and enjoyed the feel of the crisp white shirt against her cheek while the wild hammering of her heart slowed. As her breath returned, a clean, earthy male scent filled her nostrils. Wits gathered, she lifted her chin and allowed her glance to move up the long length of a male chest. Her gaze roved over the tan skin, just above the open V of the pearl buttons on the snap-front shirt, past his Adam’s apple, to his strong square jaw. Above that, a pair of blue eyes clouded with concern looked down at her. Glory’s mouth hung open.

“Are you all right?” Travis asked.

She was standing against Travis Hargrove’s body, positioned between his braced legs. His arms wrapped around her, holding her against him in a most intimate way. One held her back, the other cupped her derriere as he braced his body to keep them both from falling over. Glory nodded and unfurled her fingers to release his shirt, which she had crumpled in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should be asking you if you’re hurt?”

She shifted again and heard him utter a soft oath. Something pressed against the softness of her middle. She wasn’t so naive as to not know what it was, and she stilled. Realizing her movement had made it worse, Glory placed her hands flat against his chest and pushed away.

“Let me get myself together,” he begged.

She glanced to his face and caught the grimace of pain on his lips. Before she could apologize again, laughter echoed across the walkway.

“Ride ’em, cowboy,” came a lusty male voice. Heat exploded in Glory’s cheeks. She looked to her left and caught sight of Angel and her cohorts laughing. As if things couldn’t get any worse. She hastily placed her brow upon Travis’ chest to wait for the humiliation to subside.

****

This wasn’t the reaction Travis thought he’d have. Angry, yes. He’d been furious with his reaction to that damn bull. But the instinctive motion to flee… He took a deep breath and let it slowly slide from his lips. Never had he counted on being a quitter like his old man. But the sight of the beast lunging in the air and the sensation of the ground shaking beneath his feet had magnetized all the fear in him. He couldn’t get away fast enough.

Out in the sunshine, away from the arena, he could breathe. Now, beneath the archway of the stadium, concealed by the shadows, he stood holding the girl and tried to calm the racing of his heart. He leaned heavily against the wall and took a ragged breath.

“It brought back memories, didn’t it?” he heard her ask.

“I just want to forget,” he murmured.

He opened his eyes, but in his mind he traced the puckered line that ran from an inch below his ribs in the front all the way to the back—all four hundred and fifty stitches’ worth. He lifted his hand from her shoulder and wasn’t surprised to find it trembling. The stark reality of facing that beast again left him shaken to his core. Damn the bull and damn the man for bringing him here.

If Big John had wanted to know if he could ride again, his actions had sealed his fate. Like some peach-faced kid, he’d cut and run at the first sign of trouble. His chin dropped toward his chest in disgust at his own yellow streak. He took another deep breath and felt his lungs expand. What was wrong with him? He needed to man up, and yet…

“It’s okay.” Glory’s voice softened the sting. “That type of fall would throw anyone, including one of the best.”

His chest burned as he let the air rush from his lungs.
You weren’t there.

Before he could speak, a grating call drew his gaze. A tall, willowy woman with dark raven hair pulled her red lips across her teeth in a catty smirk and called out, “Oh, Glory, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Another peal of laughter followed as the group enjoyed themselves at the expense of the woman standing before him. Glory turned, and Travis took time to study each and every one of the faces contorted in laughter. One of the men, the one with his arm around the first young woman who had spoken, shifted his cowboy hat back off his forehead and gave a mocking grin. “Ride ’em, cowboy,” he said again.

Travis’ mouth took on a hard line. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The man who spoke gave him the once-over. Travis knew he wasn’t a hundred percent, but if it came to a fight, he could more than hold his own. He stared into the man’s brown eyes and challenged him to make more of it. To his relief, the cowboy merely lifted the corner of his mouth.