“Dear God!” Jane cried. “He’s hurt. I knew it, I knew it.” She was already stumbling past everyone in the row, Ellie right behind her. “I swear if that fall didn’t kill him, I will.”
By the time they made it down to the steps, Cal had been carried off the grounds on a stretcher. Just as they reached him, they heard the final contestant’s name being called.
Glen, who was with his brother, took Ellie’s hand. Jane knelt beside her husband, tears in her eyes.
“It’s all right, honey,” Cal said, clutching his ribs. He gave her a smile but was clearly in pain.
“He’s had the wind knocked out of him,” Glen said.
Jane began to unfasten Cal’s shirt.
“Jane—not in front of all these people,” Cal said in a feeble attempt at humor.
“Be quiet,” she snapped.
“Best not to cross her in this frame of mind,” Cal said, then groaned when Jane lightly pressed her fingertips against a rib.
“I’ll need X rays, but my guess is you’ve broken a rib.”
“It won’t be the first.”
“But it’ll be the last one you’ll ever get riding bulls,” Jane said in a voice few would question.
“Whatever you say.”
“You might want to take this with you.” Max Jordan, a local business owner, hurried over to join them.
“Take what?” Glen asked.
Max grinned broadly and handed Cal a blue ribbon. “Congratulations, Cal! You stayed on longer than anyone.”
Despite the pain it must have cost him, Cal let out a loud triumphant cry.
TRAVIS HAD BEEN WRITING for years. He’d researched rodeos and even written about them—but this was the first one he’d actually attended. Jeremy and Emma had volunteered to be his guides, and he welcomed their company. Nell was busy adding the final touches to her chili; judging would take place later in the afternoon. The last time he’d seen Ruth, she’d introduced him to two friends, Edwina and Lily Moorhouse, sisters and retired schoolteachers. One of them had mentioned something about cloves—cloves?—a special cordial, and the next thing he knew, all three women had disappeared. Made no sense to him.
Now that the rodeo was over, Jeremy and Emma decided it was time to show Travis the booths. It seemed everyone in town had something on display. All new to Travis. The closest thing New York had to this was the farmers’ market, in which everything from rip-off brand-name running shoes and “real” French perfume to home-grown vegetables and spicy sausages was sold.
Travis and the kids wandered by the long tables where the chili was being cooked. “Hi, Mom,” Emma called.
At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Nell turned. She wore a pretty blue cotton dress with a white bib apron over it.
“I wondered where you two had wandered off,” she said.
“The kids are playing tour guide,” Travis explained. “They’re doing a good job of showing me the ropes.” He ruffled Jeremy’s hair, and the youngster grinned up at him.
“I hope they aren’t making a nuisance of themselves.”
“On the contrary.” They were likable kids, and seeing the rodeo and other festivities through their eyes had been a bonus.
“I’ll get my purse so you can buy your lunch,” Nell told her children.
“That’s all right, Mom,” Emma said. “Travis already fed us.”
Nell’s gaze briefly met his.
“We didn’t ask,” Jeremy added, apparently recognizing the look in his mother’s eyes.
“It was the least I could do,” Travis said, not understanding why she’d be disturbed about something so minor.
“My children and I pay our own way, Mr. Grant,” she said before he could say anything else.
“It was my pleasure, Nell—honestly. Without Jeremy and Emma, I would’ve been lost.” Both kids had taken delight in tutoring him in each of the rodeo events. They’d also shared tidbits about the community and its traditions, and the education he’d gained had been well worth the price of a couple of hamburgers and ice-cream bars.
“When are the judges going to be here?” Emma asked.
Nell glanced at her watch. “Not for another hour.”
“You’re gonna win,” Jeremy said with confidence.
“I’m crossing my fingers for you, Mom.” Emma held up both hands to show her.
“Good luck,” Travis tossed in.
“We’re headed for the carnival now,” Jeremy said. “I promise I won’t spend all my allowance.”
Nell nodded and glanced at Travis. “Listen, everyone, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier. I guess I’m more nervous than I realized about this contest.”
“That’s all right, Mom.”
“No apology necessary,” Travis said, thinking it was unusual these days to find anyone willing to apologize. It was a sign of maturity and inner strength, and he admired her for it. In fact, there seemed to be quite a bit to admire about Nell Bishop….
“Have fun at the carnival,” she said, stirring her chili.
“We will.”
“If they don’t mind, I’ll tag along just for the fun of it,” Travis said to Nell. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been on a Ferris wheel—probably when he was younger than these two; and maybe he could convince Jeremy and Emma to go on it with him.
He’d never spent much time around kids, although his books were geared to them. Life was full of ironies such as this, he reflected. Valerie used to say he related to children because he’d never grown up himself, and he supposed it was true. She’d meant it as an insult, but Travis had considered it a compliment.
They had a wonderful afternoon on the midway, and he loved every minute. He let Jeremy and Emma spend part of their allowance, but he paid for most of the rides. They went on the octopus, a ride he remembered from his boyhood, and Emma covered her eyes, screamed the entire time, then insisted they do it again.
“Don’t spend all your money on us,” Emma said when he bought them each a huge cotton candy.
Travis was half-tempted to say there was plenty more where that came from, but decided it would be a crass comment. “Don’t worry…” he began.
“Be happy,” Jeremy completed for him.
“Right,” Travis said and chuckled. He enjoyed children, always had. That was one reason he’d chosen to write for the age group he did. His overwhelming success had surprised even him.
“In that case, could I have some popcorn, too?” Emma asked.
Laughter bubbled up inside him. Both of these children were forthright and honest, hardworking and appreciative—and they had a sense of humor. It would be unfair to compare them to children in New York, since he knew so few, but he was sure these two were special. As special as their mother.
“Have you met Dovie?” Emma asked a short while later between mouthfuls of popcorn.
Dovie—not dove. A name. “No, I haven’t.”
“You gotta meet Dovie,” Jeremy said, directing him away from the carnival rides.
They led him to a large booth set up close to the chili cook-off area. A friendly, slightly rotund, older woman stood in front of a colorful patchwork quilt.