A Bridge Unbroken (A Miller's Creek Novel) (40 page)

He released a soft chuckle. “Dagnabbit, woman, don’t stare at me that way.”

“What way?”

“Like I’m from another planet.”

“Well, sometimes I think you are.” She laid her head back against his chest, the beating of his heart yet another reminder of all she stood to lose. “How can you be glad about God not being fair?”

“I think you already know the answer to that question if you think about it long enough.” He spoke the words firmly and then grew quiet.

One corner of her mouth lifted. Good gravy, but he knew her too well. Knew her well enough to know that her tendency to live inside her head would take over and force her to think through his words. The room was bathed in a complete hush except for the steady beeping racket, like a clock ticking away precious seconds, she turned over the comment in her brain. It was true. God wasn’t fair, but He was always right, even in circumstances so monstrous they threatened to sweep her away.

Mona Beth carefully reached for a nearby tissue to swab her drippy nose. If God was fair, no one stood a chance. It was only His mercy that allowed another breath, another beat of the heart, the gift of salvation and eternal life. She released a shuddering breath. No, God wasn’t fair by human standards, but He had reasons for everything and could bring good out of even the most heinous trials. “Okay, you win.”

“Well at least you finally let me win one.”

In spite of her heavy heart, a sniffling giggle escaped. She propped the weight of her head on her hand, leaning on one elbow to stare into the soft brown eyes she loved so much. “You know me better than that. If you won, it’s because you won fair and square. I’ve never let anyone win in my entire life.”

His face wrinkled in merriment at her words. “Boy, do you have that right.” Bo’s features softened, and his eyes took on a distance which revealed a momentary journey to the past. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw you ride.”

* * *

July 1963

Careful not to dislodge the red, white and blue rodeo banner that hung there, Bo Miller swung one leg over the wooden fence at the Miller’s Creek fair and rodeo grounds, shifted his weight, then pulled the other leg over and sat, resting the heels of his boots on a lower rung. What could be better than spending the fourth of July before his senior year in high school at the Miller’s Creek rodeo and fair grounds with his best buddies? By this time next year, he’d be getting ready to leave for college where he hoped to get an education to help him build the family ranch. He imagined himself wearing his letter jacket on a tree-studded campus with a pretty girl hanging from each arm.

He was shaken from his reverie as J.C. and Vernon settled on the fence to his right, while Coot huffed and puffed to his left, finally able to haul his more-than-ample weight over the top. The wooden rails creaked and wobbled beneath them.

Bo gripped the fence tighter and waited for the swaying to stop. “Man, Coot. Lay off the double-decker cheeseburgers at the Dixie Maid, would ya? Without football practice to keep your weight in check, you’re gonna outweigh the rest of us before summer’s over.”

The rodeo speaker blared Buck Owens’ Act Naturally, as Coot patted his ever-growing pot belly. “Just more of me to love.”

All of them laughed, the sound quickly lost in the hubbub of the crowd. His best buddy Vernon elbowed scrawny J.C., who probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty soaking wet. “Whatcha think, J.C.? Think we should place a wager on that?” He drawled out the words in typical fashion and then returned to chomping on his bubble gum.

J.C. grinned and ducked his head. “Nah. I might lose weight over the summer.”

Laughter again burst forth and J.C. turned pink.

“Always the diplomat, huh, J.C.?” Bo slapped him on the back to show he was just teasing. J.C. Watson, the son of Levi Watson, the owner of the town’s only drugstore, never had an unkind word to say about anybody. They just didn’t make guys any nicer.

Satisfaction swirling within, Bo breathed in deeply. The tempting aromas of hot dogs, Texas chili, and popcorn mingled together, a good cover-up for the normal scents of the rodeo grounds.

The rodeo speakers crackled with static, and Coot’s dad’s voice boomed, “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now time for the barrel racers, girl’s division. Let’s give all the gals a hand as they make a trot around the arena.” A smattering of applause broke out and a few people rose to their feet to call out encouragement to their favorite riders.

