was careful not to move too quickly. He’d already made a mistake or two today. First, he’d picked up Caleb so he could watch as people parked in the driveway. Apparently, to a three-year-old, watching friends arrive with presents was almost as good as getting to open the presents.
Picking Caleb up hadn’t hurt, but putting him down had.
His next mistake was helping Billy put up the jump house. The whole experience had to do with bending over and straightening up—two things he should really only do in moderation or at the physical therapist’s office.
Or so said the doctor Joel had visited after getting the diagnosis about the acute lumbar strain. The doctor, a sports medicine specialist, highly recommended, had said over and over, “An injury like this never goes away. One wrong move, awkward turn, and suddenly walking from the couch to the bathroom will take an hour. You’ll always have pain, but if you’re careful, you can lead a normal life.”
Careful meant avoiding the bull; normal didn’t include the rodeo.
“We have exercises that will help you get stronger,” the physical therapist had agreed.
Riding a bull was exercise and Joel had always been strong.
“You can still ride,” the doctor had emphasized, “but I strongly recommend horses, not bulls, and not in competition, but for pleasure.
“If you do your exercises, especially the stretches,” the physical therapist encouraged.
Until just this moment, Joel had been focusing on the things he didn’t want to do: Ride a horse instead of a bull. Exercise because he had to. Return, tail tucked under, to Solitaire Farm.
Finding out most of the town thought he was a thief was just one more nail in the coffin holding his dreams.
Right now, though, the only dream he needed to be thinking of was Caleb’s. As if in response to that thought, Billy shouted, “I need help!”
Billy’s words were more an order; Joel had been doing grunt work from the moment he’d finished breakfast. Getting ready for a three-year-old’s birthday party was harder than preparing for an eight-second ride. And, surprise, surprise, Joel had enjoyed every minute—except for the occasional unwelcome stiffness from the ever-present back pain.
Joel also was enjoying watching Beth traipse across the lawn. Joel followed her movements all the way to a group of people and a guy Joel didn’t know. She put her hand on his arm and starting talking. The guy nodded and soon what looked to be a serious conversation started. Joel took one step toward her, then another. He stopped when her sister Linda wandered outside and in just a matter of moments landed in the midst of a bunch of her girlfriends—laughing and trying to outtalk each other with animated arm gestures. Joel wondered where Susan, the other sister, was. They usually weren’t far apart.
He looked back at Beth. She didn’t need to laugh out loud. Ever the little lady, her eyes did the laughing for her. Joel took another step. She might be talking to a strange man, but she was aware of Joel. He knew how to recognize hooded looks and practiced nonchalance.
Every few seconds a kid would come over and wrap his or her arms around Beth’s leg.
The woman was now a kid magnet.
As he took another step, he figured that maybe she was a man magnet, too.
He almost felt propelled to join them. No doubt about it. Beth was definitely a Joel magnet.
Without a second thought, Joel joined the crowd of two.
The man eyed Joel warily, not in a tired manner, more with a guarded hesitation. He looked young, too young. Still, when he spoke, he didn’t beat around the bush. “So, you’re the infamous Joel McCreedy.”
“That would be me.”
“I hear you went eight seconds against a fence and the fence won.”
“Can’t help what you draw.” Joel stuck out his hand. “And you are?”
Judging by the look in the other man’s eyes, Joel recognized competition, a worthy opponent.
“Nathan Fisher. I’m the new youth minister at the Main Street Church. I’ve been in Roanoke about a year.”
Maybe, just maybe, Joel surmised, Nathan might be one of a handful of people who didn’t already judge Joel a thief.
Mona Gabor chose that moment to join them. She held her three-year-old balanced on one hip and didn’t seem to notice that said child had a messy hunk of birthday cake in his hands and was waving electric-blue-frosting-covered fingers dangerously close to her hair.
Beth gently took the piece, not even noticing when blue frosting dripped on her pants, and fed it to the kid.
“Thanks,” Mona said without taking her eyes off Joel. “Did you get any buckles?”
Beth looked curious, too. Funny, all the time he’d been on the road, he’d imagined his family and friends back home keeping track.
Instead, they’d been going about the business of living their lives. “Yes, I won a few buckles.”
Her eyes widened. “How many?”
“Fifteen. I’ve got fifteen buckles.” What he didn’t add was that you couldn’t pay bills with buckles and how quickly his half of the farm money had disappeared. He didn’t add that even with fifteen wins, he’d not pulled in any sponsors. Oh, he’d earned more than his fair share of decent-sized purses, too. They’d financed the next rodeo and the next and the next. He’d come close to being part of the crowd aiming to become national champions. Close, however, wasn’t a word that meant much when your belly was empty and you were sharing a room with three other cowboys all comparing the war wounds of their chosen career.
Because serious bull riding was a career. One that Joel had studied for, longed for, lived and ached to return to.
“Have you ever been on television?” Mona today was much the same as Mona eight years ago. She had plenty of questions. He could only hope she didn’t bring up the missing money. Or, maybe he should hope she would, so he could proclaim his innocence.
Then he remembered Caleb shouting “I’m three. I’m three!” No, this was Caleb’s day.
“Did you ever meet the guy they made that movie about?” Mona asked. “You know, the one …”
There were quite a few rodeo movies, but answering Mona’s question would only spur more questions of the same ilk. He decided to head her off at the pass. “Besides the buckles,” he continued, “I also met some incredible people, not movies stars, but real people. People who’ve made a difference, like …”
But she’d already stopped listening. She was just one more person who only cared about the buckles and the headlines, proof that the hometown boy made good. She didn’t know or care about the amazing people he’d met. Before Joel could think of something else to say, she turned away and started talking to someone else.
Immediately, his eyes sought out Beth, but she’d disappeared while he’d been musing about the past.
Which left Joel alone with Nathan Fisher, who had the same half smile on his face that little Matt wore most of the time.
“So,” Joel, who couldn’t stand the silence, said, “how did you get lucky enough to be invited to Caleb’s birthday party?”
“My sister baked the cake. She started a catering business. I volunteered to deliver.”
Joel figured there was more, so he waited. Sure enough, Nathan continued. Leaning in, he said in a hushed tone, “I was also hoping to get the chance to speak with your brother. Make an effort to personally invite him to church.”
“Jared’s stopped going to church?” Joel had halfway expected Nathan to say something about Beth, something like “keep away,” or, “You look pretty good for a man who wrestled