Читать книгу The Cowboy Way - Christine Wenger - Страница 9

B eth Conroy looked outside and saw her son parked in his usual spot at the end of the driveway, waiting for the mail to be delivered.

Every afternoon since Kevin had entered the Gold Buckle Ranch contest, he had wheeled himself down to the mailbox at the foot of the driveway at three-thirty sharp in the hope that a letter would come from Wyoming, informing him that he was a winner.

He had on his black cowboy hat as usual, the one she got him for Christmas, and he wore a big silver belt buckle, jeans and a long-sleeved western shirt. Not unusual for Lizard Rock, Arizona—most everyone dressed in the western style, but once in a while other kids wore shorts and a T-shirt.

Not Kevin.

Every article of clothing on him, except maybe his underwear, was from the “Jake Dixon Collection.” If something didn’t sport the name of Jake, his favorite bull rider, Kevin didn’t wear it.

Waiting, hoping, looking so alone, he craned his neck toward every car or truck that came down the street. “Today it’ll come,” he’d told her earlier, total trust shining in his eyes.

Five minutes later, when the white truck with the blue eagle on the side turned the corner, she saw him wave his fist in the air.

“All right! Cool!” he shouted.

To a ten year old, it must have seemed to take forever for Mrs. Owens, the mail carrier, to reach their mailbox. Beth stepped closer to the screen door so she could hear the conversation.

“Hi, Kevin,” Mrs. Owens said. She leafed through a handful of mail and smiled. “It’s here. Gold Buckle Ranch, Mountain Springs, Wyoming.”

“Yesss!”

Beth held her breath. It would mean so much to Kevin if he won the contest, but realistically the odds were against him. She didn’t want him hurt any more.

Mrs. Owens reached over the side of the truck and handed him the letter. He stared at it. Beth knew that because Kevin wanted it so much, it had never occurred to him that he wouldn’t win the contest.

It had never occurred to her that he would.

He smoothed out the envelope. Win or lose, he’d want to save it along with the letter and glue them into his Jake Dixon scrapbook or hang it on his bulletin board, another shrine to the popular cowboy.

“Would you like to take the rest of the mail?” asked Mrs. Owens.

“Sure.” He stuffed everything into the canvas bag that hung from the side of his wheelchair. “Thanks, Miss Owens.”

“Hope you won, Kevin.”

“I did!”

As fast as his hands could spin the wheels, he tore up the driveway and the ramp to the rental office. “Mom! It’s here!”

Beth opened the door for him and stepped back, laughing. “Slow down before you run over my toes.”

He stopped in front of her. “Guess what?”

“Something important come in the mail?”

With fumbling fingers, he pulled the envelope out of his canvas bag and held it up to her.

“I hope it’s good news, sweetie.”

He let out a puff of air, carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

When Beth heard his resounding “Yee-haw!” and watched him turn his chair in a complete circle, she knew that he’d won the Gold Buckle Ranch contest. Her heart filled with joy to see him so happy.

“Mom!” he yelled. “This is so cool!”

“We won the lottery?”

“Better than that.”

“What could be better?” She knew the answer to her own question. Seeing her son walk again would be better than all the money in the world.

“Going to the Gold Buckle Ranch in Wyoming and being in Wheelchair Rodeo.” With a big grin, he handed her the letter. “I won the contest, Mom. I mean, you won. We both won!”

Beth skimmed the letter and contemplated several problems. Sneaking a peek at her son’s bright eyes and big, wide grin, she couldn’t tell him that the plane trip from Lizard Rock, Arizona to Mountain Springs, Wyoming would wipe out her meager savings. She wasn’t entitled to a paid vacation yet, either. Any time off would be without pay. She had stacks of bills. Kevin was probably going to need another operation. There was that specialist in Boston and…and…

She took a deep breath. She knew how much going to the Gold Buckle Ranch meant to Kevin. She’d watched him sweat over his entry. She’d helped him look up words in the dictionary, but he wouldn’t let her read the entire essay.

“What exactly did you write?” she asked.

“I told them why you needed a vacation in a hundred words or less. It only took me seventy-one words, and that’s counting the small ones.”

