Road to Glory (7 page)

The truck moved to the right as Glory swung onto the on-ramp for the interstate. He felt the gentle sway of the trailer as the cattle shifted their weight to the movement. He glanced in the wide side mirrors. “Good to go,” he said as she accelerated and eased to an inside lane.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” he responded.

How easy it seemed for them to work together. Travis took a quick glance at the woman to his left. The sunlight streamed through the windshield and bathed her peach complexion in a healthy glow. She seemed quite at home behind the wheel.

“Enjoying the view?”

Her voice broke through his pondering, and he chuckled. “Would it be so bad if I said yes?”

She shook her head.

Travis watched her ponytail swing back and forth, brushing her shoulders. His fingers twitched. He wanted to reach out and touch it, just to see if it was as silky as it looked. He looked at his feet and curled his fingers. But what chance would he have? He was nothing more than damaged goods.

“No, I suppose I should say thank you.” Her words brought a halt to his thoughts and shifted his glance back in her direction.

Despite his hesitation, Travis found a genuine smile pushing the edges of his lips back across his face. Maybe Mickey and John were right. It might be good for him to get away from the rodeo. “You’re welcome,” he replied and found the tension ease from his shoulders. Turning his attention to the never-ending ribbon of highway, he settled in for the ride.

“The radio works,” she said.

“Thanks.”

He leaned back and pressed a button beside him. A whir followed as the window slid down enough to rest his elbow on the window frame. The rush of the wind stirred the ends of his hair and fluttered his shirt collar. The farther they drove, the more distance it put between him and the stack of bills stuffed in the bottom of his duffel. He began to feel free.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her reaching out and pressing the radio button on the console. “Mind if I do?”

“No,” he replied. “Not at all.”

In fact, he rather wished she didn’t have to take her hand back. The fresh scent of lemons, from her body lotion, filled the space between them. Leave it to her not to wear something flowery and overwhelming.
Lemons
, the smell that reminded him of a summer’s day, sitting out on the old porch swing sipping his mom’s lemonade.
She’s a friend of a friend
, he reminded himself,
nothing more
. Yet a small part of his heart mocked him with laughter.

The sounds of a smoky male voice crooned from the dash. The singer asked the question that echoed in Travis’ head:
What do you want from me?
It seemed to be the central problem of his life. What did he want? A glance to his left found Glory engrossed in the song. She sang softly, her voice sweet like the song of a siren. Travis found it difficult to swallow.
Yeah, all sunshine and happiness, that one.
Such an opposite to his life. He watched her thumbs drum on the wheel along with the beat. The thought occurred to him that he might be safer riding a bull than in close quarters with one certain bull owner.

****

Glory couldn’t express the joy she felt as the truck rolled beneath the wrought-iron sign that proclaimed they were on the Glory B Ranch. Two and a half hours cooped in a cab with a man who talked about as much as Gary Cooper was more than enough. Of course she understood he probably felt as nervous as she did. At the entrance to the pasture, she eased to a stop. “I’ve got to get the gate.”

“Let me.”

She paused, her hand on the handle of the cab door. “You sure?”

“I need to stretch,” he murmured and opened the door.

Glory placed both hands back on the wheel and studied his slow steps as he moved to unlatch the gate. She took a deep breath and quickly let it out. She didn’t think she’d ever grow tired of looking at something that fine. “I’ve been dropped into cowgirl heaven,” she whispered. With a shove, the gate moved back, and he waved her through. She pressed the gas pedal, and the rig slipped past at a crawl. Once free of the fence line, she made a wide turn in the dry pasture, kicking up small clouds of dust, and pulled the trailer back to the gate opening before coming to a stop.

“Pull that gate against the side, will ya?” she asked, motioning in accompaniment to her words as she climbed out.

Travis pulled the gate flush with the sides of the trailer while the stock bellowed in their excitement to be home. A lanky wrangler jogged from the barn.

“Hey, Glory,” he called. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” she grunted. With his help, she put the ramp in place before she lifted the latch, stepped back, and pulled the door wide. A red-and-white face poked from inside. The steer bawled, then leaped from the confined space. Two others followed, and Glory swung up to move the second partition away. A deeper voice echoed from the shadows. “Go on, Grave Digger,” she replied as the big Brahma circled and looked at her before ambling toward the exit. Once on the ground, the bull bellowed one last time before walking away.

