Wishes and Dreams by Lurlene McDaniel Page B

metal bars as another bucking horse and its rider shot out of a chute. He watched for the few seconds it took the horse to toss the rider, then walked to the staging area.
A cowboy is only as good as his last ride
, he reminded himself. He raked his hand through his sun-streaked hair and walked to his horse truck and trailer, parked in a lot away from the crowd, the noise, and the action. He’d face calf roping with Caramel in another hour. Until then, he’d rest, maybe catch some shut-eye. Anything to turn off his thoughts.
    That night he was sitting alone in a booth in the saloon-style bar and staring into the depths of his beer when a female voice said, “Hey, cowboy. This seat taken?”
    He’d been brooding and hadn’t seen her come to his table. The girl was young and pretty, with long blond hair, and she wore tight-fitting shorts, a cleavage-baring top, and too much makeup. He found her smile a bit over the top. “It’s taken,” he lied, and returned to staring into his beer.
    “Really? It doesn’t look taken. Big booth. Looks like you have room for me and a couple of others.”
    He heard giggling from a nearby table, glanced over to see a group of girls who looked like the one in front of him.
Rodeo groupies
. They were in every town on the circuit: locals out for a good time, steeped in booze and offering sex to the riders. They reminded him of gunslingers in the stories of the old west, the ones who carved notches on their guns with every takedown. He took a long swig of his beer, set the mug on the table. “Not interested, miss.”
    The girl’s face colored and her full red lips went pouty. He could tell she wasn’t used to rejection.
    “I’ll buy my own drinks,” she said, as if that would persuade him to change his mind. “I know you guys don’t always have a good day out there in the ring.”
    Jon had had a very good day. He’d ridden broncs and competed in calf roping and placed twice. He had the purse money in his back pocket, so buying drinks wasn’t a problem. “I’m drinking alone tonight.”
    “But you don’t have to be alone. I’m thinking we could have a nice time together.”
    His grandfather had taught him to be respectful of women, but this girl wasn’t taking hishints about backing off. More firmly, he said, “Look, nothing personal, but I don’t want your company.”
    Her friendly expression went away and her eyes turned hard, punitive. “You gay?”
    “You horny?” he fired back.
    She stepped backward, as if she’d been shoved. “Not for you, jackass.”
    “Then we’re of the same mind,” he said with a dismissive shrug.
    The girl stalked off to the table where her friends were sitting, and all of them stood in unison—the herd mentality—and stomped off toward the restrooms.
    “Whoo-ee! You sure pissed them off, Jonny-boy,” Declan Pierce said with a grin as he slid into the booth to sit directly across from Jon.
    “Yeah, I’m a jerk.” Still, Jon flashed his friend a wry smile. Dec was one of the few guys on the circuit Jon looked up to. He was older, a banged-up, worn-out ex–bronc rider who these days played the role of rodeo clown. His job was to distract angry bulls and wild horses from thrown or hurt riders. Throwing himself in front of the animals while drawing a laugh from the spectators was dangerous, but Dec was good at it.
    “She probably could have shown you a real good time,” Dec teased. “From where I was standing, you let some eager groupie walk away. Real tasty-looking.”
    “You are a dirty old man.”
    Dec winked. “Aww. I’m like a dog that chases cars—wouldn’t know what to do if I caught one.”
    Jon grinned. He’d tasted these groupie girl treats years before, when he’d been a randy teenager just starting to make a name for himself. From those days he remembered what it was like to wake up next to some girl whose name he couldn’t even recall. He’d always woken with a pounding headache, the stale taste of bourbon in