He didn't belong here.
Twenty-year-old Callum Stewart stood at the back of the darkened Oklahoma City auditorium, smelling of sweat and horse.
On stage, ballerinas swirled in a complicated pattern. Attendees were dressed in gowns and suits, making his jeans and boots stand out, though he stood behind most of them.
He might not belong here, but he was exultant over the purse he'd won. The prize belt buckle was stashed in the glove box of his truck, the check for his winnings burning a hole in his jeans' pocket.
Things were finally happening for him. When he added the cash prize to the savings he'd scraped together, it was enough for a start for them. For himself and Iris. Things would be tight. They'd have to get a crappy little apartment—he'd vowed never to live in a trailer like the one he'd crawled out of—but if he kept beating the eight second clock, it was doable. He'd work whatever kind of jobs he had to between traveling to rodeos on the weekends.
This was happening. He was going to marry Iris in one week, when she turned eighteen.
Even riding high on his win and sick with anticipation about the next week, he was conscious of the richie-rich couple on the aisle seats closest to him, the condescending glances they kept sending him. Almost like they were thinking about fetching an usher to drag him out.
But Iris had given him a ticket that morning before she'd kissed him for luck. He'd carried the memory of her kiss through the harrowing ride on the back of the bull he'd bested, and he carried it with him now.
They were young, but he'd spent his whole life wanting. In those early days, wanting a roof over his head, a real family, someone who loved him. For the last two years, that want had narrowed to a person: Iris.
He knew what he wanted, and he was going to have it.
The problem with his ticket was that it was for a seat all the way down front, in the middle of the packed auditorium. He would have to climb over twenty folks to get to it.
And his seat was next to Wade Tatum, Iris's dad. Who hated him. Better to watch from back here than let Wade ruin his high.
There was a hush over the crowd, and the stage lights focused on a single ballerina at center stage. Prickles of awareness raised the hair on the nape of his neck as he recognized Iris in a frilly white tutu. The pointe shoes made her slender legs look even longer.
He couldn't look away. As she began to dance, there was a noticeable difference between her skill and that of the other dancers that had been on stage before. This was the biggest, most professional dance company in the state, and she was better than everybody up there. He might be biased because he loved her so much, but he didn't think so.
She did a long series of spins on the very tips of her toes without breaking momentum, and the crowd burst into applause, some of them standing up.
She was amazing. He'd seen her dance before, in smaller productions and at practice several times before he'd given her a ride home, but tonight she was exceptional.
A week later, Callum still couldn't get Iris's performance out of his head. Today was Iris's eighteenth, and she'd had a dinner with her dad, her uncle, and her sister. He'd gently declined when she'd invited him. If they were leaving town together, this might be the last time she had a pleasant supper with her family. He didn't want to ruin it for her with the tension that simmered between Wade and him—no matter what he did, how much he tried to prove he was worthy of Iris.
After her dance performance last weekend, he'd retreated to the safety of his truck and watched through the glass-walled event center as her father greeted her with an armful of blood-red roses. Cal had glanced down at the single rose lying across his passenger seat and felt again the starkness of exactly what he was asking her. The difference between what Wade could give her and what Callum could give her was like the difference between riding a bull and riding a lamb, and he hadn't done that since he was five.
He couldn't put words to the emotion that had prompted him to leave instead of going in and congratulating her. Or the ugly things he'd felt when he'd kept it a secret that he'd attended her performance. He'd only promised to try, and she'd assumed his rodeo had kept him from attending. He'd never corrected her.
He'd been unable to summon the same excitement for their plans all week, though he'd faked it when they'd spoken on the phone. The one night she'd been able to sneak away and see him, he'd forced himself to act like the same old Callum, so she wouldn't know.
He was afraid they were making a mistake. That she was making a mistake being with him.
Today's ride had him questioning himself, too. He'd been pitiful. He'd stayed on the bull's back for all of four seconds and, when he'd been thrown, he'd landed badly on his left knee. He didn't think anything was busted, just bruised. He rarely went out with the other cowboys, but tonight, he'd accepted an offer to go to a nearby bar. He'd kept it to one beer, but a friend flirting with the waitress had spilled a drink that soaked Callum's shirt and jeans. He'd changed T-shirts, but the smell of alcohol remained with him.
It was late, he was tired and beat up. And he kept seesawing on what he was going to say to Iris when he saw her.
He loved her so much, he couldn't see straight.
And that was dangerous. Didn't he know it? He'd loved his mother with the same deep affection, and she'd left in the middle of the night. His dad had been cruel and a drunk to boot. He'd been thrown in jail after a bar fight when Callum was in middle school. He'd apparently ticked off the wrong person in the slammer, because he'd been killed in a fight among the inmates. Which had left Callum stuck in the foster system. Where he'd learned that anything he wanted got taken away.
Only Iris had stuck. She'd spent summers on her uncle Joe's ranch with her older sister and had befriended him even though he'd rebuffed her at every step.
He loved her so much, he couldn't imagine going on without her.
Earlier today, he and Iris had agreed to meet in their special place, under the big oak on one corner of her uncle Joe's ranch. There was no real reason for the secrecy of their plans other than her dad would be furious when they got married at the county courthouse tomorrow. If they went through with it. Maybe...maybe putting it off was the best thing.
His headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating empty fields on both sides of the gravel road. It wasn't far now. Through his open window, the sweet smell of growing wheat and cool air from the nearby creek rushed into the truck, knocking his Stetson back on his head until he mashed it down.
Both anticipation and dread roiled in his stomach.
What was the right thing here? When they'd daydreamed about their future together, she'd talked about working in New York City with a ballet company. He'd thought he was indulging her when he'd agreed that they would find a way to get her there after they were married.
But last weekend, seeing her on stage...
She had an amazing talent, one that he believed could put her on stage in New York or even Europe.
How was he supposed to support Iris's dreams when his plans would barely keep them afloat financially?
For a year, since she'd turned seventeen, he'd lived off of this dream of marrying her and starting their life together. But seeing her dance had rocked the foundations of his plans. She deserved a chance to get to New York. And he wasn't sure he could give it to her, not like they'd planned.
From out of nowhere, a huge dark shape separated from the darkness and barreled toward him, right in his path.
He stomped the brakes and yanked the wheel. The truck swerved, but there was no avoiding the collision with the horse.