then Patricia Trevor called him, having seen a piece he’d donated to a Denver hospital charity auction. She suggested a gallery exhibit of his recent projects, and he was vain enough to say yes. He wanted exposure for his ideas as much as ever. If he didn’t have something to say, he wouldn’t spend time or effort on the process.
But he didn’t expect his former fans to understand or appreciate this current approach. Jess Granger’s article supposedly launching the show would probably bring down a hailstorm of derision on his head. That was the way the art world worked—you gave them what they wanted or they cut you off at the knees. In spite of her beauty—or maybe precisely because she was so beautiful—he expected the same treatment from her.
The screen door to the house opened and the lady herself stepped onto the porch, a high-tech camera hanging around her neck. “There you are.” She squinted against the sun. “It is bright out here. Thanks for the hat.”
“You’re welcome.” A compliment on how she looked in the hat came to mind, but he ignored the impulse. “Let’s go watch the kids.”
Walking side by side up the hill, Dylan found himself searching for something to say. “We took them to a rodeo and most of them decided they wanted to compete.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Not so far.” They crested the hill and approached the group of kids gathered on the other side of the barn. “They’re still at the learning stage.” In the natural way of things, he would have put a hand on her shoulder to bring her closer to the action.
“Come watch,” he said, keeping his hands at his sides and feeling as awkward as he probably sounded. “You can meet everybody. They’re practicing on the bucking barrel.”
The bucking barrel was a fifty-gallon drum suspended sideways by metal springs from four sturdy posts. With a rider sitting on the barrel, the contraption tended to bounce around, mimicking the motion of a bucking horse or bull. Ropes could be attached at various points, allowing spectators to increase the range of motion and the unpredictability of the ride.
“That’s Thomas Gray Cloud.” Dylan pointed to the boy currently riding the barrel. His dirty T-shirt testified to a fall or two already.
“All he holds on to is that one rope?” Jess shook her head. “I can’t imagine. At least he wears a helmet.”
“Ford, the legal eagle, made sure of that. But the secret is balance. You try to stay flexible and move with the animal, keeping your butt in place and using your arms and legs independently.”
She looked over at him, her golden gaze intent on his. “Is this the voice of experience?”
He nodded. “I rode saddle broncs. The horses wear a special saddle—with stirrups—and you hold on to a rope attached to the horse’s halter. It’s slower than bareback riding, but style counts a lot more.”
Her attention shifted to Thomas. “I think you’re all crazy.”
As they reached the group around the barrel, Thomas lost his balance and fell off to the side. He pounded a fist on the ground, but rolled over and got to his feet right away.
“My turn.” A bulkier boy stepped up to the barrel. Thomas gave him a dirty look but backed out of the way, dusting his hands off on the seat of his jeans.
“Marcos Oxendine,” Dylan told Jess. “One of our more challenging kids.”
But today Marcos seemed to be on his best behavior. Grinning, he climbed onto the barrel, wrapped the rope around his gloved hand and yelled, “Let’s go! Aiyee!”
The kids on the four corners began pulling their ropes, causing the barrel to tilt and sway in all different directions. Their encouraging shouts rang out in the afternoon air, recalling the roar of the grandstand crowd at a real rodeo. Marcos stayed on for nearly eight seconds, using his upper body to counter the motion of the drum he rode. When he finally did come off, he sat up laughing, while the spectators around him applauded.
“Again!” he demanded. “I’m doin’ it again!”
Dylan glanced at the reporter beside him to gauge her reaction. What he noticed was that she stood with her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, and the stance did great things for her figure. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat and refocused his attention on the kids.
Marcos’s second ride didn’t last as long, but he moved away agreeably enough when Lena Smith marched up and announced that she wanted to go next.
Jess turned to Dylan with a shocked expression. “These events allow women to compete?”
“Yes, and there are a couple of women out there today riding against men. Lena is interested, so we wanted to give her a chance. And she’s actually pretty good.”
The girl proved his words, staying on for a full eight seconds, though Dylan suspected the rope pullers were going a little easy on her.
Still, she grinned when she got down. “That is so cool.”
Beside Dylan, Jess Granger shook her head. “This was not what I pictured when you said you were conducting a summer camp. I thought, you know, arts and crafts—collages made with pinecones and sticks they pick up on a hike.”
“Nope. We’ve been working on their riding skills—none of them could sit on a horse when they showed up here. On Friday we’re taking them on their first cattle drive. You’ll have to come along and observe.”
“Um... I’m another one who’s never been on a horse before I got here.”
He gave her a wink. “We might have to work on that.”
“By Friday?”
“There’s a full moon tonight.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“Could be. In the meantime, come meet my brother Ford and his fiancée.”
Introductions took place as the kids dispersed, the boys heading to their bunkhouse and the three girls to the cabin they shared with Caroline. “They get an hour or so to reconnect with their phones,” Caroline explained to Jess. “We wouldn’t want anybody going into withdrawal.”
“I certainly would, without mine. Dylan said that these are some of the troubled kids in your area.”
“That’s right. Most of them have had some kind of run-in with the legal system.”
“They seem pretty cooperative, overall. Not as resistant as I would expect.”
“Today’s a successful day,” Ford said. Caroline nodded. “And we’ve been together for a few weeks, developed some relationships. Do you have experience working with teenagers?”
“No, not really. But I have known some kids with problems.” Jess Granger gave a short laugh. “In fact, I guess you could say I was one. I grew up bouncing in and out of the foster care system. At about the same rate my parents jumped in and out of jail.”
Dylan swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The Marshall brothers had lost both their parents before Wyatt turned sixteen, but they’d always had each other to depend on. He didn’t want to consider how hard life might be without some kind of family you could trust to take care of you.
After a few seconds of silence, Ford found the right words. “You’ve obviously not only survived that experience, but thrived.”
Caroline put a hand on the journalist’s arm. “I would love to have you talk to our kids, especially the girls. You’re such a great example of what responsibility and persistence can accomplish. Please say you’ll spend some time with them while you’re here.”
Jess Granger looked surprised. “If you think it will help, I’d be glad to.”
“You have to be careful around Caroline.” Ford put his arm around his fiancée and squeezed her shoulders. “If she can find a way to