Her Montana Cowboy. Valerie HansenЧитать онлайн книгу.
they’re smart enough to stay away from wild horses and angry, bucking bulls.”
Laughing, he touched the brim of his Stetson. “You’ve got a point there, ma’am.” As he backed away, he gave her a parting grin that made her toes tingle inside her boots.
“I’ll pray for you. Okay?” she said.
“Whatever.” Turning on his heel, he left her without further comment.
As Julie watched him go, she pondered their previous conversations. Most riders she knew were pretty reliant on the good Lord to watch over them, and many could cite instances when they’d felt God’s protection, even if they’d been injured.
Apparently Ryan Travers was a long way from embracing her kind of faith. Julie sighed, disheartened by that conclusion. It was not her habit to try to change folks when they were happy being whoever they’d decided they were, but in Ryan’s case she’d make an exception. Denying God’s loving kindness and infinite power was bad enough. Doing so when you regularly risked your life was much, much worse.
Julie nodded and smiled at the accurate assessment. And he thought sheep were clueless.
* * *
For the first time in longer than Ryan could recall, he was having trouble keeping his mind on his work. He couldn’t have cared less about the missing time capsule; it was pretty Julie Shaw who occupied his thoughts.
“That’s not good,” he muttered as he stood on a metal rung of the narrow bucking chute and tightened the cinch on the surcingle that was the main part of his bareback rigging. This rangy pinto mare wasn’t called Widowmaker for nothing. He knew she followed a pattern around the ring that was not only erratic, she tended to change her tactics if the rider on her back got the least little bit off center.
Off center was exactly what he was, too, Ryan concluded, except his problem was mental. He could not only picture Julie Shaw as if she were standing right there next to the chute gates, he could imagine her light, uplifting laughter.
Actually, he realized with a start, that was what he was hearing. He started to glance over his shoulder, intending to scan the nearby crowd and, hopefully, locate her.
“Clock’s ticking, Travers,” the chute boss grumbled. “You gonna ride that horse or just look at her?”
Rather than answer with words, Ryan stepped across the top of the chute, wedged one leather-gloved hand into the narrow, rawhide handhold that was his only lifeline while aboard the bronc, folded back his fancy chaps and settled himself as gently as possible.
The horse’s skin twitched. Her ears laid flat. She was gathering herself beneath him, knowing it was nearly time.
Ryan raised his free hand over his head and leaned way back so his spurs would fall at the point of the horse’s shoulder when she took her first jump. Then he nodded to the gate man.
The latch clicked.
The mare leaped.
Ryan held tight, determined to keep his feet in the proper position for a legal mark-out. If he let either heel pull away or drop too low before the mare’s front feet landed that first time, he’d be disqualified. Then it wouldn’t matter how well he rode or how hard this horse bucked. He wouldn’t get a score. Period.
Since half the points awarded were for the rider’s performance and half were for the horse’s, he also wanted her to do well, meaning he had to not only keep his balance, he had to make the proper countermoves to get the most out of this ride. Eight seconds didn’t seem like very long until you had your fingers wedged into a grip sticky with resin, the horse’s hind legs were flying so high you were being flung against her spine and the whiplash made it feel as if your head was fixin’ to part company with the rest of you.
Ryan didn’t attempt to do anything but ride until he heard the horn blast announcing his success. Then he straightened as best he could and worked his fingers loose with his free hand while pickup men maneuvered their running mounts close enough to help him dismount.
One of the men flicked the flank strap and it dropped away, stopping the mare from trying to kick it loose.
Ryan grabbed the other rider’s arm and released his glove while the mare traveled on without them.
“Thanks, man,” Ryan said, dropping to the ground next to the pickup horse and getting his balance well enough to scoop up his bent Stetson and dust it off.
“Watch it. Here she comes again,” a wrangler warned. “She’d as soon run you down as look at you.”
It was immediately clear to Ryan that the man was right. The rangy brown-and-white horse had missed seeing the exit gate on her first pass and was coming around again. Fast and furious.
He leaped up on the nearest fence. To his delight, Julie Shaw and a few others he recognized from before were watching. They had parked a flatbed farm truck near the fence beside the grandstand and were watching from secure perches in its bed.
Julie had both arms raised and was still cheering so wildly she almost knocked her hat off. “Woo-hoo! Good ride, cowboy!”
Ryan’s “Thanks” was swallowed up in the overall din from the rodeo fans. Clearly, Julie wasn’t the only spectator who had been favorably impressed.
A loudspeaker announced his score as eighty-six and a quarter.
Julie cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “You were robbed!” which made him smile even more broadly.
He knew he should immediately report to the area behind the strip chutes and pick up his rigging. And he would. In a few minutes. As soon as he’d spoken to his newest fan.
The soles of his feet prickled in his boots as he jumped off the outside of the fence and reached behind to loosen the thigh buckles on his chaps.
“I’ll take any decent score I can get,” he said, wanting to reassure her that he wasn’t upset about her hometown event. “When I’m going for all-around in rough stock, every completed ride is a good one.”
She climbed down to join him and lightly touched his arm before facing the people she was with. “Ryan Travers, this is my sister, Faith. You probably noticed her at the parade. And this is Hannah Douglas, one of my very best friends. The adorable twins are hers. The boy is Corey and the girl is Chrissy.”
Ryan tipped his hat. “My pleasure. I think I met Mrs. Douglas at city hall when I checked in as a competitor.”
“That’s right,” the dark-haired, dark-eyed young woman said. She laughed lightly. “At least I think we met. I’ve seen so many strange cowboys lately they’re all starting to look alike.”
“Not to Julie, they don’t,” Faith chimed in.
Ryan almost laughed aloud when he saw Julie shoot a look of disdain at her sister. She was even cuter when she was blushing, and she was certainly pink enough now. So much so that the contrast of her freckles had almost vanished.
“Want to come with me to claim my rigging?” Ryan asked, assuming everyone would know which woman he was asking.
When all three answered in the affirmative, his jaw dropped—until the other two began to laugh and he realized he’d been the brunt of their inside joke.
“No way,” Julie announced boldly. “This one is all mine.” And with that, she took Ryan’s arm and urged him to walk away with her.
He was unsure how to best respond until she abruptly released her hold and apologized. “Sorry. I’m not usually so pushy. My sister knows how to get my goat, but Hannah doesn’t often help her.”
“It must be nice to be so close.”
“Yes. You don’t have siblings?”
Although he tried to mask his feelings, there was apparently enough poignancy in his expression to cause her smile to fade when he said, “No. Not anymore.”
She