The Last Cowboy Standing
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Barbara Dunlop
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18.6K
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11
One
Travis Jacobs could do anything for eight seconds. At least, that’s what he told himself every time he climbed up the side of a bull chute. Tonight’s Vegas crowd was loud and enthusiastic, their attention centered on the current rider being bucked around the arena by Devil’s Draw.
Putting the other cowboys in the competition from his mind, he looked at Esquire below him, checking for any sign of agitation. Then he rolled his cuffs up a couple of turns, pulled his brown Stetson low and tugged a worn, leather glove onto his right hand.
The crowd groaned in sympathy a mere second before the horn sounded, telling Travis that Buckwheat Dawson had come off the bull. Up next, Travis swung his leg over the chute rail and drew a bracing breath. While Karl Schmitty held the rope, he adjusted the rigging and wrapped his hand. Wasting no time, he slid up square on the bull and gave a sharp nod to the gate operator.
The chute opened, and all four of Esquire’s feet instantly left the ground. The Brahma shot out into the arena then straight up in the air under the bright lights. The crowd roared its pleasure as the black bull twisted left, hind feet reaching high, while Travis leaned back, spurred, his arm up, muscles pumped, fighting for all he was worth to keep himself square on the animal’s back.
Esquire turned right, twisting beneath Travis, shaking him as if he was a bothersome gnat. Three seconds turned to four. Travis’s hand burned against the rope, and his wrist felt like it was about to dislocate. The strain sent a branching iron along his spine, but he also felt completely and totally alive. For a brief space of time, life was reduced to its essence. Nothing mattered but the battle between Travis and the bull.
Esquire made an abrupt left turn, nearly unseating Travis, but he kept his form. His hat flew off into the dust. The blaring music and the roar of the crowd disappeared, obliterated by the pulse of blood pumping past his ears.
The horn sounded just before Esquire made one final leap, unseating Travis, sending him catapulting through the air. Travis summersaulted, grazing the bull’s left horn, quickly twisting his body to avoid hitting the ground head-on. His shoulder came down first, with his back taking the brunt of the impact. As the air whooshed out of his lungs, a face in the crowd danced before his eyes.
Danielle? What the heck was Danielle doing in Vegas?
Then Esquire’s menacing form filled his vision, and he leaped to his feet. Corey Samson, one of the bullfighters, jumped between them, distracting the animal while Travis sprinted to the fence.
Glancing back, he realized Danielle had to be a figment of his imagination. The crowd was nowhere near close enough for him to recognize a particular face. He heaved himself over the top of the fence and jumped to the ground on the other side.
“Nice one.” Buckwheat clapped him good-naturedly on the back.
“Hey, Travis,” Corey yelled from inside the arena.
Travis turned to see Corey toss him his hat. He caught the Stetson in midair, and Corey gave him a thumbs-up.
“Ninety-one point three,” the announcer cried into the sound system.
The crowd roared louder, while lasers and colored spotlights circled the arena, the music coming up once more. Travis was the night’s last rider, meaning he’d just won ten thousand dollars.
He stuffed his hat on his head and vaulted back over the fence onto the thick dirt, waving to the crowd and accepting the congratulations of the clowns and cowboys.
“You have got to go pro,” Corey shouted in his ear.
“Just blowin’ off some steam,” Travis responded, keeping his grin firmly in place for the spectators, knowing he’d be projected onto the Jumbotron.
His older brother, Seth, had recently been married, and he’d committed his next three years to working on the Lyndon Valley railway project. Responsibility for the family’s Colorado cattle ranch now rested completely on Travis’s shoulders. Faced with that looming reality, he’d discovered he had a few wild oats left to sow.
“You could make a lot of money on the circuit,” said Corey.
Travis let himself fantasize for a minute about going on the road as a professional bull rider. The image was tantalizing—to be footloose and fancy free, no cattle to tend, no ranch hands, no bills, no responsibilities. He’d ride a couple of times a week, hit the clubs, meet friendly women. There were no bleak, dusty, hick towns on this particular rodeo circuit. It was all bright lights and five-star hotels.
For a moment, he resented the lost opportunity. But he forcibly swallowed his own frustration. If he’d wanted to be a bull rider, he should have spoken up before now. While his brother and sisters were all choosing their own life paths, Travis should have said something about leaving the ranch. But it was too late. He was the last Jacobs cowboy, and somebody had to run the place.
A small crowd had gathered in the middle of the arena to celebrate his win. He unzipped his flak jacket to circulate a little air. Then he accepted the prize buckle and the check from the event manager and gave a final wave of his hat to the crowd.
