Chapter Eighteen

A few of the younger nuns dropped gentle hints to the Mother Superior at Mt. Carmel Academy that Srs. Helen and Inez might be ready to return to the mother house and go into retirement. The elderly Sisters hogged the remote control between the hours of ten to eleven p.m. on a Saturday night when, being so advanced in age, they should be napping before midnight prayers. Their order had allowed the purchase of expanded cable for the television in the common area to view more spiritual and uplifting programs than professional bull riding.

“Oh look, Nessy. I think I see Renee in the stands. There, wearing that loud top. Dear, oh dear, she looks as if she’s expecting,” whispered Sr. Helen.

“Let me get my spectacles on.” Sr. Inez found the wire-rimmed glasses in the pocket of her skirt and balanced them on her nose. She hated to admit her vision was failing, but that was a vanity.

“You missed her. They’ve released another bull.”

“I can see that!”

“It’s Mellow Yellow, short but mighty. Oooh, there goes the rider. Look at Clint. He’s jumping the bull.”

“Nearly got himself gored. If you are right about Renee, he should be taking better care of himself. My, that was tense. Oh, they’re going for a break. I need the bathroom, Sister. A little too much excitement.” Sr. Inez dug her walking stick into the carpet and wrenched herself up from the sofa. She limped off for a pit stop.

“Take your time. You know the interviews will go on and on before the action starts again. I’ll make more popcorn. Anyone else want popcorn?” Sr. Helen surveyed the nuns sitting around the room, reading, sewing, hoping to get the remote control. She pocketed the device and set off for the kitchen. She’d make an extra bowl in case any of the others wanted to join them on the sofa.

Back in their seats, the two elderly Sisters picked around the kernels the microwave always scorched and settled in for the second half of Professional Bull Riders. Sr. Inez overheard one of their more sour compatriots say this wasn’t any better than pro wrestling, but she’d given them a bowl of popcorn as an act of charity and forbearance.

“Mighty bulls, courageous men, fine horse flesh, how could anyone equate this with steroid-swollen hulks faking mayhem,” Nessy muttered to Helen. “It’s the toughest sport on dirt.”

“Tsunami Sam is up next. He’s a PBR top ten bull being ridden by that sweet-faced boy we saw last week, Lonnie Capshaw.” Sr. Helen lowered her voice. “Ignore the other Sisters. They don’t understand.”

The two holy fans held their breath for the full eight seconds and applauded the ride. “I’m sure he’ll score higher than ninety. Oh, no! A bad dismount. Lonnie won’t make it to the barrier. Here comes Clint boosting him over. Dear Lord, be with him! Clint is down.”

Sr. Helen wobbled to her feet and clasped her hands together. “Blessed Mother Leontine, intercede for this man’s life, we pray of you.”

“And be with our lost child, Renee. Show her the right path to follow in her time of need. Amen.”

The elderly Sisters crossed themselves and sank back into the sofa cushions. They would stay tuned until the end of the program, hoping for an update on the condition of Clinton O. Beck.

****

In the secular part of Rainbow, Bodey Landrum shot to his feet. “Jesus God, that fucker of a bull smashed Clint against the boards! His safety vest can’t protect him from that. Eve, say a prayer for him.”

The baby in Eve’s lap startled awake at his father’s exclamation and began to cry. Eve raised Shea to her shoulder and patted him for comfort. “You should say your own prayer, Bodey Landrum. No matter what you believe, your prayers are as good as mine. I sent a message to God the second Clint got hit. And what about Renee up there in the stands? This isn’t good for her condition. She needs a prayer, too.”

“What condition?”

“Noreen and I are fairly sure she is expecting.”

“I thought maybe she was just going to fat.”

“Renee? That woman is so body-conscious she will never be fat. Go on now, get on your knees and pray for both of them. Shea and I will join you.”

Bodey inhaled, dropped to his knees, and ordered his thoughts. He lacked eloquence for this sort of thing. That’s why the world had priests and nuns and people like Eve who believed in miracles. Clinton O. Beck left the arena unconscious on a stretcher. He folded his hands.

