More Than a Cowboy

“Wait here,” the attendant said. “Someone will check in with you later.”

Jared’s heart pounded against his chest.

Mitch’s lips parted. “It’s okay. I’m ready to go. Remember…promise.”

Jared’s gut clamped. “I’ll remember, Mitch. But you’re going to be all right.”

The doors banged shut, cutting off Jared’s words. He winced and stared through the glass until Mitch disappeared behind another set of doors. The hall was quiet, dark and empty. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and headed back to the waiting room.

Memories burned his mind—high school rodeos, football games, prom. Their parents had married when Jared was in the fifth grade and Mitch a year behind. Every important event in their lives had been shared. He raked a hand through his hair and glanced around the room. Empty paper cups and wadded tissues lay scattered in the waiting room, remnants from the last occupants. A hardback Bible sat isolated on a table.

Jared sank into the chair and ran his fingers over the gold lettering. For eight years Mitch had been out of his reach. He’d searched and prayed, desperate to keep Mitch out of trouble, but Jared hadn’t been able to protect him. He couldn’t protect him now. He squeezed the Bible between his hands. He couldn’t lose his brother. Mitch had to live.

Jared bowed his head. Please, God, don’t let Mitch die.

He passed the hours pleading to God on Mitch’s behalf. Then the hospital paging system crackled.

“Code blue.”

Chapter Three

Six days later, Jared parked behind the Fellowship Booth and headed down the midway. The memory of Walt Jessup’s crumpled form at Mitch’s gravesite was too raw to revisit. He’d do anything to ease his stepfather’s pain. Focusing on the truth about Mitch’s accident was a welcome diversion. He’d reviewed the playback tapes and asked Sam McIntosh, the association president, for an investigation, hoping what he believed he’d seen on the tapes was wrong. He paused beside an empty booth and watched the milling people.

“Clarabelle,” he murmured to himself. The violet-eyed clown he’d spoken to the day Mitch died formed clearly in his mind. Clarabelle and Mitch’s Haley were one and the same. An odd feeling of disappointment punched his gut. “Who are you?” he whispered. “And why would Mitch leave you his winnings without telling his family anything about you?”

He shut out the loud music and joined the flow of people. He’d frozen the replay tape from the moment where it seemed Mitch had recognized Haley, then played the rest in slow motion, right up to the moment Mitch lay still in the dirt. The more he watched the replay, the more he felt the tangible connection between the bullfighter and his brother. It was as though for a split second, the screen had come alive.

Something wasn’t right. When he’d seen Haley near the bull pens, she’d spoken of facing fear. He’d seen her fear on the replay. Had her fear caused Mitch’s death? If so, he couldn’t let it go. Mitch deserved justice. Jared needed answers, and he was certain Haley had them.

He pictured her face again. His fingers and nose tingled as he remembered her soft skin beneath his steadying grasp and the fresh scent of the soap lingering on her flesh. He tensed, the memory surprising him.

The midway sparkled in the afternoon sun. Laughter and music filled the air. The sun half-hid behind a cluster of clouds, forming a halo of bright light with descending rays that seemed to touch the earth—almost as though the heavens rejoiced in catching Mitch’s spirit and carrying it up to God.

God, Mitch made his peace with You. Help me make peace with his death.

He waited for God’s peace to ease the pain. But nothing came. Only an emptiness left by Mitch’s passing and lots of unanswered questions. The arena speaker hummed, announcing the line-up for barrel competitions. He shifted direction and weaved through the crowd toward the horse corrals. The announcer’s voice echoed between the stands.

“Next up, in third place, a circuit favorite, Haley Clayton, on Spinner…”

Jared drew a sharp breath and edged along the fence toward the gate. A dun horse shot through the opening. The woman’s face passed in a blur. Horse and rider moved in unison, cleared the first barrel and raced toward the second.

Jared glanced at the clock as the pair formed a cloverleaf around the second barrel. The big gelding tightened the circle around the third, but the woman’s toe clipped the barrel edge, tipping it into the dirt. That mistake would knock her out of the big money. She ducked her head, leaned low across the horse’s back and raced for the gate.

