Finding Mr. Right Now (21 page)

Billy Joe was directing smoldering looks in Ronnie’s direction. Brendan watched her worshipfully. Lex grinned as if seeing her was the highlight of his day. And Paul kept looking at the other end of the arena and frowning.

Monica sighed. They’d probably end up editing out most of his shots. Of course, he occasionally smiled in her direction, which Glenn could probably edit into looking like appreciation for Ronnie. Nobody would have to know who exactly he was smiling at.

She’d found the woman in charge of the relay race whom Nona Monteith had mentioned, although she didn’t have a whole lot of time to talk since she was also in charge of the calf scramble that was coming up soon. She promised Monica they’d keep an eye on Ronnie, but she also confirmed her worst suspicions—Ronnie and her bachelors would be standing on inverted washtubs midway along the wall.

“Not much to it,” the rodeo manager explained. “All they have to do is keep their arms straight and let go when the rider catches hold of the other end. The rider will do the rest. Then they can just go back and sit down afterward. Simple.”

Simple.
Of course, so was Ronnie. Monica managed to keep herself from sighing again.

After the parade was over, Ronnie took her seat in the midst of the guys, with Monica sitting at the side out of camera range so that she could rotate the bachelors through the coveted positions directly beside Ronnie. With Brendan, Billy Joe and Lex, the problem was getting them to move on and let someone else have a chance. With Paul, the problem was getting him to show some enthusiasm about taking his place at all.

When the man on the PA system announced the calf roping event, she pulled all of them down into the area behind the bleachers to explain the race. Supposedly once all the calves were roped, they’d have the barrel races. Then the relay would take place before the big finish with the bull riders.

Ronnie was already frowning by the time Monica had finished her explanation. “But I thought we just, you know, handed them the rope. You mean they’re going to be moving when we do it?”

Monica nodded. “You’ll do it at the start of each race. They get the rope and then they have to pass it on to the other people on the team.” She tried a reassuring smile, but she had a feeling nobody was reassured.

Ronnie’s forehead was still furrowed. “What if they fall off? I mean, they’re bending over—isn’t that dangerous?”

Well, at least the possibility of being trampled by a galloping horse hadn’t yet occurred to her. “They’re very good riders, Ronnie, they won’t fall off.”

“Where are we going to be standing when we do this? Behind the barriers?” Billy Joe looked a little pale. Apparently, the trampling part
had
occurred to him.

“As I understand it, you’ll be standing on overturned washtubs on the other side of the barriers,” Monica said carefully. “They’ll set everything up after the barrel racing is over and you can see for yourselves. Somebody’s supposed to do a demo for you.”

Billy Joe didn’t look reassured, and Monica didn’t blame him. As the calf ropers thundered by in the arena, their horses suddenly looked a lot bigger than they had before.

“It’s okay,” Paul said, “they have this race all the time. Sometimes they even have kids handing them the ropes. They know what they’re doing.” He gave Ronnie an encouraging smile that didn’t seem to encourage her.

“I don’t like Ronnie being out there. It’s dangerous,” Brendan said.

Ronnie shot him an irritated glance. “I’ll be fine. If a kid can do it, I can do it. I’m not some moron who can’t even figure out how to hand somebody a rope.”

Brendan was immediately contrite. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You just take care of yourself, Brendan. And I’ll take care of myself.” Ronnie flounced back toward her seat in the stands, followed by a dejected Brendan and a slyly smiling Billy Joe. Lex brought up the rear.

Paul stood watching Monica for a moment, then slid his arm around her shoulders. “It’s not your fault, you know. No matter what happens—and probably nothing will.”

“If nothing happens, I think Glenn will be pissed. The whole point is for something to happen.” She closed her eyes for a moment, blowing out a breath. “That’s probably not fair.”

“The hell with fair.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Hang in there, sweetheart.”

The heat from his body, the strength of his arms, all of it felt so good she didn’t want to let go. Which meant she had to let go right away or she might not be able to do it at all.

She stepped back and glanced at the stands again. “I’m all right. You better go back. Faisal’s taking some shots of Ronnie with you guys.”

“Right. Sure wouldn’t want to miss that.” He grimaced and started back up the stairs to the bleachers.

In the stadium, one more calf roper readied himself in the chute. Monica stared across the arena—a man was rolling a galvanized metal washtub down the concrete walkway toward the gate at the end. The relay race was getting set up.

“Well, crap,” she muttered. “Showtime.”

Paul managed to maneuver himself into being one of the first to go in the rope relay. He figured if Brendan went first, he’d probably get killed. If he had someone else to watch, he might be able to pull it off.

Billy Joe didn’t look all that anxious to go himself. Lex was setting up on the other side of the arena.

The “demo” they’d been promised consisted of a bored cowboy saying, “Hold the thing in your outside hand. Let go when the guy on the horse grabs it.”

Ronnie stared at him blankly. “Which one’s my outside hand?”

“The hand closest to the horse,” Billy Joe explained tersely. He didn’t look any happier about doing this than Paul, but he’d elected to go second.

Now Paul stood on the washtub, balancing on the balls of his feet, the rope dangling from his fingers. He wished they’d at least given him a pair of gloves. He had a feeling he was courting rope burn. He turned to face the gate where the horse would come out.

The crowd noise was a concentrated buzz that went along with the unnatural brightness of the stadium lights. He couldn’t see anybody in the stands and could barely see the gates at the near end of the arena. He knew the horses were there, though. He could hear them snorting.

A disembodied voice echoed over the loud speaker. “Riders take your mark.”