Mind still mulling what might have been, he turned and fell into step beside Corey, their boots puffing up dust as they moved toward the gate.
“How long have you been on the road?” he found himself asking the bullfighter.
“Nearly ten years now,” Corey responded. “Started when I was seventeen.”
“You ever get tired of it?”
“What’s to get tired? The excitement? The adventure? The women?”
Travis stuffed the check in his shirt pocket. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know. When I get tired of the wheels turning, I go back to the folks’ place in New Mexico for a while.”
“Ever tempted to stay there?” Travis was trying to reassure himself that life on the road got old, that all men eventually wanted a real home.
Corey shook his head. “Nope. Though, last trip home, there was this pretty red-haired gal living down the road.”
Travis chuckled at the yearning expression on Corey’s face. “I take it she’s calling you back to New Mexico?”
“Not yet, but likely soon. She’s got some kind of a bullfighter fantasy going on inside that head of hers, and she’s decided I’m the fire she wants to play with.”
Travis burst out laughing.
Corey grinned and cocked an eyebrow.
“No pretty women calling me back to my hometown.” There was nothing calling to Travis except cattle and horses.
Though, for some reason, his thoughts moved back to Danielle. But she wasn’t from his hometown, and she sure wasn’t any young innocent. She was twenty-eight, only a year younger than Travis. She was a graduate of Harvard Law, a practicing lawyer and probably the smartest, most sophisticated woman he’d ever met. She also flat out refused to give him the time of day.
“Think of that as another reason to go on the road,” Corey countered.
“I’m on the road right now,” said Travis. There wasn’t a reason in the world he couldn’t be footloose for the next few days. He’d earned it, and he had a check in his pocket just itching to get spent.
“That you are.” Corey clapped him on the back. “Let’s hit the clubs and show off that new buckle of yours. I bet there are dozens of gorgeous ladies out there just dying to hear how you rode the bull a full eight seconds, and how I saved your life in the arena.”
“Is that how you’re going to play it? That you saved my life?”
“Damn straight,” said Corey.
* * *
There were two men in the world Danielle Marin wanted to avoid. Unfortunately, both of them had turned up in Vegas.
She was attending an international law conference, so she’d been on alert for Randal Kleinfeld. It seemed likely the wunderkind D.C. attorney would show up for a lecture by his university mentor Stan Sterling. But Travis Jacobs had come out of left field, literally.
She’d been blindsided when the announcer called his name at the bull riding show, then mesmerized when the bucking bull burst from the chute. Travis made it look effortless, as if he’d been born on the back of a Brahma. That he’d won should have come as no surprise to her. When it came to all things ranching and rough stock, Travis was a master. Stone-faced and rugged, tough and no-nonsense, he was the absolute antithesis of the smooth-talking, urbane Randal.
Show over, and back at the conference hotel with her friends, Danielle couldn’t help but ponder the differences between the two men. Travis sticking in her mind, she took a bracing swallow of her vodka martini.
“That’s the spirit, Dani,” called Astra Lindy from across the table, raising her cosmo in a mock toast.
“I told you it would be fun,” said Nadine Beckman as she accepted a frozen Bellini from their waitress.
The four women were less than a mile from the bull riding arena, relaxing in the lobby lounge. The temperature was mid-seventies, a light breeze blowing in from the hotel pool and the gardens.
“It was a blast,” Odette Gray agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “Cowboys have the sexiest butts.” She’d gone with a light beer.
The other two women laughed. Danielle smiled, keeping her expression lighthearted, even as she called up a mental image of Travis walking away. It simply wasn’t fair. How could so much sexiness be wrapped up in such an exasperating man? And what kind of character flaw made her want him?
She took another healthy sip of her drink, regretting that she’d let her three friends talk her into the bull riding excursion. It had seemed like a harmless diversion after a full day of conference topics like Comparative Legal Systems and Cross Border Taxation. And it should have been a harmless diversion. Who could have predicted that Travis Jacobs would choose this week to leave Lyndon Valley and show up in Vegas?
“I’d do a cowboy,” Nadine brazenly declared.
“In a heartbeat,” Odette agreed.
“Up close, they’re dusty and crude,” Danielle pointed out, speaking to herself as much as to the other women. “They talk slow, use short sentences, very small words.”
“Crude can be sexy,” said Nadine. “And the dust washes off.”
Sadly, deep down in her secret heart of hearts, Danielle agreed. She’d once seen Travis after he’d cleaned up. The result had made her gasp for breath, and put her libido into overdrive.
