Helen DePrima - The Bull Rider

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Sophie said when Jo joined the others still waiting to pay for their purchases. “The colors in that shirt are perfect for you. Are your eyes blue or gray?”

“Yes,” Jo said, and the others laughed.

“You need some turquoise to dress it up,” Mara said. “You can pick up some nice pieces in Albuquerque. If you think you’ll be at that event.”

“She hasn’t planned that far ahead,” Sophie said, taking Jo’s arm. “Bull riding takes getting used to, right?”

They piled back into Lou-Ann’s vehicle with their shopping bags. Jo’s cell phone rang just as they reached the hotel; she recognized Tom’s area code but a different number.

“You about done with the hen party, Jo?” Luke asked when she answered. “Meet me by the desk and we’ll go fetch your gear from the other hotel.”

Luke did a comic double take when Jo walked into the lobby. “Excuse me, sugar,” he said, tipping his hat. “I’m supposed to meet a gal from the big city.” He peeked into her Sheplers bag. “You got her hid in there?”

Jo did a runway turn for him. “Did I get it right? I had lots of advice from a panel of experts.”

“Well, I guess! I might just take you home and teach you to mend fence and pull calves. Judging from your article on horse racing, you’re already a heck of a rider.”

Luke drove Jo to the hotel where she retrieved her bag from the luggage room. She checked in at the Marriott while Luke signed autographs in the lobby. Apparently the bullfighters had their own contingent of fans; Luke’s were mostly young, female and wearing tight jeans, the buckle-bunny look Sophie had scorned.

“Want to grab an early supper with me before the show starts?” Luke asked as he carried her bag to her room. “Tom means to meet you for the after-party—as much as he plans anything before he rides—but he’ll be getting into game mode right now.”

Jo ran a comb through her hair and collected her purse. “How does he prep for his rides?”

“He does this kung fu routine—hides out behind the bulls’ pens and kicks the air for maybe half an hour. Some of the guys were calling him Mr. Miyagi, but they stopped laughing when he started riding rings around them. A bull fell with him a few years ago and busted him up pretty bad—the hardware in his left hip drives airport security nuts. A physical therapist taught him tai chi to get his balance back, and he went on from there into martial arts.”

A great detail for her profile if Tom didn’t mind her using it. “Is he self-conscious about it?” she asked.

“If he is, you’ll never know it—he never lets on about anything. He could be dying and wouldn’t give a hint till he keeled over. Me, now, I take all the sympathy I can get.” He grinned. “Girls love a wounded hero—a few scrapes and bruises attract chicks better than a cute puppy on a string.”

Jo had to laugh. She doubted any woman would hold Luke’s interest long, but he’d show her a great time while it lasted. She wondered if Tom viewed women with the same cheerful hedonism. Somehow she doubted he did, guessing his emotions ran deeper and with a stronger current.

“Tom suggested I cruise the concourse for supper and check out the fan action at the same time.”

“I’ll get you back in time to see the sights, but I’ll feed you better than that. You like a good steak?”

“What’s not to like?” she said, following him to the elevators.

* * *

AFTER A TEN-MINUTE DRIVE, Luke parked his Explorer in front of a nondescript building with a red neon sign identifying it as the Cattlemen’s Steakhouse. A blonde hostess in tight black slacks and a ruffled tuxedo shirt led them to a booth under an Old West mural.

“I saved your favorite table, Luke,” she said, leaning close to position his napkin and water glass more precisely.

“I figured you would, Debbie.” He circled her waist in a brief hug. “This is Jo Dace from New York City, here to learn about bull riding.”

“This cowboy knows the sport inside and out, honey,” Debbie said. She turned back to Luke. “Will you be at the after-party? I can get off early.”

“I’ll be there—come along and take a number,” Luke said with a grin.

“Oh, you!” She smacked him lightly with the big leather-bound menu. “Enjoy your steaks.”

A waitress set salads on the table; Luke smothered his with blue-cheese dressing and speared a tomato with his fork. “You must get paid pretty fancy for your writing if you can afford to live in New York City,” he said.

“I couldn’t swing it on my features alone,” she said. “I also write copy for an ad agency in Manhattan, and I edit other writers’ manuscripts to prep them for publication. Plus I work part-time for my mom. She’s a stager for real-estate agents. She pretties up homes before they go on the market so they’ll sell faster.” She flexed her arm to make a muscle. “Painting and scrubbing and lugging furniture around keeps me lean and mean.”

“Got a roommate? Boyfriend?”

Jo laughed. Maybe she should find Luke’s questions invasive, but he was so open with his nosiness she couldn’t take offense.

“I live with my mom, sort of. She sold the family farm to my uncle after my grandfather died and bought a hundred-year-old fixer-upper in Brooklyn. I helped her rehab it—we’re both pretty handy. She has an apartment plus an office on the ground floor and I have my own living quarters upstairs.”

“Sounds like a good deal—I still live with my folks. I guess I could build somewhere else on the ranch if I ever get married, but that won’t happen till I can find somebody who cooks as good as my stepmom.” He smacked his lips. “Cajun-style—Shelby’s from Louisiana.”

“The arrangement with my mom has worked so far,” Jo said. “I don’t throw loud parties and she doesn’t go through my underwear drawer. Plus she takes care of my cat when I’m on the road.”

They dug into their steaks; Jo sat back at last with a groan. “I won’t eat for a week,” she said.

Luke chuckled. “I thought you were going lick the plate after you finished your pie.”

“Please! I won’t be able to zip my new jeans if I keep eating like this. But everything was delicious. The best steak I ever tasted.”

“We keep the good stuff for ourselves west of the Mississippi—you should taste the beef my dad slaughters and ages himself.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, that’s a great idea. Come visit the ranch. You can see what a first-class grazing operation looks like.”

Luke’s enthusiasm was contagious, but Jo held up a hand. “I’m not sure if Tom would be thrilled about my following him home. I don’t know yet if this project is even a go.”

His face fell. “Well, dang! Seems like you’d fit right in—I just figured...”

Jo looked at her watch. “You probably need to get back, and I want to get some writing done before I go over to the arena.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” The grin resurfaced. “I’ll blow you a kiss from the dirt.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“WHERE IS SHE?” Tom stuck his phone back in his gear bag. Paula, the staffer, had already called twice wondering if Jo planned to sit above the chutes again tonight.

“Can’t tell you,” Luke said. “I dropped her off at the hotel maybe two hours ago. She said she needed to work on her writing.” He strapped on his protective vest and covered it with his electric-blue jersey. “She knows how to tell time—she’ll turn up before the show.”

Tom’s phone rang.

“All’s well,” Paula said. “She was up on the concourse talking to fans and lost track of the time. Good luck tonight.”

Tom muttered a curse and keyed off. His dad had warned him taking on this project might be a distraction, but he hadn’t known he’d have to keep track of Jo like a strayed calf. Be-damn if he’d let her break his concentration. As winner of last night’s round, he would ride late in this evening’s competition—he still had plenty of time to loosen up after the opening ceremonies.