According to the cowboy, that was the signal for everybody to get ready. Paul extended the rope as far from his body as he could, letting it dangle from his fingers. Across the arena, he could see Lex doing something similar. As long as the riders didn’t run into them and they didn’t dislocate their fingers when they let go of the rope, they should be okay.
Knock on wood.

Of course, there were a multitude of other things that could conceivably go wrong, but Paul decided to concentrate his worrying time on simple stuff.

“Go!” the voice shouted and the two gates snapped open simultaneously with a crash. The horse that galloped toward him was the size of an elephant, its hooves sending clods of earth flying as it thundered down the field in his direction. He fought the impulse to close his eyes, holding his arm as steady as he could.

The beat of the hooves on the turf vibrated up his arm, and then the rope was gone, jerked from his fingers as the rider sped onward down the arena toward the other end. The crowd noise was deafening, the closest people yelling a mixture of encouragement and profanity. He shook his head trying to clear the noise away.

“Get out!” somebody shouted. “Get the fuck out of there.”

Oh yeah. Get out.
He jumped off the washtub and ran toward the gate while one of the rodeo clowns pulled the washtub to the side.

He moved quickly back onto the concrete walkway. Monica was waiting for him.

“Are you okay?” She grabbed his hands. “Did it hurt?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. It’s all right. I’m all right. Don’t worry.”

“Will Ronnie be able to do it?”

“Sure.” He blew out a breath.
Assuming the stars are in alignment.
“She’ll be fine, Monica.”

On the other side of the fence, the horse thundered by again, heading back toward the gates. He turned to watch. “Fine,” he repeated. “Trust me.” He really hoped that was a trustworthy statement.

At least the races went quickly, given that the riders rode hell for leather and there were only four on a team. Lex and Brendan got through unscathed. Billy Joe got a minor rope burn he swore was serious. Ronnie looked somewhere between annoyed and restless, but at least she didn’t look scared.

“And now,” the loud speaker announced, “it’s time for the final.”

“Hold the rope lightly, Ronnie, and stick your arm way out.” Monica’s smile was half-hearted at best.

“Yeah, yeah.” Ronnie sounded bored. “No big deal. I watched them do it. I can do it.”

Brendan looked like he was dying to say something, but for once he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“Good luck,” Paul said as she walked toward the gate.

She shrugged. “Sure. No prob.”

Brendan was doing the other rope, having lost the coin toss among the bachelors. He followed Ronnie out into the arena, his face a mask of concern. He helped her up onto her washtub, staring up at her face soulfully.

“Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it,” Paul muttered.

“Careful, honey,” Brendan murmured.
Well, crap.

Ronnie narrowed her eyes, probably ready to take off a strip of his hide, but he was already walking across the arena to the other washtub.

“Everybody get ready now,” the PA system rumbled.

Ronnie gave a sigh and extended her arm limply from her side.

“Farther. Stick it out farther.” Monica’s jaw was rigid as she gripped the fence in front of them, concentrating on Ronnie.

The rope dangled from Ronnie’s fingers like a deflated balloon. She looked thoroughly bored with the whole thing. Paul hoped she stayed that way, but Monica was right—she needed to straighten her arm.

“Riders take your mark.”

Ronnie stood a little straighter, holding the rope farther way. She still looked faintly annoyed.

Monica’s knuckles were white again where she gripped the fence in front of her.

“Go,” the announcer shouted and the gates crashed open.

Ronnie flinched at the sound. Apparently, she hadn’t realized how loud it really was from her seat in the stands. Her hand with the rope dropped slightly, moving closer to her body.

“No,” Monica gasped.

The horse and rider were on Ronnie more quickly than she must have anticipated. The rider reached down to grab hold of the rope, but as he did he jerked her to the side. For a moment she seemed to hover in the air, and then she was flying alongside the horse, her arm extended.

“Let go,” Monica shrieked. “Let go, Ronnie.”

All around them the crowd screamed. Paul ran toward the gate, along with three or four other men, aware of the crescendo of sound as he reached it. He pushed through to see Ronnie crumpled on the ground, the horse galloping by, seemingly inches from her body.

He started toward her, only to be shoved aside as someone ran in front of him. Someone else cannon-balled into his back.

“Ronnie,” Monica cried, trying to push by him.

He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her away. “They’ve got her. They’ll bring her back inside. You need to get back behind the fence.”

He had a confused impression of someone rolling the washtub out of the way, and then they were back in the walkway again, surrounded by hysterical people, Monica’s body pressed tight against his.

“Where is she?” Glenn shouted. “Who’s got her? Is she okay?”

“Why the hell didn’t she let go?” Al Monteith shook his head, while Nona looked grim.

The gate opened again and Billy Joe stepped through, his arms full of Ronnie.

“Ronnie,” Monica cried, stepping toward her. “Oh God, somebody get a doctor.”

Slowly, slowly, one white hand fluttered up from Ronnie’s side to rest on Billy Joe’s chest. Even more slowly, her eyes opened.

All of a sudden, Paul had the oddest feeling that she’d been rehearsing for this particular scene most of her life.

She turned her head, staring up into Billy Joe’s face. And then her lips quirked up in an exhausted smile. “My hero,” she murmured.

Billy Joe brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of her fingers.

Paul was suddenly aware of the camera over his left shoulder, filming the entire sequence for posterity.

“Fuck,” he whispered at the same moment that Dick Sonnenfeld, on his other side, muttered, “Cut and print.”

Chapter Fifteen

Paul leaned against the wall next to the resort terrace, watching the stars sprinkled across the night sky. Technically, he probably shouldn’t have been there, but he’d lost track of Monica after riding with her to the hospital and he wanted to make sure she was all right. Actually he wanted a lot more than that, but he’d start there.