style="font-size:15px;"> She reached her goal and looked up just as the group of riders began to arrive, found the man she was searching for and stared directly at him, never dreaming he’d pay any mind to her unjustifiable interest.
Her sharp intake of breath sounded a lot like a gasp. Her jaw dropped. The cowboy’s glittering brown eyes were boldly meeting hers. She was captured as fully as if he’d dropped a lasso around her and pulled the loop tight to reel her in.
He inclined his head, touched the brim of his hat politely, smiled—and winked. At least she thought he did.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. She dearly hoped he’d winked on purpose. At her.
* * *
Ryan Travers was used to encountering rodeo groupies and had learned that the best ways to discourage them were to either face the problem boldly and announce that he wasn’t interested, or to avoid them entirely. In the case of this pretty admirer, he decided to adopt a wait-and-see attitude.
Besides, he thought, letting his grin widen, she was different somehow. Naive, maybe? She certainly looked it. Then again, looks could be deceiving. In a small community like Jasper Gulch the girls were likely to be… He started to think of derogatory terms, then abandoned them in favor of simply enjoying the view.
The rider beside him inclined the brim of her pink Stetson. “Heads up, Travers. You have an admirer. The one in the bright blue shirt.”
“I noticed. Kinda cute, too.”
“If you like sheep.”
“Beg your pardon?” He knew Bobbi Jo was competitive in the arena, but he had no idea she carried that attitude over into her personal life. “What have you got against her? You don’t even know her.”
“Matter of fact, I met one of her brothers yesterday and he pointed her out. She was helping decorate the fairgrounds’ picnic area. She actually does raise sheep.”
“Here? Why?”
“Apparently for their wool. She’s got some kind of internet business selling yarn or some such thing. Sounds pretty dull.”
Ryan huffed. “Sounds downright suicidal to me. Sheep in cattle country? How does she get away with it?”
“It might help that her daddy is Jackson Shaw, the town mayor and owner of the largest ranch in this part of Montana. I guess he can afford to designate some of his pasture land to his little girl’s sheep ranching.”
“Ah, I see.” Too bad, he added to himself. The lovely young woman seemed hospitable enough, but chances were her well-to-do parents wouldn’t welcome an itinerant cowboy into her life, any more than the old-time ranchers had a hundred years ago, back when Jasper Gulch was founded.
Bright sunlight peeked between the flat facades of the commercial buildings, temporarily blinding him. When he looked back for the auburn-haired sheep rancher, she had gotten lost in the sea of similar cowboy hats.
He stood in the stirrups of the barrel-racing horse he’d borrowed from Bobbi Jo’s string and scanned the onlookers for a bright blue shirt. There was no sign of the young woman.
The horse instantly reacted to his change of balance, prancing as if getting ready to race into an arena and compete.
By the time Ryan got the fractious horse under control, the riders had crossed Massey Street and were on their way out of town to the fairgrounds.
What shocked him most was his clear disappointment over losing sight of the mayor’s daughter. Try as he might, he could not shake the feeling that they would meet again.
Matter of fact, he assured himself, he would see that they did, one way or another.
* * *
Children on bikes decorated with red, white and blue crepe-paper streamers followed the main part of the parade, taking care to dodge the droppings the horses had left behind. Julie had recruited members of the local 4-H club to follow and clean the street. That was one of the jobs she’d volunteered for years back when she was a member, and she saw no reason to abandon a tradition that helped build character.
That notion made her smile. It was her membership in 4-H and, later, Future Farmers, which had eventually led to her current career, and she was truly grateful. Raising sheep for wool was not only lucrative, it was rewarding in emotional ways. Seeing those tiny lambs struggling to their feet for the first time was akin to watching a sunrise on a summer day. Those woolly babies were a new beginning, new life, always bringing waves of joy as well as making her feel connected to the land, to nature, in a very basic way.
The rumble of an ATV approaching behind her caused Julie to step aside. It stopped next to her and the driver tipped his battered Western hat. “Howdy, Miss Julie. Like my new camo-painted Mule?”
Seeing ninety-six-year-old Rusty Zidek traveling via anything other than a horse or his dented antique Jeep struck her funny, but she managed to keep from giggling. “Hi, Rusty. I know that thing is called a Mule but it’s still a surprise to see a veteran cowhand like you behind the wheel.”
“Compliments of your daddy.” The grizzled old man’s grin crinkled his leathery skin, lifted the corners of his bushy gray mustache and exposed one gold tooth among his others. “He made me traffic manager and gave me these wheels. Pretty spiffy, huh?”
“Absolutely. We’ll need your help a lot with all the visitors in town. Parking at the fairgrounds is bound to be a nightmare.”
“Not with me in charge, it ain’t. I got me a bunch of retired yahoos with nothin’ better to do and put ’em to work directin’ traffic.”
Julie chuckled. “Good for you.”
“How’s about a ride? Or did you bring your truck?”
“No. I hitched into town with Dad so I wouldn’t add to all the extra traffic.” She stepped in and settled on the bench seat next to the bony nonagenarian. “Much obliged.”
“No problem, ma’am. Where to?”
“The picnic grounds, I guess.”
Julie was sorely tempted to ask him to drop her near the encampment where some of the rodeo participants had grouped their trailers, but quickly thought better of it. Competition was scheduled to last for three weekends. There was no hurry finding out who anybody was.
She huffed, then glanced at Rusty, hoping he hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t just anybody she wanted to learn more about. It was that cowboy who had smiled and winked at her during the parade.
And the first thing she’d need to learn, she reminded herself, was whether or not he was with someone, namely the gorgeous cowgirl in the pink Stetson. If he was spoken for, Julie figured she might as well go home and card wool or rake the barn. There was no way she could hope to compete with a blonde, shapely woman who looked as if she were Miss Rodeo America, or recently had been.
Man, that was a depressing thought, she countered, disgusted for having entertained it. Either she believed her life was in God’s hands or she didn’t. It was that simple. And that complicated. The hardest part of trusting her faith completely was making sure she stayed out of the Lord’s way instead
