Road to Glory (11 page)

“Is it all right, Miss Beebe? I don’t want to get in the way of your discussions.”

Damn him, emphasizing the word “discussions.”
She clamped down her anger and tried not to bristle. Across the room, she caught Mickey’s brow arched in speculation and wondered if Alma had left the oven on, for the temperature in the kitchen suddenly seemed downright unbearable. “No trouble,” Glory replied in a firm voice, hoping to show his words were not going to affect her in any way. She turned toward the cabinet and caught her housekeeper’s smug look. With Travis’ back to her, Glory gave Alma a murderous look that sent Mickey into a fit of laughter which he tried to cover up as a cough.

Alma ignored her. “Come on,” she coaxed. “There, that’s good.” She nodded as Travis came to the table. “Hurry up, Glory. Food’s going to get cold.”

To spite her housekeeper, she rattled the dishes and gathered up the silverware. Crossing to the table, she plunked them down.

“Didn’t break one, did you?” Alma asked.

This time Mickey made no attempt to hide his laughter as Glory sank heavily into her chair. “No, they’re all safe,” she grumbled.

“Now, just the way it should be, a full table. Pass the barbecue, dear,” Alma continued as she took her seat and motioned for the men to do the same.

Somehow, Glory got through the meal. To her surprise, she found she quite enjoyed herself. Rising to help Alma with the dishes, she was reaching out for Mickey’s plate when he asked, “You get Sultan back okay?”

“Yeah, why?” she asked.

“Didn’t know if Ralston would have talked you into lettin’ him stay and breed a few of his mares.”

“Not unless he pays the fee,” Glory answered.

“That’s one beautiful stallion,” Travis said.

She glanced over at him, and he lifted the corners of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Thank you,” came politely from her mouth.

“He was born and bred right here on the ranch. Not only does Glory know a lot about bulls, she’s a pretty good judge of horseflesh,” Mickey said proudly.

“I was surprised to see you ride him in,” Travis continued. “I mean, stallions are usually pretty hard to handle. He seemed rather calm.”

“He usually is,” Glory replied.

“He won’t be next week. We’ve got six mares scheduled to come in for breedin’. He’ll be all business then. No ridin’ until he gets his job done,” Mickey added with a grunt.

Glory moved toward the sink where Alma, who was scraping the dishes, put in, “Just like a man, finds himself a good woman and doesn’t want to be disturbed.” She turned and took the plates from Glory. “You got a woman back home, Mr. Hargrove?” Alma asked as if it were a normal everyday inquiry.

Glory’s eyes bugged out as she reached for the handle of the dishwasher. “Alma,” she hissed, trying to quiet her. The housekeeper turned her wide-eyed innocent expression toward her.

“I just asked a question.”

“Alma,” Glory warned.

Travis picked up his cup of coffee. “No, ma’am, no woman waiting for me.”

“Humph.” Alma’s face glowed with satisfaction. “There you go, Glory. You can take him out to the Hitching Post on Friday night without nary a worry.” Alma handed her a plate.

Glory groaned and wished there were some way to nudge Alma into silence. Thank heavens Mickey spoke up, letting her off the hook.

“Speakin’ of the Hitchin’ Post…” Mickey hooked an arm over the back of the chair beside him. “Travis and I are goin’ over tonight. Connie will be there, and we can take a look at that mechanical bull she put in. You want to go?”

“How many kids you have signed up?” Glory asked as she straightened and turned the machine on.

“I have ten signed up and paid.” Mickey patted an envelope in his shirt pocket. “Plan on takin’ this by the bank tomorrow.”

Glory pressed her hip against the counter and paused. “Most of these students from Palmer?” An odd sensation rippled over her body as she watched Mickey look down at his cup before staring back at her. “Mickey? Is there something more?”

“I got an out-of-town applicant…” he began.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, and why should that bother me? If he can pay for the clinic, he can pay for a room at the Tomahawk.”

Mickey glanced down at his cup again, then back to her. Glory could feel her brow knot.

“It’s, ah, Jax Martin,” he said and looked up.

It took a moment for Glory to process the name, trying to breathe at the same time. Dampening her lips, she put both hands on her coffee cup to stop it from trembling. Her whole body tensed, and she placed the cup in the sink and grasped the counter. “So, it’s Jax,” she said as if she didn’t care. To some extent, she didn’t. She didn’t give a fig for what he was doing. She just didn’t like the fact he seemed to be rubbing her nose in it. “Okay, I don’t have to deal with the clinic, do I?”

