LOVE OF A RODEO MAN (MODERN DAY COWBOYS) (21 page)

Put one person in charge of the others, Dave instructed, someone formidable, with a sense of order and a knack for making decisions fast, wh
o isn’t scared of having everybody else scream at them. Then just go ahead and make the major decisions yourself and tell the committee afterward.

It worked. There was a cer
tain justice in appointing Millie Jackson head of the hive, Mitch decided. The rodeo had been her bright idea in the first place, so she might as well absorb some of the flak. And having run the post office for years, she was used to telling people that certain things just wouldn’t do. And at two hundred and thirty pounds, with lungs like a drill sergeant’s, Millie managed just fine at keeping the committee in perfect order as it argued over whether the rail fence should be six or eight poles high, which let Mitch get on with the important stuff.

Mitch didn’t need to check the rodeo schedule to know there was a professional rodeo in Spokane, easy driving distance from Plains, the
second week in August. It surprised and shocked him a bit to realize that he still knew precisely where the next rodeo was scheduled, and when. It was Saturday, August 13. He craftily set the date for the Plains Rodeo for Sunday, August 14, and then sat down one evening with the phone, a list of his old buddies’ numbers and a couple of cold beers to wash away any slight guilt he might feel at coercing those buddies into donating their time and talents for a good cause, seeing they were in the area, anyhow.

Wasn’t there an unspoke
n rodeo code that said one cowboy helps another, he queried plaintively time after time in the next hour? He threw in the promise of barbecued beef and cold beer and bent the truth a bit about the dozens of sex mad female rodeo fans in the area, and the Plains Rodeo suddenly took on the shine of a major event.

The best of the riders good-naturedly voluntee
red their talents, and an unexpected offer of fine rodeo stock came out of the blue.

“I phoned Frankie. She’s offered her services as bullfighter for the day,” Sara told Mitch when he dropped, by her office at noon one day.

She was filled with excitement at the thought of seeing her sister. Now, if only there wasn’t this constraint between her and the man she loved, everything would be perfect. The antique ruby engagement ring still circled her finger, but as each day went by Sara had the panicky feeling she and Mitch were getting farther and farther apart.

She hardly ever saw him since this rodeo benefit came up, and for once, the fault wasn’t hers. Mitch seemed distant and preoccupied whenever they were together. He was like that again today, the same way he’d been ever since the fire.

They were in her office, and Sara had hastily put the Closed sign on the door outside and switched the phone to the answering service.

“It’ll be great to have Frankie here, just like old times,” he remarked in an absent tone.

“Are we going out for lunch, or do you want to share my sand
wiches here?” she asked after a long silent pause.

“Lunch?” He sounded as if it were a foreign word and shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t stay, Sara, no time. I just dropped by to pick up those vitamins you said I should give Misty now she’s in foal.”

Sara’s heart plummeted. “Oh, sure, I’ve got them right here.” She felt absurdly disappointed that he hadn’t come by just to see her.

He to
ok them and thanked her, saying he’d see her at Bitterroot probably the next night.

Undoubtedly he was only coming to Bitterroot to talk to Dave again, she raged silently as she watched him hurry out the front door and down the sidewalk toward his truck.

Mitch and Dave spent more time together lately than Mitch and Sara. And if he did have any time left over for her, he’d be in a hurry, just as usual.

Sara smashed her fist down on her desk hard enough to hurt.

Why did it seem as if she and Mitch were constantly going in different directions at the same time?

August 14, rodeo day, dawned clear, with hardly a cloud in the wide canopy of blue Montana sky.

Everyone on the rodeo committee breathed sighs of relief. The weatherman had obviously paid attention when Millie Jackson ordered sunshine for the day.

The last of the preparations were complete. Huge banners tacked to power poles for miles around trumpeted RODEO TODAY, as if one single person in the entire area could forget an event that had been the sole topic of conversation and argument and downright chaos ever since the fire at Forgie’s ranch.

At Bitterroot, Sara was up at dawn. She’d left a message on the answering machine at work, firmly directing emergency calls to the service in Thompson Falls, no exceptions. She’d had no choice about the matter because Mitch had arbitrarily nominated her as official vet for the rodeo and so she had to be there.

It would have been an ideal morning to sleep in for a while. Instead she got up and showered quickly, plugged in her coffeepot and crept along the path to the tiny cabin next to hers, where Frankie was still asleep. They’d spent last evening gossiping until midnight with Jennie and Gram and Dave, b
ut there were other, more private things Sara wanted to discuss with Frankie, things she’d rather not get into in front of Mom and Gram.

It was a struggle at first to get Frankie awake enough to do more than grunt, and Sara felt a momentary pang at waking her sleepy sister so early. But in a very short time, the whole place would be awake, and with the rodeo starting at noon, there wouldn’t be another peaceful moment all day. And there was no telling when Frankie would be home again to share confidences.

The birds were sending up a chorus of song and the sun wasn’t quite over the mountain as the two women settled with mugs of strong coffee on Sara’s tiny porch.

