Road to Glory (2 page)

Travis turned sideways to avoid two women as they headed toward the mezzanine behind him. In passing, the woman closest sent him an appreciative glance, her rich red lips turned up at the corners in a coy smile as her eyes perused his body. He paused and gave a nod. She blushed and turned away. He watched the swish of her backside, encased in those tight designer jeans. A vacant feeling hardened in the pit of his belly. Another empty promise he would not fulfill. Once she found out he wasn’t the golden boy, or even allowed to ride, he’d wind up a footnote in her search for some sugar daddy. Unlike his brother, Rory, Travis wouldn’t play up the scars on his body for a one-night invitational in the hay.

“Some of the nicer sights of Colorado,” he heard John mutter, and caught him looking as well. The big man gave him a grin. “It’s a shame Father Time has robbed me of what Mother Nature once endowed.”

A guard motioned for them to stop. John flashed his badge, and the man motioned them through. “Watch your step, gentlemen,” he said as they headed past him toward a small group in the center of the section, just behind the chutes.

“I’m glad you called me today. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Travis slowed and allowed John to take the lead. Even so, he got a good look at the cluster of owners near the rail.

“Mitch Ralston, good to see you here,” John called, and at the sound of his voice the nearest cowboy turned with a smile. Travis could tell the man reeked of money, his pearl-button shirt open at the throat beneath the silky shimmer of his western-cut jacket. His glance took in Big John before settling on Travis. For a moment, Travis could feel the cowboy sizing him up as his glance moved from the scuffed toes of his Stetson boots to the sweat-stained band of his old Mahan in his right hand. He could see the skepticism tweak the edges of Ralston’s mouth. If Big John noticed, he said nothing. Instead, he held out his hand. “Good to see you, Ralston.”

The cattleman shifted his drink to his other hand and spoke. “Howdy, Mr. Parker. I didn’t expect to see you here.” He nodded toward Travis as the petite blonde next to him turned and added her smile.

“Mr. Parker,” she acknowledged.

“Ma’am.” Parker nodded.

As if protecting his territory, Ralston slid his hand around her shoulders as Big John spoke.

“Travis Hargrove, I want you to meet the owner of the Rocking R Ranch out of Palmer.”

Ralston stepped forward and held out his hand. “Glad to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Travis shifted his hat to his cane hand to shake hands with him.

“Call me Mitch. Most people do.”

“All right, Mitch.” Travis gave a nod.

Ralston’s face clouded as he fought for a memory. “Hargrove, Travis Hargrove? Say, didn’t you used to ride?”

Travis watched the man’s eyes drift to his cane. His gut tightened.
Used to.
It hadn’t taken the man long to take the first dig of the spurs. He took a breath to steady his nerves. “Yeah, I used to ride.” From somewhere deep inside, he heard another voice pipe up to answer,
And I will again, big man. Just you watch.
However, Ralston cut his glance to Parker, and in that split second Travis knew he had been dismissed as any sort of challenge in the male order of things. He halfway expected the man to make some other comment, but the girl next to Mitch scuffed her boots along the concrete floor, saving what was left of Travis’ ego.

“And who is this?” John asked, drawing their gaze to the young woman beside Ralston.

She looked up and offered him her hand. “Glory Beebe, Mr. Parker,” she replied with a smile. “I own a small spread next to the Rocking R. I’ve got a bull in today’s competition. I hope you’ll take a good look at him for your next rotation as the rodeo moves on.”

“Well, we’ll see. Ralston, you’ve got two bulls I’m interested in.”

The rancher pulled the stock program from his coat pocket. “I sure do: Domino and Star Chaser.”

Travis watched the expectation in Glory Beebe’s face shatter and fall as the two men bent their heads over the program. Shut out, she squared her shoulders and took a step to the side. Travis met her gaze, and she lifted her chin, daring him to utter a word. He wouldn’t. He understood what it was like to be ignored. Hoping to win her trust, he lifted the corners of his mouth, but she caught the look and stiffened, and her eyes grew cold. Travis wiped the smile from his mouth.

“Mr. Hargrove,” she murmured and turned away to the rail, disappointment written in the way she held her shoulders.

