“She’s fast enough.”
“We’ll see.” He gave her a tight squeeze with his boot heels and off they went.
I changed quickly into my competition shirt, jeans, and boots, and within five minutes he was back. Dancer was warm but Jake looked downright worn out.
“You okay, cowboy?” I smiled up at him.
There was a glistening stream of sweat dripping down his sideburns. He jumped off and handed me the reins before removing his hat and brushing his dirty-blond hair back. He let out a huge breath. “Man, she’s a mean bitch, full of piss and vinegar, that one. I don’t know how you race that horse, skittering around like that. She didn’t take the third barrel wide, she practically tossed me over it.”
I laughed. “You’ll see.” I took the reins, hopped up into the saddle, and headed toward the arena. “This is no roping horse. She dances on air,” I shouted back to him.
He was right; she was a hard horse to handle but not when I rode her. I got to the gate just as they called my number. The buzzer rang and we were off. I bent low into her body as Dancer raced toward the first barrel. She rounded it with perfect ease and then we were off to the second barrel and then the third, which she took just a bit wider than perfect. It was an improvement. I kicked her hard and smacked the end of the reins back and forth against her shoulders. She picked up and flew home to the gate, barely touching her hooves to the ground.
As I glanced toward the time clock the announcer called my score. I won.
After collecting my prize, I headed back to the stable where my truck and trailer were parked. Jake was sitting on the tailgate, laughing as I approached.
“You got something good there, honey?” he asked.
I held up my trophy and shook it in the air. “I won three hundred dollars!”
“Are you telling me you’re gonna take me out for a beer to celebrate?”
I swallowed hard as I looked down at him from atop Dancer. I shook my head slightly and then tried desperately to peel my eyes away from him. He had changed into a clean pair of Wranglers and a white button-down shirt. Still wearing a confident grin, he swung his legs back and forth playfully on the edge of the tailgate.
When I jumped down to remove the saddle and bridle, he came around and put his hand over mine. “I was kidding. Not about the beer but about buying. I’d like to take you out for a proper dinner. Can I do that?”
He squeezed my hand, gazing into my eyes, waiting for my answer.
“My mom is at our motel. I’m . . . only eighteen.” My voice shook embarrassingly.
“Oh, well, I only just turned twenty-one.” He smiled again. “I’m far away from my home in Montana, doing the rodeo circuit through California. It’s just me and my roping partner, so it gets kind of lonely.” I could tell he meant lonely in the genuine sense, not in a sexual way. “Maybe you can bring her along? You both need to eat, right?”
“Okay,” I said to Jake McCrea just three short months before I married him.
CHAPTER 2
Regimented Exercise
Nathanial
SPRING 2005
Flying up and down the rows of a crowded parking lot while my mother screamed in the backseat was not how I pictured the day I would officially become a doctor. My dad, in his token Hawaiian-print dress shirt, sat in the passenger seat, calm as ever, while I anxiously sped up and slowed down, periodically glancing at the clock on the dash. I had ten minutes to be in my seat before the ceremony started. There were no open parking spaces—the lot was littered with graduates hurrying along in their green and black gowns while my dad sat there humming “Yesterday” by the Beatles.
“I’m gonna be late. Shit! I’m gonna be late.”
“Christ, Nathanial, you’re going to kill somebody. Calm down!” my mother shouted.
“Mom, please, you’re not helping. And Dad, quit with the fucking humming.”
“Nathanial, are you really going to call yourself a doctor and use that kind of language?” I looked into the rearview mirror to see my peeved mother with her arms crossed, smirking at me.
“Oh that doesn’t matter, Elaine.” My dad finally awoke from his nostalgic daze. “Our boy here needs to choose his battles. First he needs to find a parking space in this godforsaken hellhole they call a university.”
I zipped through a group of pedestrians and spotted an open space on the other side. When I hit the gas, I could hear my mother whining under her breath.
“Dad, how can you say that about your alma mater and the very hospital you practice in?”