It Takes a Cowboy

“Well, no. Broken bones are as much a part of rodeo as boots and spurs,” her new friend admitted with a crooked grin. “Back when I was young enough and dumb enough to do some riding, I broke both arms, an ankle, a whole bunch of ribs and my tailbone—now that hurt,” he added reflectively.

Her attention split between the action in the arena and her talkative companion, Blair asked curiously, “Then why did you do it?”

His self-deprecating grin was charming. “Why, for the fun of it, darlin’.”

She wrinkled her nose. “If that’s your idea of fun...”

A familiar name spoken over the loudspeaker suddenly caught her attention. “Did he just say—”

“Aunt Blair, Scott’s riding next!” Jeffrey said excitedly.

Before she could recover from her surprise, the gate opened and a massive black bull exploded into the arena with Scott McKay straddling its back. His gloved right hand was secured beneath the rope around the creature’s neck, and he held his left arm suspended in the air for balance. A dusty black hat was pulled low over his face. Along with the leather vest, denim shirt, chaps and boots, the ensemble made him look the exact opposite of the man in the suit and silk tie that Blair had bought at the bachelor auction. She could hardly believe she’d been so mistaken about him.

The bull bucked and twisted, furiously trying to rid itself of its human burden. Dirt flew beneath its slashing hooves and Blair could only imagine the damage those hooves could do to a human body. Scott shifted dangerously to one side, seeming in imminent risk of sliding directly beneath the animal. Blair covered her face with her hands, watching through her fingers as he somehow recovered his balance.

It seemed like forever before a buzzer indicated that eight seconds had passed. The clowns ran toward the bull as the crowd cheered and Jeffrey crowed with pleasure.

“He made it, ma’am. The full eight. He can dismount now.”

But just as the rancher spoke so confidently, the bull gave a huge lunge and twist that sent Scott flying. He landed some distance away with a bone-jarring thud and billowing clouds of dust. Blair’s breathing stopped when Scott didn’t immediately move.

The clowns ran the bull through a gate and out of the arena while a couple of guys ran toward Scott.

“Is he hurt, Aunt Blair?” Jeffrey asked in a small voice.

“I don’t know, sweetie,” she said, covering his hand with hers.

They both sighed in relief when Scott sat up, waving away the two men who would have helped him to his feet. He stood on his own power, although his movements were somewhat stiff. The crowd applauded as he limped away, pausing to scoop his hat off the ground and then wave it at the cheering audience, a showman to the end.

“He’s okay, Aunt Blair,” Jeffrey said, then looked to her for confirmation.

She managed a smile. “Yes, he seems to be.”

At least he was until she got hold of him and ripped a piece off his hide for scaring her—for scaring Jeffrey so badly, she corrected herself.

“Friend of yours, ma’am?” the rancher inquired.

She nodded, unsure exactly how to describe her connection with Scott McKay.

“He done real good. He’s made it to the finals.”

She turned to him in disbelief, ignoring the ride that had just started in the arena. “You mean he’s going to do that again?”

“Well, yes, ma’am. There were two other riders so far who hung on for eight seconds.”

She groaned and wondered if she should leave right then rather than go through that traumatic experience again.

Her new friend smiled and patted her knee in a fatherly fashion. “Don’t you worry, darlin’. Your friend looked like he knows what he’s doing.”

Was that before or after he’d eaten dirt? Blair wanted to ask as she shifted on the hard seat and braced herself for the finals.

*

SCOTT WINCED A LITTLE when he climbed out of his Yukon in Blair’s driveway that evening. His body was reminding him graphically of the two hard falls he’d taken earlier that day. The first had mostly just knocked the wind out of him. The next—after only five seconds on that mean SOB he’d been assigned for the second ride—had hurt. No broken bones this time, fortunately, only a few ugly bruises, but he ached all over.

It occurred to him that he was getting a bit too old for some of the activities he had enjoyed in the past, but he dismissed that thought immediately. He had a lot of life in him yet, he decided firmly, and several things still to try. He wasn’t quite ready for a rocking chair.

He eyed the doorbell, wondering how Blair would react to having seen him ride. He hadn’t told her he would be participating in the rodeo—yet another charity contribution on his part. He’d thought it amusing to surprise her. Of course, he’d have preferred to land victoriously on his feet rather than ignobly on his face. He’d hoped to find Blair and Jeffrey after the rodeo, but by the time he’d gotten checked out and cleaned up, they had already gone.