He swallowed, wanting to call her back. He turned his head, but Ralston and Parker were deep in conversation, leaving him alone with the woman called Glory Beebe.

It pricked his pride. No one deserved that feeling, and for a brief moment he wondered if she would turn him away. Summoning his courage, he took a step forward and plastered a hopeful expression on his face. “I’d like to take a look.”

She gazed at him as if he’d gone plumb loco. “You?” She glanced to Ralston and Parker as if hoping they might come over to save her.

Travis silently followed her gaze, but with their backs turned, they couldn’t see her distress.

“Sure, if you’d like to.” Her voice was edged with defeat.

He waited as she unrolled the program she held clenched in her right hand. While she leafed through the pages, he took his time enjoying the view. Not tall or willowy, her head lay just below his shoulder. Glory Beebe had a naturalness about her that spoke of pure innocence.

In contrast to the woman they’d passed earlier, she wore little makeup and didn’t bother to cover the sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks and upturned nose. His glance met hers when she looked up for a moment, and he was struck dumb by the intense blue that sparkled like expensive sapphires in some jeweler’s case. She tucked a loose strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear and sighed. Travis didn’t care if it took all afternoon to find the page. When she glanced at him again, his gut rose to his throat, only to plunge toward his boots in a dizzying freefall, and he knew he had to avoid her.

A woman like this could be dangerous, could easily use her wiles to trap him just as his mother had done to his father. Three children later, she had pulled out, lock, stock, and barrel, taking up with some other man who offered her the stars. Thought of that bitter betrayal could still make bile rise in Travis’ throat. A long time ago he’d made the promise to himself that he had no intention of becoming a useless hulk of a man like his father. Narrowing his eyes, he pressed his firm lips to a thin line, determined not to think about her but to focus on what had brought him here—a job, and the chance to ride again.

“Are you through staring?” The woman standing beside him blushed and looked toward the cattle winding their way into the chutes.

“Sorry, Miss…” He hesitated at her name.

“Beebe, Glory Beebe,” she repeated and flopped the magazine open. “Here he is.”

He glanced down at the huge dun-colored bull in the photograph. “That’s your bull?”

Glory Beebe cut him a heated glance. “Yes, that’s my bull. He’s got some of the finest bloodlines. We breed our rodeo stock to produce champions.”

Travis’ glance was drawn to the list naming the bulls and heifers used in the breeding program. “These are some great bulls,” he murmured, reaching for the magazine. She let him take it and uttered another soft sigh of defeat.

“Not that he’ll notice.” She nodded toward John Parker.

Travis glanced over at the rodeo stockman as she took a step toward the rail. Parker’s dismissal must have stung; still, half of him couldn’t help but agree that breeding bulls for the rodeo belonged to men.

Her voice drew him back to the conversation. “Look, you don’t have to stay with me. I can manage on my own. I’ve been raising bulls all my life. One day, someone will notice.” She reached to pull the program from his hand.

“Naw, I got nothing better to do.” Easing back, he took a step and leaned his good hip against the rail. Staring out over the cowboys making ready in the ring for the upcoming events, he repeated what he’d heard earlier, without looking at her. “So, you raise cattle?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“What do you raise, just Brahmas?”

She shook her head. “Along with the Brahmas, we have Herefords, and Angus beef cattle, with a few Quarter Horses mixed in.”

They both turned their attention to the ring and watched a cowboy on a nice buckskin shake out a loop as he rode around the ring.

Her next words astonished him.

“I saw the accident in Portland.”

He glanced back at her, and she dampened her lips, then took a breath. “I’m glad to see you’re up and about. It would be a shame to lose a good rider.”

Her voice soothed the tension away like a summer’s wind, all soft and fresh, making his skin pucker in its warmth. Travis could have sworn the arena suddenly brightened. “Getting better every day, ma’am.” He tipped his hat to her and placed it on his head. “I appreciate the compliment, and I hope to be back riding before the end of July.” There, he thought, that should squash any thoughts to the contrary with these men standing around overhearing our conversation
.
Curious to see her reaction, he snuck a gaze in her direction. Instead of adoration, he was surprised to see a brow rise in doubt.