“Dani knows cowboys,” said Astra. “She spends a lot of time in Colorado.”
“I wouldn’t call it a lot of time,” Danielle corrected.
Truth was, she avoided Lyndon Valley as much as possible. The Jacobs spread was right next to the Terrell ranch. And Caleb Terrell was one of her major clients. He lived in Lyndon Valley only part-time, so she could usually arrange to put in her hours for Active Equipment at his Chicago head office or at her own law office on the Chicago River.
“Caleb’s a cowboy,” said Astra. “He doesn’t use small words.”
“I was generalizing,” Danielle admitted.
On a night like tonight, she needed to take every opportunity to remind herself there was a world of difference between her and Travis Jacobs. She was closer to Randal in background, values, temperament and, of course, profession.
She’d dated Randal in law school, breaking up with him at graduation when he secured a prime internship in D.C. and she had accepted the offer in Chicago. He’d wanted to stay together, but she knew it wouldn’t work out. Long-distance relationships never did. Plus, she hadn’t been convinced he was the one. He was close, and she couldn’t exactly say what was missing. But her instincts had told her to end it.
Randal had not been happy with the split. Not that he had anything to complain about the way things turned out. He was rising fast on the D.C. legal scene. The firm he worked for, Nester and Hedley, had clients that included senators, congressmen and captains of international industry. Danielle’s Chicago job was bush-league by comparison.
Which made it strange that a partner from Nester and Hedley had contacted her last week, making her an offer that was all but impossible to refuse. She could only assume Randal had a hand in it, and she didn’t know whether to thank him or berate him.
The job would give her a chance to build toward an equity partnership in a prestigious, cutting-edge firm. Any lawyer would jump at that. But she didn’t want to be beholden to Randal. And she didn’t want to date him again. Maybe she was being ridiculously conceited, but she couldn’t help but wonder if that would turn out to be part of the package.
“Good evening, ladies,” drawled a male voice.
She glanced up to see a vaguely familiar man in a black cowboy hat, a blue-and-green Western shirt and faded blue jeans. A split second later, she caught sight of Travis slightly behind him, worn Stetson low on his brow, face tanned brown, a challenging glint in his cobalt eyes.
She was honestly too tired for this.
“Are you from the rodeo?” asked Nadine, glancing from one to the other.
“We are,” the stranger answered.
Astra pointed to Travis. “He’s the guy who won, isn’t he?”
“Are you a bull rider, too?” Nadine chirped to the other man.
“I’m a bullfighter.”
“So, one of the clowns?” she asked.
“There’s a big difference between a clown and a bullfighter, ma’am. For example.” He jabbed this thumb toward Travis. “I saved this guy’s life tonight.”
“I saw that,” Odette put in knowingly.
“Nice buckle.” Nadine had turned her attention and her brilliant smile to Travis. She reached out and touched the shiny, gold and silver prize at his waist.
Danielle couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the bling. Really? He had to wear it?
“This is Travis Jacobs,” the stranger introduced, removing his hat. “He’s tonight’s bull riding champion. And I’m Corey Samson, bullfighter extraordinaire.”
“Did he really save your life?” Odette asked Travis on a note of awe. Danielle knew the question was more about flirting than any true amazement at Corey’s feat.
Corey looked to Travis and waited.
“He most certainly did,” Travis acknowledged staunchly. “Bullfighters are highly skilled, highly trained, and among the bravest men on the planet.”
The word wingman flitted through Danielle’s brain. Travis was trying to help his friend pick up Odette.
Nadine turned to her. “That wasn’t short sentences and small words.”
Travis’s challenging gaze turned on Danielle. It was clear he remembered her using that particular phrase in the past.
“It was a generalization,” she repeated, refusing to break eye contact with him.
“That’s very impressive,” Odette told Corey with an almost comical flutter of her eyelashes.
“Danielle is continuously unequivocal in her elevated specifications for interactive discourse,” said Travis, keeping his expression completely neutral.
“How does he know your name?” Astrid immediately demanded.
“We met in Colorado,” said Travis.
“Briefly,” Danielle pointed out.
“Dance?” Corey asked Odette.
“Love to.” She giggled as she came to her feet.
“Dance?” Travis asked Danielle.
“Too busy with my drink,” she responded airily, lifting her long-stemmed glass.
“I’ll dance with you,” Nadine chimed in with obvious enthusiasm, holding out a hand.
“Ma’am,” Travis answered her, gallantly tipping his hat, taking her hand and helping her to her feet.
