The Cowboy Way. Christine Wenger
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of the tour would be crucial. Just one more World Finals in Vegas…
“It’s fine with me if he calls me Jake, and you, too, ma’am. We’re not formal here.”
Kevin finally released his hand. “What’s wrong, Jake? You in pain? It was Scooter who stomped on your legs, right?”
“Scooter got me pretty good in Oklahoma City, but I think the worst came from Prickly Pear way back at the Billings event. White Whale made it worse in Loughlin. But I’ll be okay.”
“Just another day at the office. Right?”
He choked back a laugh. “Right, Kevin.”
Jake felt uncomfortable talking about himself. Besides he had no business talking about his minor injuries when the boy was in a wheelchair.
He hadn’t read all the files yet, so he didn’t know Kevin’s history. His folks were sticklers about keeping a file on each kid enrolled in the Wheelchair Rodeo program. Everyone who worked with the kids was expected to read each one. Then they’d be turned over to his pal, Dr. Mike Trotter, the resident physician for the week, for his review.
“Shall we head over to pick up your gear?” Jake stepped around to push Kevin’s chair, and Beth was more than willing to give it up.
She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
“You look tired,” Jake said, heading for the baggage claim area.
“It was a long flight.”
“Arizona’s pretty far away. Pretty country, though. Their rodeo is the best, but I’ve been there a couple other times too.”
“Really, Jake?”
Beth gave Kevin a nudge on the shoulder. “See? Arizona’s not so boring. Jake Dixon likes it.”
“Yeah,” Kevin said.
Pieces of luggage were starting their trip on the rubber conveyer belt, and people rushed to claim a spot along its path. There was no room for a wheelchair and two more people.
“We’re in no rush. Right?” Jake asked.
“Not at all. We’re on vacation,” Beth said with a long sigh.
It was a long way to travel, but her weariness seemed more bone deep than it should have been just from the flight. She could use some color in her cheeks and some sweet Wyoming air, and maybe some good old-fashioned rocking on the front porch of her cabin.
“Well, if it ain’t Jake Dixon.”
Jake spun around in the direction of the deep, booming voice. Harvey Trumble, editor of the Wyoming Journal, stood with two suitcases in hand and the usual grimace on his face.
Everyone within earshot turned to stare, including Beth and Kevin.
Just his luck. “Go catch your plane, Harvey. Now’s not a good time.”
Harvey dropped his suitcases and clenched his fists.
Shoot. Jake didn’t want to fight the man. Not with the kid so close, watching his every move and looking at him as if he were some kind of hero. Besides, Harvey had a good fifty pounds on him, and even though Jake was younger, he couldn’t risk a new injury.
“I have things to do, Harvey. I’m not looking for a fight.”
“You gotta be drunk to fight me, Jake? Like you were when you almost killed my boy?”
Jake glanced over at the two arrivals. Kevin’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Beth stared at him as if rattlers were sprouting from his ears. She stepped in front of Jake, took the handles of Kevin’s chair and wheeled him to the far end of the luggage belt.
Jake grabbed Harvey’s arm and yanked him out the front door of the airport, away from most of the crowd.
“Like I told you before, Harvey, Keith had his hands all over a young lady, who told him to stop no less than three times.”
Jake had to calm down before he punched him. If he hit him, Harvey would see to it that it was front-page news. Just like the article he wrote about how Jake’s sponsors were dropping him faster than an eight-second ride.
Jake dodged his wild punch. “C’mon, Harvey. Not now.”
“You didn’t have to break my boy’s arm.”
“I didn’t. I admit that I punched Keith after he took a swing at me. But then it turned into a big free-for-all. Someone hit him on the head with a beer bottle. When he fell, he broke his arm. Keith is okay. He’s getting a lot of sympathy and still managing to paw the ladies at the Last Chance, even with one arm in a cast.”
Harvey pushed Jake out of his way.
“You’re nothing but a has-been!” Harvey yelled. “You’re a drunk, Jake Dixon, and you hurt my boy.” Not taking his eyes off Jake, he backed up to the automatic doors of the airport and went inside.
It was then that Jake noticed Beth and Kevin outside. They both stared at him. Beth’s face was ghostly white, her lips pinched. Kevin was motionless in his chair, so unlike the animated, excited boy who’d got off the plane.
“Sorry you had to hear that,” Jake said, feeling lower than the stuff he scraped off his boots. He didn’t know exactly what they’d heard, except for Harvey’s parting slam.
“Maybe we should take a taxi to the ranch.” Beth’s words faded into the air, then she stood tall and raised her chin. “I’m sorry if this offends you, Mr. Dixon, but I have to ask. Have you been drinking? Kevin and I will not be riding with anyone who has been drinking.”
“I haven’t been drinking,” Jake said softly, meeting her eyes.
“Mom, he’s Jake Dixon. Jake Dixon! He doesn’t do stuff like that.”
The adoration was back in the kid’s eyes, but Jake sure as hell didn’t feel like a hero.
“My truck’s right there.” He nodded in the direction of his black half-ton pickup. “It’s a good hour-and-a-half ride to the Gold Buckle over some pretty rough roads. The taxis won’t make the trip out there.” He still saw the disbelief in her eyes. “Ma’am, I haven’t been drinking.”
She touched Kevin’s hair protectively. “I made a mistake once before.” After a long, hard, evaluating look into Jake’s eyes, she said, “All right, Mr. Dixon. All right. I’m going to believe you—unless I find out otherwise.”
“Please call me Jake.”
“I’d rather not.”
Chapter Two
W hat am I doing? Beth thought as she looked out the truck window at the tall green grass. Cattle dotted the pastures, and mountains loomed in the distance just like they did around Lizard Rock, Arizona.
With one elbow stuck out the window and the other hand draped casually over the wheel, Jake drove down what seemed like an endless highway, patiently answering Kevin’s infinite number of questions.
She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He had a strong jaw and a trace of beard that made him look a little like an outlaw. Long, strong legs were packed into tight, worn jeans, and he wore a crisp, white long-sleeved shirt with the top three buttons undone. He wore a gold buckle, almost as big as a saucer, on his belt.
He looked just like the posters and pictures that were hanging from every free space in Kevin’s tiny room. Because she’d read every article about him for the past several years, she felt like she knew him, inside and out.
She had always thought he was handsome, but she hadn’t been prepared for how masculine and virile he was in person. She had never realized that his blue eyes glittered like the turquoise sky above, or that his low, rich voice would make every bone in her body vibrate.
From the top of his hat to the