Glory grinned and stepped across to the opening. Her eyes followed the animal as he trotted to the center of the pasture before stopping to lift his magnificent head and stare back. He truly was handsome, as bulls go. All the hard work she and her father had put in seemed to be paying off. Grave Digger was the best the Glory B had to offer. She leaned against the metal side of the trailer and watched him survey his domain before giving a shake of his head and moving off.

Glory stepped down and glanced at the wrangler. “Give me a hand if you will.” Together the two hefted the metal ramp and door and swung the latches into place.

“That’s one proud bull,” Travis murmured.

“He is that,” Glory agreed. “Jeremy, pull the trailer to the barn and unhitch it, will you? I’m going to show our guest to the house.”

“Sure will.” The ranch hand nodded. “Welcome to the Glory B, Mr. Hargrove.”

Both she and Travis stepped back to allow the rig to rumble away. Then, working together, they closed the gates and secured the lock so the cattle remained behind. Once all was secure, she turned to the tall Texas cowboy standing at her side. “Let me take you up to the house to meet Alma, Mr. Hargrove.”

“How about you call me Travis?”

She swallowed. “I’d like that, if you’ll call me Glory.”

“I’d be pleased to, Miss Glory.”

Glory couldn’t contain the grin that followed. She held out her hand in a genuine gesture. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay, Travis.”

He reached for her hand. As their fingers touched, a jolt of electricity hit her. Glory blinked, surprised by the intensity, and pulled her hand back. Almost breathless, her gaze flew to his face. Beneath the shadow of his hat she could see the a startled expression in his eyes.

The air around them seemed to crackle. Unsure what to do with her hands, she slid them into her back pockets and looked down at her feet, hoping to control the wild beat of her heart. All of a sudden, she was shy and tongue-tied. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to brush it off. “How about we go over to the house, and I’ll get the key and show you the mansion, as Alma calls it. That’s where you’ll be staying.”

“Sure,” he murmured as they fell into step together. “How many acres you have here?” he asked over the sound of their boot heels grinding the gravel.

“All totaled, about two hundred and fifty,” she said. “We keep fifty acres of pasture here around the barns. To the south, we’ve got some good farm land that provides hay and corn. The rest sit over there.” She pointed toward the gently rolling hills. “Lots of good grass, plenty of water, everything a cow could want, right here on the Glory B Ranch.” Her words had a wistful note.

“Nice.”

Glory flashed a grin. “It is. My dad bought this place from Mitch Ralston’s folks. I kind of think they didn’t expect him to take ranching serious.”

“Who, your father?”

“Yes. With him coming from the military, his desire to raise cattle probably seemed like a whim he’d give up on, the first hard time.”

They stopped. Glory glanced at Travis. “They didn’t know my dad,” she said with pride. “He read every book, every magazine, every article about ranching and cattle. It took a good twenty-plus years and a whole lot of heartache, but you can see by Grave Digger it’s just now paying off.”

“Sounds like your father has grit.”

“Had,” Glory whispered. “He passed away two years ago. The ranch, the dream—it’s mine now.”

She watched the edges of his smiling eyes turn down.

“I’m sorry. I think I would have liked to meet him. Any man who can undertake this and produce a daughter with enough fight to go after what she wants sounds like a man with pretty big boots to fill.”

Glory looked at him with surprise. No one had ever said anything so sweet to her before. A beat passed. She opened her mouth to speak, but the creak of the screen door stopped her. She watched a small elegant African American woman slip from the doorway, letting the screen hit the siding on the house with a pop.

“Glory Beebe,” the woman’s voice crackled. “You come home bringing company and not letting me have no warning at all?”

Glory grinned and placed a hand on Travis’ arm. “Alma Butler, let me introduce you to Mr. Travis Hargrove.”

“Howdy, Mr. Hargrove,” Alma beamed, her eyes crinkling with hospitality. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Mrs. Butler,” Travis replied. He moved toward the steps and pulled the hat from his head, extending his hand.

