he pulled the piece of paper his mother had given him from the back pocket of his jeans and checked it against the sign to the left of the door. Flight 1843. This was the correct gate.
Jake looked around for someone to ask about Beth and Kevin Conroy and when they might be arriving.
“Mom, it’s him! It’s Jake Dixon! He’s really here! He’s here!”
Jake couldn’t help but grin as he found the source of the noise—a cute-as-hell, freckle-faced boy in a wheelchair.
The beautiful blonde who pushed the boy stifled a yawn. It must have been a long flight.
The boy wiggled in his wheelchair and waved his hands in the air. “Jake! Jake! Remember me, Kevin Conroy? And this is my mom.”
Jake tipped his hat to her. Immediately he was drawn to her eyes. They were as green as the new grass that sprouted along the Silver River in the springtime.
“Wyoming will never be the same, now that your biggest fan has landed, Mr. Dixon.” She held out her hand. “I’m Beth Conroy. As you now know, this is Kevin. You’ve met him at the Tucson Rodeo a couple of times.”
He shook her hand, glad for the heads-up. He’d met so many kids over the years, he couldn’t remember them all.
“Sure. Howdy, Kevin. Good to see you again.” He hunkered down and shook Kevin’s hand. The boy had a nice strong grip, and his eyes were round with excitement.
What a darn shame that he was in a wheelchair. What a darn shame that any child in this world had to be disabled, handicapped, impaired—whatever the latest politically correct term was. It always twisted his gut. That was one of the reasons he’d started Wheelchair Rodeo—to give kids like Kevin the chance to be like other kids.
“Are you ready for Wheelchair Rodeo, Kevin?” Jake asked.
“Yes. I can’t wait. It’s going to be awesome!”
“We have a great time every year.”
The boy had a death grip on Jake’s hand and was still pumping away.
“Is Clint Scully going to be at the Gold Buckle?” Kevin asked.
“Sure. I’m expecting Clint anytime now. Joe Watley arrived a couple of days ago. Cody’s here. Wayne and Trace are here. Ramon is arriving later in the week. More are coming in every day.”
The boy was ready to rocket out of the chair at that news. “Oh, wow! Oh, cool! This is awesome!”
“Kevin, Mr. Dixon is going to be needing his hand back,” his mother said, her green eyes twinkling.
Jake laughed and stood up slowly, his knees and back grinding painfully. Every bone in his thirty-two-year-old frame ached like a sore tooth. He had one month to heal from his latest round of injuries and start his comeback. The next three months of the tour would be crucial. Just one more World Finals in Vegas…
“It’s fine with me if he calls me Jake, and you, too, ma’am. We’re not formal here.”
Kevin finally released his hand. “What’s wrong, Jake? You in pain? It was Scooter who stomped on your legs, right?”
“Scooter got me pretty good in Oklahoma City, but I think the worst came from Prickly Pear way back at the Billings event. White Whale made it worse in Loughlin. But I’ll be okay.”
“Just another day at the office. Right?”
He choked back a laugh. “Right, Kevin.”
Jake felt uncomfortable talking about himself. Besides he had no business talking about his minor injuries when the boy was in a wheelchair.
He hadn’t read all the files yet, so he didn’t know Kevin’s history. His folks were sticklers about keeping a file on each kid enrolled in the Wheelchair Rodeo program. Everyone who worked with the kids was expected to read each one. Then they’d be turned over to his pal, Dr. Mike Trotter, the resident physician for the week, for his review.
“Shall we head over to pick up your gear?” Jake stepped around to push Kevin’s chair, and Beth was more than willing to give it up.
She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
“You look tired,” Jake said, heading for the baggage claim area.
“It was a long flight.”
“Arizona’s pretty far away. Pretty country, though. Their rodeo is the best, but I’ve been there a couple other times too.”
“Really, Jake?”
Beth gave Kevin a nudge on the shoulder. “See? Arizona’s not so boring. Jake Dixon likes it.”
“Yeah,” Kevin said.
Pieces of luggage were starting their trip on the rubber conveyer belt, and people rushed to claim a spot along its path. There was no room for a wheelchair and two more people.
“We’re in no rush. Right?” Jake asked.
“Not at all. We’re on vacation,” Beth said with a long sigh.
It was a long way to travel, but her weariness seemed more bone deep than it should have been just from the flight. She could use some color in her cheeks and some sweet Wyoming air, and maybe some good old-fashioned rocking on the front porch of her cabin.
“Well, if it ain’t Jake Dixon.”
Jake spun around in the direction of the deep, booming voice. Harvey Trumble, editor of the Wyoming Journal, stood with two suitcases in hand and the usual grimace on his face.
Everyone within earshot turned to stare, including Beth and Kevin.
Just his luck. “Go catch your plane, Harvey. Now’s not a good time.”
Harvey dropped his suitcases and clenched his fists.
Shoot. Jake didn’t want to fight the man. Not with the kid so close, watching his every move and looking at him as if he were some kind of hero. Besides, Harvey had a good fifty pounds on him, and even though Jake was younger, he couldn’t risk a new injury.
“I have things to do, Harvey. I’m not looking for a fight.”
“You gotta be drunk to fight me, Jake? Like you were when you almost killed my boy?”
Jake glanced over at the two arrivals. Kevin’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Beth stared at him as if rattlers were sprouting from his ears. She stepped in front of Jake, took the handles of Kevin’s chair and wheeled him to the far end of the luggage belt.
Jake grabbed Harvey’s arm and yanked him out the front door of the airport, away from most of the crowd.
“Like I told you before, Harvey, Keith had his hands all over a young lady, who told him to stop no less than three times.”
Jake had to calm down before he punched him. If he hit him, Harvey would see to it that it was front-page news. Just like the
