The Cowboy and the Angel (17 page)

“I understand you’re looking for my professional opinion about rodeo.”

“I have a few questions, but mainly specific questions about the care of the animals.”

“Shoot.” He leaned back, his chair creaking loudly.

She pulled a small recorder from her purse and held it up. “Do you mind?” Dr. Bradford stuck out his lower lip and shook his head. She placed the recorder on his desk and pressed the button. “Dr. Bradford, can you please state your occupation.”

“I’ve been a large-animal veterinarian for the last thirty years, operating my own practice for twenty-two of those.”

“Have you ever been called out to a rodeo in a professional capacity?” She skimmed her notes.

“I’ve worked as the vet for several local rodeos, both professional and amateur, and I’ve attended several ranch rodeos.”

Angela looked up and frowned. “What’s the difference?”

“A ranch rodeo is simply an event that a ranch owner puts on. Anyone can do it—provide stock, make up their own events . . . whatever. An amateur event is usually very similar to a professional rodeo but isn’t sanctioned. It’s usually where most cowboys, and girls,” he clarified, “get started. Then there are professional rodeos, those sanctioned by a governing branch, complete with rules. The purse at a pro rodeo is much bigger than at an amateur.”

“So it’s like a baseball player starting in the minor leagues before going to the majors?”

“Exactly.”

She jotted down a reminder in her notebook of the comparison. “What about stock contractors? Are they all the same or are there amateur and professionals with them as well?”

“Absolutely. But just like the cowboys, stock contractors have a number of requirements they have to fulfill to be considered ‘professional.’” He tilted his head at her. “Looking at someone specifically?”

Angela bit her lower lips. She didn’t really want to bring up Findley Brothers but couldn’t ignore his direct question. “Maybe,” she hedged. “What about the animals themselves? Any requirements for them?”

Dr. Bradford shrugged. “That depends on what you mean by requirements. They need to fall within certain ages or weights for some events. They must be considered healthy.”

“Who decides that?”

“Well, that’s where it gets a bit sticky. The rules don’t really say and most people assume it’s the vet on site. But, if the stock contractor is less than . . . conscientious about their animal care then . . .” He shrugged, not finishing his sentence, leaving his meaning clear. There were times the animals performed when they weren’t “healthy.”

“Who polices the stock contractors?”

“It’s supposed to be the judges. The same judges that the stock contractor hires. It’s a bit of a catch-22.” He raised his bushy brows, waiting for her to make the connection and ask another question.

“In the rodeos you attended, were animals injured?”

Dr. Bradford chuckled quietly. “You better define ‘injured’ because that could be a very broad spectrum. Animals are injured in pastures every day. I couldn’t begin to tell you how many times I’m called out to patch up a horse that has run through a fence or has been punctured by a branch on a tree. I love what I do, Angela, but we aren’t dealing with an overabundance of intelligence in many cases. Even the best-trained horses can hurt themselves, in a stall or at a rodeo. But, assuming you mean significant injuries requiring veterinarian care, I have been needed only once in over fifteen years and probably forty or fifty rodeos.”

Angela frowned. Her story seemed to be falling apart in the middle of her interview. “That’s it?”

“Not what you were expecting? That one time was for a mare that got overexcited in the chute and began flailing. When she wouldn’t calm, the stock contractor opened the chute and let her loose. As she was turned loose, she kicked at the gate and appeared lame when she was in the pen afterward. She was treated with bute on site and brought here after the rodeo for X-rays, which showed a small crack in the coffin bone. We had a farrier called in for special shoes, and after returning home she was confined until it healed. I heard they retired her to pasture and to be a broodmare afterward—due to her temperament, not her injury.”

“But I’ve seen several videos with animals, especially cattle, injured in the roping events.”

“It can happen, but it’s usually when a green cowboy or horse is involved. Stock contractors can use those calves for only a short time because they outgrow the weight and age limitations, so most don’t keep a ton of them on ranches. If cowboys injure them, they are forced to purchase more. I’ve seen a few contractors go after the cowboys for fines because their horse choked a calf by pulling backward in a roping event.” He shook his head and smoothed back a few stray tufts of hair on the top of his head. “Like I said, it happens, but I’ve never seen an injury from it.”

