The Bull Rider. Helen DePrima
you’ll wish you were back in Montana.” She pulled up with a flourish in front of the sprawling building whose sign proclaimed Sheplers—Western Stores since 1899. “Everybody out,” she said, “and shop till you drop.”
“Stick with me,” Sophie said to Jo. “I need to buy boots too.”
Having Sophie as a guide, someone intimately involved with the world of bull riding but with an outsider’s view like her own, suited Jo. She led the conversation by being a good listener as they browsed the racks of boots ranging from plain workaday footwear to styles embellished with fancy stitching and metallic finishes.
Sophie pulled out a pair with brown lowers and intricately embroidered ruby-red uppers. “These look like me. I’ve beat up my old ones till they’re not fit for polite company.” She stuck out a battered boot for Jo to inspect. “I’ll retire these for work around the ranch and get a new pair for dress. Have you seen any you like?”
“I don’t know where to start—too many choices.”
“What will you be using them for?”
Jo hesitated. Some of the less ornate styles would work in Manhattan, but she wanted a pair more like Sophie’s, for future bull riding events if Tom decided to keep her around. “Mainly walking around arenas at bull riding events,” she said. She picked up a sister pair to Sophie’s but with turquoise uppers. “How about these?”
“Perfect—Justins are good Texas-made boots but not too high-end. Once those get too disgusting, you can buy a fancier pair for dress. Believe me, once you start wearing cowboy boots you’ll throw away all your other shoes.” She looked sideways at Jo. “So you plan to be around awhile?”
Jo ducked the question. “We’ll see how it goes.”
Sophie nodded. “Best way to play it. As long as you’re buying boots, maybe you should get some real jeans.” She looked with pity at Jo’s skinny leggings. “You’ve got the figure for those, but they’re so buckle bunny.” She grinned. “I should know.”
Sophie left Jo trying on jeans while she bought shirts for her husband. Forty-five minutes later Jo carried her purchases into the ladies’ restroom to change, excited as a child about her new look, almost a new identity. Besides the boots and jeans, she had bought a tooled leather belt with a modest silver buckle and a pearl-snap plaid shirt in soft autumn shades of rust and smoke-blue. She was zipping her new Wranglers when she heard the restroom door open and two women enter.
“So what do you think of Tom’s new girlfriend?” Jo recognized Sophie’s voice. “Quite a change from the last one—Traci something.”
“That must have been before Bobby came up to the tour—I’ve never seen Tom with a girl.” Lou-Ann, Jo thought.
“Maybe two years ago, I guess—not long after Len and I got married,” Sophie said. “She hung all over Tom, and she treated the rest of us like a bunch of dumb hicks. What a joke—I know what big-city looks like, and she wasn’t it. I felt bad for Tom when she left, but I can’t say we were sorry to see her go.”
“They had a big fight?”
“Not a clue,” Sophie said. “One day she was flashing a diamond and the next—poof, she was gone. Even Luke didn’t know what happened—I asked him.”
“Are you sure Jo is Tom’s girlfriend?”
“I’m not real sure—she said she wanted to learn more about bull riding. Maybe she’s working on some kind of research. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
Jo waited until she heard two stall doors close and then made her escape. She would have to come to some understanding with Tom about her status. She hadn’t faced this problem while researching her earlier features when everyone had known about her goal and focus. Bull riding was more like an extended family, close and gossipy.
Still, she had gained some insight into Tom’s personal history by her inadvertent eavesdropping. She filed the information under “interesting but probably not relevant.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Sophie said when Jo joined the others still waiting to pay for their purchases. “The colors in that shirt are perfect for you. Are your eyes blue or gray?”
“Yes,” Jo said, and the others laughed.
“You need some turquoise to dress it up,” Mara said. “You can pick up some nice pieces in Albuquerque. If you think you’ll be at that event.”
“She hasn’t planned that far ahead,” Sophie said, taking Jo’s arm. “Bull riding takes getting used to, right?”
They piled back into Lou-Ann’s vehicle with their shopping bags. Jo’s cell phone rang just as they reached the hotel; she recognized Tom’s area code but a different number.
“You about done with the hen party, Jo?” Luke asked when she answered. “Meet me by the desk and we’ll go fetch your gear from the other hotel.”
Luke did a comic double take when Jo walked into the lobby. “Excuse me, sugar,” he said, tipping his hat. “I’m supposed to meet a gal from the big city.” He peeked into her Sheplers bag. “You got her hid in there?”
Jo did a runway turn for him. “Did I get it right? I had lots of advice from a panel of experts.”
“Well, I guess! I might just take you home and teach you to mend fence and pull calves. Judging from your article on horse racing, you’re already a heck of a rider.”
Luke drove Jo to the hotel where she retrieved her bag from the luggage room. She checked in at the Marriott while Luke signed autographs in the lobby. Apparently the bullfighters had their own contingent of fans; Luke’s were mostly young, female and wearing tight jeans, the buckle-bunny look Sophie had scorned.
“Want to grab an early supper with me before the show starts?” Luke asked as he carried her bag to her room. “Tom means to meet you for the after-party—as much as he plans anything before he rides—but he’ll be getting into game mode right now.”
Jo ran a comb through her hair and collected her purse. “How does he prep for his rides?”
“He does this kung fu routine—hides out behind the bulls’ pens and kicks the air for maybe half an hour. Some of the guys were calling him Mr. Miyagi, but they stopped laughing when he started riding rings around them. A bull fell with him a few years ago and busted him up pretty bad—the hardware in his left hip drives airport security nuts. A physical therapist taught him tai chi to get his balance back, and he went on from there into martial arts.”
A great detail for her profile if Tom didn’t mind her using it. “Is he self-conscious about it?” she asked.
“If he is, you’ll never know it—he never lets on about anything. He could be dying and wouldn’t give a hint till he keeled over. Me, now, I take all the sympathy I can get.” He grinned. “Girls love a wounded hero—a few scrapes and bruises attract chicks better than a cute puppy on a string.”
Jo had to laugh. She doubted any woman would hold Luke’s interest long, but he’d show her a great time while it lasted. She wondered if Tom viewed women with the same cheerful hedonism. Somehow she doubted he did, guessing his emotions ran deeper and with a stronger current.
“Tom suggested I cruise the concourse for supper and check out the fan action at the same time.”
“I’ll get you back in time to see the sights, but I’ll feed you better than that. You like a good steak?”
“What’s not to like?” she said, following him to the elevators.
* * *
AFTER A TEN-MINUTE DRIVE, Luke parked his Explorer in front of a nondescript building with a red neon sign identifying it as the Cattlemen’s Steakhouse. A blonde hostess in tight black slacks and a ruffled tuxedo shirt led them to a booth under an Old West mural.
“I