She bit back a smile. “And why do I need a vacation?”

“’Cuz, Mom…’cuz you worry about me. And Dad died. And we had to move to this crummy place. And ’cuz you have to work all the time.”

His smile faded as his forehead wrinkled with worry lines no ten year old should have. It had been a tough two years for both of them. After the accident, Kevin had undergone four operations and thousands of hours of physical therapy. It was way too much for a little boy to handle. She could barely handle it herself. She had hoped and prayed that his last operation would be a success, but Kevin showed no sign of improving. The surgeons were puzzled. She was devastated.

She had to save enough money to take him to Boston, to see the specialist, but now this…

Beth walked to his side. She crouched down and ran her fingers through his soft, shiny hair that was so much like Brad’s had been.

“Sweetie, I’m okay. We had to make some changes, like selling the house and moving here, but we’re doing all right. Aren’t we? There’s a pool…and you like your school.” She faltered. There had to be more reasons. “Aren’t we doing okay?”

Kevin’s knuckles were white as he gripped the arms of his wheelchair. “We’re doing okay, Mom. But you need a vacation.”

“And maybe you do, too, huh?”

He smiled. The spark in his eyes was back. “I’m going to be in Wheelchair Rodeo. Jake Dixon and Clint Scully and Joe Watley and tons more cowboys do Wheelchair Rodeo every year at the Gold Buckle. There’s a campout and trail rides—on horses, Mom. On horses!”

He paused for a quick breath. “And the cowboys teach us how to rope, too. I wish they were real steers, but they’re plastic steer-heads stuck in a block of hay. I’ll show you the picture. And then there’s this big, huge rodeo—a real rodeo. And the cowboys come from all over. All the cowboys I watch on TV will be there, but especially Jake Dixon. The Gold Buckle Ranch is Jake’s ranch, Mom, and I can meet him, and talk to him, and he’ll teach me to ride. And we’ll be staying for a week and…”

Beth was mentally adding up expenses, but she let him ramble on. She loved it when he was happy and excited and acting like a ten year old again. She’d heard nothing but “Jake Dixon this” and “Jake Dixon that” since Kevin was six and had first shaken Jake’s hand at the Fiesta de los Vaqueros, Tucson’s annual rodeo.

Jake had won the bull riding competition that night and had stayed in the arena to sign autographs. Beth had waited in line with Kevin for over an hour, and Jake had autographed Kevin’s program and given him a red bandana. Then Jake had taken the time to talk to him, making the little boy feel special. Ever since, Kevin had thought of Jake as his special hero, a larger-than-life figure who did much cooler things than any baseball or football star.

Jake Dixon had paid him more attention in those five minutes than Kevin’s own father had in a week.

After that, the rodeo became an annual event and Kevin got three more autographed programs, had three more conversations with Jake and got three more bandanas.

Then the accident happened, and it seemed that whenever the Tucson Rodeo was scheduled, so was another operation.

During one of his hospital stays, Kevin had seen Jake being interviewed on TV. On a whim, Beth had e-mailed Jake’s fan club, explained the situation and asked if they’d send an autographed picture of Jake to Kevin at the hospital. They did just that. They also sent him a western shirt, the one he had on today.

“Be tough, Kevin. Cowboy up!” Jake had written with a black felt pen. Kevin had insisted on framing it, and Beth had found the perfect frame in the hospital’s gift shop—silver with bulls on each corner.

With that picture and autograph, Jake Dixon did more to help Kevin heal than all the doctors could. Again this stranger had come through when her son needed a hero the most.

If somehow she could arrange a week off, she could only pray that Jake would live up to her son’s expectations. She herself had no expectations as far as men were concerned, but if Jake proved undeserving of Kevin’s adoration, he’d answer to her.

She ruffled Kevin’s hair and stood. She had made her decision. “Well, I guess we’d better go to the Gold Buckle Ranch and meet Jake Dixon.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She reached out to hug him, and for a second, she thought he was going to stand. Tears stung her eyes as she gathered him close to her. If she had to, she would sell her soul to get the time off to give Kevin this trip to Wyoming.

“Thanks for winning the trip for us, sweetie,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing. “We’re going to have a great time.”

