Road to Glory (5 page)

“No problem, gramps,” he mocked. “Next time you might want to get a room.” Still laughing, the tight-knit group turned and moved away.

Travis waited. When they were no longer to be seen, he said, “They’ve gone.”

Slowly, Glory lifted her face to look at him, her peach skin a bit more pale as he watched two tears roll down her cheeks. Out of instinct, Travis lifted his thumb and brushed away the dampness from her velvet skin. In a voice huskier than he intended, he spoke, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She nodded.

He waited a moment, almost unwilling to let go of her. Then she pushed away.

“Let me get your cane,” she murmured, and bent to retrieve the walking stick.

Travis pushed himself away from the walls of the arena and adjusted the tightness of his trousers on his hips before he held out a hand to take it from her. “Thanks. What are you doing out here? I thought you were watching the bulls.”

The sheepish expression of being caught filled her features. “I was worried, when you recognized the bull,” she said. “It didn’t seem right to let you go out on your own.”

“Didn’t seem right?” Travis asked, pulling the cane to his side and easing the weight off his weak leg.

She tucked a strand of that spun-gold hair behind her ear and took a shy glance at the ground. “It can’t be easy watching the bull that stomped you parade about the ring like a hero. I wanted to make sure you were okay is all.”

Travis could read the pity in her eyes. His male ego raised its ugly head. “So you followed me to play nursemaid?”

She nodded, and then, realizing what he’d said, her eyes widened. “I wasn’t going to intrude. I just…” Her voice trailed off with a shrug of her shoulders.

Unable to think of anything else, he said, “Did it ever occur to you I didn’t need your help? I can take care of myself. The last thing I want is some starry-eyed fan causing a scene. If someone took a picture or writes it up in a column, that little landing in my arms could cost me a backer. Ma’am, I don’t need that type of help.”

Her head came up, a bit of anger in her stance. “My mistake, it seems. I should have realized a big man like yourself wouldn’t need someone to talk to after seeing the bull that sent him down in the ranks get ridden by the competitor on his coattails. Pardon my concern.”

“Okay, you’ve seen I’m okay. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got better things to do.” He brushed two steps past her. As sharp as his words were, it rankled him to see her face turn red. He needed to get free and get out of there before John Parker found them and asked questions.

Glory stepped back, her eyes flashing with hurt and indignation. “Well, I guess I better go. I wouldn’t want to detain the great Travis Hargrove from his business.”

Travis gritted his teeth. He was acting like an ass, yet he couldn’t help himself. “Look, miss, I gotta get myself some sponsors so I can ride again. I—”

“The name’s Glory, Glory Beebe. A name you’re going to remember,” she snapped, and punctuated her statement with a stab of her finger at his chest as if she were trying to skewer his heart. “But if it’s sponsors you want, my advice would be to get rid of that chip on your shoulder, cowboy, before someone knocks it off.”

Travis narrowed his eyes and growled back, “Just stay out of my way, little lady.” He moved toward the door at the top of the walkway. He could feel her stare burning a hole in his back. His hand reached for the handle.

“The doors locked when I came out,” Glory called out to him.

Travis turned his head and looked over his left shoulder. She stood about ten feet below him, arms crossed over her chest, chin jutting out in defiance. It hit him that Glory Beebe would be beautiful whether angry or not. “Guess that means I have to go in through the front entrance,” Travis replied, much to his dislike.

She opened her mouth to say something. Travis straightened his shoulders and waited for the lashing of her tongue. Instead, he heard his name being called from just beyond her.

“Travis Hargrove?” The gravel-voiced man moved up the incline.

His brow puckered, Travis stepped to one side to catch a better glimpse of the cowboy behind Glory. “Mickey?” he whispered. “Mickey Davis?” He stepped back as the cowboy cackled.

“Alive and well,” Mickey called out.

Travis hurried back down toward the weathered old cowboy. The man’s body might be a bit more bent by time, but a familiar smile loomed below the dark brim of his hat. He paused beside Glory, and Travis watched him place a fatherly hand on her shoulder.

“Glory, honey, this is the tumbleweed I’ve been telling you about. This here is Travis Hargrove,” Mickey boomed.

Travis stared at the woman standing beside his old friend.

