Road to Glory Read online

  She gazed at him as if he’d gone plumb loco. “You?” She glanced to Ralston and Parker as if hoping they might come over to save her.

  Travis silently followed her gaze, but with their backs turned, they couldn’t see her distress.

  “Sure, if you’d like to.” Her voice was edged with defeat.

  He waited as she unrolled the program she held clenched in her right hand. While she leafed through the pages, he took his time enjoying the view. Not tall or willowy, her head lay just below his shoulder. Glory Beebe had a naturalness about her that spoke of pure innocence.

  In contrast to the woman they’d passed earlier, she wore little makeup and didn’t bother to cover the sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks and upturned nose. His glance met hers when she looked up for a moment, and he was struck dumb by the intense blue that sparkled like expensive sapphires in some jeweler’s case. She tucked a loose strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear and sighed. Travis didn’t care if it took all afternoon to find the page. When she glanced at him again, his gut rose to his throat, only to plunge toward his boots in a dizzying freefall, and he knew he had to avoid her.

  A woman like this could be dangerous, could easily use her wiles to trap him just as his mother had done to his father. Three children later, she had pulled out, lock, stock, and barrel, taking up with some other man who offered her the stars. Thought of that bitter betrayal could still make bile rise in Travis’ throat. A long time ago he’d made the promise to himself that he had no intention of becoming a useless hulk of a man like his father. Narrowing his eyes, he pressed his firm lips to a thin line, determined not to think about her but to focus on what had brought him here—a job, and the chance to ride again.

  “Are you through staring?” The woman standing beside him blushed and looked toward the cattle winding their way into the chutes.

  “Sorry, Miss…” He hesitated at her name.

  “Beebe, Glory Beebe,” she repeated and flopped the magazine open. “Here he is.”

  He glanced down at the huge dun-colored bull in the photograph. “That’s your bull?”

  Glory Beebe cut him a heated glance. “Yes, that’s my bull. He’s got some of the finest bloodlines. We breed our rodeo stock to produce champions.”

  Travis’ glance was drawn to the list naming the bulls and heifers used in the breeding program. “These are some great bulls,” he murmured, reaching for the magazine. She let him take it and uttered another soft sigh of defeat.

  “Not that he’ll notice.” She nodded toward John Parker.

  Travis glanced over at the rodeo stockman as she took a step toward the rail. Parker’s dismissal must have stung; still, half of him couldn’t help but agree that breeding bulls for the rodeo belonged to men.

  Her voice drew him back to the conversation. “Look, you don’t have to stay with me. I can manage on my own. I’ve been raising bulls all my life. One day, someone will notice.” She reached to pull the program from his hand.

  “Naw, I got nothing better to do.” Easing back, he took a step and leaned his good hip against the rail. Staring out over the cowboys making ready in the ring for the upcoming events, he repeated what he’d heard earlier, without looking at her. “So, you raise cattle?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “What do you raise, just Brahmas?”

  She shook her head. “Along with the Brahmas, we have Herefords, and Angus beef cattle, with a few Quarter Horses mixed in.”

  They both turned their attention to the ring and watched a cowboy on a nice buckskin shake out a loop as he rode around the ring.

  Her next words astonished him.

  “I saw the accident in Portland.”

  He glanced back at her, and she dampened her lips, then took a breath. “I’m glad to see you’re up and about. It would be a shame to lose a good rider.”

  Her voice soothed the tension away like a summer’s wind, all soft and fresh, making his skin pucker in its warmth. Travis could have sworn the arena suddenly brightened. “Getting better every day, ma’am.” He tipped his hat to her and placed it on his head. “I appreciate the compliment, and I hope to be back riding before the end of July.” There, he thought, that should squash any thoughts to the contrary with these men standing around overhearing our conversation. Curious to see her reaction, he snuck a gaze in her direction. Instead of adoration, he was surprised to see a brow rise in doubt.

  “That would be good news,” she agreed. “I must admit, I didn’t think the doctors would clear you so soon or that you’d be back that fast.”