Checking the clock on the wall, she saw that it was almost time for Kevin’s water therapy. She had two rent checks to collect and a phone call to make before she could close the office for the day and watch the therapist work with Kevin.

“You’d best get your bathing suit on. Sam will be here in a half hour for your exercises. I’ll be in to help you change.”

“I can do it.”

“But—”

He was off in a flash of chrome and denim, wheeling up the ramp that led to their small apartment in the back of the office.

She felt a pang of sadness when she remembered that Kevin had called their apartment “crummy.” It was crummy compared to where they used to live—a brand-new, four-thousand-square-foot house in the Catalina Mountains crowning Tucson. There they’d had wide-open spaces and room to run. It was a perfect spot for a kid growing up.

In contrast, their apartment complex was crowded with cars, concrete and cul-de-sacs.

Their life had been fairly good before the accident. Before her husband Brad had picked up eight-year-old Kevin from his friend’s house and crashed into the concrete pilings of a bridge.

That was two years ago, yet she always felt physically sick whenever she thought of that day, that minute, that second that had forever changed her life and Kevin’s. She would live with the guilt forever.

She should have known that Brad had started drinking again. She should have known….

She had been driving home from the grocery store that day when she saw Brad’s cherry-red convertible crushed against a wall of concrete. She’d jumped out of her car and run as fast as she could toward the accident, but the police had caught her and pulled her away. Helpless, she’d watched and waited, crying hysterically, as police and firemen pried the mangled metal of the car away from Kevin to get him out.

She was screaming his name so loudly that Kevin heard her. He lifted his hand and waved. She knew then in her mother’s heart that he was going to live. They’d let her hold his hand until they sedated him and got him ready for the ambulance.

As Kevin dozed, a kind policeman took her over to see Brad. He was already dead, lying in a ditch along the side of the road. A bright blue plastic sheet covered his body.

She knelt down, lifted the sheet and saw her husband, finally at peace.

Alcohol had claimed Brad, but it wouldn’t take her little boy, not while she had a breath left in her. She’d kissed Brad’s forehead for the man he used to be, taking one last look and remembering happier times. She’d let her tears fall, and when they dropped onto his face, she brushed them off and then covered him.

“Your husband didn’t have his seat belt on, but your boy did. That saved him,” said the cop.

She got into the ambulance with Kevin, and didn’t let go of his hand until they wheeled him into the operating room.

Beth shook away the memory and blinked back her tears. Relaxing her clenched fists, she poured herself a drink of water from the cooler and drank it down. She had to concentrate on business right now, so she would be able to watch Kevin’s progress with Sam. Then she’d make dinner, read the information from the Gold Buckle Ranch, and enjoy her son’s company for the rest of the evening.

Kevin was her whole life, and to make things up to him, she would give him the world if she could. But since she couldn’t, the least she could do was give him Jake Dixon.

Jake signed a dozen autographs in front of the baggage claim area at the little airport outside Mountain Springs. When he was on top of the Professional Bull Riders point standings, hundreds of people used to crowd around him. He’d loved every minute of it.

A dozen fans would have to do, since these days he was ranked number thirty-nine out of forty-five pro bull riders. He was just hanging on to the tour by his ragged fingernails.

Jake checked his watch for the hundredth time. Instead of being cooped up in the dinky little airport, he would rather be mending fences or working with the new mustang he’d just bought from Joe Watley, a stock contractor.

Better yet, he’d rather be riding bulls on the Professional Bull Riders tour and working on pumping up his ranking.

But nothing was scheduled for the month of July on the tour, so he’d take care of business at the ranch and work on organizing the Jake Dixon Gold Buckle Bull Riders Challenge and Wheelchair Rodeo like he’d done for the past two years.

From what he could tell so far, they were going to have a bigger crowd than ever for the Gold Buckle Challenge. Area hotels were booked solid and so were area campgrounds. This meant a nice boost to the local economy and an even bigger boost for the Gold Buckle Ranch.

He really loved organizing and running Wheelchair Rodeo for the kids. At least he was doing something that made him feel needed instead of angry and frustrated, the way he usually did these days.

