Dixon had paid him more attention in those five minutes than Kevin’s own father had in a week.
After that, the rodeo became an annual event and Kevin got three more autographed programs, had three more conversations with Jake and got three more bandanas.
Then the accident happened, and it seemed that whenever the Tucson Rodeo was scheduled, so was another operation.
During one of his hospital stays, Kevin had seen Jake being interviewed on TV. On a whim, Beth had e-mailed Jake’s fan club, explained the situation and asked if they’d send an autographed picture of Jake to Kevin at the hospital. They did just that. They also sent him a western shirt, the one he had on today.
“Be tough, Kevin. Cowboy up!” Jake had written with a black felt pen. Kevin had insisted on framing it, and Beth had found the perfect frame in the hospital’s gift shop—silver with bulls on each corner.
With that picture and autograph, Jake Dixon did more to help Kevin heal than all the doctors could. Again this stranger had come through when her son needed a hero the most.
If somehow she could arrange a week off, she could only pray that Jake would live up to her son’s expectations. She herself had no expectations as far as men were concerned, but if Jake proved undeserving of Kevin’s adoration, he’d answer to her.
She ruffled Kevin’s hair and stood. She had made her decision. “Well, I guess we’d better go to the Gold Buckle Ranch and meet Jake Dixon.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She reached out to hug him, and for a second, she thought he was going to stand. Tears stung her eyes as she gathered him close to her. If she had to, she would sell her soul to get the time off to give Kevin this trip to Wyoming.
“Thanks for winning the trip for us, sweetie,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing. “We’re going to have a great time.”
Checking the clock on the wall, she saw that it was almost time for Kevin’s water therapy. She had two rent checks to collect and a phone call to make before she could close the office for the day and watch the therapist work with Kevin.
“You’d best get your bathing suit on. Sam will be here in a half hour for your exercises. I’ll be in to help you change.”
“I can do it.”
“But—”
He was off in a flash of chrome and denim, wheeling up the ramp that led to their small apartment in the back of the office.
She felt a pang of sadness when she remembered that Kevin had called their apartment “crummy.” It was crummy compared to where they used to live—a brand-new, four-thousand-square-foot house in the Catalina Mountains crowning Tucson. There they’d had wide-open spaces and room to run. It was a perfect spot for a kid growing up.
In contrast, their apartment complex was crowded with cars, concrete and cul-de-sacs.
Their life had been fairly good before the accident. Before her husband Brad had picked up eight-year-old Kevin from his friend’s house and crashed into the concrete pilings of a bridge.
That was two years ago, yet she always felt physically sick whenever she thought of that day, that minute, that second that had forever changed her life and Kevin’s. She would live with the guilt forever.
She should have known that Brad had started drinking again. She should have known….
She had been driving home from the grocery store that day when she saw Brad’s cherry-red convertible crushed against a wall of concrete. She’d jumped out of her car and run as fast as she could toward the accident, but the police had caught her and pulled her away. Helpless, she’d watched and waited, crying hysterically, as police and firemen pried the mangled metal of the car away from Kevin to get him out.
She was screaming his name so loudly that Kevin heard her. He lifted his hand and waved. She knew then in her mother’s heart that he was going to live. They’d let her hold his hand until they sedated him and got him ready for the ambulance.
As Kevin dozed, a kind policeman took her over to see Brad. He was already dead, lying in a ditch along the side of the road. A bright blue plastic sheet covered his body.
She knelt down, lifted the sheet and saw her husband, finally at peace.
Alcohol had claimed Brad, but it wouldn’t take her little boy, not while she had a breath left in her. She’d kissed Brad’s forehead for the man he used to be, taking one last look and remembering happier times. She’d let her tears fall, and when they dropped onto his face, she brushed them off and then covered him.
“Your husband didn’t have his seat belt on, but your boy did. That saved him,” said the cop.
She got into the ambulance with Kevin, and didn’t let go of his hand until they wheeled him into the operating room.
Beth shook away the memory and blinked back her tears. Relaxing her clenched fists, she poured herself a drink of water from the cooler and drank it down. She had to concentrate on business right now, so she would be able to watch Kevin’s progress with Sam. Then she’d make dinner, read the information from the Gold Buckle Ranch, and enjoy her son’s company for the rest of the evening.
Kevin was her whole life, and to make things up to him, she would give him the world if she could. But since she couldn’t, the least she could do was give him Jake Dixon.
Jake signed a dozen autographs in front of the baggage claim area at the little airport outside Mountain Springs. When he was on top of the Professional Bull Riders point standings, hundreds of people used to crowd around him. He’d loved every minute of it.
A dozen fans would have to do, since these days he was ranked number thirty-nine out of forty-five pro bull riders. He was just hanging on to the tour by his ragged fingernails.
Jake checked his watch for the hundredth time. Instead of being cooped up in the dinky little airport, he would rather be mending fences or working with the new mustang he’d just bought from Joe Watley, a stock contractor.
Better yet, he’d rather be riding bulls on the Professional Bull Riders tour and working on pumping up his ranking.
But nothing was scheduled for the month of July on the tour, so he’d take care of business at the ranch and work on organizing the Jake Dixon Gold Buckle Bull Riders Challenge and Wheelchair Rodeo like he’d done for the past two years.
From what he could tell so far, they were going to have a bigger crowd than ever for the Gold Buckle Challenge. Area hotels were booked solid and so were area campgrounds. This meant a nice boost to the local economy and an even bigger boost for the Gold Buckle Ranch.
He really loved organizing and running Wheelchair Rodeo for the kids. At least he was doing something that made him feel needed instead of angry and frustrated, the way he usually did these days.
He walked the short distance to the one waiting room, his back and right leg screaming for mercy. He checked the clock and sat down on a yellow plastic chair that was welded to three other yellow plastic chairs. Stretching his legs in front of him, he waited. Fifteen minutes later, people began filing into the waiting room.
He
