A hopeless rodeo, p.3
A Hopeless Rodeo, page 3
“Then let me try to cheer you up,” I said.
“How?”
“As soon as I’m done with my date, I’ll be sure to bring Hot Alex and a bunch of hot cowboys over to the bar to cheer up my hot best friend. And if that best friend plays her cards right, I might just show her some of those Shirtless Alex pictures after all.”
I helped Katie and Chris as much as I could that day and then gave Granny and Bess hugs goodbye when they packed up their bags and their indecent bathing suits in Granny’s old pickup for the drive to the Boise Airport.
“Promise not to do anything stupid on your trip, okay?” I said as I shut the driver’s side door.
“Would trying to sneak a firearm past security qualify as stupid?” Granny asked with a surprising amount of sincerity.
“You wouldn’t . . .”
“I would, granddaughter. In fact, I already did. But that was a long time ago. Nope, Bess and I are playing this one safe. But hopefully, not too safe, if you know what I’m saying.”
“I definitely do not know what you’re saying.”
“You see, if I get them just the right amount of suspicious, then they’ll be forced to do one of them full-body searches. Which, in case you were curious, would be the most action I’ve gotten in over thirty years.”
Nope. I was not curious. I was, however, nauseated. So, I said my goodbyes and tried to rid my brain of the words “Granny” and “action” because I had much more important things to focus on. I had a date. A date I was super excited for. And I really wanted to knock Alex’s socks off. Back in high school, Jimmy and I had gone to a few rodeos one summer, and I had the tight jeans, cowboy boots, and cowboy hat somewhere to prove it.
I found what I was looking for in a tub of old clothes in my closet back at Granny’s house. After I freshened the clothes up with several dryer sheets and ten minutes in Granny’s old Kenmore, I took my treasure back to the apartment above the Library, and I went to work.
When I say “work,” I don’t mean the namby pants sort of sissy work like mining for coal or digging latrines. I’m talking about a thirty-two-year-old woman who routinely makes bad nutritional choices attempting to fit into jeans once worn by her teenage self. I’m certain that I’ve never grunted or sweated that much in my entire life. It was like trying to fit an anaconda into a banana peel.
When I finally conquered the beast and not only got the jeans over my hips but actually buttoned them, I raised my hands in victory and let out a triumphant scream. I was quite certain I’d never get the jeans back off, but I wasn’t concerned about that at the moment. Because after I finished the rest of my makeover and looked in the mirror for one last quality control check, I had to admit, this Alex Kramer fella was one lucky guy. And when he pulled up five minutes later in his sheriff’s Bronco, he jumped out, took one look at me, and suddenly appeared to be very thirsty. Then he let out a breath and said just about the most perfect thing a man can possibly say in that situation. “Holy crap!”
CHAPTER 5
During the five-minute drive from Main Street to the Hopeless Rodeo Grounds just south of town, Alex let out several more holy craps and not only continued to look thirsty but also like a man who’d forgotten how to breathe. When he finally parked amidst the hundreds of vehicles that were packing the grounds for the opening night of the rodeo, he turned and said absolutely nothing.
“Why, Alex Kramer, I do believe the cat has got your tongue. It’s like you’ve never seen me before.”
He let those brilliant green eyes wander over . . . well, all of me . . . in a way that made me suddenly forget how to breathe. And when he was done, he smiled. “I’ve never seen you quite like this before.”
“Like what?”
“Like the prettiest cowgirl I’ve ever seen in my life. That’s what.”
The forgetting-to-breathe thing got worse. Much worse. Part of me wondered if Sheriff Kramer and I could just skip the rodeo altogether.
Then Alex’s face became grim, and he cleared his throat. “That being said, Hope, there’s something I need to confess.”
Uh-oh. This went from amazing to horrifying with world-record speed. My heart skipped as I thought back to all the times Katie had teased me about Alex having a secret family somewhere. There was no way she was right about that. I mean, absolutely no possible way.
Or was there?