  Damn her to cut through the bull and get to the point. He ignored the realization that she spoke from the heart. Somewhere deep inside he found that a woman like Glory could also break his defenses faster than an eight-second ride.

  He let the silence fill the space between them. It felt awkward, and uncomfortable, as if everyone standing around heard her challenge and knew he was hedging on the truth.

  To his dismay, the cattleman who’d first introduced her took that moment to step closer, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Glory, honey, you need something?” His hand slid down to rest against the small of her back, as if declaring ownership.

  Travis shifted his gaze from Mitch Ralston’s to hers and watched Glory’s cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink.

  “No, I’m fine. We were just chatting,” she murmured, “about the bulls.”

  The lights blinked, signaling that it was time for everyone to find their seats. Travis touched his hat brim. “Good to meet you, Miss Beebe.”

  “I’ll be on the lookout for your bulls, Mitch Ralston. Nice to have met you, Miss Beebe. Hope we’ll get a chance to talk later,” John remarked, and with a turn he pointed across the aisle. “Travis, our seats are right over here.”

  With reluctance, Travis nodded and turned away with him.

  ****

  Glory stood rooted, watching Travis Hargrove take the seat on the aisle so he could stretch out his leg. Travis Hargrove, as I live and breathe. The girls down at the Hitching Post Cafe would never believe her. God, he is as luscious in person as in those jeans ads on the TV. The taut denim accentuated his narrow hips, and the jeans clung to the well-developed upper thigh muscles he used to help him keep his seat while an enraged beast danced and twisted beneath him. Still, the exercise certainly made for a nice-looking man, and Glory wasn’t embarrassed about looking. Oh, no, not at all. A longing sigh escaped her lips. However, she knew all too well how such infatuations ended.

  She fired a darting glance to the rancher beside her. Mitch had turned to speak to another cattleman and paid no attention to the sound that came from her. Good, because I have no need to explain to anyone what seems so natural to any woman. There was something to be said for the idea of being whisked off your feet by a knight in shining armor, the dream that was every little girl’s rite of passage, and she proved no exception. Lord, everyday fantasies come to life when there are men like him around. The only exception is he wears a cowboy hat instead of a helmet made of metal. Travis Hargrove more than fit the bill.

  The lights dipped once more. Glory moved to her seat, one row down and across from Travis. She settled in, wishing they weren’t so close to the rail. Seats farther back would have offered her an unrestricted view of the good-looking bull rider. Yet she’d come here for other purposes. Big John Parker played a large part in that. She needed some one-on-one time to talk him into offering her a contract for her bull to become part of the High Plains Rodeo Circuit.

  From there, it would be only a small step up to the big leagues, then their dream—her father’s and hers—would be fulfilled. Until now, John Parker hadn’t noticed her at all. She frowned. The introduction by Mitch hadn’t seemed to work, although the man had said something vague as they parted. She doubted her housekeeper’s suggestion of dropping a handkerchief would be any better. Not that she owned anything other than a blue bandana. Alma didn’t always have the right answer, though she came pretty close most of the time. Glory pursed her lips. She had to make more than just a passing effort.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” The voice over the loudspeaker, welcoming the crowd to the day’s events, broke into her thoughts. “We ask you to stand as Angel Davis presents our nation’s flag.”

  Glory rose to her feet, as did the rest of the crowd, while a woman in a blue-spangled shirt loped around the arena on a blood-red chestnut Quarter Horse, carrying the stars and stripes.

  “Your stallion looks great!” Mitch whispered. “I’d still like to breed some of my mares to him.”

  “We’ll talk later.”

  “I’m impressed you let Angel ride him.”

  Glory shrugged. “She asked, and I thought it might be good publicity.”

  “How nice of you, considering,” he replied.

  Glory pressed her lips tight to keep the words from tumbling out of her mouth. What purpose would it serve to hold a grudge? Angel was Angel. The daughter of her father’s old fly buddy, Mickey Davis, she was part of the ranch Glory had known since childhood. Mickey had been offered the job as foreman of the Glory B once he finished his tour of duty. Both he and his daughter were like family to her. And Glory knew families stuck together.

