Road to Glory (8 page)

****

He waited outside while Glory picked up the laundry basket containing the sheets and three sets of towels. Hearing the screen door slam, Travis’ hands tightened on the head of his walking stick. This spoke of being wrong. He couldn’t rein in the feeling of uselessness. It should be him. He should be the one carrying the basket, just like it should have been him driving. Yet now he didn’t trust his own unsteady steps. Travis caught her glance.

“It’s not heavy,” she replied, as if she’d read his thoughts.

Travis glanced at the horizon, hoping she didn’t see the hurt in his eyes. “Which way?”

“Right over here.” She motioned toward a small single-story bungalow tucked beneath two tall oaks.

“Nice color.”

“Alma likes yellow.” Glory smiled. “The field behind the house is where we keep the yearling cattle. There’s a small shelter for them over there, so they shouldn’t bother you.”

Great
, he thought to himself, pushing the negativity aside.
I’ll be seeing the steers each day. Maybe that will lessen the fear and I won’t feel like such a coward.
With a sigh, he fell into step beside her. “Alma has a unique accent,” Travis said, as they walked beneath the shade of the old oak trees that bordered the lawn. “I can’t quite place it.”

“It’s Carolina,” Glory responded. “Alma and her husband were from a small island just off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina.”

He felt his brows arch. “Wyoming from South Carolina—that’s quite a haul.”

“Alma’s husband, Jim, was in the Air Force with my dad,” she replied, pushing an errant strand of hair back behind her ear. “When her husband was stationed here in Colorado, Alma moved onto the ranch to help my mom, and she’s been here ever since.”

“Nice. Her husband work around here?”

“No, Jim died. He’d gone back to Charleston to close the deal for the home they sold, and a big old hurricane roared through. He made the foolish mistake of trying to ride it out. He didn’t stand a chance. Alma has never wanted to go back. She says the ocean took her life that day, so she will stay here and make a new one.”

“I’m sorry,” Travis whispered, wishing he hadn’t asked. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

She stopped and shifted the basket on her hip. “You weren’t prying, Travis. It’s a natural question.” Her fingers found his arm, and beneath the cotton of his shirt Travis felt his skin warm. “I am glad you asked me and not Alma, though. She still gets misty-eyed when she speaks of Jim.”

“He was a good man?”

“The best.”

She drew her hand away and disappointment swept over him.

“Let me open the door.” Bending her knee, she balanced the basket and stuck the key into the lock. With a smooth turn of her wrist, the lock tumbled, and she pulled the key out and held it up with the others. “Here you go. Keys to the mansion.”

Travis scooped them from her hand and stepped out of the way so she could enter. While Glory teased about the small home being a mansion, to him, it seemed just about right. After living in an efficiency apartment with room enough for a bar stool and a bed, the eighteen-by-twenty-foot living area felt like the Taj Mahal. A sofa, chair, TV—by golly, he’d hit the big time. Even a fireplace, complete with a mantel.

He thought he’d stepped through one of Norman Rockwell’s paintings. Moving to an end table near the arm of the sofa, he picked up a framed photograph of two men in Air Force uniform standing in front of a jet. One black, one white, but their arms were tossed around each other, signaling a deep friendship.

“My dad and Jim,” Glory whispered. “They were the coyote and the road runner.”

She caught his bewildered look and smiled. “My dad was the coyote, the cunning hunter. Jim…” She pointed to Alma’s husband. “He was the fast one. He would swoop in and cover my dad’s back when they flew missions in Nam.”

“Ah,” he replied, the light dawning.

“In the background you might catch the two characters from the cartoons, painted on the plane.”

Travis turned it toward the light and saw the outline of the bird, his feet a whirl of circles as the coyote leaned toward him. “You miss him?”

“Yes, I do.”

Her soft voice was honest. Travis wanted to ask more about her dad, but when he turned and caught the slight shimmer in her blue eyes, he stopped. Now was not the time to bring up her sorrow. He watched her shake off the melancholy and step away.

“Alma keeps some folding chairs in the pantry. You can use them on the porch if you’d like to sit out.” Her voice echoed as she walked toward the rear of the house and placed the basket on a chair. “It’s a very compact home, but you’ll find everything you need.” Glory moved toward the archway against the left wall. “Your kitchen and pantry are through here.” She backed up three steps and opened a door. “A full bath and shower, and you know, of course, the laundry is done at the main house.” Then, moving toward the last door in, against the back wall, she pushed it wide. “Bedroom.”