“Okay, Alex,” I said, the words coming out fast like they were trying to keep up with my accelerated heart rate. “You’d better put me out of my misery. If you’ve got another family somewhere, some gorgeous blonde and three adorable kids, then just admit it to me now.”
“Excuse me?” Alex said, clearly confused, which was a good sign. Much better than looking guilty. “You think I have another family?”
“I don’t, but Katie thinks it’s a distinct possibility.”
“And why would she think that?”
“Because she can’t figure out why Sheriff Hot Pants—that’s what she calls you, in case you didn’t know—she can’t figure out why someone as hot as you hasn’t settled down yet. And so she figures you have, and I’m just your side chick.”
“My side chick?” He scratched his chin as he considered it. “I didn’t know I could have a side chick.”
“For the record, you cannot. Absolutely. Cannot.”
“Bummer. But Hope, if makes you feel better, if I did have a side chick, you would be an excellent candidate.”
“Wrong answer, Sheriff Hot Pants. I’m no man’s side chick. I am a one-hundred-percent, certified, main course sort of girl.”
He nodded slowly as if that made more sense. “Right. So, that makes you my main chick?”
Irritatingly, he said it like it was a question, which I tried to ignore because now I needed clarity.
“So, to be certain, you don’t have a secret family?”
He shook his head. “I do not.”
“And I’m not your side chick.”
“Correct.”
I smiled. “I’m glad that’s been settled.”
Alex hesitated. “I’m not sure it has.”
I wasn’t sure my poor heart could take this much longer. “Alex, what’s going on?”
“I may not have another family . . . or even a side chick. But I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
“Oh, God, Alex. Just rip the Band-Aid off and tell me!”
“I can’t do that, Hope.”
“And why not?”
He smiled, which was not at all the expression I expected. And not his endearing I-want-to-kiss-him-all-night-long sort of smile. This was his cocky made-me-want-to-punch-him-all-night-long sort of smile.
“Because it’s going to be a lot easier to show you. Come on, Hope. It’s rodeo time!”
With no further explanation than that, Alex came around to my side of the Bronco, grabbed my hand, and dragged me up to the gates of the Hopeless Rodeo, where he gave the nice ticket woman a gentlemanly tip of his hat and showed her his week-long pass. And then we entered the carnival-like atmosphere I remembered from when I’d attended the rodeo back in my youth.
Cowboys and cowgirls abounded to be sure, but also plenty of farm boys and ranch hands along with hefty doses of tourists who were just there for the spectacle. And then there was every sort of retailer you’d expect at a rodeo. Booths selling cowboy hats, buckles, jeans, jean shorts, jewelry, and yes, plenty of T-shirts. There was even a custom saddlemaker on hand, though one look at the prices let me know that I had a better chance at a home mortgage than ever being able to afford one of those beautiful works of art.
And as for the smells—where to begin? Some of my favorites included Frankie Falcone’s Fabulous Funnel Cakes, Mac McGibney’s Award-Winning Barbecue, and Sneezy’s Shaved Ice. Bill and Dottie Lloyd even had even set up a Banana Splitsville food truck, serving—you guessed it—banana splits, but also a specialty sundae just for this occasion, The Brownie Batter Bucking Bronco. In addition to this, there were cheeseburgers, chili dogs, and plenty of beer. It all smelled so good that I temporarily forgot about whatever Alex had to show me.
But then, quite unexpectedly, my chauffeur stopped in his tracks. And not in front of the chili dog stand, like I was secretly hoping. Nope, we stopped in front of a cowgirl. A drop-dead gorgeous cowgirl who, for the record, was also very blonde. And then she said just about the worst thing a drop-dead gorgeous cowgirl could possibly say in that particular situation.
“Alex Kramer, as I live and breathe. Is that really you?” And then before I could do anything like run her over with a Buick or maybe run Alex over with a Buick, she threw her drop-dead gorgeous cowgirl self all over the sheriff of Hopeless and gave him the type of hug that made me uncomfortable, jealous, and looking around for a Buick.
