Читать книгу Her Montana Cowboy - Valerie Hansen - Страница 13

Chapter Four

Ryan had not intended to hang around behind the scenes when the mutton busting was introduced as part of the afternoon’s entertainment. He simply had little else to occupy him while the bareback horses were removed and saddle broncs loaded into the holding pens directly behind the chutes. Stock contractors had their own wranglers and treated those horses better than a lot of folks treated their kin, meaning they didn’t want them touched by anybody else.

He got himself a bottle of cold water and drank it as he ambled over to the place where a passel of youngsters was gathered. A twenty-something man he recognized from the mayor’s entourage was instructing the kids about safety, so Ryan figured he was probably one of Julie’s brothers.

Some of the little boys and girls looked overconfident, while others seemed scared to death. It was those children who tugged at Ryan’s heart and caused him to edge closer.

He spotted one boy who seemed far too small and timid to be competing, and crouched down to speak with him. “Hi, there. Where’s your mama? Does she know you’re planning to try to ride a sheep?”

Although his lower lip was trembling, the little boy stuck out his chin and ignored the question.

“A grown-up has to fill out paperwork for you, buddy. You can’t enter without your mama or daddy being here.”

Tears welled in the child’s eyes as he looked around. “Mama’s here.”

“Where?”

“I—I lost her.”

Straightening, Ryan offered his hand. “Okay. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll introduce you to the lady who owns the sheep while we wait around for your mother to come looking for you. Then, in a few years when you’re older, maybe you’ll be all ready to ride like the bigger kids.”

“Uh-uh. Can’t go with strangers. Mama said.”

“And your mama is absolutely right,” Ryan assured him. “But since she’s bound to look for you where she saw you last, I think it would be okay to hang around and talk to the sheep lady for a bit. Her name is Julie. See? She’s right over there. The pretty one with the dark red hair and the straw Stetson.”

Smiling, he followed the little boy’s tentative steps as they skirted the group of excited children and approached Julie. The moment she looked up, he tipped his hat and eyed the boy. “My friend and I were wondering if we could maybe give you a hand. He wants to ride, but his mama got herself lost, so she isn’t here to sign for him. Would you mind if he petted your sheep?”

The grin Julie returned rested on him first, widened, then switched to settle on the uneasy child. “Of course not. They’re pretty tame, particularly around me. I’m afraid I’ve made pets of them.”

“Hey, as long as you’re raising them for their wool, no problem, right?” Ryan offered.

“Right.” Julie held out an arm. “Would you like to come in here with me or do you want to stay outside with your cowboy friend?”

The boy seemed to be considering carefully before he reached for Ryan’s hand and grasped it firmly. “Stay here.” His upturned face searched Ryan’s. “Okay, mister?”

“Fine with me.”

Ryan swallowed past a lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure what touched him more, the boy’s trust or the gentle expression on Julie’s face when she looked at them standing there together. Here he was, a tough-as-nails guy who faced fifteen-hundred-pound-plus belligerent farm animals, and he’d been reduced almost to tears by a small boy and a pretty woman. If his old friends could see him now, they’d probably laugh their spurs off.

And he didn’t care, he suddenly realized. At this time, in this situation, he was so at peace, so filled with joy, he truly didn’t care what anybody else thought.

That’s not entirely true, Ryan mused. He did care about one person. And she was bestowing the loveliest, most warm and wonderful smile he’d ever had the pleasure to receive.

If he’d been the romantic type, he might even have said it made his heart sing.

* * *

Julie saw plenty of happy families all around her, yet had eyes only for the stalwart cowboy and the trusting little boy. There was something endearing about them, not that she hadn’t seen plenty of fathers and sons together before.

She turned back to her tasks with the sheep, but her mind continued to dwell on Ryan. Perhaps the sight of him befriending the boy seemed so wonderful because he had told her he was close to no one, had no family other than his mother, whom he rarely saw. It was almost as if Julie was being given a glimpse of the kind of father he could someday become.

“Are those girls or boys?” Ryan’s young friend asked.

“These are all girls. Mama sheep are called ewes,” Julie replied. “I brought these to the rodeo because they’re so friendly.”

“I know horses can live twenty years or more,” Ryan said. “How old are these animals?”

Julie chuckled. “Be careful you don’t hurt their feelings. They might take offense if they knew you’d called them old.”

