“Okay.” He sighed, heavily. “I give you my word I’ll try.”
“Not to keep tabs. But a real friend.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m sort of hoping he’ll stay around. For Rowdy—not me.”
“Not you?” He sighed, eyeing the bracket on her saddle. “I’ll try.”
“Lend a girl a hand? And go get into your fancy box.” She let him help her into the saddle and smiled at him. “And congratulations on the new job, Mr. Fancy-Emcee-and-Rodeo-Production-Manager. You’re a big important person now.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I thought I always was.”
She laughed. “Go on.” She turned Stormy and let the horse circle the pasture a few times. Her gaze wandered to the horizon, the pinks and blues turning a deep purple as the sun disappeared from sight.
She sucked in a deep breath, a mix of nerves and adrenaline running through her veins. She wasn’t competing tonight, but it didn’t matter. The lights, the sounds, the smells—rodeo woke her up, and nothing else mattered.
She turned Stormy, her gaze sweeping the stands. Rowdy was there somewhere, sitting with Tandy and Cody. She’d given him money for a funnel cake and lemonade and knew he’s be a sticky mess by the time she made it back to the stands. But that was okay—bedtime was hours away. Once the rodeo was over and the dance was done, they’d watch the fireworks.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Stonewall Crossing’s Fourth of July Rodeo Festival. My name is Doug Davison and I’m joined tonight by one of PRCA’s finest emcees, Mitchell Lee.” The speaker crackled.
“Nice to be here.” Mitchell’s voice rolled over her, making her smile. “I’ve never seen a sunset so patriotic before. Will you look at that? Red, white and blue. Makes my heart beat a little stronger.”
She spun Stormy in a circle, kicking up her pace. Not much longer before the big entrance. After two more loops, she urged Stormy to the gate.
Four young women waited on horseback, each carrying an American flag.
“Here you are, Miss White.” One of the wranglers held up the larger flag, helping her slide it through the bracket on her saddle and into the base on her stirrup.
“Miss White,” one of the girls said. “It’s a real honor to ride with you.”
The other three joined in, reminding her how magical it had been when she’d met the women she’d looked up to. Suzanne Carlson, Judy Hailey and Brenna Woods. She’d stared at them, hoping her career would be half as impressive as theirs had been. She was humbled to hear these young ladies talk, to answer their questions and promise that—once they were done—she’d be happy to sit down and talk to them some more.
They did two loops to warm up and burst through the gate into the arena.
She and Stormy led, flying around the fence, then cutting into a figure-eight pattern. It was exhilarating, the speed of her horse and the wind in her hair. She heard the whistles, knew Mitchell was building up the crowd’s enthusiasm. And Rowdy and Toben were watching them. She wanted to make them proud. The four other riders kept circling, but Poppy swung around and trotted back into the center of the arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as we stare upon the flag of our great nation, let us stand and sing the national anthem.” Mitchell’s voice was solemn. “Here to lead us is Stonewall Crossing’s own Miss Nina Garza.”
When the last chorus began, Poppy had Stormy kneel. It was what they’d always done, and it seemed right. The crowd went wild.
One more turn around the arena and she and Stormy trotted out.
She handed off the flag and trotted the field twice, the girls trotting right along with her. Once the horses were cooled down, she headed for her truck and trailer. Toben was waiting. She could do this. The two of them were always going to be part of one another’s lives; they had a son to raise together. Her gaze fell to the bracket he’d attached to her saddle. His thoughtfulness had touched her. Dammit.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
She hesitated. Being close to him was bad. But her side was sore and she could use the help. “Yes, please.” She swung from the saddle. He caught her, his hands on her waist, easing her down against his chest until she was on her feet.
“You looked mighty pretty out there, Poppy. You and Stormy are a perfect team.” His voice was low, his h
ands light on her waist.
It would be all too easy to slide her arms around his neck. Instead she stepped back, out of his hold. His disappointment was visible. She resisted the urge to touch him, stammering, “I-It might not have gone so well if not for you.”
His nod was stiff. “Rowdy said your side pulled sometimes. Didn’t want you hurting.”
She shoved her hands in her pockets, fighting the urge to reach up and push off his hat, to kiss him until they were breathing hard and rattled. “Thank you,” she managed.
“Poppy, I—”
“We should find Rowdy,” she interrupted. Her emotions were wound too tight, too raw, to stay here—alone—with Toben. Even though she’d made her decision, her heart wasn’t on the same page.