The Cowboy (39 page)

Two hazers were riding through the herd, allowing
Trace and Callie to evaluate how the cattle responded to a horse and rider.

Choosing which cow to cut was always a risky business, but it could mean the difference between winning and losing. No system was foolproof, but Trace pointed out which cows eyeballed a horse before moving calmly away from it, as opposed to those that squirted through the herd in a panic.

“That cow with the white spot on his tail is a runner. Stay away from him,” Trace warned.

Callie nodded without speaking.

He gestured with his chin. “That bald-faced, ring-eyed cow looks like a good bet, and you might try that motley cow with the red eyebrow.”

“Hmm,” Callie replied, as she focused on the cow with the multicolored face.

Trace marveled at how calm she seemed. He could feel the electricity in the arena. Normally, competing later was an advantage, since the judges tended to be conservative on their scores for the first cutters. But tonight they’d witnessed something extraordinary. The number eleven cutter had just received the highest score ever given in the Open Futurity.

Each contestant started with 70 points, and the five judges gave scores ranging between 60 and 80, deducting or adding points depending on the quality of the ride. The highest and lowest scores were thrown out, and the sum of the other three provided the rider’s score. It was rare to earn more than 220 points. The eleventh rider had gotten 233.

The cutter had known it was a great ride, and he hadn’t even waited for the judges to post their scores before he’d
let out a yell and thrown his hat high into the air in jubilation.

“You don’t have to win the competition to get the money I promised,” Trace reminded Callie. “You just have to be in the top ten.”

“I know,” she snapped back.

It was almost a relief to see a sign of nerves from her. “How are you doing?” he asked quietly.

She managed something between a grimace and a smile and said, “Fine.” Her gaze returned almost immediately to the arena, where the hazers continued riding slowly through the cattle, sending them in whirling eddies, like currents moving around a stone in a stream.

Trace felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find his sister squatting in the aisle behind them.

“Just wanted to wish you both luck,” Summer said.

“Thanks, Summer,” Trace replied for both of them.

“Some pretty good riding in the first half of the finals,” Summer said, pointing out the obvious.

Trace glanced at Callie, but she seemed oblivious to his sister’s presence. “Yeah.”

“Still think Callie can make it into the top ten?” Summer asked.

Trace turned to look at his sister and realized she was nervous. “Would it be such a huge disaster if you had to go back to school?” he teased.

She said a word he knew nice girls shouldn’t use.

“Callie’s good, Summer. She’s got Smart Little Doc in great shape to compete. My advice is, keep your fingers crossed.”

“I will. Good luck, Callie,” she said, patting Callie on the shoulder.

Callie made a sound in her throat, but never took her eyes off the cattle in the arena.

When Summer was gone, Trace focused his gaze on Callie. “It wouldn’t have hurt you to acknowledge her.”

“I’m busy. Why should she care, anyway, whether I win or lose?”

“If you’re not in the top ten, she has to go back to college and graduate.”

Callie smiled and shook her head. “For her sake, I wish I didn’t need to win. College is important.”

“Does it bother you not to have a degree?” Trace asked.

Callie hesitated, then said, “It wasn’t missing out on the degree, so much as the loss of choices. One day I could have been anything, done anything. The next …” She shrugged.

Trace stared at her, wondering what she might have done with her life, if he hadn’t left her behind, alone and pregnant. Then he remembered that her brother had been paralyzed at the same time. Her choices might very well have ended even without the pregnancy.

The competition had begun again, with the first cutter riding his horse ever so slowly into the herd. Trace glanced at the five judges sitting in the raised booths, decorated with Christmas poinsettias, that split the arena in half. The back half of the arena was used as a warm-up area, and the next rider was already loping his horse there.

Trace watched with Callie as the competing horse lost a step on the cow. “That’ll cost him,” Trace murmured.

But it was the only mistake in a nearly flawless performance. The score was high. Callie was going to need a good ride to make the top ten.

“Ready to go?” Trace asked.

Callie stood. “Yeah. Might as well get Smart Little Doc warmed up.”

Trace was going to act as a hazer for Callie, keeping the cattle bunched while she was working, and he stepped out with her and headed downstairs to the stalls where they’d left their mounts.

Trace felt jittery and realized he wasn’t sure how things were going to turn out. Callie was good, but the quality of the horses in the competition was phenomenal. If Callie lost, and his father refused to continue supporting the breeding operation, he could always invite Dusty Simpson to come work for him in Australia. But Dusty and Lou Ann had strong family ties in Texas, and he hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.

Trace was also aware of how much it would mean to Callie—and to him—if she had the extra $100,000 he’d promised her if she made it into the top ten. Maybe if the Creeds had a little financial cushion, Callie would find the courage to leave Three Oaks and come with him.

He and Callie rode together to the warm-up pen just as the number sixteen rider completed his cut. They watched together as the number seventeen rider chose the bald-faced, ring-eyed cow and then cut the motley-faced cow. His score was as high as any rider who’d preceded him.

Trace said, “Guess you’ll have to go with that black-tailed cow and the red-faced cow with the white ear.”

Callie nodded without speaking.

When her number was announced, Trace met her eyes and smiled. “You can do it.” He left her behind as he rode into the arena to replace one of the hazers.

He watched from the arena as she performed her personal
competitive ritual—tugging her hat down and patting Smart Little Doc’s neck—before she nudged her horse into the arena.

Trace kept one eye on the cattle bunched at the end of the arena and the other focused on Callie. She went deep first to cut the black-tailed cow.

It was as though there were strings attached between Smart Little Doc and the black-tailed cow. Whenever the cow turned, Smart Little Doc turned. He sat down on his haunches and stalked the cow like a cat stalking a mouse.

