A Wife in Wyoming (16 page)

“Oh, yeah.” Ford rolled his eyes. He realized this was one of the dumber stunts he'd pulled since actually becoming an adult. He wasn't nearly as sure he'd come out of it okay as he'd pretended to be with Caroline. If his brothers suspected the truth, they'd kept their mouths shut.

Thing was, the kids had a stake in watching him ride. They'd been taking risks because he'd been telling them to—working with and getting on their horses, walking and jogging in the field, getting off again. In their view, they'd simply challenged him to take the same kind of risk. Ford figured he owed them that much after making demands on them all week long.

Withdrawing would cost him all the authority he'd earned with them, making this next week even harder than the first. The teenagers wouldn't trust him anymore. Wouldn't respect him. Too many people in their lives offered only disappointment. One of the major aims of Caroline's project was to provide these kids with role models they could count on.

And so he would ride. He borrowed a glove and spurs from a guy he knew who happened to be working at the rodeo, and rented a rope rigging from one of the other competitors. Six bulls would take a shot at dumping six cowboys.

Until, finally, Nutcracker and he would get to do their own crazy dance.

* * *

N
ATE
REMEMBERED
RODEOS
as places where his dad hung out with a bunch of loud, laughing men, almost never won money, got mad drunk and yelled at his mom to “keep the kid quiet, for God's sake.”

Today was totally different and Nate had soaked up every minute. He'd enjoyed the cattle, the horses—so many horses!—the riders and ropers and the kids riding baby cows. Thomas, Marcos and Justino had spent the afternoon bragging about what they would do if they could compete, but Nate didn't want to enter an event, wasn't into speed or power or crazy stunts like Mr. Ford's bull riding. He just enjoyed watching.

Miss Caroline came up the bleacher steps fluttering her yellow ribbon above her head. “Not bad for an old lady, huh?” she asked, sitting down between Lizzie and Lena. “That was so much fun! I'd forgotten how great it feels to ride so fast.”

“You were awesome,” Becky gushed. “Even without fancy chaps and stuff, you rode better than all the other girls.”

“I want to do that,” Lizzie said. Everybody else stared at her in surprise. “I want to barrel race.”

“We can work on that at the ranch,” Miss Caroline said, glancing behind her to Mr. Dylan and Mr. Garrett. “We'll set up some barrels and run some patterns. You and Major will be a good pair.”

“Is that all girls are allowed to do?” Lena pouted. “Why aren't there other rodeo events for us?”

“The Women's Pro Rodeo Association sponsors shows where women ride bulls and broncs as well as compete in barrel racing,” Miss Caroline said.

“That's what I want to do.” Lena crossed her arms and nodded. “I want to ride broncs.” Thomas and Marcos laughed at the idea. “Shut up, you two. I can if I want to.”

“Ladies and gents,” the announcer said over the loudspeaker, “we've arrived at the final event of the day—bull riding. We've got seven contenders ready to pit their strength against these fine animals, courtesy of the Donnelly Ranch, so let's get started. First up, number 401, Travis Bradley.”

Nate's blood froze. His heart stopped beating. Why would his dad be here? He hadn't ridden in a rodeo since Amber was born. Why now? What did it mean?

The gate swung open, and the big bull hopped out, bucking like he meant to kick out the sky. Nate's dad seemed pretty small up on top, with one hand above his head and one hand holding the rope to stay on.

But he came off quickly. As the bull spun around on his front legs, still kicking his hind ones, Travis Bradley flew into the air and landed facedown in the dirt. The buzzer sounded as he scrambled to his feet and ran for the fence, just inches in front of the horns coming after him.

Another failure. Another excuse to drink. A reason to be mad and hit people who couldn't defend themselves.

Nate turned to Mr. Garrett, who was sitting next to him. “I have to go down there.”

“To the pens? Why?”

“I—I need to see if my mom's there. If she's okay.”

Mr. Garrett narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Travis Bradley is your dad?”

Nate nodded. “He gets mad when he loses.”

“I'll go with you.”

