More Than a Cowboy

“I wish they hadn’t rescheduled my ride. Do you think you’ll be back from your business meeting in time to watch me?”

“Hope so,” Jared said. “Who’d you draw?”

Mitch’s square jaw tightened. “Resurrection. Great way to make a comeback, huh?”

Jared swallowed hard. A vision rose in his mind of the massive bull he’d seen earlier. Fear for Mitch closed his throat. “Maybe you should wait on this one.”

“No. I’m ready. Besides, if I win, just think of the extra money I can donate to some worthy cause. I just wish…”

Jared waited.

“I just wish I hadn’t wasted so many years.”

“They aren’t wasted if you allow God to use you with what you’ve learned,” Jared said.

He helped Mitch arrange the music, an uneasy feeling dogging each movement. He’d hated what Mitch’s hard drinking and womanizing had done not only to Mitch’s body and soul, but to Jared’s mother and Mitch’s father.

But Jared had faithfully prayed for Mitch, and when his prayer was answered, Mitch was changed so completely that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that God did indeed answer prayer and transform lives. Still Jared sensed a hidden need—an unshared burden that weighed like a millstone around Mitch’s neck.

“You made it back from the edge, Mitch. You can make a difference.”

“What about the things I can’t take back?” Mitch’s voice filled with anguish. His gray-green eyes misted. “How do I make those right?”

Mitch’s plea gnawed at Jared’s gut. “Is there something you need to talk about?”

Mitch stared at the gravel floor. “I need to fix something, but I don’t know how.”

Mitch’s remorse was so tangible, Jared shuddered. “Sometimes you can’t fix what’s broken, Mitch,” he said. “Those are the things you have to let God fix.”

Mitch dropped his gaze. “I’ve done some awful things, Jared. Can you find someone if…?”

Jared waited, but Mitch grew reflective. “Is there someone you want me to find?” Mitch trembled. What had Mitch done to cause such anguish in his soul? Fear tightened Jared’s chest. He’d always been able to smooth things over for his stepbrother. What if this time he couldn’t?

Mitch stared at the tent opening, then shook his head.

Jared sensed Mitch’s frustration. “I’ll reschedule my meeting and stay.”

“No. Absolutely not. You go.”

“You’re more important to me than this meeting,” Jared said.

“I know that and love you for it, bro. But I can do this on my own.”

Jared hated leaving Mitch like this, but he was right. If he wasn’t given a chance to test his new faith, he’d never grow. Jared picked up his jacket, then hesitated. “I’ll try to wrap up my meeting fast and see you back here. You sure you’ll be okay?”

Mitch nodded, then smiled, relaxing the worry lines along his mouth. “I’ll be okay. Promise.”

Apprehension gnawed at Jared’s confidence, but he headed for the booth entrance, then turned. “One of the bull fighters I ran into gave me a piece of good advice. She said to not let fear defeat you. It’s good advice, Mitch. Look it in the eye in your personal life and in the arena. And trust God for the rest.”

Mitch slid into a chair and thumbed through Jared’s worn Bible. “Say a prayer for me, Jared. I’m a little uneasy about tonight.”

“You’re in God’s hands, Mitch. There’s no better place to be.”

Jared hurried out of the booth, anxious to conclude his business and return to the rodeo grounds. He was his brother’s keeper and Mitch needed him. He should be here. The breath of a prayer whispered on his lips. He lifted his gaze and instantly collided with a clown-clad whirlwind.

The impact knocked the red and blue wig to the ground, loosening a pile of blond hair held up with pins. Soft brown lashes lifted to reveal eyes almost too big for such delicate features. Her feet tottered.

“Clarabelle.” He clasped both of her arms firmly. Earlier, he’d been so wrapped up worrying about Mitch that he hadn’t appreciated the woman’s classical beauty now hidden behind clown’s makeup. Her violet eyes locked with his, stealing his breath. “We meet again. Are you all right?”

A startled gasp escaped her over-painted mouth. She pulled away and stepped back. Picking up the wig, she clutched it between her fingers. “Clarabelle?” she said.

“Seemed appropriate for a lady clown. You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Did I hurt you?”

He took a deep breath, but his pulse continued to race. “No,” he said, offering a smile.

Haley swallowed and stepped back, frightened by the strength in his hands and warmth in his eyes.

“Maybe I should try again,” she said, hoping the bite in her voice would deter further interest.

She skirted around him and rushed off. Rounding the corner, she glanced back. He stood where she’d left him, staring after her with a puzzled, almost comical expression on his face. Haley broke contact and entered the arena through a side entrance, but the memory of his eyes stayed.

Someone touched her shoulder. She sucked in a breath and spun around, expecting to see the stranger, but Chester Rawlins, the other clown working the arena, grinned back.

“Girl, you’re jumpier than a flea on a dog,” he said.

“Nervous energy. I’ll work it off.”

“Hope so,” he said, plopping a baseball cap on his head. “Rodeo’s about to start. Let’s go.”

Tension heightened her anticipation. She reset the wig and purged the stranger from her mind. Her job began when the chute opened, not after the eight-second count.

The announcer introduced the first rider, and Haley waited. Every performance, she put her life on the line for these riders. She mustn’t fail. She moved to the side as the first bull leaped from the gate, making short work of the rider. Haley drew the animal’s attention while the cowboy dusted the dirt from his chaps and reached for his hat.

The next few hours passed in a blur. She and Chester worked the bulls like a valve and piston. She paused a moment to wipe her damp face, leaving a good portion of the face paint on the towel tucked into her suspenders. Resurrection’s name blared over the speaker.

Haley choked back a cry. Fear swirled in the arena dust, settling at her feet, gnawing at her confidence. Sitting behind the barrier protecting the spectators, Hap nodded encouragement. She reset the rubber barrel and waited.

Resurrection stood quietly in the chute, submitting to his handlers as the rider checked the rigging and centered himself, his face hidden behind his hat brim. Haley knew the minute the gate opened the whole arena would be filled with two thousand pounds of raging fury bent on unseating and maiming the man, and her as well.

The cowboy nodded. The gate opened. Resurrection shot out of the chute. Haley kept the bull in her sights. The rider tossed like a doll and but kept his balance. Resurrection bellowed, arched his back and spun around, his leg buckling as he landed.

Haley held her breath as the man tipped sideways and fought to stay upright. The seconds seemed suspended, stretching her nerves to the snapping point. Resurrection ducked his head and twisted.

The buzzer sounded. Moving in front of the crazed bull, Haley and Chester tried to draw Resurrection’s attention so the cowboy could dismount, but the bull ignored them and began a series of spins. He twisted hard right, then left.

The cowboy fell over the bull’s side, his gloved hand trapped in the rigging. His legs bounced between the massive hooves. Haley’s heart hammered against her chest. She reached for the rigging while Chester moved to the bull’s other side. His rear hoof clipped Chester’s leg. Haley caught a glimpse of two men helping him to the sidelines. She was on her own.