Read Road to Glory Online

Authors: Tessa Berkley

Tags: #contemporary, #Western, #Scarred Hero/Heroine

Road to Glory (6 page)

“I need to find a job.”

“Doin’ what?”

He watched Travis take a deep and tortured breath. “Don’t know.”

Mickey held his breath and let the beat pass.

“Big John offered me a job,” Travis continued. “I just…” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Hey, that’s great,” Mickey congratulated him. He extended his hand, and Travis ignored it. Mickey pulled it back. “Doin’ what?”

“Out-of-town stock buyer. He called it his man on the ground.”

Mickey watched him stare across the fairgrounds. “He says I won’t be riding the beasts, but I get to pick the ones to send to the rodeo.”

Leaning forward, Mickey placed his elbows on his knees and dangled the bottle of beer over the ground. “How you feel about that, son?” He stared at the man’s profile and watched Travis’ Adam’s apple bob as the emotion filled his voice.

“I’ll be stuck on the sidelines, falling farther behind,” he retorted and swallowed hard.

The older cowboy looked away. His suspicions were confirmed. Travis was as low as one could get without washing away.

“I’m a bull rider, Mickey,” Travis admitted in a soft voice. “I’m not ready to be put to pasture. I got some years ahead of me. I-I…” He stopped and took another long drink.

“Yep, and you’re a mighty fine one,” Mickey agreed. “A rider like you knows things others don’t, ’cause they haven’t the experience.”

Travis stared back, knowing he’d found someone who understood his feelings. A former bronco buster, Mickey knew the uncertainty that seemed to be eating at him. “Bull riders are a cut above the regular rodeo folks. I guess to feel your own mortality is a pretty soberin’ thing for any man.”

Travis pulled the bottle from his lips and swallowed. “If there was something I could do—sort of ease into it again. He tells me there’s a small rodeo in Palmer. It’s just that seeing that bull today, I—” He let the sentence hang.

“I hear ya.” Mickey sighed. Silence engulfed the two as they watched the wranglers walk away from the barns toward their own trailers. “You know,” he began, “maybe there is a way.”

Travis turned and looked at him. Mickey could see the questions forming in his mind. Now all he had to do was reel him in, all gentle-like. “I’ve been workin’ with some young fellers back at the ranch.” He gave a shake of his head. “But I can only take them so far. What they need is a real bull rider. One who knows the tricks of the trade and is up to date on all the new techniques. You’d be like a big-name draw. You’d pick up a few hundred, of course, for your knowledge.”

“I can’t ride,” Travis said, his voice flat. Mickey wanted to grab the back of his shirt and shake him because he’d dismissed the idea before it could take root. Instead, Mickey laughed. “Half these kids can’t ride either. But one or two might make it to this level and have a shot at turnin’ pro. You could take it as slow as you want, to see if you could climb on the back of the beast. No shame if you can’t. But a name like yours, one people would recognize, might pull in a good crowd.”

“I haven’t ridden in months,” Travis argued. “No one will remember me.”

“Now you’re talkin’ nonsense.” Mickey’s temper flared. “Why, kids around Palmer and Powder Springs would jump in line to take instruction from the great Travis Hargrove. Folks don’t forget a name or a face that’s been plastered on the front of rodeo magazines. You’re a natural, son.” Mickey watched as his words caused Travis’ jaw to go slack. He knew he was about to object when his gaze focused on something else. Turning, Mickey caught Big John Parker pushing away from the side of the trailer. Slowly, Mickey stood. “How long you been here?”

“Long enough to hear you talk about the charity rodeo. Mind if I sit down?” Parker asked, giving the two a look and nodding toward the cooler.

“Nope, grab yourself a cold one afore you sit down,” Mickey said, settling back down. He watched Travis study the stockman as Big John flipped the top of the cooler open and pulled one of the brown bottles from the ice. He handed it to Mickey, who used a church key to flip the cap to the ground.

Big John took his seat on the cooler and looked at Travis. “I think it would be great, you going to this rodeo and getting some PR. You’d be doing me a service. Mickey’s right; you know enough about riding and helping to judge. More than that, working with the riders and bulls will give us a good idea of the stock we want and a way to funnel new talent into the ring. The more I think about it, the more I like it.” Parker nodded and leaned over to clink his bottle against Mickey’s.

“I just saw that bull of Miss Beebe’s in the ring, Mickey. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s got some good moves. I’d like to get Travis’ opinion on him. What do you say, son? Want to take me up on the offer now?”