“That would be good news,” she agreed. “I must admit, I didn’t think the doctors would clear you so soon or that you’d be back that fast.”

Damn her to cut through the bull and get to the point. He ignored the realization that she spoke from the heart. Somewhere deep inside he found that a woman like Glory could also break his defenses faster than an eight-second ride.

He let the silence fill the space between them. It felt awkward, and uncomfortable, as if everyone standing around heard her challenge and knew he was hedging on the truth.

To his dismay, the cattleman who’d first introduced her took that moment to step closer, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Glory, honey, you need something?” His hand slid down to rest against the small of her back, as if declaring ownership.

Travis shifted his gaze from Mitch Ralston’s to hers and watched Glory’s cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink.

“No, I’m fine. We were just chatting,” she murmured, “about the bulls.”

The lights blinked, signaling that it was time for everyone to find their seats. Travis touched his hat brim. “Good to meet you, Miss Beebe.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for your bulls, Mitch Ralston. Nice to have met you, Miss Beebe. Hope we’ll get a chance to talk later,” John remarked, and with a turn he pointed across the aisle. “Travis, our seats are right over here.”

With reluctance, Travis nodded and turned away with him.

****

Glory stood rooted, watching Travis Hargrove take the seat on the aisle so he could stretch out his leg.
Travis Hargrove, as I live and breathe.
The girls down at the Hitching Post Cafe would never believe her.
God, he is as luscious in person as in those jeans ads on the
TV.
The taut denim accentuated his narrow hips, and the jeans clung to the well-developed upper thigh muscles he used to help him keep his seat while an enraged beast danced and twisted beneath him. Still, the exercise certainly made for a nice-looking man, and Glory wasn’t embarrassed about looking.
Oh, no, not at all.
A longing sigh escaped her lips. However, she knew all too well how such infatuations ended.

She fired a darting glance to the rancher beside her. Mitch had turned to speak to another cattleman and paid no attention to the sound that came from her.
Good
,
because I have no need to explain to anyone what seems so natural to any woman
. There was something to be said for the idea of being whisked off your feet by a knight in shining armor, the dream that was every little girl’s rite of passage, and she proved no exception.
Lord, everyday fantasies come to life when there are men like him around. The only exception is he wears a cowboy hat instead of a helmet made of metal.
Travis Hargrove more than fit the bill.

The lights dipped once more. Glory moved to her seat, one row down and across from Travis. She settled in, wishing they weren’t so close to the rail. Seats farther back would have offered her an unrestricted view of the good-looking bull rider. Yet she’d come here for other purposes. Big John Parker played a large part in that. She needed some one-on-one time to talk him into offering her a contract for her bull to become part of the High Plains Rodeo Circuit.

From there, it would be only a small step up to the big leagues, then their dream—her father’s and hers—would be fulfilled. Until now, John Parker hadn’t noticed her at all. She frowned. The introduction by Mitch hadn’t seemed to work, although the man had said something vague as they parted. She doubted her housekeeper’s suggestion of dropping a handkerchief would be any better. Not that she owned anything other than a blue bandana. Alma didn’t always have the right answer, though she came pretty close most of the time. Glory pursed her lips. She had to make more than just a passing effort.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The voice over the loudspeaker, welcoming the crowd to the day’s events, broke into her thoughts. “We ask you to stand as Angel Davis presents our nation’s flag.”

Glory rose to her feet, as did the rest of the crowd, while a woman in a blue-spangled shirt loped around the arena on a blood-red chestnut Quarter Horse, carrying the stars and stripes.

“Your stallion looks great!” Mitch whispered. “I’d still like to breed some of my mares to him.”

“We’ll talk later.”

“I’m impressed you let Angel ride him.”

Glory shrugged. “She asked, and I thought it might be good publicity.”

“How nice of you, considering,” he replied.

Glory pressed her lips tight to keep the words from tumbling out of her mouth. What purpose would it serve to hold a grudge? Angel was Angel. The daughter of her father’s old fly buddy, Mickey Davis, she was part of the ranch Glory had known since childhood. Mickey had been offered the job as foreman of the Glory B once he finished his tour of duty. Both he and his daughter were like family to her. And Glory knew families stuck together.