The crowd went wild. Trace’s stomach did a few leaps and turns of its own.

When the black-tailed cow paused and stared in consternation, Callie turned away and went looking for the second animal she was required to cut. The cow with one white ear was too deep for her to get to, and Trace wondered what other animal she would choose. He watched as she found another motley-faced cow and separated it from the herd.

Trace couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t remember whether the mot was a runner. He didn’t remember noticing the cow at all when they were doing their survey. He took his eyes off Callie for a second to turn his horse into the herd and keep it compacted.

And heard the crowd roar.

Nose to nose. Shoulder to shoulder. Eye to eye. Smart Little Doc’s tail whipped out behind him as he whirled and turned. Dirt flew as he lunged to stay with the calf. Above it all, Callie sat deep in the saddle, gripping the horn, the reins hanging loose in her hands.

When the buzzer sounded to indicate her time was up,
Callie didn’t do anything so exuberant as throw her hat. She patted Smart Little Doc—and smiled at Trace.

Trace’s heart leapt to his throat and stuck there.

He heard the crowd roaring again and turned to look at the scoreboard. 234. He looked for his father in the stands. When he found him, he touched the brim of his hat and grinned. He saw Summer put her fingers to her lips and whistle shrilly, before she grinned and waved at him.

He caught up to Callie in the area beyond the warm-up ring. She was already off Smart Little Doc and had her face pressed against the horse’s mane, her arms around his neck.

Trace touched her shoulder, and she turned and threw herself into his arms. He lifted her high into the air and grinned up at her smiling, tear-streaked face. “You did it, Callie. You did it!”

“I did, didn’t I,” she said, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “Although Smart Little Doc deserves a bit of the credit.”

“You’re both immortal,” he said. “That’s a score that isn’t going to be bested for a long, long time.”

“I bet somebody said the same thing to the number eleven cutter,” Callie said with a laugh.

Trace set her down and hugged her tightly against him. “Yeah. But you know I’m right. There couldn’t be a more perfect ride. Or a more perfect rider.”

Callie didn’t say anything, simply smiled up at him through her tears. He leaned down to kiss her, and their lips clung. Trace held Callie close to his heart, knowing that with the end of the competition, their time together
was growing short. He wished he knew the words that would entice her to come with him.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

He waited for her to say the words back to him. Before she could, they were surrounded by Summer and Owen and Blackjack, and Callie stepped out of his embrace.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Summer said excitedly as she gave Callie a hug. “You saved my life!”

“I didn’t realize—”

In her excitement, Summer cut Callie off. “Now I can stay at Bitter Creek.” She shot a triumphant look at Blackjack. “Where I belong.”

“That was quite a ride, young lady,” Blackjack said, tipping his hat to Callie.

“Thank you,” Callie said, her body visibly stiffening as Blackjack put a hand on her shoulder.

“Congratulations, Callie,” Owen said, stepping between the two of them and offering Callie his hand.

Callie took it reluctantly and let it go as soon as she could.

Trace could tell Callie was losing her composure under such an onslaught of Blackthornes, but he wasn’t going anywhere until he heard the words of concession, the admission by his father that he’d lost their bet.

“Well, son,” Blackjack said, tipping his hat up with a forefinger. “Guess you won this one.”

“Of course he did,” Summer said with a grin. “I told you he would.”

“Although I can’t say I’m sorry,” Blackjack continued, ignoring Summer’s interruption. “That friend of yours, that Dusty, is a man who knows his horses.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Dad.”

“Well, little lady, I guess the two of you will be leaving soon for Australia.”

“What Trace does is up to him,” Callie replied stiffly. “I’ll be staying at Three Oaks.”

Trace felt his heart sink. Well, he had his answer. She didn’t love him. Not enough. “I guess it’ll just be me and Eli leaving after the holidays,” Trace said quietly.

Callie leapt into the saddle and spurred Smart Little Doc back toward the arena. Trace reached out to stop her, but she reined the horse out of his reach. He realized she was responding, in part, to the announcement on the PA system.

Smart Little Doc had won the Open division of the World Championship Futurity.

“W
HY CAN
’
T
I
TELL MY FAMILY WE
’
RE MAR
-ried? You’ve told yours,” Callie argued. “It can’t remain a secret much longer. Christmas is next week. Eli isn’t going to like you any more next week than he does now, unless you’re planning to bribe him with more expensive gifts.”

Callie saw Trace flinch and knew she’d hit below the belt. She didn’t care if she was fighting dirty. This was a battle she needed to win. “Don’t take Eli away from me, Trace.”

She watched as he lifted his hat to thrust a hand agitatedly through his hair, then resettled the Stetson low on his forehead. There wasn’t much light in the barn, just what little made it through the seams of ancient wood and the open door at the other end of the barn. Dust motes drifted aimlessly in the narrow streams of sunlight.

“Eli is my son, too, Callie. It’s not as though he won’t have a good life in Australia. I’m sorry if it means taking him away from you and Hannah, but—”

“What’s he talking about, Mom?”

Callie gasped as Eli stepped out from the shadows of a
shoulder-high stack of baled hay. His face was ashen, his eyes wide with shock. She felt her gut wrench, the way it did when Eli came to her with a skinned knee or a scraped elbow. Only this wound was much, much worse.

She reached out to him, but he took a quick step back. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way, Eli.”

Her son turned to stare at Trace. “Then it’s true? You’re my father?”

Trace nodded.

“Is that other part true, too?” Eli demanded. “That part about taking me to Australia with you and leaving Mom and Hannah behind?”

“I’d like to explain about that,” Trace said.