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“You boys make an old man proud, you know that?” Pops shook his head, his eyes fading as if lost in a memory. “I never dreamed of a time like you two made today.”
“But?” Austin said, not even feeling a twinge of hurt ego when he led Pops on to give his normal list of critiques.
“Break it down for us, Pops,” Adam said, meeting Austin’s eyes over their horses’ backs.
Pops opened his mouth, then shut it and shook his head again. “Nah, no breakdown today, boys. You did well. You both did. Let’s just celebrate.” He pushed off the railing, and this time Austin didn’t doubt that he saw a wince quickly shielded in his stepfather’s expression. “I’m going to tell your mama that we’ll celebrate at that steakhouse we saw on the way in. Good job, boys, good job,” Pops said, his voice slightly catching as he waved and turned away.
Austin couldn’t take his eyes off him, noting how gingerly he moved. He turned to Adam. “Hey, you know if Pops is sick or something?”
His brother shook his head, following his gaze, but his grin stayed as bright. “Not that I’ve heard of. He’s getting old, bro. No need to bring it up and hurt the man’s ego.” He stepped under his horse’s neck and came to the divider between their stalls. “Come on, it’s time to celebrate! This is our year!”
Austin grinned, pushing his worry behind the rush of exuberance from reaching a mark he had almost believed was impossible. “You think it was all that target training?”
“I don’t know, but you held your lane like you knew that steer was gonna turn left,” Adam said, returning to his horse.
“I did know he was gonna turn left…at least I assumed that from the way he was moving in that chute. He kept turning toward me while we sat waiting.” Austin shrugged. “And you, you didn’t cut the corner.”
“Looks like we both had a little patience today,” Adam said, winking at him as he stroked his horse. “Our boys did well, too, didn’t you, Turbo?”
“Yeah,” Austin said, giving Buckley a long sliding stroke. “They sure did.” A roper was only as good as his horse, and his horse was the best, at least in his biased mind.
He glanced up at the sound of the speakers announcing the next event. As he did, a long-legged, yet tiny brunette walked down the far alleyway, leading a massive horse set up with a surcingle for a vaulting competition.
Not all the rodeos had vaulting events, but the ones that did always piqued his interest. He couldn’t help thinking about a particular gal that he had thought would be good at it, a gal built like the one he had just glimpsed. Their high school hadn’t offered vaulting. In fact, the first rodeo he saw with the event, he had come running back to tell her…but rodeo hadn’t been her life.
A hand waved in front of his vacant eyes. “Where’d you go?” Adam asked, smirking. “You got that whimsical look again.”
Austin shook his head. “Nothing, I just thought I saw someone I knew…” He stared down the now-empty alleyway.
“Well, we are getting closer to Wyoming. Maybe it’s someone from the old days.” His brother shrugged. “You ready?”
Someone from the old days was exactly what he thought, half fearing it and half excited. What would it be like to see her again? His palms sweated as he stored away Buckley’s currycomb and brush. The idea unnerved him, slightly taking away some of the fervor from having such an incredible run.
“Bro? Come on! There’s a crowd waiting for us.” Adam grinned. He enjoyed signing autographs and encouraging the younger kids. Austin always thought he’d be a great trainer one day…when he retired.
“I’ll be right behind ya,” Austin said as he finished up with Buckley.
He was only a minute or two behind Adam, and the crowd moved toward him as he approached. Pushing forth a smile, he greeted them, taking their praise in stride, though it always felt weird, and bending down to talk to the young ones.
He was signing the last autograph when the announcer’s voice broke through his conversation with a cute young woman in a pink cowboy hat, an adult but much too young for him. Not that he was looking, anyway. He had found no one who held his attention like the gal he had known all those years ago. The young woman blushed when he handed her back her signed flier and tipped his hat.
Then his entire world froze as the announcer’s words came out in super slow motion. “Now up is a gymnast who is relatively new at vaulting. Texas taught, but Wyoming bred, Miss Charlotte Walker.”
Austin swallowed, his throat gone dry and his face clammy…it hadn’t been a ghost…it had been her. His high school sweetheart…his girl…the girl he had left over eight years ago to pursue his rodeo dream…his one regret.
On the sidelines, Charlotte Walker clasped her hands in front of her as her trainer, Emilia, lunged her horse around the arena. Her body quivered as it always did before a competition, whether in gymnastics, where she started, or in vaulting. The shakes always dissipated the moment she stepped into her routine, but now she shook so much she was sure the judges could see from their booth.
Of course, the extra nerves had nothing to do with seeing Austin after nearly eight years. Nope. Nothing at all. She had stood transfixed as she watched him for the few seconds he was in the arena. Though he had grown, his shoulders were wider, and he sat in his saddle with more confidence, he was still the same old Austin, still had that heart-shattering grin and those piercing green eyes that flashed when he was excited…mostly in the arena.
She sighed, rolled her shoulders, and stretched her neck. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking of the cowboy who broke her heart. She inclined her head, beseeching God for His peace.
Lord, help me focus and be at peace. Give me the strength to do my best out there today, for Your glory. Amen.
She raised her head just as Emilia’s slight nod told her to come out. The tight body suit she wore clung to her body like a second skin, keeping her movements light and free. She’d been wearing costumes like this purple-starred body suit since she was five and felt at home as she strode across the arena to stand beside her trainer.
Charlotte trained her eyes on Apollo, her beautiful, silky-black Percheron gelding, whose dark mane flowed behind him as Emilia encouraged him into a canter. Emilia turned with Apollo as he circled the arena. Charlotte turned with her until the moment came and her music began. For this competition, they picked a lively tune, one that reminded her of the freedom of racing through the high mountain meadows at home in Wyoming.
Each of her trotting steps brought her closer to Apollo’s side until she paced him, taking a moment to lay a reassuring hand on his muscular shoulder. Charlotte gripped the handles of the surcingle, the padded tack that fastened around Apollo’s barrel right behind the withers. One stride, two strides, a hop, and then she swung her right leg up overhead, but forward rather than backward so she came down on Apollo above the handles, facing backward.