Mickey watched Travis mull it over in his mind. “I’d still work for the rodeo and draw pay?”

The stockman nodded. “Previous offer stands. You’ll be getting the rodeo’s name out and at the same time keeping yours on the lips of sponsors and the public. I’d call that a win-win situation. All we have to do is find you a place to stay.”

Travis licked his lips.

“Shoot!” Mickey laughed. “I got the perfect place for that too.”

Travis looked over at him. “Where?”

“A nice place, real homey, and the best food you ever put in your mouth—the Glory B Ranch.”

Chapter Five

“You told Travis Hargrove he could do what?” Glory’s voice carried over the fairgrounds in the early morning light.

“Shh,” Mickey hissed as he flipped the pin in place to hold the tailgate on the stock trailer. “I told him he could stay at your place.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You have one too many beers last night, cowboy?”

“Honey, it’s a beauty of a plan. You got that house Alma used to live in. Why let it sit there gatherin’ dust? Besides, he’s workin’ for the rodeo. It will give him a chance to see your stock in action.”

She shook her head. “I think you’ve lost your mind.” She stared at the cattle standing calmly in the trailer. “Why would I want a rodeo gypsy staying at the Glory B?” Her next thoughts gathered, she turned to look at her foreman. “That man’s got no business being within fifty yards of cattle, let alone a bull.” With a shake of her head, she turned on her heel and moved toward the cab of the truck.

“Now, Glory,” Mickey pleaded, following along behind her. “Think of it. Why, he’s the man who can open the door for you by bendin’ Parker’s ear about your bulls.”

“Humph.” She brushed him off. “I doubt he’d agree anyway,” she murmured. Yesterday’s scene at the arena played over in her mind. He thought she was an idiot. Her mouth twisted in disgust. Come to think of it, he probably wasn’t wrong. Her actions had been far from reasonable. Pausing, Glory looked down at her hands and concentrated on pulling her gloves off.

“Look, he’ll be spendin’ time with me and the boys, workin’ on their bull-ridin’ techniques. I promise you, you won’t even know the cowboy’s there.”

“You and the boys, huh.” Her mind turned toward the ragtag group of starry-eyed men from eighteen to twenty-something, all born with wanderlust in their boots, their hearts set on becoming part of the rodeo. Just like Jax had been. Hurt wrapped around her heart. Glory lifted her head and gazed into the distance away from Mickey, afraid of what he might see.

With a deep breath, she stuffed her gloves into the right back pocket of her jeans and gave her foreman a level glance. “Somehow, I have a feeling you, Hargrove, and the wild bunch will definitely be heard. Last time you were going to teach cowboys to ride, it cost me a pretty hefty hospital bill for someone’s broken leg.”
Not to mention my broken heart
.

Mickey hung his head. “Ah, Glory, I’m sure sorry about that. The kid was all brag and show. He needed to be taken down a peg or two. Besides, I paid you back.” He glanced up. “Those kids would be awful grateful. Why, the town might even put up a plaque in your honor, down by the square. Tourism would sure be up, what with people flockin’ in to see Hargrove.”

Glory stepped closer and jabbed her finger into Mickey’s chest. “That’s another thing. You think they’re coming to see Travis Hargrove, rodeo star.” She shook her head. “It’s more like they’re coming to see a train wreck.”

“Now, Glory,” Mickey began.

She waved him off. “You weren’t out there yesterday. I saw what happened. I saw him. I saw his reaction to the bull Peterson was riding.” Her thumb jerked back toward her own chest. “He can’t take it.”

“Glory…” Mickey’s voice became a growl.

She ignored him. “I saw him cut and run. He couldn’t get out of the arena fast enough. What makes you think he’s not going to do the same thing when you go from mechanical bulls to the real thing?”

“Because I gave my word.”

A shiver rolled up her spine. She looked at Mickey. His chin dropped to his chest. She slowly rotated her head to hazard a glance over her left shoulder. What she saw made her heart plummet into freefall and land against the hard rock of stupidity in the pit of her stomach. Travis Hargrove stood behind her, a duffel bag in his hand. His expression didn’t look welcoming. Glory swallowed and fired a look that could kill in Mickey’s direction before she turned around.

“Morning, Mr. Hargrove,” she said. From behind her, the sound of gravel crunched.
Damn Mickey
. She took a breath. “I hear you’re coming out to the ranch.”

“Whoo,” Mickey hissed in a long, soft breath.

Glory swung around with a heated glare. “Mr. Davis, perhaps you’ll take Mr. Hargrove’s bag.”

