With each thunk of his boots on the hardwood floor, his gut clenched tighter. This place was his last-ditch effort. If it, and Adele Donnelly, couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong, then he might as well kiss his roping career goodbye.
“Here’s the main lobby and that way is the business center,” Stick informed him as they crossed the spacious room with its vaulted ceilings and pine beams. Ten-foot-high windows looked out onto rolling green grounds dotted with thick stands of trees. “The front desk is where you check in and out, get the weekly schedules, sign up for classes.” He shot Ty a guilty look over his shoulder. “Not that you need any.”
“You never know.” He definitely needed something.
“There’s a lounge with a TV over there for guests.” Stick pointed. “It’s got satellite.”
“Oh, good. Can’t miss my daily dose of CNN.”
His attempt at sarcasm went right over Stick’s head, who didn’t stop talking long enough to take a breath.
“The dining hall’s that way. Breakfast is served from five-thirty to seven, lunch from eleven-thirty to one and dinner from six to seven-thirty. Social hour starts at five. ’Course, if you’re hungry, Cook’s always got a pot of stew or chili on the stove.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Ty didn’t anticipate doing much socializing during his four-week stay. He was here to rope. Though competent in other rodeo events, steer wrestling and team roping mostly, tie-down roping was what he excelled at. Make that had excelled at. Everything had changed last December.
Stick escorted him to a long counter resembling a hotel registration desk, only on a much simpler scale. “You in there, Adele?” he called.
Ty caught a glimpse of a desk with a phone and computer through the open door behind the counter.
When no one answered, Stick tapped the bell on the counter. It promptly dinged. “Huh.” He pushed his cowboy hat back, revealing a shock of red hair, and scratched his forehead. “Guess she’s not here.”
“We can come back,” Ty offered, in no hurry to meet the owner and manager of Cowboy College.
In the next instant, he mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t come all this way to chicken out at the last minute.
“But we have to get the key to your guest cabin. How else you gonna unpack your stuff?”
“It’ll wait,” Ty assured him. The poor kid was trying so hard and deserved a break. “How ’bout we head to the barn and unload my horse. Maybe Adele will show up by the time we’re done.”
Stick immediately brightened. “Sure thing,” he said, only it sounded more like “shore” thing.
Back outside, they hopped in Ty’s truck, and Stick directed him down the dirt road to a row of three barns. Across the open area in front of them was a large arena complete with holding pens, boxes, chutes, bleachers and an announcer’s stand. A handful of riders were honing their roping skills with the help of some wranglers. Situated behind the barns were two smaller arenas, a pair of round pens, and endless acres of fenced pastures in which dozens of horses grazed on fresh spring grass. About a half mile beyond that, at the base of a valley, afternoon sunlight glinted off a large pond.
“How’s the fishing?” Ty asked.
“Plenty of bass and bluegills. But if you’re hankering for some serious fly-fishing, Little Twister Creek’s the place to go. It’s not far, about a mile or two from here. My cousin and I go every chance we get.”
“You up for some company sometime?”
Stick’s face exploded into a huge grin. “Just name the day.” As they approached the row of barns, he indicated the largest one. “Here we are.”
Ty pulled up in front of an old-fashioned hitching post and parked. His horse, Hamm, greeted him with a shrill whinny and a bang on the trailer sidewall when he went around the back and unlatched the gate. Eager to be free after the long drive, the large gelding piled out of the trailer. Once on solid ground, he raised his head high, took in his new surroundings and whinnied again. Mares with young foals in the far pasture ran to the fence for a closer look at the newcomer.
“He’s a beaut!” Stick gazed at Hamm admiringly.
“That he is.” Holding on to the lead rope with one hand, Ty patted the horse’s neck. Plain old sorrel didn’t begin to describe Hamm. With four perfectly matched white stockings and a three-inch-wide blaze running down the entire length of his face, he was striking.
“Bet he can chase calves down like lightning streakin’ across a meadow.”
“He’s fast all right.” Ty didn’t elaborate. His problem, the reason he’d come to Cowboy College, had nothing to do with Hamm and everything to do with him.
“This way.” Stick started toward the barn opening. After several steps, he turned, gave Ty’s horse another adoring once-over and whistled low. “That big boy can sure walk out.”
The barn housed at least forty horses. Every one of them charged to the door of their stall and hung their head out to observe the visitors. A few of the braver ones stretched their neck out to either sniff Hamm or give his rump a quick nip. Ty assumed some of the horses belonged to Cowboy College and the rest to guests like himself.
Midway down the aisle, Stick stopped and opened the door of an empty stall. “Here you go.”
Being accustomed to traveling, Hamm entered his new quarters without balking. He quickly inspected the stall’s perimeter, then buried his head in the feed trough. It was empty, and a second later his head shot up in obvious displeasure.
Given it was late afternoon, Ty supposed the stable hands would be feeding soon. Still, he asked, “You got a little grain or pellets we can give him until I go over his diet with the barn manager?” Hamm liked to eat, and a snack would help him adjust to his new surroundings.
“Be right back.” Stick took off and promptly returned with a small bucket of oats.
Fifteen minutes later Ty and Stick were parking his trailer behind the barn. When they were done, Ty pulled his truck around front.
Stick sat forward in the passenger seat. “There’s Adele.” He hitched his chin toward the arena. “Come on, you can meet her.”
Horses and their riders had gathered at the south end of the arena. Ty picked out a trim young woman astride a stout paint mare, a blond braid snaking down her back from beneath her battered cowboy hat. Despite the distance, he recognized her immediately. No surprise; he’d been staring at pictures of her on Cowboy College’s website for weeks while deciding to come or not.
“She looks busy.”
“Naw.” Stick dismissed his concern with a wave. “She won’t mind.”
They selected a spot along the fence and settled in to watch, their forearms resting on the top rail.
“Hey, folks.”
Stick’s friendly greeting was returned by all except Adele. She was preoccupied with lining her horse up in the
