pair of boots in an exotic animal skin were the ultimate sign of success. He could stand here and admire the ostrich-skin boots for hours.
Four hours, if it came to that.
Once, he’d had several nice pairs of ostrich-skin boots, but those had been sold off to help cover his medical bills, along with most everything else he’d owned, including his buckles and what was left of the family farm in Nebraska. All he had left from before the wreck was his truck and his beat-to-hell camper.
They had the Lucchese boots. He picked up the cognac-brown boot, his hands tracing over the stitching on the shaft with appreciation. If only the stitches that held him together had been done with this much care.
“Say, those are nice,” a voice said behind him.
Travis turned to see a Johnny-come-lately cowboy. The stuff on his back was all good—Travis recognized the Stetson hat and the alligator-skin boots—but on this guy, it all seemed a bit off, like an SUV that had never seen a dirt road. “They are. Top-of-the-line. Full quill on the foot here, and that’s lemonwood construction. These are designed to last a lifetime. Well worth the cost.”
Johnny-come-lately whistled in appreciation. “How much do they run a fellow?”
“The Lucchese brand runs four hundred to twelve hundred dollars. These are the high end of that.”
“Boy, I bet not just anyone can afford boots like that,” the guy said.
“That’s the truth,” Travis agreed. But with a little luck, he’d be able to afford them again. He just had to keep his head on—
“Well, if you’ve got them in a thirteen, I’d love to try them on.”
Travis froze. If he had them in a thirteen? Humiliation burned down Travis’s throat. “Well, let me get someone who works here.”
He found the clerks in back, arguing over which crappy card table to haul up front. Handing over the boots, Travis took his chances with the table and hauled the lighter one out himself. No way he would let some pretend cowboy think he was a salesman. He was a bull rider, damn it, and a good one, too.
Even so, he knew he couldn’t do this much longer. There had to be a better life out there for him. Maybe he could get a job at a ranch, go back to being a real cowboy again.
The hours passed with only the Johnny-come-lately cowboy apologizing to break up the monotony. To make up for the mix-up, he asked Travis to sign both of his Lucchese boxes.
The longer Travis sat here, the worse things seemed. Red had won last weekend, and had assumed first in the rankings as a result. If Travis couldn’t make it back into the bigs this year, he was done. His body couldn’t take another season of hitting the ground. The single, nightly Percocet he limited himself to didn’t seem to be taking the edge off the pain anymore.
He was tired. Tired of sitting here, being unknown and invisible. Tired of scraping by at the whim of bulls. Tired of being the father figure to those kids when they never listened to him anyway. Tired of fighting Red over everything.
The boring, comfortable life he’d passed on so many years ago—a nice house, a piece of land to work, a good woman to come home to, and maybe some kids riding the fences with him—seemed better every day.
While the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, there was no line between Travis’s here and now and that fantasy. The house had gone with the farm. And women? Women wanted more than what he had to offer. They wanted someone who stayed home, helped with the kids. They wanted romancing. And Travis? He didn’t have that in him. He followed the rodeo.
His mind flashed back to that Indian girl—rather, that Lakota woman—in her underwear. She was beautiful, strong and determined. He wondered if she was like that in bed, too—but hell, who was he kidding? After their argument, he’d be lucky if she didn’t sic that dog on him. Not exactly the best way to sweet-talk a pretty woman.
But he couldn’t pull his thoughts away from her. Over and over, he replayed the way she had looked at him when she’d asked him to believe in her. It wasn’t possible that she’d been admiring his body. Was it?
No. Gorgeous young women—smart and athletic to boot—did not admire a man like him. It just didn’t happen. If anything, she was probably gauging whether or not sleeping with him could help her get what she wanted.
His fantasy was going to stay just that—a fantasy. He’d made his bed long ago. Now he just had to spend the rest of his life lying in it.
The doors whooshed open for the first time in nearly two hours. He knew the odds that the customer had come to see the formerly famous Travis Younkin were slim, but he still put on his good smile and got ready to talk up tonight’s rodeo.
But nothing got him ready for what walked in.
“Travis?”
He noticed the hair first. Pinned back near her temples, the rest fell long and loose down her back. He could just see the tips of each strand swaying beneath the soft curve of her hips.
Swaying, because she was still walking toward him, every step sending out a soft tap-tap-tap from her rust-red boots. Real boots. On a real cowgirl.
Hell, June Spotted Elk herself had just walked in.
He tried to smile. “Hey, June. You in town?”
Was she blushing? It looked good on her. “Oh, yeah. I got into Mesquite yesterday. Needed to pick up a shirt for tonight and some rosin. I think Jeff ate mine.”
She was lucky that was all that hellhound had eaten. “He do that a lot?”
“Only when I don’t run him enough. He’s out in the car if you want to say hi. He’s really a sweetheart—when he doesn’t think I’m in trouble,” she hurried to explain when she saw the look on his face. “You’d like him. Even Mitch thought he was passable.”
She’d been hanging out with Mitch? How the hell had that happened? Surely if Mitch had picked her up at the bar last weekend, he would have been bragging about his latest true love to the guys. Just like always.
“Really?” was all that came out.
She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure what to do next. Well, that made two of them. “Listen. I know you’re not happy with me riding, but I do have my permit, and I appreciate that you helped with my bull rope. Mitch didn’t get it tight enough.”
“Sure. No problem.” Sounded like Mitch had gotten something tight enough.
She smiled. “Been busy today?”
“Not really.” That smile was real pretty on her. It made him want her to keep talking. Which had to be why he said, “The only other guy who came through thought I was selling boots.”
“Ouch,” she agreed. “How long are you in for?”
“Another forty-five minutes.” A new thought occurred to him. If he asked her to dinner, then he could keep an eye on her. Maybe keep her away from Mitch and clear of Red. Then he could try to talk some more sense into her. “You got dinner plans?”
Okay,
