stood at the fence for a few minutes to watch the kids hanging on to the ewes’ fleece while the fractious sheep raced across the arena. There was no riding gear other than helmets for each child to wear, so they had to grab fists full of wool and just hope their feet didn’t slide too far to one side. Most ended up in the dirt in one or two seconds and half were crying when they were helped to stand, despite the applause from onlookers.
He’d never had the privilege of competing like this. If his big brother hadn’t taken him under his wing and taught him to ride, he might never have discovered how good he was or how much he loved rodeo. That was before Kirk had gotten involved with a bad crowd and started leaving him home to go out drinking; before he’d climbed behind the wheel of a car and died in a wreck blamed on drunk driving.
I should have told on him. Only I didn’t, did I? Ryan mused. Not that it would have made any difference. Their mother was always too busy working to pay much attention to her sons.
Ryan would probably have dropped out of high school if it had not been for the rodeo team and its coach. By the time he graduated, he was already winning local prizes. After that, it was just a matter of getting his seasoning on the road and finding his niche. He’d traveled with a couple of buddies until he’d saved up enough to buy a nice truck and strike out on his own. Now he preferred to go it alone. It was better that way. There were no scheduling conflicts to resolve and nobody minded if he won steadily, outearned his rivals and kept growing his bank account.
The first saddle broncs were already waiting in the chutes by the time he worked his way around the arena. Mutton busting was over and the winners were proudly waving their blue ribbons while the clown-face-painted bullfighters held them up to the accolades of the crowd.
Ryan spotted Bobbi Jo in the distance and raised a hand to wave. She responded with a smile and started toward him. She wasn’t his type, but she was a faithful friend, one who was always willing to loan him one of her spare horses if he needed a mount for the grand entry or, like today, for a parade. The fact that she had a small fortune invested in her horses made her generosity even more out of the ordinary.
“Need help pinning your number on?” she asked.
“No, I’ve got it. I took the vest off and did it myself.”
“Humph. I’d have thought you’d recruit your new girlfriend to do the honors.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. I barely know her.”
“Give it a week or so,” the pretty barrel racer said. “Then tell me you aren’t interested in her.”
“Not gonna happen,” Ryan insisted. “Julie’s roots are deep here. There’s no way she’d pull up stakes and follow me all over the country.”
“Why not? I do.”
“You’re not here because I am,” Ryan said flatly. “You’re here because this is the best prize money for time spent and you know it.” He purposely changed the subject. “I understand your practice runs were very good.”
“Not as good as they’ll have to be to beat the others. That older woman from Oklahoma is a racing fool. And her horse is part Arabian, so he never gets tired.”
“You’ll do fine,” Ryan assured her. “Just don’t knock over a barrel and pick up penalties.”
“Oh, sure. Like all you have to do is keep from getting bucked off and you’ll win, too.”
“It’s a start.” He chuckled. “I’ll try to watch your run while they’re getting the bulls moved up.”
“Thanks.”
As he left his friend, Ryan recalled how Julie had promised to pray for his success. It must be nice to believe in God so strongly that she could rely on the power of prayer rather than skill.
He had no such delusions. He was in the competition because he was good at what he did. That was all there was to it. And until he was either incapacitated or got too old to compete well, he was going to keep going. Keep traveling. Keep striving to be the best in the business and take home the biggest purses. Lack of interest in roping might keep him from ever winning all-around titles like Ty Murray had, but his riding would keep him in the spotlight, hopefully for years to come.
There was nothing more he could ask. Nothing else he wanted out of life, at least for the present.
In the back of his mind, a thought that was barely there asked, Really?
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