Cowboy, Take Me Away. Kathleen Eagle

laughter sounded girlish, and her eyes glittered in the morning sun like bits of green-and-brown bottle glass. “But he’s a wild horse, and he wanted absolutely no part of that halter.”

      “Yeah, but he wants a part of you,” Trace said as he pulled the pickup keys out of the cup holder and plugged one into the ignition. “So he’ll take the halter, the bit, the saddle, the whole crazy outfit,” he continued as he put the pickup in gear. “Just give him free rein when you hit that next hump, and you’ll go—” he made the jump with his hand, arching from gearshift to steering wheel “—up and over.”

      “Free rein,” she echoed as she turned to him, her enthusiasm mounting as the pickup bumped and rattled over red clay ruts. “I saw a news clip about the competition and how they’re trying to drum up support for the wild-horse sanctuary in South Dakota that those two sisters have devoted themselves to, put everything they have into it, and I just thought, this is important. I’ve trained horses. I can do this.” Her tone took a contemplative turn. “The wild ones are different, though. You wonder …”

      “They’re horses,” he assured her.

      “But they seem more sensitive. I swear, that horse can read my mind.”

      “That’s a two-way street, isn’t it?”

      “Right now he isn’t thinking free rein. He’s thinking no rein.”

      “He can’t imagine a rein, so go easy and try to stay one step ahead of him. You’re just as sensitive as he is. You’re a woman.”

      “Of course.” She smiled playfully. “I know how to stay a step ahead without letting it show.”

      “There you go.”

      “Maybe I don’t even need you.”

      “Maybe you don’t, but you’re curious about me.” He returned her smile in kind. “It shows.”

      Curious didn’t begin to describe where Skyler’s head was. She was charmed, but she hoped it didn’t show too much. She was as keyed up as a kid on her way to a carnival, but when he reminded her they’d be taking in the WYO Fair after he rode in his event, she tried to beg off, saying she didn’t “do dizzy.”

      Trace was having none of it. No foot dragging today, he had said. It was a gorgeous midsummer day, and there was a program to get with, a crowd to entertain, a good time to be had. Skyler found herself eager to keep up with him, but something told her she’d better slow down, stay cool, be the grown-up. Childhood was, after all, much overrated.

      Skyler had chosen to marry a man twice her age, and she’d worked hard to shed inconvenient youth in favor of sophistication. She’d achieved a certain dignity as Tony Quinn’s wife for fifteen years and his widow for one. Dignity was about all she had left. She was too old to be a buckle bunny, too young to be a cougar and too smart to get herself stuffed, mounted and labeled with a trophy plaque. There wasn’t a man in the big, wide world worth playing the fool for, not one.

      Especially not one who regularly risked his fool neck bucking out rough stock. Skyler couldn’t breathe watching Trace tether himself to a snorting sorrel bronc and call for the gate, but she couldn’t close her eyes to the thrill of the horse’s first jump and the skill of the man in making the jump his own. Trace rode the action more than the animal. He leaned back and became less the rider than the ride itself. He defined going with the flow, and it was breathtaking.

      When the buzzer sounded, he bailed off the hurricane deck and landed on his feet. He waved his hat to the cheering crowd and then turned to where he’d left her, standing behind a chin-high fence under a Wrangler Jeans sign adjacent to the bucking chutes. Hat back in place, he dodged the pickup man, who was herding the high-stepping bronc toward the exit gate. Trace scaled the fence and swung over the top, but rather than drop to the ground, he eased himself rail by rail—giving her time to notice how nicely the fringed chaps framed the cowboy ass, Skyler supposed.

      He turned and reached for her, and she stepped under his extended arm, slid her arms around his waist and gave him the kiss he deserved. Somebody sitting atop the chutes shouted, “Woo-hoo,” and somebody else added, “Way to go, Trace!” He finished off the kiss with a little extra smooch and then gave the boys up top a wave with his free arm while he wheeled Skyler in the other direction, muttering something about his damn joints.

      She tightened her hold on his side. “Are you okay?”

      “Yeah, yeah. Just my trick knee.” The smooth rowels on his spurs jingled as they rounded a fence corner and took refuge in an alley among the maze of stock pens. He flicked the chaps buckles loose at the back of his thighs, unbuckled the front and peeled them off.

      “Can I help?”

      “Thanks.” He handed her the chaps, grabbed a rail with one hand and his knee with the other and “Sheee—” Crack! “—zam!” He straightened slowly. “Gotta start letting the pickup man do his job.” He offered a sheepish grin. “Swear to God, that was my last flying dismount.”

      “It was magnificent,” she enthused. “Can you walk?”

      “Oh, yeah.” He laid his arm around her shoulder and favored his knee as they walked. “All in an eight-second day’s work.”

      “Won’t it swell?”

      “Not much. It’s prewrapped. Did you get any good pictures?”

      “I … No, I didn’t. I forgot about the camera.” She lifted the chaps she’d been clutching against her side. Yes, she still had her shoulder bag. “Oh my God, I forgot about the camera.”

      “You left it somewhere?”

      “No, I have it. I was watching. I wasn’t thinking about anything else.” He relieved her of the chaps and she smiled. “Pretty amazing.”

      “That watching can take your full attention?”

      “That you can make a crazy ride like that look easy. The rest of those guys are working overtime, but you looked like you were quite comfortable. Like you were actually having fun.”

      “It’s a helluvalot of fun when I’m on a roll. It’s been a good season. Haven’t broken anything in months.”

      “Ninety is a wonderful score. Do you think you’ll win?”

      “Can’t lose.” Grinning, he flipped the chaps over his shoulder. “It’s my birthday.”

      “Let me take you out for dinner.”

      “You’re on. I want a corn dog and a snow cone.”

      “I want to take you someplace nice.”

      “Exactly. The WYO Fair.” He gave her a playful squeeze. “It’s my birthday, woman! You take me to the corn-dog stand and I’ll take you up on the Ferris wheel.”

      Skyler looked up. The wheel looked huge up close. The red seats rocked gently like the storied cradle in the treetops and the lights on the spokes were gaining on the dimming sky. She hadn’t faced one of these things since Mike had last dragged her to a line like the one she was standing in now and handed off two tickets. She remembered being surprised that the top of his cowboy hat reached her nose, and he was barely eight.

      She lowered her gaze and watched the cars dip, drag and rise. A starry-eyed young couple. Mom with kids. Dad with kids. Kids with kids. Lots of kids. Beautiful, beautiful kids. They all looked fairly secure, pretty happy. Begging off would have her looking like a stick-in-the-mud. It wasn’t a roller coaster, after all. One Ferris wheel ride couldn’t hurt.

      “You wanna eat first?”

      Skyler looked up at the handsome face below the brim of the cowboy hat. “Why don’t we do this before we tackle the corn dogs?”

      Going up was fine. Uploading. Uplifting. Upstanding. It was all good. At the top of the arc, she looked up at the sky, darkening from the top down as though