He walked the short distance to the one waiting room, his back and right leg screaming for mercy. He checked the clock and sat down on a yellow plastic chair that was welded to three other yellow plastic chairs. Stretching his legs in front of him, he waited. Fifteen minutes later, people began filing into the waiting room.

He watched and waited, but others picked up all the passengers. Soon he was alone.

Shifting in his chair, he pulled the piece of paper his mother had given him from the back pocket of his jeans and checked it against the sign to the left of the door. Flight 1843. This was the correct gate.

Jake looked around for someone to ask about Beth and Kevin Conroy and when they might be arriving.

“Mom, it’s him! It’s Jake Dixon! He’s really here! He’s here!”

Jake couldn’t help but grin as he found the source of the noise—a cute-as-hell, freckle-faced boy in a wheelchair.

The beautiful blonde who pushed the boy stifled a yawn. It must have been a long flight.

The boy wiggled in his wheelchair and waved his hands in the air. “Jake! Jake! Remember me, Kevin Conroy? And this is my mom.”

Jake tipped his hat to her. Immediately he was drawn to her eyes. They were as green as the new grass that sprouted along the Silver River in the springtime.

“Wyoming will never be the same, now that your biggest fan has landed, Mr. Dixon.” She held out her hand. “I’m Beth Conroy. As you now know, this is Kevin. You’ve met him at the Tucson Rodeo a couple of times.”

He shook her hand, glad for the heads-up. He’d met so many kids over the years, he couldn’t remember them all.

“Sure. Howdy, Kevin. Good to see you again.” He hunkered down and shook Kevin’s hand. The boy had a nice strong grip, and his eyes were round with excitement.

What a darn shame that he was in a wheelchair. What a darn shame that any child in this world had to be disabled, handicapped, impaired—whatever the latest politically correct term was. It always twisted his gut. That was one of the reasons he’d started Wheelchair Rodeo—to give kids like Kevin the chance to be like other kids.

“Are you ready for Wheelchair Rodeo, Kevin?” Jake asked.

“Yes. I can’t wait. It’s going to be awesome!”

“We have a great time every year.”

The boy had a death grip on Jake’s hand and was still pumping away.

“Is Clint Scully going to be at the Gold Buckle?” Kevin asked.

“Sure. I’m expecting Clint anytime now. Joe Watley arrived a couple of days ago. Cody’s here. Wayne and Trace are here. Ramon is arriving later in the week. More are coming in every day.”

The boy was ready to rocket out of the chair at that news. “Oh, wow! Oh, cool! This is awesome!”

“Kevin, Mr. Dixon is going to be needing his hand back,” his mother said, her green eyes twinkling.

Jake laughed and stood up slowly, his knees and back grinding painfully. Every bone in his thirty-two-year-old frame ached like a sore tooth. He had one month to heal from his latest round of injuries and start his comeback. The next three months of the tour would be crucial. Just one more World Finals in Vegas…

“It’s fine with me if he calls me Jake, and you, too, ma’am. We’re not formal here.”

Kevin finally released his hand. “What’s wrong, Jake? You in pain? It was Scooter who stomped on your legs, right?”

“Scooter got me pretty good in Oklahoma City, but I think the worst came from Prickly Pear way back at the Billings event. White Whale made it worse in Loughlin. But I’ll be okay.”

“Just another day at the office. Right?”

He choked back a laugh. “Right, Kevin.”

Jake felt uncomfortable talking about himself. Besides he had no business talking about his minor injuries when the boy was in a wheelchair.

He hadn’t read all the files yet, so he didn’t know Kevin’s history. His folks were sticklers about keeping a file on each kid enrolled in the Wheelchair Rodeo program. Everyone who worked with the kids was expected to read each one. Then they’d be turned over to his pal, Dr. Mike Trotter, the resident physician for the week, for his review.

“Shall we head over to pick up your gear?” Jake stepped around to push Kevin’s chair, and Beth was more than willing to give it up.

She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“You look tired,” Jake said, heading for the baggage claim area.

“It was a long flight.”

“Arizona’s pretty far away. Pretty country, though. Their rodeo is the best, but I’ve been there a couple other times too.”

“Really, Jake?”

