Marin Thomas - A Rodeo Man's Promise

“Dad, this is Riley Fitzgerald.” She spoke in English even though her father preferred communicating in Spanish. “Riley, this is my father, Ricardo Alvarez.”

“How do you do, Mr. Alvarez.” Riley shook hands with her father. “Maria tells me you’re an airplane mechanic. My Cessna suffered a bird strike and I had to make an emergency landing. I was hoping you could check the plane and assess the damage.”

“Where is the Cessna?”

“Estefan’s Salvage,” Maria answered.

“Lucky for me your daughter was out there searching for her students at the time or I would have been stranded.”

Maria focused on Riley, ignoring her father’s heated stare. Her parents resented Maria for working with delinquent teens, believing her actions sullied her brother’s memory.

“I’ll pay you for your time,” Riley said. “I need to rent another plane from the Blue Skies Regional Airport until the Cessna’s repaired. I’ll be in Arizona for a rodeo tomorrow evening, but, barring bad weather, I’d return to Albuquerque on Sunday.”

The sooner Riley and his crippled plane left the state of New Mexico the better. Maria hadn’t drawn a deep breath since he’d emerged from the cockpit earlier in the day. “Dad, will you be able to inspect the plane before Sunday?”

“Sí.” Her father had once been a gregarious man but his son’s death had left him bitter and remote.

“Thank you, Mr. Alvarez.” The men shook hands.

Back inside the house, Maria asked, “Would you care for a drink?” Call her fickle. One moment she couldn’t wait to dump Riley off at the hotel, the next she didn’t want the evening to end.

“Sure.” Riley sat on a stool at the countertop then ran his fingers through his hair—gorgeous, black hair.

“Fitzgerald is Irish, right?” Maria placed a can of cola in front of him.

“Wondering why I don’t have red hair?”

Maria laughed. “Mind reader.”

“I’m Black Irish.”

“What’s that?”

“My mother traced her lineage back to the Iberian Peninsula, which means my redheaded relatives cohabitated with the Indians and through the centuries each generation has produced an offspring with black hair.”

“Are you the only one with dark coloring in your immediate family?”

“My sister’s a carrottop. Dad has brownish-red hair and my mother’s hair is a blondish-red.” He chuckled. “As she ages, she goes blonder to cover the gray.”

Maria fingered the ends of her dark hair. She couldn’t recall when she’d had her hair professionally colored and she was certain a few gray strands were visible.

“What about your family?” Riley asked. “Are you Mexican, Spanish, or a mixture of both?”

“My great-grandfather was a bricklayer in a small town outside Mexico City. He married my great-grandmother there then they moved to the States and became U.S. citizens. My father and uncles learned to lay brick from their fathers but after high school my dad went into the air force. When Dad retired from the military, he hired on at the regional airport and has worked there ever since.”

“I bet your grandfather was proud his son served in the military.”

“He was.”

“If your father would rather not have to deal with my plane, I’ll find a different mechanic.”

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.