Travis ambled over and stood beside her, peering into the large room that contained a bed, dresser, and small table. “Very nice.” He nodded.

“There’s a double closet.” Glory leaned in and pointed along the back wall.

He stepped closer to take a look and felt her shoulder against his chest. The warmth of her body moved through his shirt to saturate his skin, and his heartbeat quickened. A soft rush of air moved from his lungs as regions that had so long been ignored stirred to life. Her head turned toward him. Those sapphire eyes gazed up into his and showed no fear.

Close up, she was more beautiful than he could ever imagine. Without thinking, Travis lifted his hand and pushed a streamer of gold behind her ear. “Just like silk,” he heard himself whisper aloud, and for good measure he grazed the edges of his knuckles down her cheek. His knees nearly gave way when she closed her eyes and leaned into the stroke of his hand. He was going to kiss her.

Threading his hand along the back of her neck, he gave merely the hint of pressure and her head tipped up. Her eyes opened, and he could see the blue turn to velvet as she dampened her dry lips with the edge of her tongue. With a slow steady measure, he lowered his mouth toward hers, watching, waiting for any sign of protest. Just a whisper away and with nothing to stop him, Travis’ lips brushed hers.

Soft, gentle, with only a moment of contact before he lifted his head and looked down. Her eyes were closed, her moist lips waiting, and he kissed her again. This time, his lips moved across hers, tasting, dancing at the newfound thrill, and when she sighed and placed a hand upon his chest to steady herself, Travis pulled her closer.

Her head nestled in the crook of his arm while he filled himself with the taste of pure heaven. The tips of Glory’s fingers burned against his shirt, their heat sliding in to brand his skin. His heart raced onward, fast and faster. Using his tongue, he traced the line of her mouth, urging it to open, hoping he might explore the sweetness inside. But it was not to be.

From beyond their embrace, the sound of someone’s displeasured clearing of a throat brought his fantasy to a halt. Travis opened one eye and caught sight of Mickey Davis standing in the doorway.

“I brought your bag over,” he said.

Travis caught the firm stamp of disapproval in his voice and the downturn of his lips. He took a deep and labored breath. Glory’s fingers curled in his shirt as she fought for footing against the weakness of her legs.

“Afternoon, Mickey.” He kept his voice as even as possible, considering the range of emotions rolling through him. Travis didn’t look down as Glory pulled away from him and stepped inside the bedroom to gather her thoughts. Hoping to give her some time to get herself composed, he turned to engage Mickey in conversation. “Put it on the sofa, will ya?” he said and slowly began to move toward him.

If looks could kill, Mickey had not only struck him senseless but dug the hole, laid him six feet under, and covered up his body so it wouldn’t be found. Travis stooped over the back of the sofa and wrapped his fingers around the straps. Lifting, he came face to face with Mickey’s irritated glance.

“I sure hope you know what you’re doin’, cowboy.”

Travis paused and shifted the bag in his hand. “I shared a kiss with a pretty girl, that’s all.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “You lay a hand on her, and your ass will be out on the street so fast your head will spin. Moreover, I’ll personally make that bull’s stompin’ look like a walk in the park.
Comprende, amigo
?”

Travis’ mouth grew grim. Hell, yeah, he got it. Hands off the owner of the Glory B. “Yeah,” he said. “I got it. Loud and clear.”

They stood momentarily eye to eye, Mickey acting like a disgruntled father who’d caught him in the back of his pickup truck with his daughter. Without moving his gaze, Travis heard him call out, “Glory, I got the truck outside. How ’bout I take you over to Mitch’s to pick up Sultan?”

Boots scuffed across the floor, and Travis turned toward the bedroom. Glory stood at the entrance, her head down. Looking at her toes, she walked by him, probably mortified at being caught.

“Yeah, sure, that would be great,” she mumbled.

Glory’s voice lacked heart. He wished she’d at least have glanced up so he could have caught her eye. He’d taken only a few steps with his duffel bag when Mickey’s voice sang out again.