Frankie’s tall, bone-slender frame was still enveloped in a long blue flannelette nightgown. She tucked her bare toes up under the hem and yawned hugely, then took a deep gulp of coffee and settled deeper into the rocking chair.

“Did Gram give you that nightdress?” Sara asked, studying the decidedly old-fashioned garment.

Frankie laughed and sho
ok her head. “I bought this myself. You oughta see the one Gram sent me for Christmas.”

“Don’t tell me. It’s all black
froth and see-through lace, right? She gave me one exactly the same.”

They shared an amused look, and Frankie said, “Poor Gram. She figures s
he’s never gonna get any great-grandkids out of us unless she takes some drastic measures. She must be delighted about your engagement. She’s going to be asking you ten minutes after the wedding if you’re pregnant yet. In fact, I’ll bet she’s already started knitting little clothes.”

“Not her.” Sara shoo
k her head. “Gram detests knitting. She’ll probably be out in the shed hammering together a cradle instead.” She sighed and added, “Gram’s going to be disappointed. If we do get married, it’ll be a long time before we can have any kids.”

“Okay, Sis
,” Frankie drawled, sleepy gray green eyes on Sara. “Spill the beans. All last evening I could tell there was something wrong. You look like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months, and if it was Mitch keeping you awake all night, you’d be smiling more than you are.” She tilted her head to the side and mused, “Y’know, it’s hard for me to get used to the idea of Mitch Carter as a future brother-in-law. When I knew him he was the idol of every rodeo-crazed female from Calgary to Texas. He left a lot of broken hearts behind when he packed up and came back here.”

Frankie grinned at the sudden scowl on Sara’s face and added, “Don’t get homicidal, Sis, it was definitely a case of women chasing Mitch most of the time. He never resisted all that much, mind you. But he never made any great effort with any of them, either, that I could see. That’s probably what attracted them to him.”

“He did with me,” Sara said pensively. “Make an effort. He’s been so patient and understanding. Till just lately.”

She looked past Frankie, at the pine trees just catching the sun on their highest tips and added, “I’m not sure he even wants to get married anymore, and I’m scared to ask him right out.”

Frankie studied her sister, and a worried frown creased the tanned skin on her forehead. “What d’ya mean? What’s changed? The few minutes he was here last night there was some pretty heavy electricity going on between the two of you.”

Sara grimaced. Mitch had come to Bitterroot with a crowd of cowboys, old friends of his here for the rodeo that he said he wanted her to meet. She’d felt farther away from him than ever with so many people around.

“That electricity was because he hadn’t bothered to tell me until last night that he’s competing in nearly every single event today. I found out accidentally, from that friend of his, Tom Coleman.”

“Is that what’s got you upset, that Mitch’s riding today? Heck, Sara, he’s an old hand, one of the best. The
re’s no need to worry about him.”

“I know that, I guess. It just bothers me that he’d want to ride. He’s not a rodeo cowboy anymore. And the thing is, he didn’t even tell me he was going to.”

She remembered not telling Mitch about the vet practice, either. But that was different, she rationalized. The reason she hadn’t told Mitch was because it meant so much to her, and she’d been afraid he wouldn’t understand or approve.

A shock
of recognition ran through her. Was that exactly why Mitch had kept quiet, too? Did rodeo competition still mean as much as that to him, as much as her vet practice meant to her?

She met Frankie’s gaze and all her worries boiled to the surface and spilled out in a confused mass of words. “Frankie, I’m not certain anymore that Mitch wants to get married and stay here. I know he misses the rodeo life, I just didn’t realize till now how
much
he misses it. And then there’s my job. There’s never enough time for us to be together. Before, it was my fault, the darned practice keeps me busy day and night. But since he got involved with planning this benefit rodeo, it seems
he’s
the one who’s always busy and hasn’t time for me. And on top of that, I deserted him at our engagement party,” she added with completely irrational logic.

Frankie frowned and stretched her legs out. “Maybe it’s good for you to know how it feels to get put on the back burner, then,” Frankie pronounced with a wry grin.

One look at Sara’s stricken expression sobered her. “Look, Sis, I’m no expert on relationships, heaven knows. My one stab at marriage left a lot to be desired. I was all of fifteen when I got married and Brian was killed before I really had a chance to grow up much,” she said. “But I learned one thing. Marriage has a lot better chance at success if both the man and the woman have jobs or interests of their own, something they enjoy doing. You’re great at your job and you love it, and that’s wonderful. I was like a burr on Brian’s chaps, trailing around after him all the time with not one thing of my own to do. Looking back, we’d have made out a lot better if I’d taken up pottery or something.”

She reached over and took Sara’s hand in hers. “What I’m trying to say is, if Mitch decides he wants to give the rodeo life another go, you’d better send him off to do it with a smile rather than try to keep him here, feeling lassoed. Maybe he needs to take another crack at it, just to find out it’s not what he wants.”