“We’ve met, Mickey.” Glory gave a thin smile. “I’ll leave you two men to talk.”

Her icy glare turned the warmth of the sunshine cold. “Have a great afternoon, Mr. Hargrove.”

Travis watched her walk off. His eyes riveted on the way her jeans encased her frame and emphasized the tantalizing swing of her hips. Her steps sure, Glory Beebe walked with a purpose. A purpose he didn’t quite understand, even if a part of him wanted to.

Chapter Four

Glory flung open the door and charged inside, ignoring the startled looks from the rodeo patrons. Her head high, she made her way back toward the owner’s area, furious with no one other than herself.
Dumb, dumb, dumb
. Her boot steps seemed to ring with the sound of the words as she moved toward the entrance.

“Badge, please.” The voice of the attendant on duty stopped her.

She pulled at the lanyard around her neck and flashed her badge, waited while he stepped aside, and then with a quick nod of thanks moved toward her seat. Ahead of her, the vacant seat Travis had left behind loomed larger than life. Seeing it empty sent a tug on her heart. She hadn’t meant anything by following him. She was concerned. A shadow crossed her path. She looked away but stopped as Big John Parker stepped before her. Her heart raced as he stared at her. Still, she stood her ground and glared back without fear.

He broke first, giving her a nod of his head. “Ma’am, did you find Travis?”

Now he asks,
she fumed. In a tight voice, Glory replied. “I did. He’s outside, talking to Mickey Davis.”

Parker gave a nod. He looked down at his feet. She waited a beat, hoping he might step aside.

“He seem okay?”

His question made her blink. She took a moment to gather her thoughts and calm her nerves. The obvious reaction would be to smack him, maybe knock some sense into that thick male skull.
Did he seem okay?
She considered the option of laughing in his face. Instead, Glory pressed her lips tightly together before she replied, “He’s getting himself together. I didn’t want to intrude on their conversation.” She wanted him to know she’d made the decision to leave, not been sent back by Travis.

The stockman nodded. He moved aside as she stepped down to his level, but he seemed tense. Holding her breath, she waited. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the deep breath and nervous dampening of his lips.
Good. You stew
, she fumed, and when he didn’t speak it only served to fuel her anger. With a huff, she swung past, making sure their bodies didn’t touch, and hurried to her seat.

Stupid!
Why in the world did I think going after Travis would be a good thing?
Glory snatched her program and lowered the seat to flop down into it. She stared at the glossy magazine in her hand and drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. But try as she might, her thoughts kept returning to that tall Texan with the cloud of gloom settled about his shoulders. If she had to blame it on something, perhaps she might claim a moment of insanity.
Yes, that’s it.
She sighed and crossed her legs
. In the heat of the moment, I went after him in hopes that he’d…that he’d… What? Notice me?

She let out a small groan and sank down farther in her seat. She hadn’t followed a man since Jax Martin, the wannabe bull rider who’d showed up at the ranch a few years ago. The lines of her forehead deepened. She’d thought he was the one. He’d begged to stay in the barn, spending his days being coached by Mickey and nights looking at the stars with her. Only, to her chagrin, she discovered Jax’s taste in women ran to the wild side. She’d never forgotten the look on his face—or the satisfaction on Angel’s—when she opened the tack room door to find them “riding double” on the cot. A soft groan slipped from her lips at the memory, and she slipped even farther down in the seat.

She’d made a mistake giving her heart to a man trying to grab the brass ring. She’d never do that again. She’d be no man’s step up to the professional rodeo circuit. Yet, just like then, she’d gone and made a fool of herself again. She could hear her housekeeper Alma now:
“Glory, Glory, when you going to learn, child?”
The problem was, Glory didn’t have the answer.

Now Big John Parker would never take her seriously. In his eyes, she wasn’t a cattle rancher; instead, she was nothing more than a glorified buckle bunny, looking to latch on to a rider moving up the circuit. All her hard work, the planning, the sacrifice—it all seemed to be crumbling before her eyes.

“Glory?” Mitch Ralston’s voice interrupted her misery.

She offered him a weak smile and replied, “Sure.”

His hand went to her arm, and she felt him give a slight squeeze. “Don’t worry so much. Grave Digger’s comin’ up next.”