“You know a real live bull riding champion?” Astrid asked Danielle as the two couples left the covered deck for the dance floor inside, and Danielle concentrated on not looking at Travis’s rear end.
“He’s not a champion.” Danielle went ahead and finished off the martini. “He only does it as a hobby.”
“He’s pretty good.”
“That’s what happens when you spend your entire life on a ranch in Lyndon Valley.”
Astrid seemed confused by Danielle’s tone. “You hold that against him?”
“What I hold against him is that he’s annoying and incredibly full of himself. To hear him talk, differentiating between a Hereford and a Black Angus is the only knowledge relevant to mankind.”
Astrid was obviously fighting a grin. “Did you mix the two up?”
Danielle sighed. “They do look a lot alike.”
Astrid chuckled.
“He mocks me,” Danielle elaborated. “All the time, on every level. And we only ever see each other at the ranch, so I’m always out of my element, and he has the advantage.”
“You’re a Harvard graduate.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t let him get to you.”
“I don’t.”
“I can tell.”
Danielle regrouped. “It’s just that his frame of reference is so different than mine.”
“And that ticks you off.”
“What ticks me off, is that he’s such a snob about it. I’m intelligent. I’m hard-working. People respect me, even other cowboys. Caleb and Reed are perfectly fine with me.”
Astrid nodded toward the dance floor. “Looks like he’s getting along fine with Nadine.”
Danielle couldn’t help a reflexive glance at the couple as they danced together. “Nadine has probably been blinded by the shine off that enormous belt buckle.”
“She always was attracted to winners.”
Danielle couldn’t help but take note of Travis’s hand on the small of Nadine’s back, her touch on his shoulder, the animated smile on his face, and the way she was chattering on to him. He twirled her around, and she laughed as he pulled her back, holding her even closer against him as they swayed to the music.
Danielle couldn’t seem to stop a reflexive shimmer of sexual awareness from flashing through her belly. She pictured herself dancing with Travis. Then abruptly shook the image away.
“What’s that?” asked Astrid.
“What?”
“You’re blushing,” Astrid accused.
“I am not.”
“You got the hots for the bull rider.”
“Not even a little bit.”
“I think a little bit. I think more than a little bit.”
“I’m ignoring it,” Danielle declared, lifting her martini glass only to find it empty. She glanced around for the waitress. “I’m using intellect and reason to counteract inappropriate infatuation.”
“You should dance with him,” said Astrid.
“Not on your life.”
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
“I’m sure not doing anything tonight that I have to leave in Vegas.”
“I’m talking about dancing. What is it you have in mind?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
She and Travis had come close to...well, close to something a couple of years back when he’d rescued her from a derelict barn. He’d mostly been amused, and she’d mostly been angry. But after they got back to his ranch house, and she’d showered and borrowed one of his sister’s robes, there’d been a moment, a very long moment, when he’d look like he wanted to kiss her.
Her desire for that kiss had been so strong that it frightened her. She’d reacted defensively, uttering some patently untrue and hurtful remark. It had worked. He’d backed off. But it had also made him angry, and their relationship had never recovered.
* * *
“I see your drink is empty,” Travis couldn’t help saying to Danielle as he escorted Nadine to their table. He raised his brow in a question.
“That’s your cue to dance with him.” The woman called Astrid nudged Danielle with her elbow.
It was her cue to dance with him. Although he fully expected her to shoot him down, he had to take the chance. Danielle was in front of him, and he wanted to touch her. It was as simple as that.
Nadine dropped into her chair at the table, crossing her shapely legs and taking a drink of something frozen and orange. “Go for it, Danielle,” she breathed. “The band’s great.”
Danielle shook her head. “I’m not—” But then she stopped. Her eyes went wide, and she focused on a spot behind his shoulder. “Sure.” She rose to her feet. “Why not?”
Travis glanced behind him, finding a smartly dressed man in his late twenties. He was clean-shaven. His light brown hair was slicked back, slightly shiny, neat around the ears. He wore an expensive, pin-striped suit, with a white dress shirt and a purple tie. The handkerchief in his pocket matched the tie, and his gaze was intent on Danielle.
“Dani,” he opened with a dazzling, white smile.
“Sorry, Randal,” she spoke breezily, linking her arm with Travis’s. “Just about to dance.” She all but dragged Travis toward the dance floor.
“What was that?” Travis asked, as he turned her into his arms.
“What was what?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence.
“What was up with the guy back there?” He settled a hand on the small of her back.
“Nothing.” She took a breath, placed her hand on his shoulder and stepped into the smooth jazz music.