Vernon pointed toward the lead horse, a massive Appaloosa. “That’s the one I’m picking to win. Just look at the haunches on that horse.” The animal kicked up dirt, and the hot Texas wind blew it their direction, quickly lining his nostrils with grit and a dusty smell.

A reddish-brown quarter horse much smaller than the others took up the rear of the pack, and a low rumble of snickers erupted from the crowd.

One fellow, obviously operating with one too many under his belt, wobbled to his feet, pointing and laughing. “Is that the rodeo clown?”

Those around him guffawed along with the rest of the throng, but quickly pulled the man to a sitting position.

The tiny girl atop the horse apparently heard the comment, because as she rounded the curve she peered up at him and pulled her horse to a stop. She stared him down a minute longer, and then brought a hand up to tip her straw cowboy hat before she resumed the trot. This only made the audience howl louder.

“Atta girl. Show him what you’re made of.” Beside him, J.C. muttered the words under his breath.

Bo’s forehead wrinkled beneath the brim of his hat. “You know her?”

“Yep. That’s Mona Beth Adams, Cecille’s little sister.”

“Cecille? The Cecille in our class who’s always hanging around making goo-goo eyes at me?”

“Yep.” He glanced at Bo. “And before long, everyone in this arena is gonna know her little sister’s name.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

J.C. nodded his head toward Cecille’s younger sister who now approached them. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Hi, J.C.” The petite girl with long blonde hair flashed a brilliant smile as she passed.

“Hey, Mona Beth.”

“They grow ‘em a little small down on the farm, don’t they?” Coot trumpeted the words in his usual style and then dissolved into a fit of his unmistakable wheezing laughter.

The Adams girl reined the horse to an abrupt stop. Then, in an unexpected move, she turned the horse in a half circle and sauntered back until she sat right below Coot. She yanked on the reins to bring her mount to a halt, leaned forward to rest a hand on the saddle horn, and used the other hand to push the brim of her hat higher on her forehead. “Maybe so,” she answered, before eyeing him up and down with the most intense blue eyes Bo had ever seen. “Which tells me you definitely didn’t come from a farm.”

Coot grew unusually quiet, and his face reddened.

“Ooh. Guess she told you,” spouted Vernon with a laugh from his perch at the other end of the fence.

Bo and J.C. sniggered softly. Even Coot, his face still beet red, managed a slight chuckle, his eyes now exuding respect.

But the girl returned only a tight-lipped smile and tipped her hat before she turned and galloped from the arena. The horse’s hooves pounded the ground and sent up clumps of red soil.

Fascinated by the morning’s rodeo event, Bo watched girl after girl make their run on the barrels. The big Appaloosa and his rider turned out not to be so great. They knocked over two of the three barrels with too-sharp turns and brought boos from the stands. By the time they reached the end of the pack, the rider with a gorgeous Palomino like his own Buttercup held the record, with a time of sixteen seventy-three.

“And now our last barrel racer, Miss Mona Beth Adams, from right here in Miller’s Creek, riding her horse Daisy.”

In a flash, the little mare thundered into the arena, headed for the first barrel, a thick cloud of red dust behind her. The girl’s knee came perilously close to the barrel as the horse leaned to an almost horizontal position on the first turn. The crowd, now quieter than they’d been all day, leaned forward in their seats, totally mesmerized with the way the girl and horse rode as one.

“Go, girl, go,” whispered J.C.

Though the Adams girl had clamped her legs around the horse’s mid-section on the turn, she now straightened them and used their force to spur her horse on faster. On the second turn, the horse leaned in so close the girl’s left boot almost dragged the ground. But as she raced for the final barrel, something went very wrong. Shoes thudded against the wooden bleachers as people jumped to their feet.

Bo squinted against the white-hot July sun and focused on the horse’s mouth. The bridle must have broken. The bit dropped to the ground as horse and rider hurled at lightning speed toward the last barrel.

