Unbridled Dreams (39 page)
“I don’t believe I met a Henry Mortimer when Irmagard was introducing me to her new friends,” Willa said. “What exactly is your son’s role in the production?” She couldn’t help the little surge of pleasure at the idea of enlightening this woman as to Irmagard’s identity as Liberty Belle. Perhaps she
was
proud after all.
“Oh, Henry doesn’t use his given name.” Mrs. Mortimer opened the program and showed Willa a photograph. “There he is.”
Shep Sterling. King of the Cowboys.
All Belle was supposed to do was gallop Dora’s horse around the arena and wait in the center, while Helen Keen was introduced. Then the two of them would race. It wasn’t much of an act, but Dora’s horse was skittish about its new rider. And Momma was up there in the stands recording every second for future retelling at home. Whatever else Momma said about her trip, she simply had to have a good report about Belle’s performance. For Daddy.
“Ready, kiddo?” Helen rode up alongside her and winked.
“I didn’t think I’d be this nervous.” Belle nodded down at the dancing appaloosa. “Is he always like this?”
Helen grinned. “He’s about to race and he knows it. You’ll do fine. Momma will be impressed.”
Finally, the announcer introduced, “Taking the place of Dora Spurgeon this evening . . . from Buffalo Bill’s home state of Nebraska, our newest beautiful ranchera—Miss . . . Liberty . . . Belle!”
Her heart pounding, Belle kicked Rowdy and they bolted into the arena. The crowd roared, the band played, and when Rowdy tore around the arena, then stopped abruptly in the center and reared, Belle nearly lost her balance. She grabbed the saddle horn and hoped no one had noticed.
“And now, the Queen of the Lone Star State, Miss . . . Helen . . .
Keen!” Helen’s entrance went more smoothly.
“Calm down, kiddo,” Helen said as the horses danced about and the announcer explained the rules of the race. “No one noticed.”
I bet Momma did.
It was time. The cowboy clowns had set up a series of poles at ten-foot intervals across the length of the arena. First Belle, then Helen, would race in and out of the poles. It was more about skill than speed, and Belle hoped Rowdy would change leads smoothly with a new rider. All she had to do was keep her seat during the weaving in and out—and look competitive.
Helen tore through the course, her pinto’s polished black hooves flashing. Willing herself to forget the audience, Belle concentrated on keeping her weight on the balls of her feet, on gripping Rowdy’s sides, on having her hands poised so she would jerk on the bit as little as possible. There was hardly time to think. The clown in charge of the race yelled “Go!” and dropped a red flag. Rowdy shot forward, danced in and out of the row of poles and then made a sharp left and tore back to the arena entrance, where he skidded to a stop with all the concentration of a cow pony pulling a rope taut against a struggling calf. The horse knew the routine so well, all Belle ended up having to do was stay on.
Helen took her victory lap. The crowd cheered. Belle took off her hat and bowed as Helen rode by, acknowledging that she’d been beaten. With a wink, Helen reached over and snatched Belle’s hat out of her hand, then charged back into the center of the arena and, dropping it in the dust, backed her pony up and motioned for Belle to come and get it. This was not part of the act. Belle didn’t move. Helen stood up in the stirrups, stretched out both arms, and taunted her.
Belle patted Rowdy’s neck. “Can we do it?” There was only one way to find out.
With a kick and a yelp, Belle and Rowdy headed back into the arena. The crowd cheered. On the first pass, she tried to gauge Rowdy’s stride. She didn’t even try for the hat. The crowd quieted, thinking Belle had missed.
Helen trotted her horse by. “Go on, hot shot. You can do this. Give ’em something to remember. Your Momma deserves to see more than a pole race and an automatic ride.” She leaned over and patted Belle on the head. “Now everybody up there in the stands thinks I’m taunting you some more. It’s called milking it for the publicity, hon. We’ll plan some other little tricks together as time goes on.” She reined her horse away. “Go get ’em.”
Belle rode a prancing Rowdy around the perimeter of the arena, aware with every step of exactly when she would ride past Momma. She didn’t look. Finally, whirling about, she kicked Rowdy into a gallop and, as they passed her hat, she slipped down and snagged it. The crowd roared. Her heart was pounding, and she was trembling so badly she almost dropped the hat just trying to put it on. She and Helen took a victory lap while the clowns tumbled into view, turning the removal of the poles from the arena into a hilarious act involving dueling poles and racing stick horses.
It was over. After she slid to the ground, Belle had to hold on to a stirrup while she waited to stop shaking.
Helen hopped down. “Good work,” she said, and offered a hug.
Belle shook her head. “You made that happen. I was—”
“You were nervous. So what. We make a good team.” Helen grinned.
Monte, Dora, and Shep, along with some of the other performers, gathered round, offering congratulations. Shep planted a kiss on her cheek. Ignoring the jeers of some of the cowboys, he whispered, “You were superb.” Then he turned toward Helen, shaking a finger at her and scolding, “Bad cowgirl, stealing a girl’s hat the first time she’s in the arena with a new act.”