She craned her head over to the chutes. Sure enough, the activity seemed centered around her animal. She sat up and reached out her hand to grasp the rail. As they tightened the buck strap, she heard him bellow with displeasure. So many wranglers had lined up on the top rail, she was unsure at first who’d drawn the ride. A flash of a number, and she strained to see.

“Who’s number twenty-two?” she asked, finding it hard to breathe.

Mitch Ralston thumbed to the front of the program. “Twenty-two,” he repeated and paused. “Joe Kidd.”

Glory nodded. He was a good rider, in his second season, trying to move up and catch the front runner, Peterson. Her belly felt like it was in freefall as the cowboy settled onto her bull and threaded the rope tightly into the palm of his gloved hand. He raised his left hand and placed it against the gate. Grave Digger shifted under him. Her eyes widened as the rider gave a nod and the gate opened.

Grave Digger burst into the arena.

The roar of the crowd echoed in her ears, while her eyes stayed glued to the beast dancing on center stage, trying hard to dislodge the rider on his back. Spinning one way, the bull stopped long enough for a quick breath before plunging in the opposite direction. Two…three…four, Glory counted the seconds, watching the cowboy rake his heels forward and then back while throwing his hand high in the air. However, he wasn’t a match for the cunning of her Brahma. A sharp pitch in the air and a stiff-legged landing broke the grip of the rider’s knees. Grave Digger lifted his hind end and kicked sideways. The rider leaned to the left. Then, with one last kick, he fell.

Dust rose.

The crowd gasped.

Glory felt the color drain from her face. His first time out, she was unsure what the bull might do to the downed rider. Biting her lip, she waited as the clowns moved into action. Dancing and yelling, they drew the animal away from the man who rose and waved to the crowd before he limped toward the sidelines.

“Good ride,” Mitch Ralston said over the cheers.

Glory beamed as Grave Digger left the ring, head held high, his job done. She was pleased with his difficulty rating of sixty-five total points from the four judges. She glanced over, hoping to see the reaction on John Parker’s face. Instead, the euphoria of seeing her pride and joy do well dissipated—two empty seats greeted her. Big John Parker had left before her bull set foot in the ring.

A hand touched her shoulder. She glanced back to one of the cattlemen behind her.

“Your bull?” he asked, with a nod toward the ring.

“Yes.” She smiled.

“Good performance. I wish my bulls had that much pizzazz. I’d be interested in talking to you about your breeding program,” he said.

“Of course,” she replied and fumbled for a business card in her back pocket. Handing it to him, she smiled again. “Feel free to call.”

The rancher nodded. “I will.”

Glory turned back to face the ring and found a bit of excitement humming in her veins. Forget Travis Hargrove and his troubles. Her bull had been noticed. Even if Big John Parker wouldn’t give her the time of day because she was a woman, ranchers could see a quality bull on the hoof and recognize it. Today just could be her lucky day after all.

****

Two longneck bottles clinked together as Mickey rescued them from being buried beneath the ice in the cooler and lifted a church key to the caps. With a flick of his wrist, the seals were broken and a wisp of fog rolled from the edge of the glass as he handed one over to the man in the chair.

“Here, cowboy.” Mickey sighed as he lowered himself to the second lawn chair beside the camper. “So whatcha doin’ now?”

“Other than recuperating?” Travis asked, raising an eyebrow as he put the bottle to his lips and took a swig.

Mickey chuckled. “Is that sarcasm I hear?”

A grunt followed.

Mickey’s eyes narrowed to a glint as he gazed at the fading afternoon sun. “Must be hard. Those bills for physical therapy and doctors can sure drain a wallet.”

“Yep.” Travis was growing tired of the same old rehash of his problems.

“You’re turnin’ into a man of few words,” Mickey said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankles.

“Not much to say,” Travis replied. “You and everyone else have said it all.”

Mickey grunted, then replied, “Doc cleared you to ride?”

“Nope.”

The single monotone of Travis’ voice sounded like depression to Mickey’s ears. The older cowboy cut his glance toward the man in the chair beside him. Travis sat quietly. His shoulders slumped as if he’d lost his best horse. But if he wasn’t wrong, what old Travis had lost was his belief in himself. Mickey ran a hand across his cheek, then let fingers rest on his chin as he asked, “What’re you plannin’ on doin’?”