Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Adam Taggart was about to blow a vein in his temple.
God help him if he ever had to go back to working the little rodeos and bull-riding events for a living again.
Hell, if he had to do that, he’d just go back to ropin’ full-time.
These cowboys were about stupid. The saddle bronc-riders hadn’t known what to do with a pickup man, and the bareback event wasn’t shaping up much better.
He glanced across the arena at his youngest brother, Chrissy, and rolled his eyes.
One more of these boys reached for the wrong one of them and Chris might just explode, too.
Bri was the patient one. Bri was the one who wanted to be out here playing cowboy so that fucking bull-rider Jason Scott could get on a goddamn baby bull in front of fifty old farts and their women and not get trampled into the fucking dirt.
Coke Pharris owed his ass but good. Hatching a plan to re-launch the career of a truly broken bull-rider was crazy. Re-launching one who was blind like Jason Scott? Christ.
Coke owed him steak and Cuervo for the next month good. Him and Chrissy both. He tapped his heels against Shylock’s sides, moving into better position for the next rider.
Chrissy moved with him, eye on the gate.
Adam was fairly sure the gate puller was either drunk or blind in one eye.
Either way, if a cowboy twitched his face just wrong, the man took it as a nod and the gate swung open.
Two horses had already fouled themselves on the gates, and re-rides were piling up.
That made for tired damned riders, too.
The gate opened and the mare lunged out, sun-fishing for all she was worth, rider Anderson Kige looking about rattled. The mare hopped around like a bunny, finally sending Anderson flying over her head. God damn, Adam didn’t want to think about the bull-riding. It was gonna be brutal.
Beau and Sammy were wandering around, the little Cajun one hell of a distraction, all on his own. He wasn’t sure what the hell the boys were doing here, but…
“Chrissy! Rope that bitch!”
Chris nodded, spurring toward the mare, loop ready to go. Which was when the next gate burst open early, a paint gelding slamming right out into the arena. Right into Chrissy’s horse. Shit fire and light matches.
Chrissy and Sugarland went down together, Sugarland rolling over his brother, leaving Chrissy sprawled and still in the dirt. Now he had two broncs, Sugarland, and his fucking brother to deal with.
God damn it.
He wheeled around on Shylock, praying to God the broncs decided to run together, circle the arena and buy him some time. They didn’t. The damned paint kicked out, missing Sugarland by a hair, making Chrissy’s horse shy, which made the mare turn and head right for Chrissy’s prone body.
Adam had one of those moments of total, utter panic that only happened to him when one of his brothers was in trouble.
He hesitated, then he heard a yodel of stunning proportions, a tiny, bare-footed, brown cowboy running the rail and jumping on Sugarland’s back, a rope in hand.
The kid—because it had to be a kid or a bull-rider—wheeled Sugarland around, snapped the bronc on the flank, and those hooves landed on the ground beside Chrissy.
“Come on!” The little fuck hooted and roped the mare, running her hard away, and Adam saw both Coke Pharris and Sam Bell jump onto the arena floor, followed by Beau Lafitte and that little Sterling boy, a new bullfighter.
Then he was moving again, his heels slapping at Shylock’s side, his rope whirling. He threw for the paint and got him, steering Shylock toward the out gate.
The cowboy on Sugarland, because the man was truly one, yessir, ran the mare around again, giving him time before heading her in, slick as seaweed in Galveston. They worked together like a dream, and Sugarland didn’t throw the man, which was a miracle in itself.
Adam didn’t go to Chris until the all clear was sounded by Coke.
Chrissy was sitting up, blinking some. “Damn. Who’s on my horse?”
Pharris snorted. “Chrissy’s fine. Fucking Taggarts. First word out of those boys’ mouths was horsey.”
Adam chuckled, holding a hands down for Chris. “At least it wasn’t ‘clown.’ I don’t know who’s on your Sugar.”
Beau glanced up. “That’s just Landon. He roped with Sam.”
“Landon Gaudet?” Adam stared, craning his head to see. He’d met the kid. Hell, he’d embarrassed the poor guy, he thought. The kid had been offering things there was no way someone so young should know. Adam had been tempted as hell, but he wasn’t a cradle-robber.
Button-black eyes, glinting like a bird’s in a lean, pointed face peered down at him. “He okay? I can work for the rest of the saddle bronc round.”
“I think you might-ought to, son,” Coke said before Adam could open his mouth. “His bell is rung.”
“Yessir.” Landon patted Sugar’s neck. “She likes me well enough, I think.”
“You’ll do,” Adam said, nodding. Landon was looking pretty good on horseback.
Even if he had bare feet.
The announcer was wearing his panicked face, and Landon worked beside Adam, like a wild Injun in the saddle. Jackass. This was not professional. Hell, the kid was in his after-the-show jeans, that button-down half-open on his chest.
