Part 23 (1/2)

”It's genetic,” Casey spouted. To hear her tell it, a person would have thought Walker had pa.s.sed down a penchant for robbing banks through his DNA, instead of a love for all things Western, including rodeo.

”Maybe,” Walker allowed. ”But this isn't about me, Casey, and it isn't about you. It's about Shane, pure and simple, and the man he'll be some day.”

”If anything happens to him, Walker Parrish-”

Inwardly, Walker sighed with relief and no little amazement. I'll be d.a.m.ned, he thought, she's caving.

”Nothing's going to happen to Shane,” he said when she left the last part of her sentence dangling. ”Most likely, he'll take a spill, but that's one h.e.l.l of a lot better than hanging back because he's afraid. Trying will net him some bruises for sure, but not trying will hurt his soul.”

”I hate it when you're philosophical.”

”No, you hate it when I'm right.”

Another pause. ”If he's afraid, why does he want to enter the rodeo?” Casey asked, sounding resigned now, but also confounded.

”Courage isn't about not being scared,” Walker explained gently. ”It's about being frightened out of your mind and going ahead with whatever it is you want to do, in spite of the fear.” He paused for a second or two. ”Kind of like stepping out onto a stage that first time, and singing for an arena packed with people who might or might not like what they hear.”

”That's different,” Casey said, but weakly.

”Is it? Weren't you scared the first time you opened for some big-name act, thinking you might get booed off the stage if only because you weren't the performer the audience came to see?”

”Heck,” Casey answered, ”I still get scared.”

Walker smiled. That was a big admission, for one of the queens of country music. ”I miss you,” he said.

”Me, too,” she answered. ”I mean, I miss you and the kids, not that I miss myself.”

”I figured that was what you meant,” Walker teased. He wanted to say he loved her, right then and there, but he didn't, because there were over a thousand miles between them and things like that had to be said face-to-face, if only the first time. ”Come home soon.”

”Sunday morning,” she said with a little sigh that raised Walker's spirits considerably. ”In the meantime, it's interviews, and fancy dinners with speeches, and plenty of rehearsals and sound checks.”

”Speaking of fancy dinners,” Walker said, wondering if he was detaining her, keeping her from rejoining the VIPs, ”Shane says you're eating with the vice president.”

”Yes,” Casey confirmed in a whisper, ”and the man is a dweeb.”

Walker laughed. ”I voted for that guy's running mate,” he said. ”And, therefore, indirectly, for him.”

”There is no accounting for taste,” Casey replied succinctly. ”How's Clare doing?”

”Well,” Walker joked, ”she hasn't been arrested or run off to join the circus or anything drastic like that.”

”Gee, that's comforting,” Casey responded.

”Clare's acting like what she is,” Walker said, seriously now, ”a fourteen-year-old girl whose life was just turned upside down, trying to figure out what the heck hit her.” They were all dealing with some variation of the same theme, he supposed.

”Keep them safe, Walker,” Casey said. It was a request, not a command-almost a plea.

”Count on it,” Walker replied.

”See you Sunday,” she said. ”We'll probably talk before then, but...” Again, her voice trailed off.

”See you Sunday,” Walker affirmed gruffly.

Sunday, it seemed to him, was a long way off.

THE JUNIOR RODEO opened on Friday afternoon, and Shane strutted around with his number pinned to the back of his s.h.i.+rt, sporting the new hat Walker had bought him and br.i.m.m.i.n.g with confidence. He was eager to ride, and bone-certain he'd wind up in the money when the final scores were tallied. Stranger things had happened.

Walker hoped the boy would place, of course, but he knew most of the other kids entered in the compet.i.tion, and they were good. The horses and bulls, while tamer than some, were appropriate for the sport, which meant they were flat-out ornery and guaranteed to do their best to unseat a cowboy long before the buzzer sounded.

Clare, who had come along only because Walker refused to leave her home alone, shook her head as she watched her younger brother conferring with other cowboys his age. ”He's such an idiot,” she said.

Walker, just back from taking a look at the day's stock, all of which belonged to him, adjusted his hat. ”Harsh words,” he replied easily. ”If I thought you really believed that, I'd be mighty discouraged.”

Clare sighed heavily. She was wearing jeans, sneakers and one of Walker's old s.h.i.+rts, and she carried a backpack, a fact he didn't register as unusual. Not at the time, anyhow.

”What if Shane gets hurt?” she fretted.

Walker grinned down at her. ”Chances are, he won't,” he said.

”Mom will kill you if Shane breaks a bone or gets a concussion or something,” the girl warned. ”He's her favorite, you know.”

Walker hid his surprise. ”She will indeed be four kinds of furious if anything like that happens,” he agreed, ”but what makes you think your mom favors either one of you over the other?”

”Parents always have a favorite,” Clare said wisely, still watching her brother. ”They just won't admit it, but kids know anyway.”

”Well,” Walker replied slowly, ”I'm a parent, it just so happens, and I love you just as much as I love Shane.”

Clare made a sputtering sound with her lips, a sort of modified raspberry, adequate to convey her skepticism. ”He's a boy. Dads always like boys better than girls.”

”Not true,” Walker said, wondering why important conversations like this one always seemed to start up in public places, when there was little or no time to pursue the matter. On impulse, he plopped his hat onto his daughter's head and tugged the brim down over her eyes.

Much to Walker's relief, Clare laughed. ”Really?” she asked, pus.h.i.+ng back the hat and looking up at him with the first hint of a sparkle he'd seen in her in days.

”Really,” he confirmed, choked up and trying not to show it.

She took off his hat, handed it to him. That quick, the father-daughter moment was over.

”Some of my friends from school are here,” she said, not bothering with a segue. ”Mind if I go find them?”

Walker nodded his permission, but qualified it with ”Stay on the rodeo grounds, and check in, either by cell phone or in person, every hour or so.”

She sighed dramatically but Walker thought, by the look in her eyes, that she was glad he was looking out for her. Later, he'd wonder if he was any better at predicting teenage behavior than he was at saying the right words at the right time, but at the moment, he was a sucker for a pretty girl-especially when that pretty girl was his daughter.

”All right,” she agreed, and disappeared into the growing crowds.

Walker immediately had second thoughts. There were a lot of spectators on hand for the big weekend, out-of-towners as well as locals. Had he done the right thing, letting Clare go off looking for her friends? Casey, given her tendency to hire bodyguards and avail herself and her children of police escorts, probably wouldn't approve.