I tapped—and by tapped, I mean punched—Alex in the shoulder hard enough to end the hug, and when the woman untangled herself from my boyfriend, she looked my way and smiled that same cocky smile Alex had just flashed me back in the truck. You know, the really punchable one.
“You must be Alex’s girlfriend,” she said.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” I said with zero humor in my voice. Alex started to speak, but we ignored him because this was between me and Old Blondie, and Blondie didn’t disappoint. She stepped my way, puffed out her chest, tensed up her body, and narrowed her eyes. Looked like Blondie and I were about to have ourselves a standoff.
Now, over the years, I’d been in my fair share of scrapes. That comes with the territory when you’re raised by Granny. You realize just how much you can learn by staring into somebody’s eyes. As I stared into Blondie’s eyes, one thing was clear. This woman wasn’t acting. She was tough and not about to back down.
“I bet you just hate seeing some other woman throw her arms around your man like that.”
I stepped her way. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
She glared at me. Not a single blink. I glared right back. Alex may have said something, but we weren’t listening. Then suddenly, Old Blondie backed off and broke into a wide grin. “Oh, hell—I like you. I most certainly do. Gumption. That’s what you’ve got. I can hear it in the steel of your voice. You were ready to kick my heinie all over this place. I love it.” She shot her hand out now that this female pissing contest was over. “Lizzy Tepka. And you are?”
I shook her hand extra hard just in case this was some kind of test. “Hope Walker. And yes, I am Alex’s girlfriend. Who are you? Better question—who are you to Alex?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She released my hand. “I’m Alex’s old girlfriend.”
“Old girlfriend?” I said, my blood starting to boil. “Exactly how old?”
“Don’t worry, sister. Old. Back in the days before Alex became too good for us and went off to become a lawman. That kind of old.”
“Too good for us?” I asked. “What do you mean by ‘us’?”
Now it was Lizzy’s turn to be confused, and all Alex could do was shrug.
“Hope, Lizzy means back in the day when I was trying to make it on the rodeo circuit.”
My eyes lit up. “You used to compete in rodeo?”
“Compete?” Lizzy said. “Alex didn’t just compete. He was on his way to being a champion. He and Trevor were the best young bulldoggers in the circuit. Future stars. Everybody said so. Until, well, you know.”
I definitely did not know. In fact, everything about this conversation was news to me. Alex had never spoken a word about any of it. Not ever.
“Sheriff Kramer, what is she talking about?”
He sighed. “She’s talking about my . . . accident.”
“What accident?”
“In my early twenties, I competed in steer wrestling. I was a bulldogger.”
“Once a bulldogger, always a bulldogger,” Lizzy said.
“Getting hurt in rodeo just comes with the territory, and getting hurt in steer wrestling is a rite of passage. You just hope it’s not too bad. Well, one night at the Spooner Rodeo in Wisconsin, my rite of passage finally occurred. And it was pretty bad.”
“Bad enough that you never competed again?”
Alex and Lizzy exchanged the kind of long look where secret information is being shared.
“Correct,” Alex said. “I never competed again.”
“Alex Kramer!” Lizzy scolded. “You mean to tell me this lovely woman here doesn’t know the truth?”
Alex froze like a kid who’s just been caught in a lie. He mumbled as he tried to find the words, but Lizzy grew frustrated and turned to me. “That accident wasn’t just bad enough to end Alex’s career. It almost ended his life.”
CHAPTER 6
Things got weird and awkward after that bombshell. Eventually Lizzy said it was nice to meet me and to see Alex, but she had to get her horse ready for later. And with that, Alex’s old girlfriend and current truth teller left us as alone as two people could be in the middle of the carnival-like atmosphere that was the Hopeless Rodeo.
I thought it appropriate to let Alex make the first move, and when he finally did, it was really bad. He clapped his hands together, gave me his most charming smile, and said, “I could sure go for some of Mac McGibney’s barbecue right about now.” I responded by hitting him on the arm. And I really put my hips into it to make sure he caught my drift. He put both hands up in surrender.