Angela continued to interview the vet but was surprised by several of his answers. There
might
be a story here, but the evidence was for the other side. Joe wasn’t going to be happy, and she could see her hopes of an anchor position slipping away. She flipped through a few pages of her notes.

“You mentioned ‘bute’ earlier, what’s that?”

“Phenylbutazone. It’s an NSAID for horses. Like ibuprofen. It’s used for pain relief, reducing inflammation, things like that.”

“Could that be considered a performance-enhancing drug?”

He puckered his lips and bobbed his head from side to side thoughtfully. “Maybe. I guess if the animal was injured and you didn’t want anyone to know. I would be more likely you’d see that from the horses trailered in for roping events or in barrel racing than from the stock contractor though. Even then, the livelihood of that cowboy depends on his animal, and running an injured animal will only break it down faster. Cowboys know that. There are others—bronchodilators, stimulants—but they are used more often in horse racing than rodeo. I’ve never personally seen anything used by contractors or competitors. Then again,” he pointed out, “I’ve never tested for any of them either.”

She read through her quickly scribbled notes again. “I think that’s all of my questions, doctor. You’ve been incredibly helpful. I appreciate the unbiased answers. It was exactly what I was looking for.” Angela rose from her chair and turned off the recorder.

“Have you thought about talking with Mike Findley, from Findley Brothers? He’s not too far from here.”

“I’m actually heading back out to the ranch. Mike has been kind enough to let me stay there to see a few professional rodeos first hand.”

Dr. Bradford walked her to her car. “You won’t find a nicer man than Mike, or his partners, the Chandlers. They love what they do. But, like I said, not all people are like them. I wish they were.”

She turned and looked him in the eye. “Off the record, Dr. Bradford, do you support rodeo?”

The vet took a deep breath, considering his words before answering slowly. “I’m not unsupportive of it. I’ve seen far worse abuse, neglect, and animal cruelty outside the rodeo arena than I ever saw inside.”

“E
ARTH TO
D
EREK.
”

Derek shook his head, dragging his thoughts back to the present as his brother held the wire clippers toward him. Scott shot him a knowing grin. “You going to finish this fence or fantasize?”

Derek grabbed the tool from his brother and snapped off the end of the fencing, bending the rough edge back into the fence post for safety. “What the hell are you talking about? I was listening.”

“Really?” Scott raised his brows in disbelief. “Then you have a suggestion for this weekend?”

“What about this weekend?”

“Good to know you’re listening.” Scott removed his gloves, slapping them against his thigh as he stood up. He caught his brother’s frown. “I’m just kidding. Man, what has you all riled up?”

Derek shook his head and tucked his work gloves into his back pocket. “Nothing.”

Scott tossed the tools into the truck bed. “You’ve been awfully quiet today.” He crossed his arms over the side of the truck and looked at his brother across the truck bed. “You okay?” He opened the small ice chest in the back of the truck and tossed a bottle of water across to Derek.

He caught it and opened the bottle, chugging half in one swallow. “I guess I’m worried about Angela wandering around the rodeo unsupervised all weekend.”

Scott shrugged and shook his head. “Don’t sweat it. You know we take care of our animals. We take every precaution for the cowboys. There’s nothing for her to find.” He took a second bottle of water from the ice chest, offering another to Derek. “She’s not the first activist we’ve ever dealt with. Why are you so worried?”

“No thanks. Because she’s the first one I’ve dealt with on my watch,” he admitted. “You and Mike always took care of them. I wasn’t around, remember?”

“So?”

Derek cocked his head at his brother as if the answer should be obvious. “I don’t exactly have a track record of good decisions, Scott.”

“You need to stop this.” Scott crumpled the plastic bottle and tossed it into the back of the truck before opening the passenger door and climbing inside. Derek followed and started up the truck. “You can’t punish yourself forever for Liz. You aren’t the same person you were.”

