A Wild Red Rose Read Online Free Page B

she’ll do a computer search to see what you’re really worth. All those Millionaire’s Son Fights the Bulls stories are gonna pop up, and you are doomed. I know she Googled me. If I hadn’t been so in love with Eve, she might have taken me down. Before you know it, you’ll be married to her.”
    “Would that be such a bad thing? You know I live for danger.” Clint put two bran muffins studded with raisins on his plate and picked a ripe banana out of the fruit bowl. He passed over the bacon and home fries.
    “Yes, yes, it would. She’s a man-eater, not your ordinary house cat.”
    “I have a plan. I’ll trade rigs with Snuffy for a while—and keep her away from computers if that will make you happy.”
    “Have you ever been in Snuffy’s trailer? It’s a health hazard. There is a reason why he got the Snuffy nickname.”
    “I’ll clean it up. We’ll only use the thing for a month or two.”
    “And when someone on the circuit calls you the ‘Bean King’, what are you going to say?”
    “I’ve got an explanation all worked out. There’s nothing in my program biography about Beck’s Baked Beans, just a blurb that I went to UT and once tried out for the U.S. Olympic gymnastics team. After that, it’s just a list of awards and honors.”
    “You know, I thought I was brave man, but Clint, you take the prize buckle with this one.”
    ****
    Snuffy Jones showed even less enthusiasm for the idea than Bodey. “Let you use the Belly Nelle and my trailer? Well, I don’t know. We been together a long time. That would be like letting you sleep with my wife—if we weren’t divorced.”
    “Say, I’m doing that rodeo for special kids up in Casper for you, no charge, in a week. You didn’t have to beg me to take the time from my busy schedule. Just let me use The Tin Can and the Belly Nelle until then. You can take my motorcoach.”
    “What about the Corvette?”
    “Ah, I promised Bodey he could use it. What do you say, Snuff?”
    “Maybe I can endure the separation for a good friend who’s saved my balls from bulls a few times.”
    “Great. Only one favor. Be sure you spit your chaw into a cup while you use my rig.”
    “You got it. I have to move out some of my stuff.”
    “I’ll help you before we start class.”
    Snuffy’s ancient metal-clad trailer had been rolled by a tornado in Kansas and battered by hail in Texas. The barrelman had painted her affectionate nickname, The Tin Can, on her side. Clint hauled the case of beer and three bottles of whiskey over to his luxury motorhome while Snuffy gathered up his street clothes, costumes, and make-up kit. The Tin Can’s refrigerator held only leftovers from the generous meals provided by Bodey, so Clint loaded up his groceries, too, along with all his bullfighting gear and a week’s worth of clean clothes. Bodey would store his surplus and more upscale clothing. With the transfer completed, Clint figured he still had a lot of work to do before he would be able to coax Renee through the door.
    After working in the bullring all morning with the students, Clint skipped lunch and sought out the nearest K-Mart about ten miles away from Rainbow for an array of cleaning supplies. He looked over a display of Martha Stewart sheets and picked a couple of sets in red. If Martha said that was good taste, then it was. The tiger print throw and pillows he got didn’t bear her name. He found some narrow floor runners that looked like fake Persian rugs to cover the snuff-stained beige carpet in The Tin Can. He couldn’t stand the thought of walking on it barefooted. Once he got back, he realized he should have gotten some new curtains to replace the sorry, striped, grease-streaked ones hanging over the small windows. They’d probably been there since before Snuffy’s wife, Ruth Ann, refused to travel anymore and left him years ago. Too late for another trip now. Clinton O. Beck had a toilet to scrub.
    The stains in the bathroom proved to be permanent, but Clint