Logan had drawn the bull that nearly killed him, and this time he beat him.
“That’s the look I remember,” her mom said.
It was true; she had forgotten how excited she used to get when Logan had a good ride. Or any ride at all. Fear had only been a small, flaky thing all those years until the first serious injury. But since then, she’d let it control her.Not anymore.
Logan weaved his way through the crowd and into the stands to her. There were still a few riders left, so he slipped quickly into the vacant seat beside her to avoid blocking anyone’s view. Izzy jumped into his lap before Abbie could throw her arms around him.
“You did it, Uncle Logan!” With Izzy still wrapped around him like a spider monkey, he managed to lean in for a kiss that left Abbie a little lightheaded. So many emotions packed into that kiss: exhilaration, relief, love.
“Youaregoing to marry Aunty Abbie, aren’t you?”
They both burst into laughter at Izzy’s assessment. Logan cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek. “I sure hope so.”
“Logan, that was incredible. What a ride.” She went rigid at the sound of her uncle Vince’s voice. Logan had mentioned something about the onslaught of media allowed in the VIP section tonight, but she assumed Vince would think twice about approaching Logan after the way the week had transpired.
“Thank you,” Logan replied, keeping things neutral, she noticed. For the benefit of everyone around them, no doubt.
“I was hoping you might answer a few questions for an old family friend.” Vince tried that easygoing smile that sometimes worked, sometimes backfired. Her mom had been right, he’d had a hard life. Lost a lot of loved ones. She had stayed quite angry at him the past couple of days, but seeing him in person softened her ire.
“No interviews, please.” Logan unwrapped Izzy and handed her to Abbie to pass down the line to her mother, who had a fresh bag of popcorn to share. “I’m just here to compete, nothing more.”
Abbie bit back the urge to tell Vince she finished the interview. Didn’t seem as though it mattered much now.
“I thought you might tell me a little about what it was like to ride Tornado. How you feel about it. How long you think it’ll be before you draw him again.”
Draw him again?Her stomach knotted at that dreadful thought. It was possible, she supposed. It’d taken him two years to draw him, but what was to say he wouldn’t draw him once more? Twice more? He might draw him at his next event. What if that ride didn’t go as smoothly?
“Maybe three questions so I have something to quote from you?” Vince tried again. “For an article about the rodeo.”
“The only interview I consented to was the one with Abbie. If you want to print it, you’ll have to work that out with her.” He kissed her on the cheek and hopped to his feet, leaving her with an enduring squeeze of her hand. She forced out all worries about him drawing that bull again. She couldn’t stand to think about it. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to head behind the chutes. They’ll be announcing the results soon.”
Vince seemed at a loss once Logan disappeared. He watched him go for a minute, but pride kept him from chasing after him. Or defeat. She wasn’t quite sure which it was.
“Have a seat, Vince. You’re family first.” With the way he kept glancing around, it seemed he didn’t want to take her up on her offer, but without an alternative, he finally sat.
“You finished it, then?” he asked, refusing to look anywhere but straight ahead as another rider prepared to exit the chute.
“Yes.” There’d been so many things she wanted to say since the morning she quit, but a lot of them didn’t seem important anymore. Vince would never set aside his pride to beg her to come back, and she wouldn’t grovel.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “I’ll let you print my interview with Logan, but you’re not allowed to edit a single word without my approval.”
“Carl’s working on our front-page story as we speak.” Vince nodded across the stands where a meek Carl took notes. So the front-page replacement story was nothing more than rodeo results. Maybe a few play-by-plays of rides.
“Uncle Vince,” she said, hoping the family endearment might soften his sharp edges long enough to really hear what she had to say. “My only dream since I was a little girl was to run theStarlight Gazettelike Grandma used to. To write stories that gave people hope, that showed them how wonderful our community really is. We’re not like other newspapers, and that’s what I love the most about ours.”
“Abbie—”
“I’ll work with you on this”—she cut him off—“but this is a one-time offer.”
For once, Vince didn’t try to interject. He simply nodded at her and waited.
“I’ll come back to work, but I have conditions. First, you will print this interview the way I wrote it.”
He didn’t seem too bothered by that if his expression, unchanged and blank, was any indication. Perhaps he trusted her a little more than he wanted to admit. “Fine.”
“Second, you’ll print the story about the Andersons’ horse camp too. Next week’s edition, not some time down the road. It’s a wonderful program they have going, and our readers should know about it.”
Vince removed his glasses and held them in his lap. Conflict swam in his eyes. “Done. What else?”