“No!” Nate put out a hand. “It will be worse if somebody's there. Just let me go find my mom. I promise I'll come back. Please?”

“Go ahead. I'll explain to Caroline.”

Even though he ran, it seemed to take forever to get through the crowd and find his way behind the bull pens. Cowboys sat on the fences and stood around talking, but he didn't see the blue-checked shirt his dad was wearing. So many corners and dead ends to search—he kept looking, kept listening, and Nate didn't know whether finding him would be a good thing or bad.

As he came around one corner, he ran into a cowboy. “Sorry, mister,” Nate said, peering beyond him. “I'm sorry.”

“Whoa, there.” The man clapped a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing here, Nate?”

He glanced up and recognized Mr. Ford. “Oh. I'm looking for my...for my dad. He just rode.”

“I saw him head toward the trailers. Come on.”

“That's okay. You have to ride. I can find him.”

There was no arguing with the hand on his shoulder. “I've got a couple of minutes.”

But they didn't have to go far—his dad had barely reached the exit before losing his temper.

“Damn clown let that bull just about gore me.” He took a swig from the bottle he was holding. “That's the way it is with these stupid little shows—can't get a decent crew to help a rider out. I coulda been killed.”

Nate's mom was there, holding Amber on her hip, and she saw him coming. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, warning him off.

But his dad noticed the motion, and wheeled around. “What the hell are you doing here? Thought you was playing cowboy at some ranch near town.” He frowned as he eyed Mr. Ford. “Who are you and what are you doin' with my son?”

“I'm Ford Marshall. Nate's been staying at my brother's ranch this week. He came down to make sure you're okay after that fall.”

“No thanks to any of the crew out there.” He took another drink. “What's your problem, boy? You look downright puny. Ain't they feedin' you at this fancy ranch you're on?”

“No. I mean, sure, I get plenty to eat.” He never could talk to his dad. It didn't matter what he said, it was always wrong. “Is everything all right?” Nate glanced at his mom, trying to ask more with his face than with his words.

“We're fine, son. Just fine.” She was wearing sunglasses, but Nate didn't think he imagined another bruise high on her cheek. There was definitely one on her wrist. “Go on back to your friends, now. We're getting ready to head home.” The tilt of her head made it a plea. “Go on.”

He turned and left them there, her and Amber, though it just about killed him.

But he'd decided what he was going to do.

* * *

A
FTER
MEETING
UP
with Nate's dad, riding Nutcracker seemed anticlimactic. Ford climbed into the pen, sat down and set his legs and then wound the rope tightly around his palm. With his free hand, he jammed his hat down on his head. He hoped it didn't get too dirty—it was one of his best ones.

The guy on the gate glanced over. “Ready, cowboy?”

Ford set his teeth and nodded.

The gate clanged, and they were out in the arena, with Nutcracker doing his best to live up to the name. Forward, back, left, right—the bull jerked him around like a rag doll.

Breathe
, Ford thought.
Stick it.
And then the craziest notion of all in this particular situation.
Caroline.

He didn't remember exactly when or how he got off—he found himself scrambling across the dirt as the rodeo clowns distracted Nutcracker from an understandable desire to kill the pesky human who'd dared to ride him. Breathing hard, Ford retrieved his filthy hat, climbed behind the arena wall and stood searching the crowd as he waited for his score. Where were they? He couldn't find any of the kids, or Wyatt, or...

The announcement streamed out loud and clear. “That'll be a terrific score of 75 for Ford Marshall and Nutcracker. Let's give a big hand, folks, for our bull riding winner tonight, Mr. Ford Marshall!”

Suddenly, he was surrounded—Thomas and Marcos, Justino and Lena, Lizzie and Becky and Nate, patting him on the shoulder and grinning, punching him in the arm, grabbing both his hands. He was getting more beat up by the kids than he had been by the bull.

His brothers stood a few feet off, smiling and shaking their heads. And there was Caroline, eyes shining, hands gripped together as she mouthed, “You are so crazy.”

He grinned at her.
Yeah, maybe
. But occasionally being crazy paid off. And this might be one of those times. Evidently taking a risk could produce success, after all.