  Besides, what had happened with Jax was over and done. Angel didn’t need to pay for Jax Martin’s lack of self-control. Glory needed to move on and forget the hurt the incident had caused. “We need to put our best foot forward,” she remarked. “It’s not often we get big names from the rodeo circuit on our local level.”

  Mitch’s mouth turned down. He glanced over his shoulder. “No, they must be looking for something, if the pro circuit sent the likes of John Parker and Hargrove down.”

  She took the chance and stole another shy glance toward the bull r
ider. Gone were Travis’ shades. His hat now firmly clasped in his left hand with his cane, his right hand over his heart as he recited the Pledge of Allegiance along with the throng. A warm rush heated the pit of her belly. She felt the pounding of her blood rise to her cheeks as the idea of his mouth caressing hers came to mind.

  “Glory, you okay?”

  “Sure.” She quickly turned away. Now was not the time for a schoolgirl crush to suddenly rear its head. The oath over, they sat back down, Glory determined to forget the handsome man sitting behind her. If only it were that easy.

  Chapter Two

  Travis didn’t know which was worse, being down in the chutes or sitting just behind the pens able to smell the clay, the bulls, and the fertilizer they left behind. At one time the scent had been second nature to him. But now the stench made his skin crawl. He shifted uncomfortably in the seat. Squinting his eyes, he focused on the fans across the arena, doing his level best to ignore the terror welling up inside.

  Stay calm and remember to breathe. Using his tongue, he swiped his upper lip, surprised to taste the salt from the line of perspiration which formed there. Concentrate. Focus on what John Parker is saying. Steeling his mind against the action behind the chutes, he let John’s words fill his mind while attempting to ignore the heavy thump of his heart. Like it or not, each beat echoed like the toll of drums in a funeral march. The images of the crowd across the ring wavered; he blinked and brought them back into focus.

  “I’m glad you decided to come out today,” John was saying. “I was concerned you weren’t getting enough fresh air.”

  The muscles on Travis’ left cheek twitched. “Yeah, P.T. has kept me pretty busy. I’m just waiting on the doc for a release.”

  “How long has that cast been off now?” John asked.

  “About a month, maybe a bit longer.”

  Travis shifted his weight to relieve the throb that was beginning to make itself known. The pain radiated from a point above his ankle and moved along the calf of his leg with a deep burn, as if someone had an acetylene torch running along the muscles. He wished he’d brought one of the little pink pills that made the pain disappear. However, it had become too easy to rely on them; he needed to back off from them instead.

  Taking a deep breath, he did his best to ignore the urge to move. He had to appear calm, cool, and collected. Travis knew Parker’s attention would be focused on his actions, not the program in his hands. The rodeo association invested a lot in their riders and stock. If you couldn’t ride, you couldn’t earn points. No points equaled no pay. No pay meant no moving up. Caught in a no-win situation, he continued to wait for the doctor to release him. He heard Parker give a grunt of commiseration.

  “Been there, done that.” He sighed.

  Wanting to beat him to the punch, Travis spoke. “Look, this is prime rodeo season; you didn’t bring me here just to enjoy the show.” He gave a sidelong glance in hopes of catching a break in the stockman’s stoic expression. “What are you up to, Parker? If you’re worried about a certain bull rider and his ability to ride—”

  “Did I say I was worried?”

  Travis paused and gave his head a little shake. “No, John, you didn’t.”

  “Good. Then stop feeling sorry for yourself.” He added, with his trademark gruff growl, “I brought you here because I need a favor.”

  “Favor?” Travis blinked. He couldn’t hide the hesitation in his voice. John Parker was a man who made his own way by casting a tall shadow on all in his path. The word “favor” didn’t reside in his vocabulary.

  “Yeah.” John gave a nod. “I need a man who knows livestock and is willing to act as a buyer.”

  Travis felt his skin tingle, and not from the air conditioning. He dampened his lips and closed his eyes to the growing knot that gathered strength in the pit of his belly. When he didn’t object, John pushed on.