“Sorry. It’s hard to tell.”

“It can be unless you’re used to judging sheep. These are about eight. As long as I have the room and plenty of feed, they’ll live out their natural lives in my flock.”

“Not a very practical approach to ranching,” the cowboy said.

“Yes and no. Business is good and they still produce fine wool. Sales have really taken off since I updated my website. I’ve had to hire more help for lambing and shearing.”

Whatever happened, Julie was determined to keep her hands on every aspect of Warm and Fuzzy. The name of her business went back to her days as a youngster in 4-H, and it always made her smile. So did being in the company of gentle ewes and their lambs. Adult rams were another story. She never turned her back on them, even in the off-season.

“I can’t figure out the look of that wool,” Ryan said. “It’s almost silky.”

“That’s because I specialize in Leicester Longwools.”

“Lesters? Like in Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, the bluegrass pickers?”

Julie chuckled. “It’s pronounced Lester but spelled ­L-e-i-c-e-s-t-e-r. They’re rare but have amazing fleeces.”

“They certainly do. Not that I’ve paid a lot of attention before. I guess you can tell I’m used to hanging around horses and cattle.”

The young man helping her offered his hand to Ryan. “Me, too, but I got roped into this. I’m Adam, Little Bo Peep’s brother.”

The men shook hands.

“You’re forgiven—but Adam isn’t,” Julie said with a mock scowl. She shooed him back to work and returned to her interrupted conversation with Ryan.

“The Jasper Gulch Chamber of Commerce and Event Committee thanks you and all your fellow competitors for being here,” Julie said formally.

“I’d rather you thanked me personally,” Ryan said “Will you be free tonight during the fireworks show?”

“I’d planned to watch with my family. There are a lot of us, and we usually make a party out of it.” Hesitating, she finally added, “If you want to join us, you’ll be most welcome.”

“Thanks. Where will you be?”

“On the old bridge over Beaver Creek. It’s one of the reasons we decided to hold such a long celebration instead of just remembering the town’s actual founding date. We’re trying to raise money to repair the picturesque sites like that bridge and encourage tourism. Being so close to Yellowstone Park, we think we’ll have a fair chance of success, particularly if we can add a scenic route to the option of driving through Jasper Gulch instead of going around it on the highway.”

“I guess that makes sense for folks who have the time to just look at scenery. I’m always in a hurry or driving at night to make the next competition.”

Julie straightened and shook her head as she gazed at him and said, “That’s sad.”

“Not to me, it isn’t. I happen to like my life on the road.”

What could she do but smile? “Then more power to you. There are too many people who never decide what they want to do or who they want to be. One day they wake up and realize it’s too late for them.”

She checked her watch. “Speaking of late, I need to get these ewes lined out so the kids can start.”

“Go right ahead. We’ll just watch. Right, buddy?”

The child tugged on his hand. “There’s my mama!”

“Then you’d better go tell her where you are so she doesn’t worry.”

“Yeah!”

Julie paused as soon as she’d guided the first two ewes into the narrow passageway to the makeshift chutes the kids were using. “That was sweet of you.”

“What was?”

“Looking after that little boy until his mother found him. She must have been worried sick.”

Ryan shrugged. “Maybe. I didn’t do it for her. She should have kept better track of him.”

“I’m sure she tried.”

“Maybe.”

Watching his changing expressions, Julie wondered why the mention of a mother’s care and concern seemed to bother him so much. Was that why he’d been so noncommittal when she’d asked if he intended to visit his own mother? Perhaps. Then again, maybe he was simply the kind of adult who looked out for the welfare of children.

And damsels in distress, she added silently, stifling a telling grin. There was no way she’d ever qualify as a damsel, in distress or otherwise. Given her ability to take care of herself beautifully, as well as running a ranching and internet business, she knew she wasn’t the type of woman who brought out a man’s protective instincts.

“Well, thanks anyway, on behalf of Jasper Gulch,” Julie said pleasantly. “This is a safe little town when we’re not entertaining so many visitors. Dad hired extra sheriff’s men to help the regular deputy, Cal Calloway, patrol during our special events. Truth to tell, a few men in uniform would never be able to handle all the problems that might arise if we didn’t look after one another the way we always do.”

“I’m sure your old friend Rusty would be glad to strap on a six-shooter and help,” Ryan teased.

