Читать книгу A Cowboy's Claim - Marin Thomas - Страница 10

Chapter One

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Stampede Park in beautiful sunny Cody, Wyoming! We’re expecting record-breaking temperatures this first week of July, so be sure you’re drinking plenty of water. If you’re looking for a seat in the shade, we still have a few available under the Buzzard Roost.”

The grandstand took up one side, the rough stock and cowboys the other. The scent of greasy burgers, popcorn, cigarettes and sweaty bodies permeated the air until you got close to the chutes. Then the heavy stink of nervous bucking stock and the stuff that comes out of their back ends stole your breath—unless you were immune to it as Vic was.

Garth Brooks’s song “Rodeo” blasted through the loudspeakers for a few seconds. Then the announcer continued his spiel. “It’s been a wild start to Cowboy Christmas here in the cowboy state. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term Cowboy Christmas...”

Vic paced behind the chute, where Snake Oil Willie waited patiently for him. Why did every damned rodeo announcer feel compelled to explain Cowboy Christmas to the fans? People wanted to see cowboys go head-to-head with the bucking stock—they didn’t care that this was the time of year cowboys ramped up their earnings to help them qualify for the National Finals Rodeo in December. Only the top fifteen cowboys made it to Vegas, and Vic intended to be one of them.

He was bone tired after his midnight ride in the Greeley Independence Stampede in Colorado, four hundred fifty miles away. He’d driven all night to get to Cody, and the five days before that he’d been in Pecos, Texas. As soon as he competed today, he was back in his truck heading to Red Lodge, Montana, sixty miles up the interstate where he was due to ride at three. Then he had to make it to the Round Top Rodeo in Livingston, one hundred twenty-three miles farther down the road, for his last go-round of the day. He’d taken first place in Greeley, and if he finished in the top three in his last two rodeos of the day, he could earn close to five thousand dollars.

“We’re fortunate to have a superstar among our competitors today. Victor Vicario is currently ranked twelve in the PRCA standings. He started off the year on a high note, taking first place at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo back in March.”

The din increased and Vic slipped farther into the shadows of the cowboy ready area. He didn’t care for all the attention that came with winning. As soon as he claimed a national title, he intended to disappear from the rodeo scene. If he never rode another bronc the rest of his life, that would be fine with him.

“Last year Vicario ended his season in fourth place at the NFR in Vegas and you can bet he’s aiming to return for another chance to win the title.”

Once the crowd quieted, the announcer mentioned other cowboys competing today. Vic blocked out the noise and drew his thoughts inward as he prepared for his ride. He recalled his best ride, which happened to be last year in Vegas. He imagined every detail right down to the smells of the bucking chute, the heat coming off Sun River Bay’s back and the sound of the gelding’s snorts. Once Vic completed the ride in his head, he opened his eyes.

He was first out of the gate in his event—fine by him. He intended to set the bar high and intimidate his competition. He could thank the barrio in Albuquerque for his cutthroat attitude. Vic hadn’t grown up on a farm or a ranch like most rodeo cowboys. He hadn’t shown a cow or a pig in the local 4-H fair. Instead, he’d spent his free time tagging public property, stealing sodas and candy from convenience stores, skipping school and pledging gangs.

“Vicario will be coming out of chute two on Snake Oil Willie. This bronc can two-step like nobody’s business.”

When the rodeo helper signaled him, Vic stepped into the open. No one wished him good luck on his walk to the chute. He was good at busting broncs, but the scar on his face and his brooding personality kept anyone from trying to be his friend. Sometimes the loneliness got to him, but it was a fitting penance considering his high school pal Cruz Rivera had spent twelve years behind bars because of Vic.

He climbed the rails and straddled the bronc. Snake Oil Willie’s muscles bunched beneath Vic’s weight, but the horse behaved. Vic had never ridden the gelding in competition and had heard rumors that good ol’ Willie was full of tricks once he escaped the chute.

Vic adjusted his grip on the thick rein attached to the horse’s halter, took a deep breath, then nodded to the gate man and braced himself for liftoff. As soon as the chute opened, Snake Oil Willie rocketed into the air. Instinct took over and Vic placed his spurs against the points of the horse’s shoulders then marked out. With his left arm high in the air, he squeezed the bronc’s withers and spurred front to back, keeping his toes pointing outward. The first few bucks were smooth and controlled, but then the bronc tensed beneath him and Vic relaxed his hold on the rein, trying to avoid a spin.

