| |
––––––––
ALLIE SAT ON THE END of her narrow bed, ruefully studying the blister on her palm. Maybe it was a good thing dance lessons were cancelled. Some of the polka students gripped her hand much too tightly, in the same spot where her hand was rubbed raw. She suspected Carter had given her the stiffest rope—lariat, she reminded herself. And he’d given Trina roping gloves but brushed off Allie’s request for a pair, saying she was more likely to rope her foot than the plastic steer.
Not quite true. By the end of the lesson, she’d managed to toss her rope almost halfway to the roping dummy. He said she wasn’t throwing with enough authority to ever wrap the loop around the horns. But if she’d been able to practice longer, she might have succeeded. The lesson hadn’t been so boring once the steer heads were stuck on the hay bales and everyone was moving around.
Occasionally she’d even forgotten the reason she was there. Carter had to pry AnneMarie’s hands off his arm by himself, which he’d done with appalling bluntness, leaving Allie rushing over to soothe the girl’s piqued feelings. He really didn’t care what the guests thought of him, something she found baffling.
Other than his total insensitivity, he was a surprisingly good instructor. Of course, he should have prepared the dummies before the lesson started but he brushed that suggestion aside along with several others she’d made, including the importance of a coffee break. He had no tolerance for anyone he considered a braggart or airhead. He certainly didn’t think much of Dwight or AnneMarie... Or her.
She sighed, relieved when a knock sounded on her door and she could stop replaying the day’s events. “Come in,” she called.
Nikki, the barrel racing instructor, poked her head around the door. “Can I borrow some of your turquoise eye shadow?” she asked. “And maybe a pair of earrings?”
“Help yourself.” Allie waved an inviting hand at her dresser. Nikki was from Nova Scotia and had arrived with little but her boots and saddle and a baffling love for ice hockey. “You can borrow my purple cowboy hat too.”
“Awesome!” Nikki hurried across the room, scooping the makeup off the table. “Did Sharon tell you who the Man Tracker contestants are yet? Is it a sheik again?”
“I haven’t heard much,” Allie said. “But I doubt it.” The head of security, Jack Becker, was away honeymooning with Kate and Sharon would never have arranged a high-risk visitor without her top man present.
“Hopefully it’s a hockey player,” Nikki said, stepping closer to the closet and eyeing Allie’s colorful selection of hats. “Someone like Nathan MacKinnon would be cool.”
Allie laughed. When Nikki first came to the ranch last winter, she’d been painfully homesick. That had changed when Allie persuaded Sharon to subscribe to the NHL channel and Nikki had been able to watch hockey ad nauseam, including replays during the off season. Sometimes Allie watched with her, keeping Nikki company and learning far more than she’d ever expected about icing and offside and how the best hockey players came from Cole Harbour.
“Sharon did say it was a famous person,” Allie said. “And I suppose hockey guys don’t need any security. There are no rabid fans in the backwoods.”
“I hope it’s a hockey player,” Nikki said. “They have time off in the summer and they’re really fit. Carter would appreciate that too. He respects athletes, especially someone like MacKinnon who plays for his home state.”
“Carter talks to you?” Allie jerked forward, her feet landing on the floor. She knew he was from Colorado but no one had said anything about Carter admiring athletes. And she couldn’t imagine him giving up extra words, other than to criticize. She certainly didn’t expect him to have discussions with co-workers about his favorite hockey player.
Nikki slanted Allie a puzzled look. “Sure. He’s interested in a lot of stuff. And he always insists on bucking out a tough horse first so I won’t get hurt. Even that Roman-nosed bay quit slamming riders’ knees against the barrel after a few minutes with Carter. Remember how ill-mannered he was?”
“Who? Carter?”
Nikki giggled as if Allie had been making a joke. “No, the horse. Everyone complained about him. No one ever broke a kneecap but there were always lots of people limping afterwards.”
“Oh, right,” Allie said. She remembered guests rubbing their legs and complaining about a nasty horse named Diesel, but she’d never given much thought to a horse’s manners. Never had the chance to watch any of the lessons. After working past midnight, she generally slept until mid-morning. By then, all the guests had left for their trail rides and she was scheduled for lifeguard duties at the pool.
Nikki reached up and snagged a tan hat with an understated beige feather. “What about this hat instead? So I don’t look like a peacock.” She shot Allie an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. The purple one looks great on you. It’s just not my style, you know...”
Her voice trailed off and her obvious chagrin might have made Allie laugh if she weren’t already feeling so vulnerable.
“No worries,” Allie said. “Take any hat you want.”
“Thanks,” Nikki said. “Think I’ll skip the eye shadow and just head over for supper.” She adjusted the hat low over her forehead. “Are you walking over now?”