“Um, uh, yeah,” Mickey grumbled, and brushed past Glory to take the bag from Travis’ hand.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered.

Glory watched Travis lift the left corner of his mouth in a grimace and hand over his bag.

“No offense taken,” he replied.

She noted the warning look Mickey shot her before he moved away. It rankled her sensibilities. This fiasco had her foreman’s name written all over it.
How dare he try and warn me, when he went conniving and scheming behind my back
. Her chin jutted out.
He better not think I’m going to take this lying down
. To keep her hands from throttling either one of the men, Glory slapped at some nonexistent dust on her pants leg. There was nothing she could do other than play the hand dealt.

She waited for Mickey to get out of earshot. Dampening her lips, she spoke. “I’m sorry. My comments were uncalled for.”

The tight thin line of Travis’ lips relaxed. “I understand it must have been a shock to learn you’d have a visitor for the next few weeks.”

She scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”

The tension in the air seemed to ease. Travis shifted on his cane. “Yeah, it was a shock to me, too.”

Glory’s head jerked up. She watched as he dragged the toe of his boot across the dirt.

“The rodeo gave me a job. Outside stock buyer.”

“Stock buyer,” she repeated.

He gave a nod. “Yeah, I’m, uh, going to Palmer”— he jerked his thumb toward the west—“to help Mickey with the younger riders and to look over the stock.”

Suddenly, she felt like a new colt, all awkward, not knowing which way to go. Her gaze darted to his dark blue eyes, then looked away. “So you’ll be staying at our ranch while you do this?”

“Yes, ma’am. I hope you don’t mind. Mr. Parker and Mickey seemed to have it all settled before I could put my two cents in.”

She couldn’t tell him no. He needed the job. That she really understood, and she needed the break, having Parker’s representative living where he could actually see her livestock and how good they were. Still, she didn’t like being manipulated. With a sigh, she gestured in the direction of the cab of the truck. “Get in.”

His face mirrored his surprise. “You sure?”

“Yeah, get in,” she said and watched as he ambled over to the passenger side of the truck. “I’m nuts,” Glory whispered and reached for the door handle. She stepped up on the running board to climb into the driver’s seat. Inside, the fresh scent of soap and something she could only describe as male—pure male—hit her, nearly driving the breath from her lungs. Suddenly, the two-hour drive to Palmer seemed more of a challenge than she’d ever tried to conquer in the past.

Ignoring the electric vibrations in the air, she slid on into the bucket seat and tossed her hat to the rear. With a jerk of her arm, the door snapped shut, leaving them isolated from the rest of the world. She didn’t need to look over at him to know he commanded the space inside the cab. Her skin tingled at his presence, while her heart raced a mile a minute. It had to be all those feminine hormones she’d fought to ignore. Her insides moved like a quivering bowl of jelly.

Brushing aside her warring heart and mind, she reached above the visor for her sunglasses. Sliding them on, a bit of mischief brought a smug grin to her face. From behind the darkened lenses, she could watch Travis without him reading her thoughts. She grasped the key and turned the ignition, and beneath the hood the engine roared to life. With uncharacteristic humor, she tucked her chin close to her shoulder and glanced in his direction. His radar must have been working overtime, for he glanced up and their gazes locked. In her best Betty Davis impersonation, Glory spoke. “Buckle up, cowboy; it’s liable to be a bumpy ride.”

To her surprise, Travis’ grin widened.

She pulled her safety belt across her shoulder and heard his snap a second behind hers. Foot on the gas, Glory eased her rig out of the barnyard and down to the road leading away from the grounds.

****

It was still early in the morning and the traffic wasn’t really bad. Still, negotiating a livestock trailer through the outskirts of even a modest-sized city took concentration. Travis was determined to give Glory her space. If he’d been one hundred percent, he’d have offered to drive. But with his bum leg he didn’t want to take a chance on endangering the livestock. Yet it felt pretty cheesy for a grown man to be chauffeured around by a lady.

He leaned back in the seat and studied the mindless scenery of the nondescript houses that lined the four-lane highway leading to the interstate. Big John had given him a five a.m. wake-up call to present him with the laptop, company credit card, and a week’s pay in advance. Travis could still taste the bile in his throat. They’d argued over the handout. John had insisted that he’d need the money to wine and dine the local ranchers. In the end, Travis had taken the money, but not before he made the stockman sign a written promissory note. He considered the pay a loan, one he’d make darn sure to pay back with interest.

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