Not a chance—Snake Oil Willie was too smart. The trickster spun right, forcing Vic to move with him in the saddle or get thrown off. When the bronc straightened out, Vic waited for another buck, but the horse reared and he slid backward. With a surge of strength he clung to the saddle; then the gelding’s front hooves hit the dirt, jarring Vic’s spine. The bronc managed to buck twice more before the buzzer sounded. Vic waited for an opening to dismount. When he saw his chance, he dove for the ground and rolled away from the clashing hooves.

The pickup men escorted Snake Oil Willie out of the arena and Vic plucked his hat from the dirt. His gaze scanned the crowd on his way back to the chutes and he caught a flash of red. Tanya McGee. What was she doing here?

Maybe she came to watch you.

No way. He hadn’t run into her on the circuit since that stormy night outside Houston when he rebuffed her offer to have coffee at the truck stop. He made eye contact and nodded.

“There you have it, folks,” the announcer said. “Victor Vicario scored an eighty-nine and got the best of Snake Oil Willie!”

Vic retrieved his duffel and stuffed his gear inside. He swung the bag over his shoulder and headed to the nearest concession stand to buy a corn dog for the road. He had two and a half hours before his next ride in Red Lodge.

“Victor.”

Tanya. He stopped walking and waited until she caught up with him.

“Great ride.”

He nodded, tongue-tied. Why did the spitfire barrel racer shove him off balance with just a smile?

“I wanted to thank you again for changing the flat on my trailer,” she said. “Couldn’t have been an easy feat in that downpour.”

“Glad to help.” He rubbed the ache in his left shoulder. He’d clipped it coming out of the chute.

She shuffled her black boots, then zeroed in on his face. Maybe it was the glare from the sun, but her eyes appeared bluer than he’d remembered.

“Did you compete today?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m giving Slingshot a rest, hoping it will improve his disposition.”

Vic grinned before he remembered the action stretched the scar across his face, twisting the puckered flesh. “Slingshot is a handful.”

“I’m well aware everyone believes my horse would be put to better use making glue.”

Vic quirked an eyebrow.

“But I’m not giving up on him.”

He understood how difficult it was to throw in the towel and admit defeat. He’d been hauling around twelve years of I-don’t-give-up on his back. Tanya didn’t appear in a hurry, but he was at a loss for something to say. He wasn’t used to talking to women he respected. He only had experience with ladies after a good time and a quick goodbye.

“I came up here to look at a stud horse with my stepfather and we stopped to take in the rodeo.” She waved a hand toward the parking lot. “Where are you headed next?”

“Red Lodge and then later tonight, Livingston.”

She gaped at him. “You’re riding in three events today?”

He opened his mouth to ask when she planned to compete again, but she cut him off.

“Damn.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I was hoping to avoid him today.”

Vic followed her gaze—Beau Billings. “I’m hungry for a corn dog. Want to come with me?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Her smile flashed brighter than the hot sun and suddenly Vic’s Wranglers felt tight in the crotch. If he survived the craziness of the first week of July, he’d think about getting laid. Right now rodeo came before pleasure.

After they joined the line at the concession stand, Tanya said, “I wish he’d quit pestering me.”

“What’s your ex doing to bother you?”

She wiped the perspiration off her brow, drawing Vic’s attention to the smattering of freckles across her nose. She appeared younger than the twenty-six years listed in the rodeo program by her name. “He tells me every chance he gets that my horse is stupid.”

Vic chuckled and then sobered when she jabbed her elbow into his ribs. “Sorry.”

“It’s been three years since I divorced Beau and he still acts like he has a claim on me.”

He didn’t know the details of her and Billings’s breakup—only that she’d caught the jerk cheating. He wasn’t sure if she’d walked away from barrel racing because of the divorce or the broken leg she’d suffered in a car accident a few years ago. And he sure as heck didn’t know why she’d returned to the circuit on a stubborn horse like Slingshot. That Vic was interested in her situation at all surprised him even more.

“You’d think he’d have his hands full trying to please his harem of buckle bunnies that he wouldn’t have time to pester me.” She rolled her eyes. “The poor stupid women can’t see past his handsome face and sexy voice.”

That was one thing Vic didn’t have to worry about—misleading the ladies. His voice wasn’t sexy and neither were his looks.

They were next in line to order—both asked for a corn dog and soda and they shared a large order of fries. Tanya insisted on paying—to thank him for his roadside assistance. They returned to the stands to eat.

She sipped her cola, then asked, “What about you, Victor? Any ex-girlfriends or wives giving you grief?”

