Rodeo Dreams. Sarah M. Anderson

was the Brazilian? Finally, she spotted him, all the way down at the other end of the chutes. He was watching the other two men.

      Didn’t look like Mitch was having a lot of luck. June hadn’t seen Travis so much as move a facial muscle since Mitch had walked over.

      “Their daughter goes to Texas Christian University....”

      Travis finally seemed to acknowledge Mitch’s presence and shoved a plastic bag into his hands. Then he set about rosining up his bull rope. Whatever their conversation had been, it was over.

      “She’d love to meet you....”

      June snapped back to Cindy. “Oh, of course! I’d love to meet her, too! Bring her down after the rides tonight, okay?”

      “Thanks, June. And good luck tonight—we’re rooting for you!”

      Mitch made his way over toward June. It took several minutes, because he stopped and talked to just about everyone, but there was no mistaking his target.

      “There she is!” He sidled up to her. “Have fun today, Girlie?”

      Fun right about now would be decking someone. Starting with Mitch. “Don’t try to sweet-talk me. You knew he was going to be there and you didn’t tell me.”

      Mitch looked like a Shakespearean sprite pleased with the mischief he’d spread. “Okay. Yes. That was kind of lousy.”

      That was the worst excuse for an apology she’d ever heard. “Do I look like the kind of woman who takes ‘kind of lousy’ for an answer? Or did you not meet my dog?”

      His smile faded. “I’ll make it up to you. The Brazilian and I will work your ropes.”

      “Fine.” She needed someone to do it and the last thing she wanted was Cindy to look at her funny if the Preacher got too close. She couldn’t afford to have anyone think she was in it for the buckles. Especially the wives.

      “Oh, now,” he pouted, thrusting the bag out to her. “Look, I come bearing gifts!”

      “What is it?”

      “Rosin. Travis seemed to think you needed some.”

      She snatched the bag and peered inside. Both black and amber. “He got these? For me?”

      “He didn’t explain. I don’t think he’s talking to me.”

      Both kinds. Because he didn’t know which one she used, but he knew she needed it. This bordered on a sweet gesture, from a bull rider. Better than flowers. Travis had thought enough of her to buy her a gift. Despite the fact that they’d had more arguments than conversations.

      The schoolgirl crush she’d been trying to keep buried threatened to break free and start growing. But she wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore, and Travis wasn’t some unattainable idol. He was right over there, twenty feet away. She could walk up to him and thank him for the gift. She could wait for him after the rides tonight, offer to buy him a drink. She could...

      She slammed the door on her thoughts. That’s the kind of thinking that got her shot down yesterday. Should she be surprised that he’d bought her rosin, or surprised there wasn’t a helmet in the bag, too? She had to pay him back. That’s all there was to it.

      “Yeah,” she explained when Mitch kept staring at her. “I couldn’t find it at the store, but he said he knew where he could get some.”

      “Uh-huh,” Mitch said, a wicked grin on his face. “You want me to tell him thanks for you?”

      The last thing she wanted was Mitch running interference for her, because interference was all she was going to get from him. “No, I need to pay him back. Thanks for bringing it over.”

      “Sure thing, Girlie!” Mitch shouted behind her, drawing the attention of everyone behind the chutes. Everyone except Travis.

      Travis was still hunched over his rope, like he was hoping to shut out the world. She hated to barge in on him if he was trying to get his head in the game, but she needed to pay him back. She was no one’s charity case.

      All the cowboys were watching now, no doubt waiting to see if any of the gossip might be true.

      “I tell you, I’m looking forward to riding against Pocahontas,” Red was saying loud enough that all interested parties could hear. “I want to learn her moves—see what she’s really got.”

      It wasn’t so much the observation that had her shivering in revulsion, but the reactions. Most of the guys laughed.

      Okay, Travis, she thought as she held her head high, I won’t make you look bad if you don’t make me look bad.

      His back stiffened as she approached, even though he wasn’t looking at her. He could tell she was coming. “Hey, Travis, how much do I owe you?”

      “Nothing,” he said without turning around.

      “Are you sure? At least take back the amber. I won’t use it.”

      “Give it to your dog” was the curt reply.

      Fine. Be that way. “Thanks again. I appreciate it.”

      Yeah, that grunt said the conversation was over. As she headed back to her bull rope, the crowd broke up and everyone went back to their own pregame rituals. That’s right. Nothing to see here, everyone move along.

      “You got more out of him than I did,” Mitch said. He’d set up his bull rope next to hers.

      “That’s not saying much. He won’t let me pay him back.” June dug the superblack rosin out of the bag. This was the good stuff. He might not like her, but Mitch was right. He’d respect her if she respected the sport.

      Secretly, rosining up the rope was her favorite part of the preparation ritual that every cowboy had. Methodically running the sticky stuff over and over the rope with enough force to bind it to each part of the braid was akin to going under a trance. Her mind cleared. She didn’t think about papers or if she’d have enough money to get a hotel after tomorrow. She thought only about the bull she’d drawn, how her rope would sit tight around his chest and how she’d hold on until it was time to let go.

      Everything else would fall into place. She had faith.

      June kept her distance as the long-go rides began. Every night was set up the same. For the long go, everyone got to ride whatever bull they’d drawn. The top ten—anyone who made the eight seconds, and then the guys with the times that had come closest to the buzzer—then rode in the short go. Round two was how June thought of it. The best combined scores from both the long and the short go was the big winner. And whoever had the best score both nights was the champion of the weekend.

      The individual winners varied from night to night, but the champion was almost always one of two people: Travis Younkin or Red Willis. Cracking that ceiling was going to be a lot harder than just getting to ride, but she was going to give it her best shot. Yeah, winning would be sweet and yeah, taking the whole weekend would go a hell of a long way toward proving she could ride any bull she damn well wanted, but there was more to it.

      Beating Red was practically a necessity at this point. And beating Travis?

      He’d learn soon enough what her father had never quite been able to grasp. No one was going to keep June Spotted Elk off a bull. Period.

      She stayed clear of the platform, in case someone wanted to blame their bad ride on her existence. Instead, she guarded her rope—just in case—and braided her hair four times until it felt right while she studied the other rides. Mitch looked just as gangly up on a bull as he did walking around, all arms and legs flailing, but he made the time with an 83. The Brazilian hit the ground after 6.9 seconds. Whether or not he would make the short go was questionable.

      Especially after she watched Travis ride. The difference between how he carried himself on a bull compared to all the guys around her was startling. Even compared to Mitch, who made the time, Travis looked fluid up there.