Tristan saw her mother everywhere she looked, in every beautiful thing God made. She could still hear her voice whisper to her, especially when she was feeling all alone. And if she closed her eyes real tight, and concentrated real hard, she could still imagine how it felt to have her mother’s arms around her.
She told Bullet the first time Dottie hugged her, she cried. Dottie hugged the same way her mama did, all in. It wasn’t just Dottie’s arms wrapped around you, she wrapped you in her love too.
Her mother loved to draw, and taught Tristan. She still had some of the dresses her mother had made for her when she was growing up.
“That’s why you became a clothing designer.”
Tristan nodded. “She never used a store-bought pattern.” Tristan told him her mother would draw the dress, and then take it apart in her mind, drawing each piece on what would become her own hand-drawn pattern.
“I bet she’d be so proud of you.”
“I like to think she is. Sometimes I feel as though it isn’t my hand drawing. Or sometimes I look back through the pages, and I’ll see a design I don’t remember. I miss her so much, Bullet.”
He gathered her closer still. “I know you do, darlin’.”
Tristan was quiet for a while, but then said something Bullet didn’t expect.
“The bull rider, you know, the one who broke my heart. He was at the rodeo tonight.”
“I know.”
Tristan sat up. “How did you know?”
“He approached me. Introduced himself.”
“What else did he say?”
Bullet wasn’t sure whether to te
ll Tristan the full extent of their conversation, but decided that, with her, even white lies wouldn’t fly. “He said he knew you, and that you were somebody very special.”
Tristan looked up at the sky but didn’t speak. He could feel the tension in her shoulders.
“That’s all he said. I’m not sure if it was meant as a warning, or what.”
“I don’t know why he’s here. He didn’t enter the competition.”
After the cowboy walked away, Bullet had asked around. No one seemed to know who he was, or why he was behind the chutes. Except Buck.
“He’s a dirty rider,” Buck told him. “Glad to see he wasn’t entered here.”
“If he’s not entered, what’s he doin’ here? Cowboy Christmas and all.”
Buck told him he couldn’t say for sure, but he’d heard talk that there had been thefts at several of the rodeos where Harris Jones had been seen. No one could prove it was him, but he was definitely a suspect. “He’s down on his luck. Hasn’t ridden well at all for the last couple of years.”
“You think he’s casin’ this rodeo?”
“I can’t say, but why would a fella who’s been a contender in years past, not compete at every rodeo he could this time of year?”
Bullet agreed. It didn’t make sense. But then again, Buck didn’t know about Harris’ past relationship with Tristan. Maybe that was the real reason the cowboy was in town.
“Buck knew him,” Bullet finally said to Tristan. “Said he was dirty. Also said there’re folks who think he’s responsible for thefts at other rodeos he’s been to.”
Tristan shuddered. “How was I ever with him?”
Bullet could answer that, but wouldn’t. If he had, he would’ve said it was because he was charming, and women like Tristan were easy to read. She was an easy mark. Just enough spunk to be tough, but when it came to men, an innocent. Instead of the usual buckle bunnies, Tristan was a nice girl, a real cowgirl. A challenge. Guys like Harris preyed on girls like Tristan. There’d been a time Bullet was one of them, but not anymore. Tristan wasn’t his prey; she was his forever.
“Bullet?”