“No, I reckon you don’t,” Mickey agreed.

“In that case, you keep your cowboys away from the ranch and all will be fine.” She glanced over at Alma. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do upstairs.”

“Glory,” Alma whispered and reached out to place a hand on her arm.

“I’m fine, Alma,” Glory whispered. She moved toward the doorway, wondering if her shaky legs would hold her upright. Out of sight of the kitchen, she felt two large wet tears roll down her cheeks. “I won’t cry. Cowgirls don’t cry. They get even,” she whispered and brushed the moisture away. Chin trembling, she grasped the handrail and went slowly up to her room.

****

Travis kept his thoughts to himself as he and Mickey drove through the main thoroughfare of Palmer. He’d seen the stricken look on Glory’s face when Mickey mentioned Jax. From the conversation in the kitchen, he gathered Jax had some history with Glory that had gone south. The truck slowed at the stoplight.

“I can hear you thinkin’,” Mickey said.

Travis swallowed and looked across at the stores that lined Main Street. “Thinking’s good for a man.”

“Humph. Not when it comes to a woman,” Mickey scoffed.

Travis glanced over at him. The red from the stoplight deepened the wrinkles on his face. “What do you mean by that, and how did you know it was a woman?”

Mickey grinned but kept his eyes on the intersection. “You’re human, ain’t you? Besides, I know from experience a man can do too much thinkin’ when it comes to a woman.”

The light on his face changed from red to green. Travis felt the truck accelerate.

“You come by it honest, though,” Mickey said.

Travis blinked and stared at the cowboy.

“I never told you, did I? ’Bout your dad and me?”

Travis remained silent but gave a shake of his head.

Mickey looked back at the roadway. His mouth took on a grim line. “Your dad and me were travelin’ buddies back when I first joined the rodeo. Even back then your pa could do a powerful bit of thinkin’. Sometimes he’d think himself right out of the competition.” Mickey took his eyes off the road long enough to give Travis a glance. “I think he even thought himself out of his marriage.”

Travis felt his heart twist. His dad had been a quiet man when he returned from the circuit. Often he’d take to the kitchen table with a bottle of whiskey in the center and stare at it for hours, never taking a drink. Travis glanced out of the cab, his elbow propped up on the windowsill, hand draped over his mouth. His mother called it brooding. Whatever it was, he hated it.

“You know, lookin’ at you, right now, you remind me of your pa. I guess the apple don’t fall far from the tree,” Mickey mused.

Travis jerked around to stare as Mickey turned the truck into a large gravel-filled parking lot. He could hear the crunch of the wheels on the stones as they pulled to a stop. He waited until Mickey cut off the motor before he spoke. “What kind of comment was that?”

“Not a comment. More of an observation,” Mickey said. “Obviously, there’s somethin’ goin’ on between you and Glory. There were enough sparks at supper to burn the house down.”

Travis grunted. He knew quite differently that nothing could be further from the truth. “You got that wrong, old man.” Grabbing the door handle, he pulled it back and let himself out. With a push, he slammed it back and looked at Mickey across the window. “She told me not to talk to her, except through you. The only interest I’m to show is in her bulls.”

Mickey stared. His lips twitched. Then he broke out in a deep laugh.

“I’m glad you find it funny,” Travis snapped, feeling both insulted and angry.

“Sorry,” Mickey said, as he climbed out and shut his door. He paused for a moment and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I really don’t mean to laugh.”

“Sure you don’t.” Travis narrowed his eyes and leveled him a glare.

“Just remember, don’t out-think yourself.” Mickey crossed in front of the truck and placed an arm on Travis’ shoulders. “Take the Hitchin’ Post, for example. On the outside, it looks like your local redneck joint.”

As Mickey talked, Travis ran his eyes over the gray clapboard building. It looked a lot more like a stockyard than a cafe.

“Yes, sir, it’s Palmer’s nod to cowboy heaven—good food, beer, and dancin’ on Friday night. Come on, I want you to meet Connie.”

Like most local places he’d been in, the Hitching Post wouldn’t find itself on the front of any fancy magazines. The wood-paneled interior sported a host of old branding irons, and the red-checkered oilcloths on the tables spoke of home. Perfect for the local cowboy clientele or truckers making their way across to the interstate. Off to the left, he spied a makeshift stage and parquet flooring for the dancing Mickey had mentioned. Across the back wall, a familiar bar stood ready for a cool one on a hot day.