“Now, Hope, in my defense, I did not know Lizzy was going to be here tonight. I didn’t even know she was still competing. And you know why that is? Because I never think about her anymore. That was all a long time ago.”
“You, Alex Kramer, are a very dumb man. I don’t care about Lizzie. I mean, I did want to kill her there for a second, but that quickly passed.”
“Oh,” he said as if he realized what I was really mad about. “The whole rodeo thing? Well, that’s why I was so excited to bring you here tonight.”
“I get that, Alex. I mean, I guess. You might have mentioned to me, at least in passing, something like, ‘Hey, Hope, guess what I used to do for fun? Give up? I used to wrestle cows!”
He shook his head as he held one finger up. “To be clear, I never have wrestled a cow. I have only ever wrestled steers. You do know the difference between a cow and a steer, don’t you?”
For him to so amazingly miss the point and to mansplain to me about the intricacies of cattle all at the same time was too much. I took my cowboy hat and whacked him upside the head with it. The gesture didn’t hurt him much and it made me look like a lunatic, but at the moment, I didn’t really care.
“I know the difference between cows, bulls, heifers, and steers, thank you very much. But seriously, Alex. How did it never cross your mind to say to the woman you love, ‘Hey there, Hope, did I ever tell you about this one time I almost died jumping onto a cow?’”
He raised an eyebrow, and by God, that man was lucky I wasn’t holding a frying pan.
“Steer, okay! I meant steer! But it doesn’t change the question.”
Alex took off his Stetson and ran his hand through his hair. It was the thing he did when he was annoyed with me. Or when he was stressed out. Or, apparently, when he was at a complete and utter loss for words, as he was in this moment. And when he finally did come up with some words, they weren’t very good.
“You want me to be honest?”
“That would be a good strategy.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Why?”
He thought about that. He had such an earnest expression on his face. He fumbled his hat nervously with both hands while he stared at me with those green eyes.
“I love you, Hope.”
“I love you too, Alex.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Because I don’t even understand. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. Not even close. And the thought of losing you, or rather, you losing me—I can’t bear it. And so, I didn’t want to tell you that the guy who loves you almost died ten years ago. Just didn’t want to go there.”
“That’s the truth?”
He nodded. “So help me God.”
As far as answers went, that was pretty solid. I stepped toward him, grabbed his hat, and put it back on his head where it belonged. Then I threw my arms around his neck, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed the man I did indeed love. When I was done kissing him, I stayed close and stared right back into those green eyes.
“Alex?” I said softly.
“Yes, Hope?”
“I’ve got two things. First, you’re going to have to tell me the story about how you almost died. But not tonight. It can wait.”
“And second?”
“Just how good of a cowboy were you?”
That cocky smile flashed across his face again, but for some reason, I didn’t hate it this time. Didn’t hate it at all.
“I was pretty damn good.”
“And you really expect me to take your word for it?”
“Nope. But I expect you to take a world champion’s word for it. Come on, Hope. It’s time you met Trevor Dawes.”
Trevor Dawes was, and this was news to me, famous. Or at least, rodeo famous. Alex brought me up to speed on the two-time world champion steer wrestler from Syracuse, Kansas, while we stood behind a crowd of young women wearing tight jeans, tight shirts, and wide grins while they impatiently waited their turn to get a photo from the champion bulldogger himself.
When we finally made it to the front of the line, I realized what the fuss was about. Though shorter than Alex by a couple inches, Trevor was almost as handsome. Almost. But there was something about the cocksure way he carried himself and spoke that made him even better-looking than he really was, if that makes any sense.
When Trevor finished signing for a particularly enthusiastic college-aged girl with a plunging neckline and a giggly voice, he turned our way, and when he saw Alex, he broke into a humongous grin.
“There he is, everybody. My brother from another mother, Alex Kramer himself!”
The two testosterone-fueled men gave each other some sort of violent bro hug. When they let go, Trevor stepped back as if to get a really good look at Alex and then shook his head.