Alma wiped hers on the edge of her white cotton apron and, stepping down, reached out. Grasping his hand, she wrapped her mahogany fingers around his and tugged him gently up the step, shaking hard. “Glory had you in the car since the rodeo?”

“Yes, ma’am. We drove straight through.”

“Land sakes, you two must be plum starved. It be a good thing I fried up a mess of chicken this morning afore it got hot. You like chicken, Mr. Hargrove?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am, I do, but I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

Alma cast a warning look in Glory’s direction. “What you fill this man’s head with?” The housekeeper squinted at Glory and shook a spoon in her direction.

“Nothing, Alma, honest.” Glory laughed and held her hands up in mock surrender. “I thought Mickey might have gotten here before me.”

“Humph. It will be no trouble, Mr. Hargrove. Why, none at all.” Alma cast a glance at Glory. “No doubt the Hitching Post called his name. Now, you come on in here, Mr. Hargrove, and wash up.” She tugged his arm. “I’ll set this table and, with a good blessing, we’ll eat.”

Glory watched the two disappear into the kitchen. She wondered if Travis had any idea what hit him. She looked down as she took the steps, and a shiver of excitement hummed through her veins. She wasn’t so sure herself. The next few weeks were going to be quite interesting.

“Glory!” Alma’s Carolina accent drew out the last syllable of her name. “Child, you planning on eating?”

“Coming,” she called back and wondered how she’d get anything to settle in a stomach filled with a herd of butterflies.

Chapter Six

He ate—ate like there was no tomorrow. God help him, Travis enjoyed every bite. Alma’s cooking seemed like heaven after months of hospital fare and his own cooking. On the last mouthful of lemon pie, he pushed his plate away and let out a sigh of contentment. “Mrs. Butler, I believe in one meal you’ve made up for all those lousy meals I’ve forced myself to devour in order to get home from the hospital.”

Alma chuckled. “I don’t know how Glory feels about it, but you have my vote to put your feet under my table at any time.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “I do think it might take me a week to get those hollows out from under your eyes.”

Travis caught Glory’s shake of her head. She gave him a playful glance. “Now look what you’ve done. She’ll be sending me to the store for every sort of odds and ends.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I apologize.”

“Don’t you dare. A woman needs a good compliment every now and then, young man.” Alma’s finger waggled at him. “And you remember that.”

Travis blinked, catching the spark in Alma’s tawny brown eyes. Her words were both a warning and an invitation to show Glory how much of a gentleman he could be. “Yes, ma’am, I will.”

Alma rose from the table. “Well, I’ve got dishes to do. You young people run along. I’m sure you’ve got something better to do than keep an old woman company.”

Travis placed his utensils across the plate and handed it to Glory, who rose to help. She smiled, took his plate, and with a brush of her fingers moved away. He swallowed roughly and watched her saunter toward the sink where Alma stood with her back to him, already busy with the soap and suds. From the vantage point of the table, he watched Glory move, her footsteps as full of grace as any dancer’s. A longing to hold her hit him squarely in the middle, yet he could not act upon it. Pushing himself from the table, he listened to their conversation feeling like he was eavesdropping.

“I’m going to be making out my menu later on. Anything special you want for dinner this week?”

“No, ma’am,” he heard Glory answer.

Reaching for his cane, he heard his name being called.

“Mr. Hargrove, is there anything special I can make for you?”

Turning at Alma’s question, Travis shook his head no. “Not a thing, thank you, ma’am. I’m not picky.”

“Come to think of it, Alma, I could go for some of your chili,” Glory replied.

“Done.” Alma gave a nod. “Now out with you. Take those clean sheets when you go over to the mansion, along with the towels. I pick up laundry on Thursdays, Mr. Hargrove. If you’ll strip your bed and have your things in the basket, I’ll have them done for you by Saturday.”

“You don’t need to. I can wash my own things,” he protested.

“I have a feeling you gonna have your hands full enough with Mr. Davis and his ruffians,” Alma scoffed.

He caught Glory’s wondrous grin and closed his mouth. Travis knew he didn’t want to protest and see that expression lost. “All right,” he agreed.

“Go on now, the both of you.” Alma shooed them from the kitchen.