“No, I’ll come over later for the Man Tracker announcement,” Allie said. She wasn’t hungry. After the roping lesson she’d ducked into the kitchen where the cook had whipped her up a cheese soufflé and a fresh pot of coffee. Besides, there was something she needed to do while everyone was busy in the dining hall.
Once Nikki left, she closed the door and waited in her room. The dorm walls were paper thin and usually the sound of chatter was comforting. Today she was just impatient for everyone to leave. Two more people stopped by, checking to see if she was heading over for supper. Finally the last steps faded.
She reached beneath her bed and pulled out a lariat. It was a soft one and much shorter than the rope she’d struggled with, further proof that Carter had been holding out on her. Of course, guests should always be assigned the best equipment. She’d never argue that.
But there was an unwritten rule that staff looked out for each other and Carter had been deliberately mean... No, not mean but indifferent. Just as he’d been since his arrival. She could handle it though. Most of her mother’s boyfriends had been cold too, no matter how hard she’d tried to please.
She was no longer a kid though and she wasn’t alone. She had a huge family here. She might not be useful as a ranch hand but she contributed in any way possible. And she was determined to be better at tomorrow’s roping lesson. Maybe then Carter would show her some respect.
Besides, the Man Tracker contestants would be at the next lesson and those guys were always interesting, whether it was one of Nikki’s beloved hockey players or the star quarterback from some football team. She didn’t want to look klutzy in front of them. She might be slow at moving hay bales but she could certainly learn to rope a plastic steer. At least she should be able to do it with a little more practice, away from the disdain Carter hadn’t bothered to hide.
Grabbing the lariat and an empty trash can, she hurried from her room and into the deserted hall. She hadn’t played many sports before but she had been a cheerleader—the flyer at the top of the pyramid—and that took dexterity and good timing. There was no reason why she couldn’t learn to throw a rope. No reason at all.
She fingered the lariat, positioning it exactly as Carter had demonstrated. He hadn’t given her any individual attention but Dwight had noticed her struggles and stepped up to help, despite Carter’s narrowing eyes. She couldn’t understand the man and why he was always so displeased. He’d asked her to act more interested in the lesson so naturally she was trying to learn. But it was clear he didn’t want to teach her.
Holding the coil in her left hand, she took a practice swing. Three revolutions, Carter had said. On her first swing the rope hit the wall. On her second try, it almost smashed the overhead light. By the tenth throw, she was better at judging the narrow space and the rope finally shot forward—not anywhere near the garbage can but at least it was moving in the right direction.
Forty-five minutes later, she was actually snagging the garbage can. Not every time but her rhythm and aim was much better. And she loved twirling the loop over her head. Sometimes she swung it twenty times. It made her feel strong and capable, like a real ranch hand. Tomorrow she should have no trouble roping a plastic steer. She couldn’t wait to see Carter’s surprise.
Two hours later, she swept into the dance hall, feeling rather pleased with herself. Her swing might not be up to Carter’s high standards, but the rope had landed over the trash can more times than it had missed. She’d lowered her expectations a bit because, after all, roping wasn’t easy. Now she accepted she might not rope both horns on the first try, or even the second, but she’d consistently be able to rope part of the steer. Good enough that she wouldn’t be the worst student in the class. She definitely wouldn’t rope her foot.
“Glad you’re finally here,” Sharon Barrett said, yanking Allie’s attention back to the hall. “You know the sound system and lighting. Can you position the media in the best spot? Be sure to tell them that our celebrity contestant will be holding interviews at the end of the evening.”
“Is there only one contestant?” Allie asked, scanning the clipboard Sharon had pressed into her hand. Media names were listed on the sheet, and it was great to see the knowledgeable host from the Missoula Sports Network was here. But only one contestant? That went against Man Tracker rules. Both the hunted and hunters worked in pairs. It was too risky to race individually in the back country. Quarry could finish the game alone if one of the partners were caught, but they always started as a team.
“Of course there are two contestants,” Sharon said. “But only one of them is famous. So be sure to use her picture in all your social media.”
Her, so it was a woman. Up to now it had always been men. Probably not a hockey player either. Nikki would be disappointed. But judging from the media turnout, this mystery woman had been built up as extremely newsworthy.
An athlete turned politician maybe? However, politicians probably wouldn’t want to rough it and a retired athlete might not be fit enough. The race wouldn’t be a success for anyone if the quarry were caught in the first hour. It had to be someone in excellent shape, one prepared to sleep on the cold ground and tough enough to thrive on granola bars and jerky.
A race car driver maybe? Or a jockey? They were tough and wiry, and there were some famous women riders... No. They’d be busy this time of year and there was no monetary prize. Only a notable amount of free publicity.
Allie allowed herself a swell of satisfaction, knowing her social media savvy had helped boost this event. The Mustang River Ranch enjoyed a huge number of Twitter followers, with almost as many on Facebook and Instagram. She was the only employee trusted to post pictures since guest privacy was scrupulously protected. If a contestant didn’t want media exposure, the public wouldn’t even know they were competing.