  “We’ve got a big Truck series that will need some fresh talent to challenge riders. I’m getting a might too old to wander from town to town, hopping red-eye flights. I’m offering you a real opportunity to get in on the ground floor. Maybe move up to management in a few years and get off this merry-go-round.”

  The knot grew tighter. Travis wanted to run. Instead, he heard himself ask, “So you thought of me?”

  John’s grey eyes turned to steel and bored into his. “Yeah, Travis, you.”

  Mouth dry, unable to think straight, he had to remind himself to swallow. He wanted to clean his ears out and ask him to repeat.

  “I’m not hearing the word no,” John remarked, slow and even.

  Travis watched as he closed his program and nodded toward the pens. “I need the best I can get, a man who can look a bull in the eye and tell what the critter is thinking. The fact that both you and your brother know good horseflesh as well puts you high on the list. To me, it sounds like a win-win situation.”

  Travis pressed his lips together until they became a thin straight line. Anger rattled his brain. He wanted the chance to ride, not be some castoff stray the rodeo thought needed a handout. He wasn’t ready to give up the gypsy in his soul or shake the wanderlust from his boots. “You got the wrong cowboy,” he replied with a shake of his head. Travis watched Parker’s brow arch.

  “Have I?”

  Suddenly, the state-of-the-art stadium felt more like a barbed wire pen. Trapped, Travis pictured himself leaning back in a chair, his feet propped up on the desk in some windowless office in a Wichita backroom. The image made him shudder. He wasn’t ready to become a desk jockey or a slave to paperwork and deadlines. Damn it, he was a cowboy. Travis drew a ragged breath before he spoke. “Look, John, um, I’ll admit I may be a bit busted up, but I’m not ready to hang up my spurs and become a suit. You’ll see; the doc’s gonna clear me any day now, and then I’ll be back riding.”

  “Sure you will.” When he didn’t reply, John Parker continued, “I’m not asking for forever; that’s the beauty of this. You can try it for a while. Let your leg heal. Once you’re better, you can go back to riding, and if not…”

  Travis held his breath. A pinch of pain rolled across his face. He was glad the lights were dim and John couldn’t see how deeply his words hurt.

  “And if not, well”—John gave a shrug of his shoulders—“you’d have a full time position to fall back on.”

  The bile hit the back of his throat, and he tried to wash it away, along with the uncertainty. Resentment built in his chest. The smooth tone of the words implied John didn’t expect to be turned down. The hackles on the back of Travis’ neck rose and matched his building dislike for the situation. “Who put you up to this?” he demanded in a low voice so those sitting around them wouldn’t hear his flare of anger. “Doc Walters?”

  “No one, son.” John shifted his feet, and Travis heard the leather of his boots creak as he leaned closer. “Look, have you given any thought to those bills?”

  Closing his eyes, Travis envisioned the growing stack on his kitchen table, most from hospitals, doctors, and the therapist. Sure he did. Every day brought another round of formal white envelopes, some marked Past Due. MRIs didn’t come cheap. His savings seemed to be dwindling faster than horned flies could suck blood from a steer’s head. However, male pride prevented him from saying so. “I’m getting by,” he lied. “Besides, I plan on riding soon, and…”

  John cut him off. “Look, boy, there’s not a cowboy who hasn’t been in your shoes. As much as you want to ride again this year, your season’s over.”

  A deep emptiness settled between Travis’ shoulder blades. His gut twisted as Parker’s words echoed. Your season’s over. His eyes focused on the red clay in the center of the arena, and he sat mute.

  “We both know the rodeo pays good money.” John voice brought his attention back to the conversation. “But how much of it did you save? Eight, maybe ten thousand?”

  Travis swallowed.

  “I know those medical bills must be higher, taking into account that rod in your leg.” John nodded toward the limb Travis had stretched straight. “The rodeo likes to take care of its own.” John’s voice softened. “Your sponsor has moved on, and that disability paycheck is mighty lean. You’re gonna need some income and something to get your mind off that leg till it heals good and proper.”