“Where’s the bull?”

His buddy jerked his finger behind him, and Travis turned. To the right, a small archway led to what appeared to be an enclosure surrounded by bleacher seats.

“Back in the fifties, the local ranchers would come here for livestock auctions. Connie put the bull in the old pen so patrons could gather round, boast, or guffaw.”

“Good use of space,” Travis murmured. Before he could formulate another question, a woman’s voice called out.

“Mickey, you old son of a gun.”

Travis watched a pretty blonde in her mid-fifties throw her arms around Mickey’s neck and slather his cheek with affection.

“Howdy, Connie.” Mickey grinned, snaking an arm around her waist.

Travis gave a shake of his head. Obviously, his old mentor hadn’t lost his touch with the ladies.

“Howdy. Howdy? Is that all you’ve got to say?” She shoved him aside and wiped her hands on the cloth hanging from the brown cowboy belt in the loops of her jeans. “I might as well flirt with this handsome tall drink of water that you brought in.”

Her gaze went to Travis, who pulled his hat from his head and gave a nod. “Evening, ma’am.”

“Ma’am!” she exclaimed. “Will ya listen to that? I’m Connie, Mr. Hargrove.” She held out her hand.

His eyes widened in surprise. She tilted her head back and laughed. “Don’t let this get out, but we do get TV even here in Palmer, Mr. Hargrove. Your face is familiar to any rodeo fan. It’s my pleasure to welcome you to Palmer. We consider it an honor.”

He took her hand and they shook as the apprehension fled his body. “Thank you, ma’am. I’d be pleased if you’d call me Travis.”

She smiled back. “My friend Mickey, here, tells me you’re going to teach some of these youngsters how to ride.”

“We hope to.” He nodded.

“Good, come on and let me show you how old blood-and-guts works.”

Within thirty minutes, Connie had them working the controls like pros.

“I figure one of us working the controls and the other watching the boys, giving signals to speed up or slow down, will work.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Travis agreed. He turned and looked at Connie. “I’d like to establish a rule that no cowboy planning to ride is served alcohol. I don’t want them to think this is a joyride. I know lots of the kids have been playing at riding. I want them to take it serious.”

“I think that’s a good idea. I’ll let my staff know. When do you plan on starting?”

Mickey looked at Travis. “I know Glory has livestock comin’ to the fairgrounds for this weekend. Gives you at least five days of practice to break ’em in, and then we can take ’em over to ride the real thing once they’ve settled in. What do you think, Travis? I’d like to get started Friday night.”

“Friday. You don’t plan on waiting.” Travis gave a nod. “Okay. I’m scheduled to go out to a few ranches tomorrow. I should be back by four in the afternoon at the latest. I can shower and grab a bite to eat, and then I’ll meet you here.”

“Connie?” Mickey glanced toward her.

“Sounds like a good plan,” she agreed, then turned to Travis. “So, you’re looking for bulls?”

“Looking for good stock,” he answered. “Some bulls, some steers for roping, anything the rodeo could use.”

“Get Glory to show you that bull of hers, Grave Digger. That’s good stock.” Connie leveled him a wink. “Well, if you cowboys are through, I’ve got some dishes to wrangle before the crowd comes in. Good to see you, Travis. Come back Friday night. Bring Glory. It’s been a long time since she’s been out of that stall of hers, too.”

“I’ll do my best.”

They stood for a moment watching her leave.

“Nice lady.”

“One of the best,” Mickey agreed. “How about a cold one? I’ll buy.”

“Sure, just one.”

The two ambled over to the bar, and Mickey lifted two fingers to signal the waitress what he wanted. She pulled two longnecks from the chest freezer beneath the wooden bar. “Enjoy.” She smiled, placing the bottles before them and moving off.

“To a great clinic,” Mickey said as he lifted his bottle.

“To a great clinic,” Travis repeated as the bottles clinked.

Hooking his boot heel on the brass rail at the bottom of the bar, he turned and watched the locals filling in. Mickey had been correct. There were singles, families, and even older couples stopping at tables to reacquaint friendships. The bar seemed to lose its honky-tonk façade and gain a family feel. Travis couldn’t stop the relaxed smile that pulled the corners of his mouth toward his eyes.
Yes, a man could sure get used to this.