A Rodeo Man's Promise

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This is your out. Suggest Riley find another mechanic to fix his airplane, then you’ll never see him again. The thought made Maria sad. She was too old for Riley and they lived very different lives. But the cowboy was a flirt, and he made her feel fresh and young inside. She hadn’t felt this invigorated since before her brother had passed away. What could it hurt if she saw Riley one more time?

“Dad will be happy to help.” She glanced at the wall clock. 10:00 p.m. “You’re probably ready to check in at the hotel.”

Maria wrote her cell phone number on a piece of paper. “Call me when you know what time you’ll arrive on Sunday and I’ll arrange for my dad to meet you at the airport.”

Riley took the paper, his fingers caressing hers. A zap of electricity spread through her hand and suddenly Sunday couldn’t come fast enough.

Chapter Four

“Ladies and gents, welcome to Payson, Arizona, home of the Gary Hardt Memorial Rodeo—the oldest continuous rodeo in the world!” The announcer’s voice boomed across the Payson Event Center outdoor arena late Saturday afternoon. Over three thousand people packed the stands.

“This here rodeo began in 1884 and hasn’t missed a year since.” Whoops and hollers followed.

“You ol’-timers out there might recall the original rodeo venue was a meadow near the intersection of Main Street and Highway 87. Back then wagons circled ’round to create the arena.”

Riley dropped his gear bag in the cowboy-ready area. As was his M.O. a cab had driven him from the local regional airport to the rodeo grounds and he had less than fifteen minutes to prepare for his ride.

“Hey, Fitzgerald, heard you had trouble with that fancy plane of yours.”

What the hell was Stover doing here? Riley thought the man had been headed to Texas this weekend. Ignoring the question about his Cessna, Riley straightened his chaps. “You stop riding for the big money?”

“You oughta know by now—” Stover’s smirk widened “—I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Stover had entered every rodeo Riley had since the beginning of the year—not unusual. The serious contenders followed the money trail. Riley had chosen to ride in Payson because he needed a win to boost his confidence and he’d wanted to get the hell away from Stover—the braggart annoyed the crap out of him.

“You tagging along when I head back to Albuquerque?” Riley asked.

“There’s no rodeo in Albuquerque,” Stover said.

“Who said anything about a rodeo? There’s a lady waiting for me in the Duke City.” Riley doubted Maria pined for him, but that wouldn’t stop him from chasing what he wanted—and he wanted her.

“You’re so full of wind you could fly to New Mexico without your plane.”

“Jealous?” Riley grinned.

“Women and rodeo don’t mix,” Stover said.

No kidding. Most cowboys learned that lesson the hard way.

“You go see your lady, Fitzgerald. Have a nice long visit with her.”

Maria wasn’t Riley’s lady—yet—but Stover’s words reminded him that he’d better watch his step around the sexy señorita lest he forget his goal of winning a second title. “That’s the plan, Stover. I’m gonna drown myself in drink and women.”

“Rawlins came out of nowhere last year when he should have retired.” Stover fisted his hands. “Then you won the title even though you didn’t earn it. This year—” Stover poked himself in the chest “—I’m takin’ home the buckle.”

Riley turned his back on the cowboy and focused on his ride. He’d drawn a gelding named Blackheart—a veteran bucker.

“We got plenty of ropin’, rasslin’ and bustin’ activity,” the rodeo announcer proclaimed, disrupting Riley’s concentration. “As a matter of fact last year’s world-champion bronc rider, Riley Fitzgerald, is goin’ first today!”

World champion…world champion…world champion…

Repeating the mantra in his head, Riley envisioned Maria’s pretty face and flashing brown eyes. She had as much guts and determination as a rodeo cowboy. Tangling with delinquent teens was tougher than riding a wild bronc. He worked three or four times a week for eight seconds. Maria faced gangs and kids living on the edge 24/7 and he doubted her record of success was as good as his.

Today, Riley wanted to impress Maria with a win. He didn’t understand why her admiration was important to him—he doubted he’d see her after the Cessna was repaired.

“Folks, the action’s at gate number five. Let’s see if this world-champion bronc rider can tame Blackheart!”

The roar of the crowd faded in Riley’s head as he climbed the chute rails. The familiar pungent smell of livestock calmed his nerves. As soon as he attempted to settle into the saddle, Blackheart rebelled, forcing Riley to hop off. Once the gelding calmed, Riley claimed his seat.

After the dink he’d drawn in Colorado, he was ready for a fight and prayed Blackheart wouldn’t let him down. Riley squeezed the buck rein, secured his hat on his head and slid deeper into the saddle. One. Two. Three. He signaled the gateman and the chute door opened. Riley’s body tensed in anticipation then the horse burst from his metal prison.

Riley raked fur—rolled his spurs high on the gelding’s shoulders, inciting the animal to buck harder. Blackheart responded to the taunt by thrusting his hind legs into the air. The horse hit the ground then twirled left, right and back to the left again in quick succession.

Eight seconds passed in a blur. The buzzer sounded but the ride wasn’t over until his boots hit the dirt. Dismounts were tricky and had to be timed perfectly so the cowboy didn’t break his neck or worse—get his head stomped on. Riley vaulted from the saddle. Luck was with him. He landed on both feet, stumbled once then regained his balance.

“Our world-champion cowboy gave us a world-champion ride. Fitzgerald scored an eighty-six!”

“You lucked out, Fitzgerald,” Stover said when Riley returned to the cowboy-ready area.

Before he had a chance to refute Stover’s charge, another competitor shouted, “Hey, Fitzgerald! Those kinks the press said you needed to work out just got ironed flat!”

Riley chuckled.

“Don’t get cocky. Your eighty-six is about to bite the dust.” Stover stomped off.

As Riley stowed his gear, his cell phone rang. He checked caller ID. His father. Perfect timing. “Hey, Dad.”

“Where are you?”

“Arizona. Tamed a little booger called Blackheart. I’m in the lead with an eighty-six.”

“Congratulations. Got a minute to talk?”

“Sure.” Riley grabbed his bag and retreated to a quiet corner away from the bucking chutes.

“I’ve got a potential buyer coming in sometime mid-October. I want you to show him around Belle Farms.”

“Who’s the buyer interested in?”

“Bonnie-Blond and Sir Duke’s offspring. We’re expecting the foal early October.”