Clearly this particular contestant wanted the world to know and was intent on gaining bragging rights. But winning wasn’t a given. The two competitors needed to follow a map over rough terrain and reach a specific point before the allotted days were up. Monty and Carter would have no map, but they would be on horses and they were good at picking up a trail.
At least Monty was. Carter’s tracking skills were unproven.
Now she understood why Sharon had been so keen to keep Carter happy. A gorgeous rodeo star, chasing a woman equally famous—and no doubt almost as attractive—would make scintillating photos. The Twitter sphere would eat it up.
“Get candid pictures tomorrow,” Sharon said. “Lots of them. Of both Carter and the contestants. And be sure to get Carter’s blanket release signed tonight.”
“Carter might not want a lot of picture taking,” Allie said. In fact, she already knew he wouldn’t. Trina hadn’t even been able to coax him to stand beside her and Dwight for a selfie. And they were guests. Allie was only an assistant who Carter didn’t want, or like. “I really don’t think he’ll want me to take his picture,” she repeated.
“He has to. That’s part of his job trial. Once the Man Tracker race is over, I’ll re-assess his performance. So I want to have lots of his photos on file in case he doesn’t pan out.”
Allie’s hand tightened around the clipboard. Sometimes her boss was so callous. Naturally the ranch couldn’t provide permanent jobs for everyone, and only yesterday Allie had hoped Carter would quit. But it seemed cruel to bend over backwards for him before the race and afterwards cut him loose. On the other hand, Sharon was a business owner. She hadn’t built the ranch into a prestigious resort by hiring people who couldn’t improve the bottom line. And instructors needed to be flexible and friendly.
“I enjoyed my roping lesson with Carter today,” Allie said. “He’s very good at teaching.”
Sharon swiveled, her full attention on Allie now. “You actually picked up a rope?”
“Yes, Carter taught me.” She tried not to be flattened by her boss’s incredulous tone. She also refrained from admitting she’d spent considerable time practicing in the hall, chucking a rope over a dented trash can. That probably wouldn’t sound good for Carter’s teaching skills.
“Maybe I need to give you more spare time so you can try out some equine activities,” Sharon said. “If he can teach you to ride as well, he’d be a heck of a motivator. And maybe worth offering a permanent job.”
“My throwing a rope will have to be enough for this year,” Allie said, uneasy with the notion that her learning to ride could affect Carter’s job security. She’d ridden a horse once before. It had been at a friend’s birthday and the animal had looked so tired and skinny, she’d felt guilty climbing on his back. She’d spent the rest of the party sneaking him pieces of carrot cake.
“We’ll see,” Sharon said. “But I already had complaints that Carter didn’t provide enough personal teaching and that there was too much waiting. From female guests, of course. At least we’ll get our money’s worth from him on Man Tracker. I can’t wait to see them together. This is one woman who’s sure to spark his interest.”
Allie felt a little twinge in her chest. Not jealousy of course, just curiosity about the woman who was special enough to draw his attention. “Who’s the contestant?” she asked.
Sharon looked at the stage. Allie followed her gaze, surprised to see that the TV host from Butte had driven all the way out to act as emcee. He stepped up to the microphone and began his introductory spiel, something Allie knew by heart since she’d stayed up late last night writing it.
Sharon leaned over, her voice lowering to a confidential whisper. “I can tell you the woman’s name now. You deserve to know before anyone else. It’s Janet Bailey.”
Janet Bailey. Allie nodded, all the while wracking her brain. She’d heard the name before but couldn’t remember the context. Something to do with clothes or TV. An actress maybe? But could a woman like that race for four days with very few provisions, trying to elude two mounted and determined cowboys? Would she be tough enough? Fast enough?
Allie rather hoped it was an actress. Then Carter might realize that not all women had to be athletes or horse experts to be worthy of breathing the same air. He might learn to appreciate other types of women too. Not that she wanted his attention. But broadening his outlook would make him better with the guests, better for the ranch. And more likely to hang on to his job.
She glanced at Sharon but her boss just looked smug, clearly assuming Allie knew this Janet Bailey person, at least by reputation. And now the emcee was talking about courage, hard work and the driving commitment to succeed, his voice swelling with such excitement both staff and guests edged closer to the stage. Allie still couldn’t place who Janet Bailey was but moments later, she had her answer about whether the woman would be fast enough.
A fluttering American flag captured Allie’s attention first. Then her gaze dropped to the beautiful brunette carrying it. The woman waved the flag like a hero, all the while flashing smiles to the cheering audience. Running shorts revealed long sculpted legs, legs that had proven perfect at clearing hurdles and beating every challenger. And the confident face that had graced television screens worldwide beamed at the crowd, flashing every bit as brightly as the Olympic gold medal dangling around her neck.