Jared slipped around the steel panel into the paddock area. If Mitch’s death had affected her performance, it certainly hadn’t pricked her enough to attend his funeral or send condolences.

Haley dismounted and stood beside the fence, her slender shoulders stooped in disappointment while her fingers stroked the white star on the gelding’s forehead. A long braid hung down her back. The gold-fringe on her red shirt matched her hair. A narrow, silver-studded belt emphasized her small waist.

“Haley,” he said, stopping behind her.

She turned and tipped her hat back. A pair of vivid violet eyes rounded with recognition. Her left eyebrow lifted a fraction. A tremor touched her smooth lips. Her skin glowed with a beauty previously hidden behind clown makeup. A yellowing bruise discolored her cheek. Bangs partially concealed a flesh-colored bandage on her forehead. She half-turned and flipped the stirrup over the horse’s back, then loosened the latigo holding the cinch in place.

“We meet again,” he said.

A shadow passed over her face and quickly disappeared. “Are you following me?” she asked.

“No,” he said, moving toward the horse’s head. “I’m Jared Sinclair, Mitch Jessup’s brother.”

Her eyes flattened and went cold. Her fingers curled around the buckle like a lifeline. She stepped back, catching her spurs in the dirt. Jared reached for her elbow but she pulled away. “I’d like to talk to you about what happened the night Mitch died.”

She focused her gaze on his boots. “I’m sorry your brother died, but I don’t see how going over it will help you. It won’t change what happened.”

“Maybe not. But I still need to hear it from someone who was close to him.”

“We weren’t close.” Haley lifted her head, her beautiful eyes focusing on his chin. Wariness darkened them, turning them almost purple.

“I meant close by,” Jared said. Suspicion nudged his mind.

“Lots of people were there. Why don’t you talk to them?”

Mitch’s voice rang through Jared’s mind. Don’t let her go…forgive.

“I want to talk to you. Mitch asked me to find you,” Jared said. If Haley was responsible for Mitch’s death, there was no way he was going to just let her walk away from it like nothing had happened. “I’d like to know why,” he said.

Her face paled. “I can’t imagine why.”

“I think you do.”

She caught her breath, then shifted the reins back and forth in her hands.

Jared felt her fear, sensed deception at work, but if he wanted answers, truthful answers, he’d have to use softer tactics. “Please, Haley. I just need to know what happened to my brother.”

Doubt flickered across her face. She dropped her gaze. “I can tell you what I remember. Everything happened so fast, some details are jumbled,” she murmured.

She seemed to choose her words carefully. Jared moved to the horse’s side, forcing her to look right at him.

“Try. I want to know everything that happened between the time Mitch entered the arena and the time he was carried out. And I want to hear it from you.”

Her gaze shifted toward the exit. She buried her fingers in the gelding’s mane and combed through the thick hairs. For someone who had nothing to hide, she was acting guilty about something. Disappointment centered in Jared’s chest. The sights and sounds dimmed until it seemed the only ones occupying this space were he and Haley—and the mystery surrounding her and Mitch.

“There isn’t much to tell,” she said. “His ride was normal until the dismount. His hand got caught in the rigging. I pulled it free and we got knocked in the dirt. The impact shook us both.” She fidgeted, letting silence fall between them. Her voice caught, then lowered. “Resurrection got to him before I did.”

There was more in what she didn’t say, in the way her eyes refused to meet his, the way her voice trembled with something more than just sorrow or regret. Mitch deserved to be heard and Jared intended to see this through, no matter how painful it proved to be.

“You knew this bull,” he said. “You knew how dangerous he was. That’s why you were at the pens that day.”

She nodded. Her gaze swept the ground, then glazed as though her thoughts had taken a different direction. “I knew him. He’s dangerous.” She murmured so low he barely heard and was uncertain if she was referring to Mitch or the bull.

“You knew Mitch, too, didn’t you, Haley?”