One Month Later
Roundup Rodeo, Kinakane, WA
The brightly lit Ridge to River course was lined with spectators who had to stagger their feet to keep from sliding back down the incline they’d just climbed. Sean stood atop Suicide Hill, fueling himself on the crowd’s excitement. He could hear the carnival goers’ squeals and the crashing waves of cheers rising up from the arena below. Were they cheering for Deanna yet? Her other horse, Star, had been confiscated along with the rest of Blake’s possessions. She was riding Sean’s stallion tonight, whom she’d finally given a name: Firestorm. As heartbreaking as it was for her to lose Star, Firestorm and Deanna were an unbeatable duo. Sean pitied her competition.
He could also hear the drums lifting uphill from the Native American encampment. Closing his eyes, he savored the coursing connection with his people. Most of the riders up here raced because of that very feeling. They risked themselves and their horses because participating in tradition was an honor and a way to pass something important to new generations. That same conviction ran deep in Sean, too. It was why he hoped his own sons would do this someday.
But as the Ferris wheel lights winked up at him, he knew that tonight it held other meaning, as well. This race marked a new beginning and a new Sean. He’d been stalled for too long, avoiding risk to protect himself. Tonight would be a symbolic leap of faith.
Sean’s mustang, Boaz, reared, straining against the reins, its eyes wild. It didn’t appreciate being held back at all.
A jockey behind him let out a joyful call to battle that was echoed by the others. Sean grinned. They were working up adrenaline.
And guts.
Sean needed some of that, too. “You play it too safe,” Deanna had told him after a practice earlier this week. “You’ve got to quit holding back.”
Boaz tugged, whinnying.
“Soon. We’ve got to wait for Deanna to win first.”
Sean wished he could watch her. “Go, Deanna, go,” he whispered as he swung up onto Boaz’s back. He could see the whole valley stretching below him, where the sun had dipped behind the western horizon—nothing more now than a fiery glow of red and gold melting into twilight.
The fires wouldn’t be completely out until winter’s snow extinguished them, but they were mostly contained and were no longer a threat to Kinakane or to his ranch. The winds had cleared the smoke away and everyone seemed to be breathing easier now.
Not many people had escaped without scars, though.
Sean thought of his own scars. They went much deeper than the charred acres on his property or the cost of the livestock he’d lost.
There were scars of betrayal and grief that would take more than a handful of weeks to heal. But just as the green shoots of regrowth would burst through the burnt ground soon, healing would come to these places inside him, too. He knew it was true. A wave of bittersweet conviction rolled over him. He would no longer be defined by his losses.
He pumped his fist into the air and let loose a loud, powerful war cry of his own before he lined up at the start line, fifty feet back from the edge of the cliff. Cheers and more cries rang out from the men beside him. Sean tightened the strap on his helmet and life jacket. There was nothing left to do but listen to Bo’s heaving and wait for the signal.
“This is for you, Dad,” Sean yelled into the night.
Then the starting pistol cracked and they were off, sprinting to the edge. Sean was the first one to crest it. He rode straight downhill through a tangle of men and horses, of dust and spitting rocks. They raced to the soundtrack of pounding hooves, the shouts of the riders and the call of the crowd below them beckoning them into the arena.
As they crashed into the river at the bottom, Sean hardly felt the cold, wet spray or his soaked pant legs. He leaned forward, hollering encouragement into Bo’s ear as the horse swam. They had only seconds to take the lead.
“Come on, Bo! We’ve got this!”
They exited the river at the same moment the palomino beside them did, putting them neck and neck, scrambling and fighting their way up the embankment. Only five hundred feet separated them from the finish line. The vision of Deanna on Firestorm played across Sean’s mind. She wouldn’t accept defeat and neither would he.
“Win!” Sean cried.
They ran through the arena doors, the two glistening horses side by side. Sean rocked forward, flattening himself against Bo’s neck to reach for the goal. He could see the orange finish-line flags, was vaguely aware of the people jumping up and down cheering them on.
One last burst of energy from Bo and then it was over.
“And Boaz ridden by his owner, Sean Loomis, comes in first by a nose. Next we have...” But Sean didn’t hear the rest of the riders’ names. The cheering was almost as deafening as the roar inside his own head.
Then he caught a flash of white-blond hair in his periphery. Deanna stood by the arena gate, hollering his name, her grin so brilliant it almost knocked him off his horse. Almost made him doubt what he had to do next.
Kicking Boaz forward, Sean thundered to Deanna’s side. He reached out a hand to her, smiling at the absolute shock on her face.
“What are you doing?” she laughed.
“Get on,” he demanded. “You’re doing the victory lap with me.”
She grabbed his hand and swung on behind him. The crowd ate it up as they circled the arena. Deanna had one arm wrapped around his waist and used her other hand to salute the crowd with the traditional rodeo-queen wave.
“I didn’t know you had this kind of showmanship in you, Loomis,” Deanna yelled.
“I’m not done yet,” he called back.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a double treat,” the velvet voice of the announcer said. “Our Ridge to River victor has kidnapped our barrel-racing champ. Ladies and gentlemen, why don’t you put your hands together and let these two winners know how much you appreciate them.”
The crowd responded, clapping and stomping the bleachers until their lap ended. Sean aimed Bo for the arena’s center, slowing only enough to hop off in a jog.
“What’s this? It doesn’t seem like Loomis is done, yet,” said the announcer, amused. “Whatcha doin’, cowboy?”
Sean faced Deanna and offered her his hand again.
“What are you doing, cowboy?” she asked, hopping down beside him.
Sean dropped the reins and slapped the horse’s backside. Boaz galloped away as Sean took a knee.
There was a collective intake of breath from the stands. Deanna gasped and clutched her clasped hands to her mouth. Tears welled in her gray eyes, making them look greener than ever.
“Deanna,” Sean said in a voice that only she could hear. “I have loved you my whole life. I can’t promise I’ll do this right, but if you’ll let me, I’ll die trying.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “Will you marry me?”
Deanna blinked rapidly, unable to find her voice. He watched the emotion dance across her face. She couldn’t speak, but she nodded her head vigorously and pulled him to his feet. She almost knocked him over as she jumped into his arms and buried her face in his neck.
“Ladies and gents, I don’t know about you, but that looks to me like a yes!” cried the announcer.
The crowd went wild, and Deanna found her voice.
“Yes,” she whispered. Then she threw her hat high into the air and whooped, “Yes! Yes! Yes! A hundred times, yes!”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from SHATTERED SECRETS by Jane M. Choate.
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