Helen shrugged and turned to Belle. “Go on now,” she said, and motioned toward the stands. “Your momma’s gonna be wondering where you are. You tell her I said good-bye and thanks for everything.”
“She’ll want to see you before she leaves,” Belle protested. “You’re practically part of the family now. Can’t you hornswoggle someone into taking care of the horses again?”
“
Hornswoggle?
” Helen looked horrified as she glanced at Dora.
“Did she really just say
hornswoggle?
”
“You g-go,” Dora said, and reached for the horses’ reins. She stroked Rowdy’s neck.
Monte spoke up. “We’ll catch up. I think Dora’s having second thoughts about leaving.”
Dora smiled. “C-come on, cowboy,” she said, and together, she and Monte gathered the horses’ reins and wove their way through the crowd toward the stables.
Momma and Orrin Knox were visiting with a woman who was obviously a high-society New Yorker when Belle and Shep caught up with them. Momma spoke to Shep. “I’m not really certain I’m speaking to you, young man.” She eyed him with mock anger. “ ‘
Compliments
of the management’
indeed.”
Shep ducked his head and mugged guilt. “I deeply regret any appearance of subterfuge, ma’am. I was merely hoping to enhance your opinion of my hometown. And, by association, of myself.” He put his hand on his heart and bowed his head.
“You do see what I mean,” the elegant stranger said. “Always the actor.”
When she extended a hand to Belle and introduced herself as “this ingrate’s proud mother,” Belle saw where Shep’s gorgeous sister had gotten her amazing blue eyes. Mrs. Mortimer looked up at Shep.
“You were right, son. She’s lovely.” She turned back to Belle. “Your mother and I have compared notes and found that we share the same affliction wherein we swing between states of euphoric pride in our children and terrified denial over the danger inherent in what they do for a living. We have also agreed that the only proper treatment for it is for all of us to enjoy a late supper at the Brunswick.” She glanced at Shep. “I imagine Edward will be happy to accommodate a request for one of the private dining rooms. He’s getting used to giving out favors to family by now.”
“I only asked for a nice room,” Shep said, somewhat defensively. “And flowers,” he added. His mother tilted her head and arched one eyebrow. “Oh, all right. And a breakfast cart. But that was all. And Uncle Edward was happy to do it.”
T
HESE
. . .
THINGS DOTH THE
L
ORD HATE
. .
A PROUD LOOK
,
A LYING TONGUE
. . .
Proverbs 6:16-17
KJV
It had to be a plot. There was no other explanation for Shep’s mother just happening to occupy the seat next to Momma at the Wild West. And if Shep had somehow arranged for his mother to meet her mother, what did that mean? And if it meant what it might mean, how did Belle feel about that? Life was getting confusing. She didn’t know how she felt. Or maybe she did, and she just didn’t want to think about it. There was so much going on, and now she had more work than ever to do in the arena—which was wonderful. She’d known she would eventually meet Shep’s family because he’d talked about it, but here they all were, and Shep was pulling her chair out for her to sit down in this elegant restaurant, and his mother was laughing and chatting with Momma as if they’d known each other for ages. Shep’s Uncle Edward had come in and said hello, and as the moments went by, Belle was feeling more and more like she was taking a test for which she hadn’t studied.
The entire thing was too ironic for words. Shep’s background was more like hers than she’d realized. He, too, had essentially run away from home to join the Wild West. And his father had been a banker—although, as the evening wore on, it became apparent that the Mortimer family’s banking concerns were on a much higher rung of the financial world ladder than Otto Friedrich’s First Bank of North Platte. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Everything about Mrs. Mortimer—from the trim on her stylish hat to the tip of her leather-clad boots—said old money and lots of it. Diamond earbobs and jewel-studded bracelets flashed in the restaurant candlelight.
She insisted that Henry must bring Miss Friedrich to the house to meet everyone but said he should wait until Aunt Tillie and Uncle Charlie come back to the city from the summer house. And Aunt Sophie and Uncle Harold would be back from that boat trip down the coast in a few weeks.
“They promised Cook she could go see her family next month, and you know how they are, Henry. They can’t get by without Cook.” A boat with a cook? And a captain? Mrs. Mortimer might have called their mode of transportation a
boat,
but obviously Aunt Sophie and Uncle Harold had taken a trip on the family
yacht.
Belle was beginning to have her own
What hath God wrought
thoughts. She could almost envision the hilarity in the upper stratosphere as the angels above got the joke on the girl who ran away from home to find her own way in life, successfully escaping from the world of finishing schools and social graces, only to fall in love with the only man in the Wild West whose family represented everything she had run away from. He even had his own Uncle Charlie.
Whoa. LOVE?
It hit her just like that. She looked across the table at Shep, who was telling Momma the story about his begging Buffalo Bill for a job, and realized that if she had her way about things, Shep Sterling would have a place at all her tables for the rest of her life. And just at the moment she thought that, Shep glanced her way and winked, and it thrilled her right down to her toes. She winked back. Shep gave a little nod toward Momma, as if he were telling Belle,
I told you I’d
win her approval.
And apparently he had, because Momma seemed happier than Belle had seen her in a long, long time.