She felt so good in his arms that he almost let her get away with it. The dance floor was crowded. The breeze from the open window ruffled her hair. Man, she was beautiful.
But he was too curious to let it drop. “You were about to turn me down. Don’t pretend you weren’t. Then that guy showed up, and you changed your mind.”
Danielle gave her short, brown hair a little toss. It was soft and trendy, long across her eyes, wispy at her neck. “I didn’t expect to see you in Vegas.”
The longer he held her in his arms, the less he cared about the other guy. “Is that your way of telling me he’s none of my business?”
“He is none of your business. But that’s my way of telling you I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Okay by me.”
“Thank you.” There was an edge of sarcasm to her voice.
Travis was used to that. “I didn’t expect to see you in Vegas, either.”
“I’m attending an international law conference.”
“Interesting?”
“It is if you like international law.”
“Not exactly my forte.”
“That’s true, isn’t it?”
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because, you’re in my world now, cowboy.”
He didn’t exactly know what she meant by that. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue it, either, since it would likely mean they’d end up arguing. The way he saw it, Vegas was as much his world as hers.
“You saw me ride?” he asked instead.
“The girls dragged me along.” She paused. “Bull riding is not exactly my sport of choice.”
He wasn’t about to take offense. He’d have been shocked speechless if she’d confessed to a secret love of bull riding. “Where were you sitting?”
She pulled back to look at him, her gaze quizzical. “Why?”
He wanted to know if he could have possibly seen her after his fall, but he wasn’t about to explain that to her. “I wondered if you had a good view.”
“Fourth row, across from the chutes.”
“Good seats.” He could have glimpsed her on the way down, maybe filed her image away in his subconscious and brought it up when he hit the dirt. It was possible.
She frowned. “I’m not sure being closer makes it any better.”
“Are you trying to pick a fight?”
She hesitated almost imperceptibly. “We never seem to have to try.”
Travis’s skin prickled in warning, and he glanced around the room, catching the glare of the man who’d approached Danielle at the table. “Who is that guy?”
“I thought we’d moved on.”
They might have moved on, but the other man obviously hadn’t.
“Are you dating him or something?” Travis asked.
“No.”
“No to dating him, or no to or something.”
She drew her arms from him. “This was a bad idea. I’m going back to the table now.”
“He’s waiting for you.”
She reflexively turned her head, but Travis stopped her with a gentle palm on her cheek. “Don’t look.”
She stilled.
“He’s staring daggers into me. If I’m gonna have to fight, you’d better warn me now.”
She gave a weary smile and a small shake of her head. “Nobody’s fighting.”
Travis gathered her back into his arms, and she picked up the rhythm again. His body gave a subconscious sigh, and he drew her closer this time, her chest brushing his, thighs meeting as they moved. She was exactly the right size, exactly the right shape. She fit perfectly into his arms.
“I’m pretty sure I can take him,” he mused, breathing in the fresh fragrance of her hair.
“His name is Randal Kleinfeld. I knew him in law school.”
“In the biblical sense?”
She tipped her head back, dark eyes chastising him. “You are insufferably rude, you know that?”
Travis might be rude, but Randal was intensely possessive. Not that Travis blamed him. Even he could see that Danielle was a gem, a beautiful, sensuous, fiery gem of a woman. And for the right man, there’d be no looking back.
“Did you date him, Danielle?”
“It’s business, Travis. He wants to talk to me about a job. With his firm. They’ve made me an offer to move to D.C.”
Travis didn’t like the sound of that. If she switched firms, she would also switch clients. She might never come back to Lyndon Valley on business with Caleb.
He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. They’d seen each other maybe a dozen times in the past two years. They were barely acquaintances. Mostly they fought. There was certainly nothing personal between them
Still, he found himself bracing for her answer as he posed the question. “Are you going to take it?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t need any pressure while I make up my mind.”
Travis glanced at Randal again, taking in his clenched fists and the dark scowl that furrowed his aristocratic brow. It was patently obvious that he was after more than just a business relationship with Danielle. And Travis realized he had no way to stop him.
Not that he wanted to stop him. Danielle’s personal life, in D.C. or anywhere else, was none of his business. He hoped it wasn’t Randal’s business. He hadn’t seen much of the guy, but what he’d seen, he didn’t like.
Thankfully Randal didn’t have the upper hand, at least not at the moment anyway. Right now, Travis was the guy who had her in his arms, while Randal was the guy on the sidelines. He deliberately eased their bodies farther away from the crowd and splayed his hand across the small of her back, thinking he liked it this way.