Derek knew that coming from Scott, considering how strained their relationship had been over the past few years, his comment was the highest praise he could imagine. He felt his chest swell a bit knowing his brother recognized all he accomplished in the last year. He quickly shoved away any feelings of pride as he thought about the fact that they’d had only ten foals this year instead of hundreds over several years because of his selfishness and immaturity. He couldn’t let this situation escalate into another mistake like last time.

“Thanks for taking time out from flirting to help me with the fence today.” Scott could barely hide the smile as he cupped his chin in his fist on the window.

“You’re an ass.” Derek shot his brother a glare but wasn’t about to deny he’d enjoyed the time he’d spent with Angela the past two days.

Scott laughed and raised his palms toward Derek. “Just saying, it must be hard to find time to work when you’re busy riding with someone who gets a rise out of you just walking into the room.”

Derek arched a warning brow at his brother. Scott’s double meaning wasn’t missed. “I’m sure it’s been so long since you and Sydney met that you barely remember.”

Scott chuckled. “Yeah, right. And I remember fighting it just like you’re doing. Don’t bother. You might as well give in and enjoy it. It won’t do you a bit of good to fight, anyway.”

Chapter Thirteen

A
NGELA STARED IN
awe at the buzz of activity around her. The sun had barely crested the horizon and cowboys, trucks, and trailers filled with animals were scattered everywhere she looked. As Sydney loaded several horses into the trailer, Scott directed other cowboys to take two of the rigs into the east pasture to load the bulls he’d separated. Mike took the lead loading the cattle for the timed events and prepping the truck while he was on the phone with the stockyard they would stop at on the way to the rodeo to water the animals.

Her eyes found Derek across the busy corral. Amidst the hectic activity and stress, he still found a moment to share a laugh with one of the older cowboys. She admired his easygoing humor, even in the face of immense pressure. She bit her lower lip as she watched him head into the barn, returning with a saddle over each shoulder. He was an impressive specimen of a modern cowboy. The baby on her lap slapped her hands against her chest playfully, distracting her from appraisal.

“Looks like Kassie needs your attention more than Derek,” Silvie pointed out.

A blush flooded Angela’s cheeks at being caught watching him, and Silvie laughed, wiggling her fingers in front of Jennifer’s little boy, Blake. “Don’t you worry, Angie, I doubt anyone else is even paying any attention.”

Angela was just about to deny watching Derek when her cell phone rang. Her heart jumped into her throat. She knew it was Joe again, wanting to know if she’d dug up any dirt. She needed to continue to avoid his calls until she could find something—anything—that might get him to send a news crew to the rodeo this weekend.

“I can hold Kassie if you want to take that,” Silvie offered.

Angela shook her head, praying that Joe wouldn’t call back until she was on the road. “It’s fine. I’ll call them back later.” She pushed the button to reject the call.

Silvie eyed her but refrained from commenting as Mike approached, folding the papers in his hands and shoving them into his back pocket. “Angela, are you planning on driving, or did you want to ride in one of the trucks?”

“I was planning on driving.” Angela shrugged. Just remembering the touch of Derek’s lips on her own, his hands burning her bare skin, kept her tossing and turning into the early morning hours. It was going to be a long day if she was driving after a sleepless night.

“I just figured riding in one of the trucks would give you a more authentic experience. We have plenty of room. You could ride with Scott and Sydney, if you don’t mind the baby,” he said, chucking Kassie’s chin and making a silly face at her. “Or you could ride with Derek.”

Her heart picked up speed at Mike’s suggestion. As much as three hours of close confinement with Derek might send shivers of anticipation over her flesh, she wasn’t sure she was ready to be alone with him after yesterday. She didn’t want to face their troubled pasts, and who knew where the conversation might lead. But riding with Derek would give her an excuse for not returning Joe’s call.

“Great then that’s one less car we need to worry about at the rodeo.” It didn’t sound like he was actually giving her a choice.

“Whatever is easier, Mike. I don’t want to be any trouble. And I’m going to try to get a crew there at some point this weekend, if that’s still okay with you.”

Mike nodded and jotted himself a reminder on the papers from his pocket. “Just don’t let me forget to get them press passes when they arrive. Are you packed?”

“Sydney loaned me a few outfits since I didn’t have long-sleeved shirts. It’s a good thing we are about the same size.”