He was trying to lighten the mood, Julie decided. And to distract her from the way his persona had hardened in defense of the child. This cowboy was a complex person, one who chose to keep his true emotions in check and present himself as a carefree drifter. He was not. She might hardly know him, but she could tell that already.

The true puzzle was not what he did for a living, it was why. Lots of young men rode well and could have competed the way Ryan did, yet most chose to stay home and use their skills on family ranches. This talented rider insisted he was proud of having no roots, of being totally free.

But he was not free, she concluded. Far from it. He was bearing a burden in his heart that she had only glimpsed. In the days to come, while the rodeo continued, she planned to find out more. To try to understand his motivation for breaking old ties and not forming new ones.

And in the meantime, she would do the only thing she could. She would pray for him and wait for the Lord’s guidance.

* * *

Ryan stood at the fence for a few minutes to watch the kids hanging on to the ewes’ fleece while the fractious sheep raced across the arena. There was no riding gear other than helmets for each child to wear, so they had to grab fists full of wool and just hope their feet didn’t slide too far to one side. Most ended up in the dirt in one or two seconds and half were crying when they were helped to stand, despite the applause from onlookers.

He’d never had the privilege of competing like this. If his big brother hadn’t taken him under his wing and taught him to ride, he might never have discovered how good he was or how much he loved rodeo. That was before Kirk had gotten involved with a bad crowd and started leaving him home to go out drinking; before he’d climbed behind the wheel of a car and died in a wreck blamed on drunk driving.

I should have told on him. Only I didn’t, did I? Ryan mused. Not that it would have made any difference. Their mother was always too busy working to pay much attention to her sons.

Ryan would probably have dropped out of high school if it had not been for the rodeo team and its coach. By the time he graduated, he was already winning local prizes. After that, it was just a matter of getting his seasoning on the road and finding his niche. He’d traveled with a couple of buddies until he’d saved up enough to buy a nice truck and strike out on his own. Now he preferred to go it alone. It was better that way. There were no scheduling conflicts to resolve and nobody minded if he won steadily, outearned his rivals and kept growing his bank account.

The first saddle broncs were already waiting in the chutes by the time he worked his way around the arena. Mutton busting was over and the winners were proudly waving their blue ribbons while the clown-face-painted bullfighters held them up to the accolades of the crowd.

Ryan spotted Bobbi Jo in the distance and raised a hand to wave. She responded with a smile and started toward him. She wasn’t his type, but she was a faithful friend, one who was always willing to loan him one of her spare horses if he needed a mount for the grand entry or, like today, for a parade. The fact that she had a small fortune invested in her horses made her generosity even more out of the ordinary.

“Need help pinning your number on?” she asked.

“No, I’ve got it. I took the vest off and did it myself.”

“Humph. I’d have thought you’d recruit your new girlfriend to do the honors.”

“She’s not my girlfriend. I barely know her.”

“Give it a week or so,” the pretty barrel racer said. “Then tell me you aren’t interested in her.”

“Not gonna happen,” Ryan insisted. “Julie’s roots are deep here. There’s no way she’d pull up stakes and follow me all over the country.”

“Why not? I do.”

“You’re not here because I am,” Ryan said flatly. “You’re here because this is the best prize money for time spent and you know it.” He purposely changed the subject. “I understand your practice runs were very good.”

“Not as good as they’ll have to be to beat the others. That older woman from Oklahoma is a racing fool. And her horse is part Arabian, so he never gets tired.”

“You’ll do fine,” Ryan assured her. “Just don’t knock over a barrel and pick up penalties.”

“Oh, sure. Like all you have to do is keep from getting bucked off and you’ll win, too.”

“It’s a start.” He chuckled. “I’ll try to watch your run while they’re getting the bulls moved up.”

“Thanks.”

As he left his friend, Ryan recalled how Julie had promised to pray for his success. It must be nice to believe in God so strongly that she could rely on the power of prayer rather than skill.

He had no such delusions. He was in the competition because he was good at what he did. That was all there was to it. And until he was either incapacitated or got too old to compete well, he was going to keep going. Keep traveling. Keep striving to be the best in the business and take home the biggest purses. Lack of interest in roping might keep him from ever winning all-around titles like Ty Murray had, but his riding would keep him in the spotlight, hopefully for years to come.

There was nothing more he could ask. Nothing else he wanted out of life, at least for the present.

In the back of his mind, a thought that was barely there asked, Really?