It was a little distracting, too. Cajuns. Lord help him.
It only took another three broncs before the mutton bustin’ and bulldoggers were up and they headed to the back, into the fading sun outside the arena.
“You’re gonna work the rest of the night, you ought to put some clothes on,” Adam said, dismounting to loosen the girth strap on Shylock.
“I done worked in the tie-down roping. Gon’ have to get on a bull here in a few.” Landon smiled over at him, crooked grin unashamed as anything. “Hope your brother’s okay, Mr. Adam.”
“Me, too, since I’ll need another safety man.
” He wouldn’t, not really. The bull-riding only required one roper, as he’d have Sterling and the other bullfighters on the ground.
What the hell was it about this kid that rubbed him the wrong way?
“Thanks, though. For your help. Maybe I can buy you a beer later.”
“Sure you can. I seen you do it before, you’re good at it.” The kid hooted, hugging Sugarland like an idiot. Worse, the damn horse didn’t seem worried about it at all, and she fucking hated everyone but Chris.
“Well, I’ll see you after the show, then.” Gritting his teeth, he worked at cooling Shylock down, waiting to see if Chrissy showed up. The kid was like sandpaper, rubbing him raw.
“Hey, old man, need a hand?” Coke Pharris appeared on the other side of Sugarland, clicking at the big mare. “Dillon doesn’t want me in the stands right now. Bullfighters are warming up. Chrissy is on his way, soon as that little girl doctor sews up his ear.”
“Thanks, Coke.” He gave Pharris a smile, genuinely grateful. “Dillon pissed at you for jumping into the ring?”
“Little. Nowhere near as pissed as the Cajun is at Sammy.”
Adam hadn’t even thought about Sam Bell hopping down in the arena like he had. “Cajuns get dicey.”
“You know it.” Coke helped out, walking Sugarland, just as easy as you please.
Adam hunted for Landon, but the kid had disappeared. “You know much about Landon Gaudet, Coke?”
“He’s Cajun. Lives with his twin sister. Ropes like Rickey Green. Shitty bull-rider.”
Adam raised a brow. “So you don’t like him?”
“I like him just fine. Ain’t his fault he’s not got the strength to hold on.” Coke shrugged. “He cain’t weigh ten pounds in boots and jeans.”
“Oh.” Well, there it was. “But he’s a good roper?”
“Helluva roper. I make some money on him, as a rule. Told him he ought to rope with you.” Now that was high praise from Pharris, if he bet on someone.
“Seemed like he knew his way around the horse.” Okay, he just needed to drop this whole thing.
“Yup. You want to go get a beer after work?”
“Uh. Sure. I told the kid I’d buy him one.”
Coke nodded—sort of, with that still, twice-broken neck. “I need to go see Jason.”
“Okay, old man. Go on. I’ll be there when he rides.”
“I’ll pull rope for him.” Coke’s lips were tight. This would be the first public ride for Jason Scott since he’d lost his sight, and Adam still wasn’t sure this wasn’t the dumbest thing Coke had ever arranged. Fooling everyone? For God knew how long?
Shit.
If anyone could do it, it would be Jason Scott, he guessed. Adam shook his head, hoping to hell no one had to scrape the man off the arena floor.
“Adam.” Chrissy bebopped over, face looking like hammered shit, bruises popping up.
“Hey, bro.” He gave Chris a one-armed hug. “How you doing?”
“Gonna be sore as all fuck tomorrow. Not working this event again, that’s for sure. Jesus.”
“Yeah. Pretty disorganized.” He pondered. “You think I’ll need a second when Jason rides? Beau would do it, I bet.”
Chrissy frowned at him. “Don’t be dumber than you have to be, asshole.”
Adam grunted. “Does that mean I don’t need someone else, or that you’ll do it?”
“I ever left you in the lurch? Once?”
“Nope.” He patted Chrissy’s shoulder. “You’re the baby, though, and I worry.”
“I got your back. So…a bull-rider rode Sugarland?”
“Yep. Little Cajun feller.” He grinned, trying to hide it a little. Chrissy had this thing about his horse.
“Huh. And she didn’t throw him?”
“Nope.” He definitely grinned now. “Jealous?”
“You know it.” Chrissy grinned right back, and it was like staring in a mirror. Shit, Adam’s ear even hurt some in sympathy. “Traitorous bitch.”
“This is why women are a bad idea.” Adam wasn’t a misogynist, really—he just loved men. As many as he could.
“Yeah, there’s all sorts of things I love that are bad ideas, Old Man. Women are just one of ’em.”
They shared a grin before Adam went back to work and Chrissy got Sugarland checked over.
Damn kid.
He shook his head at himself, at how riled up he was. This was asinine. The damned kid hadn’t done a thing to him. He just needed to let it go. He’d have a drink with the fool boy after the show, and that would be that.