During the men’s team-roping finals one of the horses, saddled and waiting in the corral, sauntered over to me. She nudged my leg and sniffed at my jeans. I let her smell my shoes and then I pushed back against the front of her face, in the space between her eyes and nose. “Go, get outta here.”
As soon as the words left my lips, I heard a brief whistle. Across the corral stood a man, his face shadowed by the large brim of his black Stetson. The mare left my side abruptly and trotted over to him. I watched as he climbed into the saddle with grace before giving the horse a subtle foot command to move forward into the arena. His team-roping partner entered from the other side. Just before the steer was released, the man looked over to me and nodded, the kind of nod that means something. It’s the quiet cowboy’s version of a wolf whistle. I lost my balance on the top of the corral and wobbled just for a moment before smiling back at him.
Instantly, the steer was out of the chute, followed by the men, one on each side. They roped the speeding creature in 5.5 seconds. It was fast, very fast but not fast enough to win. I fully expected to see two sulking cowboys trot back to the gate but only one looked totally defeated. The other, the man in the black Stetson, was smiling and riding toward me.
As he approached with the reins and lasso in his left hand, he removed his hat with his right. He was so much younger than I expected and he was grinning emphatically. Two deep dimples appeared on the sides of his boyish cheeks. “Hey there, you distracted me,” he said, still smiling.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“I’m kidding. I picked me a dragger. We didn’t have a chance.” His voice was smooth and confident. He was referring to the fact that the steer wouldn’t lift his hind legs to be roped.
“Good thing, I thought I blew it for you.”
“It takes more than a gorgeous woman perched on a fence to throw me off my game,” he said, placing his hat back on his head. I never thought of myself as gorgeous or even a woman for that matter. My heart leapt and bounced inside my chest. He maneuvered his horse through the gate, hopped off, and led her into the corral where she came up to me again. “Bonnie likes you.” He laughed. “You’re the only one besides me.”
I stepped down and began helping him remove her saddle and bridle. “She’s a fine horse.”
“She’s a baby—a little too eager, but she’ll learn,” he said, almost to himself.
“Bonnie, huh? Cute name. Are you Clyde?” I asked.
He smiled, removed his hat, and reached his hand out. “Oh, excuse me, ma’am. Where are my manners? I’m Jake McCrea.”
I took his hand and shook it firmly. “Avelina Belo.”
“Beautiful and exotic name. It suits you.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a handsome smirk. His eyes were the most vibrant blue. In the sunlight it looked like little electrical currents circled his pupils.
“Thank you,” I said but found myself at a loss for more words. His compliment awoke a feeling in me I had never experienced. I was never interested in dating, and I never thought of myself as attractive. That tingly feeling girls get long before they’re eighteen finally hit me like a million pulses of light striking my chest and moving south.
“What’s a girl like you hanging around the corrals for?”
I hesitated. “Like me?”
“Yeah, like you?”
“I’m racing.” I pulled my phone from my back pocket and checked the time. “Oh, shoot. I’m going on in twenty minutes. I gotta warm up my horse and change.”
“I can warm up your horse, just point me in the right direction?”
“She’s the Appaloosa, right over there. The one trying to bite that kid.”
He followed my gaze to where Dancer was stretching her neck through the corral slats, trying to bite the arm of a young kid who was leaning back against the fence. Jake whistled to call her over but Dancer ignored him. He glanced over to me with a questioning look.
“Dancer,” I said just above a whisper. She pinned her ears before turning and trotting toward me.
“Huh,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Never seen that before.”
I led her out of the corral to the back of the trailer and began dressing her for the race.
“She has great lines.” He smoothed a hand over her spotted flank.
“Most people think she’s ugly.”
“No, she’s beautiful.” He was stroking the horse but looking right into my eyes when he said it.
My heartbeat spiked. “You can just take her around a couple of times while I change. She tires fast.”
“Okay,” he said as he worked to lengthen the stirrup. He lifted himself into the saddle and Dancer immediately bucked. He sat firm in his seat, clearly a great horseman. Pulling the reins tighter, he caused Dancer to trot back a few steps. She swished her tail and then pricked her ears up with irritation. Jake leaned down and spoke to her in a smooth tone. “Easy now. You’re not gonna embarrass me in front of this pretty lady, are you?”
“She always takes the third barrel too wide. I can’t break her of it, just so you know.”
Dancer trotted in place, anxious to run toward the practice barrels. “How can you win if she’s always making mistakes?” Jake asked, smiling.