They headed toward the big tent for dinner—a Western barbecue put on by local civic associations. The kids lagged behind, investigating the souvenir booths. Wyatt had stopped to talk to a rancher he knew, and he was joined by Garrett and Dylan.

“I guess we'd better wait for them,” Caroline said, turning around to look back at the stragglers. “I want to keep everybody together.”

Ford, facing forward, noticed a tall man in a Western-cut jacket striding toward them with the finesse of a bulldozer. He pivoted, intending to warn her. “Caroline.”

“I wish they'd hurry, though,” she continued. “I'm hungry enough to eat one of those bulls whole.”

“Caroline.” He put a hand on her shoulder, and she looked at him in question. “Your dad—”

His warning came too late. In the next moment, George Donnelly started to brush past them.

Caroline caught him by the coat sleeve. “Daddy?”

George Donnelly whipped his head around. “What are you doing here?” For an instant, Ford thought he saw surprise and, maybe, gladness flash in Donnelly's gaze.

Then his dark eyes moved to Ford's face. “Who's this?”

“Ford Marshall.” He didn't move to shake the man's hand.

Donnelly nodded. “One of
them
.” His gaze flicked to Caroline again. “What do you want?”

“To say hello?” She glanced at the crowd. “Is Mom here? Reid?”

He frowned. “The whereabouts of my family are not your concern.”

At the brusque answer, Caroline staggered, as if the ground had shifted under her. She let her hand fall to her side.

Her father didn't care. “I have to go.” He turned...and came face-to-face with seven teenagers, plus the three Marshall brothers standing behind them. “What is this? Am I being mugged?”

“That's enough, Mr. Donnelly.” Ford stepped up beside him. “You can be polite.”

“I can be done with this.” He moved forward, but the kids didn't yield. “You want to spend your life with juvenile delinquents and small-time dirt farmers?” Shaking his head, he sent Caroline a look of pity. “You deserve what you get.”

Shoulder first, he ploughed his way through the group. Dylan and Garrett separated to let him pass. “Good riddance,” Wyatt told Donnelly's retreating figure, making no effort to be quiet.

Ford took Caroline's cold hand. “How about some food? Maybe not a whole bull, but we'll make the attempt.” Other than knocking George Donnelly to the ground, he wasn't sure what else he could do to make this better for her.

Her green gaze stayed blank for a long moment. Then she shook her head and smiled...sort of. “Sure. Let's eat.”

* * *

W
HILE
THEY
STOOD
in line to get their food, Ford leaned down to speak softly in Caroline's ear. “Are you okay?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I shouldn't have expected anything different. I should have just let him go by.” There had been a moment, as her dad walked away, when she'd almost broken down. Losing him again had seared like having an arm cut off.

Luckily, Ford had distracted her. The warmth of his hand over hers had reminded her that there were people she cared about and who cared about her. The teenagers made a point of entertaining her during the meal with stories and jokes, not mentioning the encounter with her dad even once. Their sensitivity surprised her. A couple of times she had to blink away grateful tears.

Of course, the tiny hope she'd nourished that her father might someday relent had just died, painfully and in public. She would have to go on without him and without her brother, who'd taken his side. Staying in touch with her mom would be the best she could do.

But now she knew she wasn't alone in the world. She'd grown close to the Marshalls—Wyatt and Garrett and Dylan were almost like brothers. Working with the kids this week had created another circle of special relationships. She had a connection with each of them. They were all her family, in the very best sense of the word.

Ford was in a class by himself, in every possible way. What would happen between them, though, Caroline couldn't begin to guess.

As the sun began to set, the sound of live music filtered through the crowd's noise. People began to drift toward the big metal building beside the arena, where a barn dance would be held.

“Can we go to the dance?” Lena clapped her hands. “Please, can we go?”

Caroline focused on the kids gathered in front of her. “There are rules,” she said firmly. “You stay inside the building. No wandering out into the dark. Even if you meet somebody you know, do not go outside with them. And inside, you stay with one of our group—don't go to the bathroom or anywhere else by yourself. Is that clear?”