Valerie Hansen - Her Montana Cowboy

Not only that, some had agreed to remain or return for a second and third weekend. It didn’t hurt that the invitational events included some of the biggest names in rodeo, plus monetary grand prizes and serious day money for the top qualifiers. That kind of reward was definitely worth vying for.

The muted clip-clop of hooves on the wide main street sounded soothing. If Julie had not been so keyed up, she might have been able to relax and enjoy the rest of the parade more. The sights were certainly pleasant enough—particularly one of them.

Suddenly deciding what to do next, she clapped her hat back on her head, turned away and started into the crowd lining the curb.

Faith grabbed her arm. “Hey! Where are you going? The parade’s not over.”

Exactly where was she going? Julie hesitated, her mouth slightly open. “I just…”

Her sister hooted as she let go. “You’re going to move up so you can watch those attractive guys ride by again, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.” That was true if she took the question literally. It was not guys, plural, she wanted to study more. It was just one of them.

Yes, it was crazy, she admitted to herself. And yes, it was a tad embarrassing. At least it would have been if she’d imagined for a second that the rider had even noticed her. Cloaked in anonymity, she had no qualms about watching him pass a second time. And maybe a third.

Julie shook her head, slightly disgusted with herself for even contemplating changing her position along the parade route. That didn’t stop her, though.

She approached the corner of Main Street and Shaw Boulevard, the street named after her ancestors. Here, the marchers would turn south toward the fairgrounds and rodeo arena. This would be a perfect place to wait and watch.

It occurred to her to wonder if she would even recognize the handsome cowboy again. In an instant, she had her answer. There was no way she’d ever forget him. It was as if his image had been permanently imprinted on her mind.

“I am certifiably unbalanced,” she murmured. “If Dad heard what I’m doing, he’d blow a gasket.” Knowing that her father fully intended to choose her boyfriends, or at least vet them, she smiled. Wouldn’t it be funny if she showed up at the picnic later on the arm of a rodeo rider?

Oh, yeah, like that’s going to happen, she told herself wryly. Still, she began to work her way through the mass of bystanders lining the streets bordering the old bank building that housed city hall and the chamber of commerce. All she had to do was get close enough to peek over the heads of some children and teens standing at the very front. Being taller than Faith by a few inches had helped her see well before. This time, she aimed to put herself in an even better position.

Smiling and being as polite as possible, Julie said, “Excuse me? Please?” then “Thank you” as she wormed her way forward.

She reached her goal and looked up just as the group of riders began to arrive, found the man she was searching for and stared directly at him, never dreaming he’d pay any mind to her unjustifiable interest.

Her sharp intake of breath sounded a lot like a gasp. Her jaw dropped. The cowboy’s glittering brown eyes were boldly meeting hers. She was captured as fully as if he’d dropped a lasso around her and pulled the loop tight to reel her in.

He inclined his head, touched the brim of his hat politely, smiled—and winked. At least she thought he did.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. She dearly hoped he’d winked on purpose. At her.

* * *

Ryan Travers was used to encountering rodeo groupies and had learned that the best ways to discourage them were to either face the problem boldly and announce that he wasn’t interested, or to avoid them entirely. In the case of this pretty admirer, he decided to adopt a wait-and-see attitude.

Besides, he thought, letting his grin widen, she was different somehow. Naive, maybe? She certainly looked it. Then again, looks could be deceiving. In a small community like Jasper Gulch the girls were likely to be… He started to think of derogatory terms, then abandoned them in favor of simply enjoying the view.

The rider beside him inclined the brim of her pink Stetson. “Heads up, Travers. You have an admirer. The one in the bright blue shirt.”

“I noticed. Kinda cute, too.”

“If you like sheep.”

“Beg your pardon?” He knew Bobbi Jo was competitive in the arena, but he had no idea she carried that attitude over into her personal life. “What have you got against her? You don’t even know her.”

“Matter of fact, I met one of her brothers yesterday and he pointed her out. She was helping decorate the fairgrounds’ picnic area. She actually does raise sheep.”

“Here? Why?”

“Apparently for their wool. She’s got some kind of internet business selling yarn or some such thing. Sounds pretty dull.”

Ryan huffed. “Sounds downright suicidal to me. Sheep in cattle country? How does she get away with it?”

“It might help that her daddy is Jackson Shaw, the town mayor and owner of the largest ranch in this part of Montana. I guess he can afford to designate some of his pasture land to his little girl’s sheep ranching.”

“Ah, I see.” Too bad, he added to himself. The lovely young woman seemed hospitable enough, but chances were her well-to-do parents wouldn’t welcome an itinerant cowboy into her life, any more than the old-time ranchers had a hundred years ago, back when Jasper Gulch was founded.

Bright sunlight peeked between the flat facades of the commercial buildings, temporarily blinding him. When he looked back for the auburn-haired sheep rancher, she had gotten lost in the sea of similar cowboy hats.

He stood in the stirrups of the barrel-racing horse he’d borrowed from Bobbi Jo’s string and scanned the onlookers for a bright blue shirt. There was no sign of the young woman.

The horse instantly reacted to his change of balance, prancing as if getting ready to race into an arena and compete.

By the time Ryan got the fractious horse under control, the riders had crossed Massey Street and were on their way out of town to the fairgrounds.

What shocked him most was his clear disappointment over losing sight of the mayor’s daughter. Try as he might, he could not shake the feeling that they would meet again.

Matter of fact, he assured himself, he would see that they did, one way or another.

* * *

Children on bikes decorated with red, white and blue crepe-paper streamers followed the main part of the parade, taking care to dodge the droppings the horses had left behind. Julie had recruited members of the local 4-H club to follow and clean the street. That was one of the jobs she’d volunteered for years back when she was a member, and she saw no reason to abandon a tradition that helped build character.

That notion made her smile. It was her membership in 4-H and, later, Future Farmers, which had eventually led to her current career, and she was truly grateful. Raising sheep for wool was not only lucrative, it was rewarding in emotional ways. Seeing those tiny lambs struggling to their feet for the first time was akin to watching a sunrise on a summer day. Those woolly babies were a new beginning, new life, always bringing waves of joy as well as making her feel connected to the land, to nature, in a very basic way.

The rumble of an ATV approaching behind her caused Julie to step aside. It stopped next to her and the driver tipped his battered Western hat. “Howdy, Miss Julie. Like my new camo-painted Mule?”

Seeing ninety-six-year-old Rusty Zidek traveling via anything other than a horse or his dented antique Jeep struck her funny, but she managed to keep from giggling. “Hi, Rusty. I know that thing is called a Mule but it’s still a surprise to see a veteran cowhand like you behind the wheel.”