“Dear Lord, be with my buddy, Clint Beck tonight. He’s saved many a bull riders’ life in his time and now he needs you to save him, especially if he’s about to become a daddy. When I rode the bulls, I thought my skill and good luck and men like Clint kept me from harm. Now I know you had a hand in it, too, so I could survive to marry this wonderful woman and raise my own son. If you have another miracle handy, please give it to Clint. Amen.”

Eve clasped the baby’s hands between hers. “We add our prayers for the recovery of Clint Beck, a good man who is trying to save a lost woman. Let him live to complete this task and see his own child come into the world. And please don’t let my son grow up to play around with bulls.”

Bodey rose so fast, his bum knee pained him. “Now that ain’t fair, Eve. Shea has bull riding in his blood. He’s being raised on a ranch that breeds bucking bulls and trains bullfighters. He’ll want to have a go at it.”

Seeing the stubborn look on Eve’s usually serene face, he clasped his hands again. “God, you still listenin’? You tell my wife our boy has to make up his own mind and you’ll look out for him if he decides he wants to ride rough stock. Amen.”

Eve stood a few inches taller than her husband and leveled her gray eyes at him. “You shouldn’t pray for things like that.”

Bodey rose up on his toes at little and answered her back. “You said my prayers are as good as yours. We’ll see whose get answered down the line.”

“Well, our prayers for Clint are the only ones that matter right now. God be with him.”

****

At Hacienda Hidalgo, Lena Beck cried, “Dios mio, call for the jet, Gunter. We must go to our son at once. I need to go pray to Santa Maria and the Virgin right now. They will help him.”

Gunter Beck simply sat there watching his heir being carted from the area like a heap of fertilizer left behind by the bull. “Our son made a poor career choice and he is paying for it. You used all your influence to force me to allow him to follow this path. I should have cut him off entirely, not given into having him sign that foolish contract. So, run to your saints and see what good advice they give you now.”

Lena crossed herself as if to ward off her husband’s callous words. She took another glance at the television screen where the announcer asked everyone to stand and offer up a moment of silence for the bullfighter. “Look, there is Renee. Norma Jean is holding her up, a good, strong woman to be at her side, but I need to be there, too. I fear for her and the baby she carries. Maybe it is Clint’s by some miracle. We must see it has a good home, regardless.”

Gunter Beck cleared his throat with disgust. “Stray dogs, spoiled horses, old cows, you expect me to take in another of Clint’s misfits. For all that bullfighter’s toughness he claims, our son is soft on the inside. Maybe he isn’t cut out to be the head of Beck’s Beans after all.”

Lena’s hand came up and slapped his face so hard her bracelets slammed together like a gunshot. “Is that all you care about—your corporation! Clint loves this woman. I will see she and the child are cared for.”

Gunter rubbed his cheek where the rose-colored imprint of her hand marked his pale face. His icy blue eyes narrowed. “You were so docile when I married you. Then, you showed me how hot your Spanish blood could be, but not in this way, not by striking me.”

“You never deserved it so much before.”

“Let me tell you, Lena, this woman Clint thinks he loves is a gold digger. I had her checked out by my investigator the second he started writing home about her. Maybe she’s pregnant, maybe she’s not. No confirmed word on that yet. If she is, she planned it to force our son or some other man who walked out to marry her. This Renee is a woman of loose morals who lurked about that bull riding school picking up men at random. She’s no better than a high class whore.”

“They say the same of my patron saint. She became the beloved follower of Christ. There is no reason why Renee cannot reform through her love for Clint.”

“Clint is hardly Christ.”

“I must go and pray. If you won’t summon the jet, I will.” Lena left the room taking all of the heat with her despite the small fire that burned in the grate.

Convinced he was right in this situation, still Gunter Beck knew Lena put the only warmth into his life as a cold-hearted businessman. What would he do if she withdrew her love? He’d arrange for the jet, but protect his son and his company as well. All three of them meant a great deal to him whether he said it or not.