Dallas felt his insides start to unwind. His few days in Denver had turned into a week, but the visit only increased the concern he felt for his folks. As he’d suspected, his mom wasn’t doing as well as she and his dad had tried to tell him, and Dallas had come back to Barren feeling even more tense. In spite of their loving nature, and the recent attempts they’d made to talk about the damage from his childhood, his parents could be masters of deception.
But he could see that his mother’s color was as bad as before, if not worse. And how she tired so easily that even going out for an early-bird dinner—his treat—had sent her to bed before eight o’clock.
This morning, as a distraction, he was making a tour of area ranches, trying to drum up interest in his rodeo-that-might-not-happen-after-all.
Dallas didn’t have much time, so he had to multitask and find riders, a venue and the necessary stock for the events all at once. If the thing didn’t work out and there was no rodeo after all, the cowboys wouldn’t have to pay their entry fees. No risk.
Sawyer gestured with the whip at the colt. “What do you think of this guy?”
Dallas, who seemed to be a temporary local celebrity, climbed the four-board wooden fence and surveyed the horse, but mostly he watched the two men. Both athletic-looking with deep blue eyes and dark hair, they were identical rather than fraternal twins like Hadley’s two, Luke and Grace. He wouldn’t be able to tell one from the other except that now Sawyer wore a shirt and tie, probably because he’d soon head into town for his other job as a family physician at the office he and old Doc Baxter shared.
Watching the sun gleam off the colt’s sleek hide, Dallas finally said, “Good lines.” The Circle H kept its stock in prime condition, including the bison herd the twins’ grandfather ran on this land. In the distance, Logan’s newer Black Angus grazed on rich summer grass, the warm air filled with the sounds of their shifting hooves and, from a solitary paddock, the occasional bellow of the lonely bull apparently longing for love.
Dallas couldn’t smile. He wasn’t in the market for romance, but an image of Lizzie, her neat dark hair and unhappy green eyes, slid across the screen of his mind anyway. A dangerous bit of woolgathering on his part. Years ago Dallas had learned from his drug-addicted birth parents that marriage wasn’t for him—and neither was a family—at least, not until he was financially secure and emotionally ready. A woman so recently divorced and with children—Lizzie had three of them!—should send up bright red warning flares. He’d already made one mistake with her, and the last time he saw her they’d quarreled.
“That all you can say?” Sawyer asked, the whip twitching toward the colt’s backside to keep him moving.
“Horses aren’t part of my skill set,” Dallas said, although he could ride. “I leave that to you and the Circle H, but he’s sure a fine specimen. Now, put me on that black bull out there and you’ll see some action.” Sawyer, always the doctor, sent him a skeptical look. “My hip’s okay,” Dallas said, then saw his opening. He already had his brother and Calvin on the roster. “I hear you two did some rodeoing back in the day.”
Logan reeled in the chestnut colt, its hide showing damp patches from the workout. It stood blowing, head down, at Logan’s shoulder. “What boy from Barren hasn’t?”
Dallas couldn’t think of any, but he was new to the area. “I’m hoping no one,” he said, “because I’m setting up a rodeo for later this summer and I need cowboys.”
“Full rodeo? Not just bull riders?” Walking the colt around the ring to cool him, Logan grinned. “That being your specialty.”
Dallas squared his shoulders. “All-out event. With a starting parade and everything, including barrel racing.” That was if, other than the valuable specialty horses owned by those barrel riders, he could find other stock. During his stay with his folks, Dallas had made some calls but had come up empty with the contractors he knew best, and he was worried about that.
“Where? You aren’t thinking of the fairgrounds, are you?”
Dallas shoved his hat back on his head. Everyone he talked to seemed to have the same opinion. “Well, yeah.”
“Won’t happen, Dallas.”
“It will if I can come up with the right name to handle some permits.”
Sawyer led the horse to the gate. “Have you been over to the site?”
“Not yet.”
“You won’t like what you see. Believe me, the place is a wreck. It hasn’t been used in years. Bleachers are falling down, the arena footing’s lumpy—no good even when it was in use—and what about the chutes? They don’t exist, never did. Our county fair was always a kind of third-, no, make that fourth-class, event. Mostly for local kids to show their pigs and calves, and for people to display their best pies and homemade jams.”
That part sounded good to Dallas. He hadn’t considered such a competition to enhance the other events and draw in the crowd. “Guess the fairgrounds are my next stop.”
He walked with the other men to the barn. Logan put the colt in its clean stall with a fresh bucket of water, and Sawyer slid the door shut. They both turned to him.
Logan wiped sweat from his forehead. “You’re taking on a lot, you know that, right?”
“Nothing new,” Dallas agreed. “I’m still going through with the plan.”
“Just you?” Sawyer asked.
“So far.” Thoughts of Lizzie filled his mind. Maybe instead of getting the name from her, he’d run into the person at the fairgrounds—or someone else would tip them off beforehand, and he—or she—would approach Dallas regarding the permit. If not, he’d find another way.
The Circle H boys were both trying to hide their grins. “Who’s gonna ride?” Sawyer asked.
Dallas tensed. “Me. Calvin Stern.
