Rodeo Dreams. Sarah M. Anderson

“You’re one smart cookie, Girlie.”

      Girlie? Cookie? Maybe Mitch had a thing for Bogart movies.

      The Brazilian tapped Mitch with the tip of his boot. She barely caught the movement. “Oh, yeah. He wants to know where you learned to ride,” Mitch said, dumping four sugars into his coffee. The Brazilian left his black.

      Mitch got all of that from the nudge of a boot?

      “On this ranch on the edge of the reservation where I grew up. Just some crazy kids with a whole lot of cattle to keep tabs on.”

      “Ah, an organic cowgirl. I bet you run some mean barrels, too.”

      June blushed. “Well, actually...”

      Mitch looked her up and down, his eyes moving so slowly that June felt heat flush her cheeks. “So, if you’re an all-around cowgirl, what are you doing here riding bulls? I understood that there was a lot of money in barrel racing.”

      That question. Again. It was always some version of, What’s a nice girl like you doing on a bull like this? She narrowed her eyes. “This is who I am and I don’t have to apologize to anyone for that, you know?”

      Neither man moved. She saw the look that passed between the two of them. Then the Brazilian’s gaze darted out to the parking lot.

      “So,” Mitch said, as he moved to a table by the window, “where are you parked?”

      It was true. Mitch and the Brazilian were a couple. “The Crown Victoria out there. My mutt Jeff’s in the back. He’s my traveling partner.”

      “Your mutt Jeff? Mutt and Jeff? Cute, Girlie.” He still sounded normal, but his eyes had an edge that said secret, loud and clear.

      She needed to get this train back on track—and fast. Mitch and the Brazilian were the closest thing she had to allies right now. She couldn’t undermine that support. “Hey, just so you know, I really appreciated your help last week. I don’t think Travis would have let me on that bull if you two hadn’t backed me up.” She knew she still would have gotten on Hallowed, but thanks to Mitch and the Brazilian she hadn’t had to force the issue. “You said you’d seen me ride?”

      Mitch appraised her for a second, his mouth still smiling and his eyes still not. After a quick glance over at the Brazilian, he followed her lead. “Last summer, I broke my arm in a few new and interesting places. I went home to Wyoming to heal up and spend some time with my momma.”

      She’d been in Wyoming in August. “At Cheyenne?” Just some local rodeo, but five other women had shown up, ready to ride. The closest she’d come to a real competition yet.

      “Couldn’t stay away, cast or not.” He snickered. “Downright painful to watch all those amateurs out there being bucked off fifth-class bulls in three seconds. I could have won that one, hands down.” He sighed wistfully. “I remember you. You and those other girls—on the same bulls. You made the eight seconds in both the long go and the short go—one other girl made six, right?” June nodded in appreciation. She was flattered he remembered. “You don’t forget a name like Spotted Elk,” he added.

      “Can you believe I only got three hundred and fifty dollars and the hotel room for that? The winning guy went home with fifteen hundred dollars, and I had a better score!” Frustration bubbled up again. She was just as good as the men, but was always paid a fraction of the purse.

      “I know. That’s why you’re here.”

      “Damn straight. If I can get past the egos out there and get on the bulls, I can ride with the best of them.”

      “Not gonna be easy,” Mitch said with a snort. “This is Travis’s comeback year—if Red doesn’t knock him out first.” The Brazilian nodded.

      “Who’s the bigger problem?”

      Mitch made a big show of blowing on his coffee and then testing it carefully. “So, how did you get your TCB permit?”

      The flying lead change whipped June’s head back. “What? How do you know about my permit?”

      “I know lots,” Mitch said, looking like the cat that had a cage full of canaries to choose from. “I know that you lied on the application, slept with Chet Murphy—”

      “The TCB president?” These were the rumors floating about?

      “—that Travis begged and pleaded with Mort to kick you out, and when that didn’t work, he beat the tar out of him, or was it that Mort had it coming after calling Travis a has-been?” The Brazilian wasn’t close to smiling, but his eyes were laughing even as June began to sweat. Had this all really happened? Mitch gleefully continued, “Right. Mort had it coming, and then Travis went to find you and finish the job, or sweep you off your feet, or was it to teach you a lesson?”

      “What— Who— What—”

      “Oh, Girlie, it was all over the bar. Everyone had a slightly different opinion on what, exactly, happened, but the general consensus was that Travis was upset, Mort showed him your permit and he stormed off to find you.”

      She stared at him. “And?”

      “That’s all anyone knows. No one has seen you until about twenty minutes ago, and Travis wasn’t talking.”

      So no one knew about the argument in the parking lot? The best she could do was swallow down another sip of tea.

      “Now, it seems to me that you’re suddenly a little too guilty-looking for your own good, Girlie. You’re acting like Travis did, in fact, come looking for you and I’m just dying to know how it went down. The rumors were getting pretty wild there by closing time. Now, he thinks that Travis tried to talk you out of riding, and you told him to shove it,” Mitch said with a tilt of his head to the Brazilian. “But not me. I think it got physical. I’ve got money on you putting him in his place, just like you did Red. I know you didn’t break anything, because he rode the next night, but he didn’t make the time. He lost. And then he left.”

      “Holy crap,” she said in a rush. The mountain she had to climb suddenly seemed miles taller. Everything she was afraid of—summed up neatly by a cowboy in a coffee shop. People were already talking about her and Travis. About what had happened between them in the dark.

      No one here knew about her violent father or her mother, who’d spent most of the past twenty years blowing their welfare checks on beer. June wanted a fresh start. She had grand dreams of being June Spotted Elk, Professional Bull Rider—to have everyone know she was good at something, good for something.

      If people were already talking about her like this, her reputation on the circuit wouldn’t be any different from her reputation at home.

      How the hell was she going to do this?

      “You gonna tell me what happened?” Mitch prompted, his gaze focused on her face. “I like to get my gossip straight from the source.”

      This was all just gossip. She could handle gossip. She took a deep breath and gathered her wits. “How do I know I can trust you? I tell you, you tell Red, and the next thing I know, I’ve got my own personal peanut gallery of ill-wishers.”

      The Brazilian snorted in disgust as Mitch rolled his eyes. “Girlie, please. Like I talk to Red.”

      “So you tell me who I have to worry about. Red or Travis?”

      He didn’t hesitate this time. “Red. I’ve seen you twice now, June, and you are one hell of a rider—as good as anyone else out there, present company included.” The compliment sent her heart thudding. “Travis won’t like losing to a girl, but if you beat him fair and square without getting yourself killed, he’ll respect that.”

      It’d sure be nice to have Travis’s respect. To have him look at her with those beautiful brown eyes and know he was on her side.

      However, after last week, she didn’t think that would ever happen.

      “But