Sara’s head bent forward and her hair shielded her expression. “It seems lately there’s never time to really talk with him and find out what he does want.”

Frankie shrugged. “If it’s just a matter of time, for heaven’s sake take some out of your busy schedule, make time for loving the way you would for anything else. Now,” she said, getting to her feet and stretching her long arms over her head, “how about a dip in that pool before breakfast? It’s liable to be the last time
I’m really clean all day. Bullfighting’s dirty work.”

As Sara tugged on her bikini, Frankie’s advice went round in her head.
“Make time for loving,”
Frankie had ordered.

If only it were that easy. Time was a commodity that seemed in short supply, and you couldn’t just mix up a batch the way Mom did baking powder biscuits. Didn’t Frankie realize that?

Choking clouds of dust,
blistering sunshine and a booming loudspeaker joined the bawling of cattle and the din of an excited crowd at the rodeo grounds that afternoon.

Brightly colored lawn umbrellas shaded tables set up in a pasture off to one side of the arena where the women of Plains had set up refreshment stands.

The stands were Gram’s idea.

Lemonade, iced tea and soda drinks were going fast, along with mouth-watering home baking.

Sara was beside the stock pens in case an animal needed her, close to the chutes where the cowboys prepared for their events. So far she hadn’t had to do too much, but she’d been staying conscientiously near the animals just in case.

Near Mitch as well, she admitted to herself. In case he needed her?

The microphone blared. “Ladies and gentlemen, from the end chute we have Leo Anderson on Good Times. Leo needs seventy-two points to reach top score today ahead of local favorite Mitch Carter. Now to get the lead in the bucking event...”

Sara listened to the announcer, knowing that Mitch would be next out of the chutes after Anderson. As it had done all day,
her stomach knotted into a nauseous mass and her fists clenched helplessly as she watched the man she loved clamber up the sides of the chute and casually get into position over the heaving, frothing bulk of the maniacal horse he’d drawn in the bareback riding competition.

The animal was named Last Chance, and by the look in his eye, he wanted nothing more than to kill any man who dared to climb onto his back.

Sara felt about Last Chance the way she had about most of the animals Mitch had ridden here today. They ought to be humanely put down in the interest of human survival. Mitch’s survival, to be exact.

Rodeo always drew criticism from animal rights groups about cruelty to the stock, but in Sara’s opinion, Mitch was the one who’d endured most of the
punishment in the bone-wrenching moments he’d spent in the ring. Her own body ached in sympathy and she’d flinched with every blow.

But Mitch didn’t feel that way at all. Sara knew that for certain. If he did, he’d stop doing it, wouldn’t he? He’d already competed in calf roping, steer wrestling and saddle bronc riding. Either he or the professional cowboy called Leo Anderson had won most of the events, and it looked as if Mitch might be the overall winner of the day if he kept it up, an astounding feat considering he’d been away from rodeo for so long.

The announcer was introducing Mitch. For a split second, Sara caught her fiance’s eye, and he gave her a cheerful, carefree wink and then settled his Stetson tight and low on his forehead.

He was enjoying himself. He was doing what he longed to do.

A sense of foreboding rose in her, a sick certainty that he’d already gone far away from her in some way she couldn’t explain. This was very much his world, and none of hers.

The sig
nal sounded, the chute opened, and her fingernails bit deeply into her palms as the man she loved erupted on Last Chance and the crowd went wild.

“Want some lemonade, Doc?”

Mitch held one of the Styrofoam cups he was carefully balancing out to Sara. H
is brown-checked shirt was covered in ground-in dust and torn at the elbow from the tumble he’d taken off of Last Chance a few moments before, and there were sweat stains under the arms.

He’d recovered his hat and dusted it off, jamming it back on his head first thing. It didn’t quite hide the long, angry scratch that started left of his eye and disappear
ed under his hat into his hairline.

Sara’s worried gray eyes seemed to engulf him as he took long, thirsty drafts of the cold drink, and he did his best to avoid her troubled gaze. He’d already had an upsetting few moments with Ruth, and he sure didn’t need more of the same from Sara, he thought irritably.

Hell, he’d been a rodeo rider most of his adult life, didn’t these women of his understand that? Hurtling off of Last Chance before the buzzer sounded was embarrassing enough without tears and lectures about broken bones from both his mother and his woman.

The only slight consola
tion was that Leo Anderson had failed to stay on his mount for the allotted time, either.

“What’s your next event, Mitch?” Her voice was only a little unsteady, and she was doing her best to smile at him. Maybe she wasn’t going to say anything after all. A rush of gratitude and tenderness filled him, mixing with the other complex and confused e
motions he’d been experiencing all day.

How he loved her, this woman of his.

“I’m finished for a while, maybe for the rest of the rodeo. I’m not certain yet.”

The judges were still adding up the scores, and if he and Leo were tied the way Mitch feared they probably were, then he’d have to ride once more. But he didn’t tell Sara.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it himself. Not telling her was the right idea, he decided after a minute.