Was Tanya making polite conversation or did she really want to know if he was involved with another woman? “No exes or girlfriends.” Just him. Alone.

“So the rumors are true,” she said.

“What rumors?”

“That you’re a loner.” She snatched the fry out of his fingers. “When Beau and I traveled the circuit together, the only competitor he ever obsessed over was you. You got under his skin.”

“I barely know the guy.”

“Doesn’t matter. You bother Beau because he can’t figure out what you’re thinking.”

Half the time Vic didn’t know what he was thinking.

“You scare him and it’s not because of the scar on your face.” Her casual mention of his disfigurement took Vic by surprise. “Sure, the scar makes you appear intimidating and unapproachable, but there’s more to it than that.”

Really?

“Beau knows he doesn’t have your natural ability.”

Vic swallowed the last bite of his corn dog. “It’s not talent, it’s hard work.”

“Whatever you want to call it. Beau doesn’t have your smarts.”

Damn, Tanya was good for his ego.

“A lot of cowboys study the way you ride, but none of them, including Beau, has ever picked up on the way you hold the buck rein.” She smiled. “But I did.”

Learning that his competition paid close attention to his performances was unnerving. He’d rather believe the cowboys were just watching to see if he’d fall on his head. “What about the buck rein?”

“Most of the guys prefer a thicker, tightly braided rein and a full handgrip. But your buck rein is loosely braided and you hold it between your third and fourth fingers.”

“You’re very observant.”

“I know.” Her eyes sparkled. “I also noticed that you feed extra rein to the horse when his head drops too low.”

“Everybody has their own technique.”

“True, but the thick rein is less flexible.” She sucked her drink dry. “Beau tried to copy you, but he never got the hang of it. Now you’re just stuck in his head.”

“I had a little help early on in my career.”

“From who?”

“A friend.” He didn’t want to go into detail about his relationship with Riley Fitzgerald. Vic liked to keep his past private. No one needed to know he’d been raised in one of the most dangerous barrios in Albuquerque.

“Ladies and gentlemen, up next is Beau Billings!” A throng of women screamed the cowboy’s name and held up signs with their phone numbers on them. Vic found it amusing that Tanya appeared unfazed by her ex-husband’s fan club.

“What?” she asked.

He struggled not to grin. He hadn’t been tempted to smile this often in one day let alone one month since he suffered the injury to his face.

“Beau Billings hails from Sierra Vista, Arizona, and right now this cowboy is ranked number sixteen in the country.” The announcer’s voice echoed through the sound system. It was time for Vic to leave, but he was reluctant to say goodbye—a first for him. Tanya was the only woman in longer than he could remember who appeared relaxed in his company. It would be too easy to let his guard down.

Vic watched Billings prepare for his ride. He paced in front of the chute, his strides short and choppy. The man was nervous. He’d drawn a better bronc than Vic, so his chances of earning a higher score were his for the taking.

“Billings has been paired with Shake Down, a three-year-old gelding from the Dale Anderson Ranch near Big Piney. Let’s see if this cowboy can beat Vicario’s eighty-nine.”

Billings straddled the bronc, and Vic’s gaze zeroed in on the buck rein. The cowboy played with his grip and the horse grew nervous in the chute.

“He takes too long,” Tanya said. “You take ten seconds max.”

Obviously she’d been watching Vic perform for a while. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. The chute opened and Shake Down lunged into the arena. The horse landed awkwardly on his front hooves and Billings had to fight from the get-go to keep from being bucked off. The bronc couldn’t find its rhythm and Billings’s spurring was erratic—the perfect combination for a low score.

The buzzer rang and Billings jumped for safety. “Looks like Shake Down gave our cowboy a run for his money today. Let’s see what the judges think.” The crowd applauded, but the noise level had dropped noticeably. Rodeo fans knew the difference between a great ride and a mediocre one. Billings’s performance had been average at best.

“An eighty-five for Billings! Better luck next time, cowboy!”

Billings spotted Tanya and Vic in the stands and his scowl deepened. As much as Vic enjoyed Tanya’s company, it was time to part ways. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Sure. See you...somewhere.” Her smile was genuine—not flirty.

Good thing or he’d have been tempted to scratch his ride later in Livingston and spend the night in a motel room with Tanya.

* * *

TANYA WATCHED VIC’S backside disappear into the crowd. She’d spent thirty-five minutes with him, which was thirty minutes longer than she thought he’d put up with her. Vic was a loner and Beau wasn’t the first cowboy to have nothing good to say about him. But Tanya found his quiet personality a nice break from the braggarts on the circuit. And she’d felt a sense of camaraderie with Vic—her competition hadn’t exactly welcomed her with open arms, either. They’d given her weird stares and stilted greetings as if they wished she’d remained retired from the sport—not because she was any real threat but because of the attention she and Slingshot drew at the rodeos.