His heart moved to his throat, the muscles in his legs taut as he braced himself for the possibility that he might have to jump in the ring to help. A collective gasp sounded from the throng, followed by a low murmur as people pointed toward the center of the arena.

The feisty blonde leaned closer to her mare’s neck and grabbed hold of the mane with both fists. They careened in perfect alignment around the third barrel. As the little horse tore up the soil on her way out of the arena, the people in the stands went crazy with their hoots and hollers.

“Wow!” Coot’s dad shouted the word. “Mona Beth Adams just busted not only a bridle, but the record for the night. Her time is half a second under the closest time at sixteen twenty-three!” Again the bleachers went wild as all the riders returned to the arena to be recognized.

Bo couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mona Beth Adams, who seemed to take even this moment of glory in stride. She took time to shake hands with each of her competitors and then waved at the crowd with that sunshine smile of hers. No one would ever know by looking at her that her life had been in serious danger just moments before. Never in all his life had he seen a girl handle a horse that way.

After receiving her first place medal, the petite blonde, still atop her horse with her hair flowing out from under her hat, made a quick jaunt over to where Bo sat with his friends. She pulled the horse up short, just shy of where Coot rested, and looked him square in the eye, her chin jutted out. “As you can see, small doesn’t equate with slow. You might wanna remember that before you pop off and spout the first idiotic words that come to mind.” Without another word, she turned and trotted toward the exit gate.

Bo caught her eye as she passed, but she sent him the same look of disdain she’d just given Coot. The only person she spoke to on her way out was J.C., who now wore a grin as big as Texas. He allowed his eyes to trail her until she disappeared from view, and then slapped a hand on J.C.’s back. “You planning on asking her to be your girl?”

His friend eyed him like he’d gone nutso. “Nah. She’s too young. Besides, knowing her, she’s probably not looking for a boyfriend anyway. Why?”

He rose to his feet and straddled the wooden fence, his eyes trained on the spot where he’d seen her last. “Cause if you don’t, I’m goin’ to.”

Vernon stood also and popped him on the head with the palm of his hand. “That is the stualpidest idea I ever heard come outta your mouth, Miller.”

Bo rubbed the spot Vernon had pounded with a little too much force. His friends’ expressions ranged from incredulity to disdain. They obviously felt the same as his best friend, but only Vernon had the courage to express it. “Why’s it stupid?”

“How long do you have?” His friend’s green-eyed gaze never wavered. “First of all, since when have you been a baby snatcher? Second, you have less ‘n a year until graduation and college. Third, your mama and daddy’ll never go for it. Fourth—”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture.”

A familiar voice sounded from below. “Well, well, if it’s not Bo Miller.” He looked down just as Cecille Adams and a couple of other girls from their class stalked up, all holding ice cream cones.

“Hey.” For some reason she’d bobbed her hair and done up her eyes like Liz Taylor in Cleopatra. He craned his neck to see if he could catch another glimpse of the little mare and her tough-as-nails rider. “You ride horses, Cecille?”

A haughty laugh fell from her heavily made-up lips. “Me? Not hardly. Why would I wanna mess up my hair on the back of a sweaty and smelly animal?” She took a step forward. “Come on down here and talk to me. Or do I have to come up there?”

Normally, he would’ve stayed put. He had no interest in Cecille Adams, or her type for that matter. But he had another plan in mind, the seed of which had just taken root in his brain, so he swung his other leg over the top of the fence and dropped to the ground in front of her.

A feline-like smile curved her lips as she stepped closer, the scent of her painful perfume preceding her. “Wanna ride the Ferris wheel with me?” She purred the words somewhat seductively.

“Maybe, but first I’d like to meet that little sister of yours.”

“Mona Beth?” Now she eyed him like he’d grown horns. “Whatever for?”

“I like her horse.” From the fence behind him his friends snickered.

She narrowed her eyes to tiny slits. “If I take you to see her horse will you win me a stuffed animal at the carnival midway?”