“Oh, clear your schedule for tomorrow evening. I’ve got the mechanical bull at the Hitching Post for our use. The boys will be there right after chores. So I’ll pick you up at six sharp. Be ready.”

“Sure, Mickey.” Travis wished his words had more enthusiasm. His two-week stay in Palmer seemed to be growing uncomfortable already. Behind him, the door slammed, and by the time he’d reached the bedroom he could hear gravel spitting beneath the tires as Mickey roared out of the drive.

“Way to go, cowboy,” he growled to himself. Concentrating on unpacking, Travis couldn’t help but feel like that proverbial contestant in the one-legged ass-kicking contest sponsored by Mother Nature. And he couldn’t get out of his mind the image of Glory in his arms awaiting his kiss. Unzipping his bag, he grasped the folded boxers and limped over to the dresser. The wood squeaked softly as he pulled the drawer out and slipped his clothes inside. He had just turned to reach for his T-shirts when a familiar jingle floated from the pocket of his faded blue jeans. Reaching past a few loose dollar bills, he pulled out the cell and glanced down at the Texas phone number scrawling across the screen.

The right-hand corner of his mouth lifted as he pulled it to his ear. “Hello, Emmy, how’s Texas?”

“Hey yourself, bro.” His sister’s sunny voice rang in his ear. “I can’t tell you how surprised I was when Big John called and told me you were working again.”

“Yeah, I’m buying stock.”

Silence lingered on the other end of the phone. He knew his words lacked any enthusiasm, but he wasn’t in the mood for sunshine and happiness right now.

“You wanna tell me about it?” she asked.

God bless Emmy, she didn’t lay blame. She didn’t ask the hard questions. She just showed her support like she had when they were kids and he needed a shoulder to lean on. It didn’t matter that she was two full years his junior; she’d taken on the role of the Hargrove surrogate mother. Travis lowered himself to the bed and felt the years slip away. “Yeah…” He sighed. “Yeah, I want to talk about it.” Closing his eyes, he rubbed the creases of his forehead with his left hand.

“Travis?”

“I don’t know where to begin,” he whispered.

His sister’s soft laughter followed. “My guess is to start at the beginning. And take your time, bro. The horses have been fed and chores are done. So talk to me.”

A weight seemed to lift from his chest. He opened his eyes and began, “There’s this girl.”

An hour and a half later, he said goodbye and closed the phone, promising he’d call next week. This time, he’d told her, the call would be on his dime. Rising, Travis finished putting his clothes away and grabbed a tall glass of water. Foregoing the folding chair, he walked through the house to the porch, where the sunshine and silence called to him. Travis lowered himself to the warm boards and leaned back, deep in thought. Emmy had made some valid points that he just needed to sort out. But the biggest question was where he wanted to go with Glory.

****

“You sure you want to ride him back?” Mitch Ralston asked Glory as he steadied the chestnut stallion for her to mount. “It will only take a few minutes to hook up the trailer again. I can haul him home, and we can grab a bite to eat.”

Glory’s fingers wrapped around the saddle horn, and with a hop step she pulled herself off the ground and into the saddle. “No, I think I need some time to think.” She gathered the reins in her hand. “Besides, he needs a good run,” she replied, leaning down to pat the horse’s neck.

“I hear Mickey’s got another Bull Riding 101 going again.”

“He does,” Glory answered.

Mitch moved to stand beside her. “You sure that’s wise? I mean, considering what happened last time?”

“He’s got a professional with him now,” she answered, and her thoughts turned to Travis.

“So Hargrove is really going to give lessons.”

There was a touch of bitterness in Mitch’s voice that caught Glory by surprise. Relaxing her fingers, she eased the pressure on the lines. She didn’t want to be caught in this discussion today. Not after the silent treatment Mickey had given her on the ride over. She gave a short answer. “He is.”

Sultan seemed to take a cue from her, despite her efforts to avoid tension, and shifted nervously on his feet.

“I need to get going,” she murmured and with a nudge of her boots started the horse toward the gate. Mitch Ralston, today in worn jeans and a pale blue shirt instead of yesterday’s business suit, fell in step beside her.

There had never been any formal agreement between the two, yet ever since her father’s death everyone assumed they were an item. Everyone that is, but Glory. She could feel his eyes studying her from beneath the brim of his white straw hat, with something other than brotherly love.