Beth gave Kevin a nudge on the shoulder. “See? Arizona’s not so boring. Jake Dixon likes it.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said.

Pieces of luggage were starting their trip on the rubber conveyer belt, and people rushed to claim a spot along its path. There was no room for a wheelchair and two more people.

“We’re in no rush. Right?” Jake asked.

“Not at all. We’re on vacation,” Beth said with a long sigh.

It was a long way to travel, but her weariness seemed more bone deep than it should have been just from the flight. She could use some color in her cheeks and some sweet Wyoming air, and maybe some good old-fashioned rocking on the front porch of her cabin.

“Well, if it ain’t Jake Dixon.”

Jake spun around in the direction of the deep, booming voice. Harvey Trumble, editor of the Wyoming Journal, stood with two suitcases in hand and the usual grimace on his face.

Everyone within earshot turned to stare, including Beth and Kevin.

Just his luck. “Go catch your plane, Harvey. Now’s not a good time.”

Harvey dropped his suitcases and clenched his fists.

Shoot. Jake didn’t want to fight the man. Not with the kid so close, watching his every move and looking at him as if he were some kind of hero. Besides, Harvey had a good fifty pounds on him, and even though Jake was younger, he couldn’t risk a new injury.

“I have things to do, Harvey. I’m not looking for a fight.”

“You gotta be drunk to fight me, Jake? Like you were when you almost killed my boy?”

Jake glanced over at the two arrivals. Kevin’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Beth stared at him as if rattlers were sprouting from his ears. She stepped in front of Jake, took the handles of Kevin’s chair and wheeled him to the far end of the luggage belt.

Jake grabbed Harvey’s arm and yanked him out the front door of the airport, away from most of the crowd.

“Like I told you before, Harvey, Keith had his hands all over a young lady, who told him to stop no less than three times.”

Jake had to calm down before he punched him. If he hit him, Harvey would see to it that it was front-page news. Just like the article he wrote about how Jake’s sponsors were dropping him faster than an eight-second ride.

Jake dodged his wild punch. “C’mon, Harvey. Not now.”

“You didn’t have to break my boy’s arm.”

“I didn’t. I admit that I punched Keith after he took a swing at me. But then it turned into a big free-for-all. Someone hit him on the head with a beer bottle. When he fell, he broke his arm. Keith is okay. He’s getting a lot of sympathy and still managing to paw the ladies at the Last Chance, even with one arm in a cast.”

Harvey pushed Jake out of his way.

“You’re nothing but a has-been!” Harvey yelled. “You’re a drunk, Jake Dixon, and you hurt my boy.” Not taking his eyes off Jake, he backed up to the automatic doors of the airport and went inside.

It was then that Jake noticed Beth and Kevin outside. They both stared at him. Beth’s face was ghostly white, her lips pinched. Kevin was motionless in his chair, so unlike the animated, excited boy who’d got off the plane.

“Sorry you had to hear that,” Jake said, feeling lower than the stuff he scraped off his boots. He didn’t know exactly what they’d heard, except for Harvey’s parting slam.

“Maybe we should take a taxi to the ranch.” Beth’s words faded into the air, then she stood tall and raised her chin. “I’m sorry if this offends you, Mr. Dixon, but I have to ask. Have you been drinking? Kevin and I will not be riding with anyone who has been drinking.”

“I haven’t been drinking,” Jake said softly, meeting her eyes.

“Mom, he’s Jake Dixon. Jake Dixon! He doesn’t do stuff like that.”

The adoration was back in the kid’s eyes, but Jake sure as hell didn’t feel like a hero.

“My truck’s right there.” He nodded in the direction of his black half-ton pickup. “It’s a good hour-and-a-half ride to the Gold Buckle over some pretty rough roads. The taxis won’t make the trip out there.” He still saw the disbelief in her eyes. “Ma’am, I haven’t been drinking.”

She touched Kevin’s hair protectively. “I made a mistake once before.” After a long, hard, evaluating look into Jake’s eyes, she said, “All right, Mr. Dixon. All right. I’m going to believe you—unless I find out otherwise.”

“Please call me Jake.”

“I’d rather not.”