A car accident had ended Tanya’s barrel-racing career before she’d been ready to call it quits. She blamed Beau’s cheating for robbing her of that last season. It had taken months for her to recover from her injuries and put her failed marriage behind her once she’d signed the divorce papers. Now she was back on the circuit to say a final goodbye to the sport.

“What the hell are you doing with Vicario?” Beau walked—rather limped—toward Tanya.

Ignoring the question, she asked, “Did you sprain your knee?” Beau had been cursed with weak joints to go along with his weak morals.

“Don’t change the subject.”

Beau didn’t love her anymore—if he ever did. But he was a sore loser. He’d fought the divorce tooth and nail, suggesting marriage counseling, but she’d refused. Once a cheater, always a cheater. She made a move to step past him, but he snagged her arm.

“What’s with you and Vicario?”

“None of your business.”

“The man has ice in his veins, Tanya. You don’t know anything about him. Nobody does.”

“We’re divorced.” She planted her hands on her hips. “That means you don’t get a say in which men I choose to date, kiss or have sex with.”

Beau’s jaw dropped and Tanya cringed when she noticed the attention they’d drawn. Typical Beau—always making a scene.

“When are you and that dumb horse of yours going to call it quits?” Beau’s self-esteem grew when he made other people and animals feel worthless. “You and Slingshot are the laughingstock of the circuit.”

She’d listened to enough of his crap. Without a word—because Beau hated it when she didn’t fight back—she headed to the stock pens to find her stepfather. He intercepted her halfway there.

“Tanya!” Mason Coldwater was in his early sixties and she’d known him since she’d been a young girl. “We need to head home.”

“I thought you wanted to stay for the bull riding?” She followed him out to the parking lot and got into his brand-new Lincoln.

“Your horse is causing trouble again.” He started the engine and flipped on the air-conditioning.

“What has he done now?” she asked.

“Jumped the damned fence. Took forever for Raymond to catch him. And when he put Slingshot in the barn, the horse kicked the stall door down.”

“Next time I’ll—”

“There shouldn’t be a next time, Tanya.” After Mason merged onto the highway, he said, “You’re a horse trainer. Not a barrel racer anymore. I need you at the farm. Raymond’s not working out.”

Raymond Gonzales was the trainer Mason had hired to replace Tanya after she began rodeoing earlier in the year. “Ray has a solid reputation.”

“Come back to the farm and help Raymond. Then if you still want to compete next year, I’ll help you choose a decent horse.”

It wouldn’t matter how many Red Rock horses Mason offered her, he’d find an excuse to bring her back home. She understood his and her mother’s fear that she’d injure her leg again. The surgeon had warned that if she broke her left leg again, she might end up walking with a permanent limp. The rehab had been so painful that Tanya hadn’t given a thought to competing again until Slingshot had ended up at the farm. The stubborn horse had convinced Tanya that not only did he deserve a second chance to prove himself, but so did she.

Mason paid her a decent salary to train his Appaloosas, and she loved working with the horses. She especially loved the challenge Slingshot presented. It took a month at the farm before the horse’s difficult personality became evident, and then Mason had wanted to sell him. Tanya had talked him out of it and had worked tirelessly with the horse, but had made minimal progress. So she’d suggested that Mason allow her to work Slingshot’s kinks out on the circuit. Mason had been reluctant, but Tanya had persisted until he caved in.

“Slingshot’s getting restless,” she said. “He’s ready to compete again.”

“I think the damned horse doesn’t like being separated from you.”

“We have a love-hate relationship.”

“Maybe you should give him a different name.”

Slingshot lived up to his name and then some. He burst out of the alley and broke the barrier like a rock in a slingshot. The only problem was that his momentum made his turns sloppy and he sacrificed valuable seconds getting around the barrels.

“And he’s damned ugly,” Mason muttered.

The mud-brown horse had no markings, and if you saw him in a lineup with other horses, your gaze would skip over him. But Slingshot had heart—not even Mason could argue with that. The gelding came from a strong bloodline of barrel racers. His legs were straight with no bumps or scars—he hadn’t been in any accidents or mishaps—and he possessed a strong back and healthy hooves. Slingshot was built to run, but he was a mystery—just like Victor Vicario—and it was anyone’s guess which one would be easier to tame.