Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Adam waited until the bullfighters were out in the arena warming up before he went after Dillon Walsh. The clown was still putting on his make-up and wouldn’t go out until about fifteen minutes before the show.
“Hey, Dill, can we talk?” Adam didn’t mean to make the man jump like that, but damn the music was loud.
“Hey, Tag.” Dillon offered him a smile, a bottle of water. “Something wrong?”
God, it was good to have a friend that was…well, queer. Genuinely, honestly queer as a three-dollar bill. Not just sleeping with his traveling partner. His brothers weren’t much on chatter, and the rest of his buddies would plug their ears at what he was about to say.
“I need to know what to do, man. I got this thing. With Landon.”
“The wee Cajun? Nutbutter? Really?” Dillon blinked, then nodded. “I can see that. You’ve got one hell of a sex drive.”
“You ought to know.” He and Dill had torn up the hotel a couple of nights, right after the man had been dumped by a certain arena announcer. Back before Coke. “That’s not my real problem, though. He’s great. I, uh, forgot the condom last time we were together.”
“Oh.” Dillon’s lips twisted. “I. Okay. Well, are you worried? I mean, is he willing to get a blood test? They have quick tests now, at the damned CVS.”
“I’m not worried about him, okay?” Adam scratched the back of his neck, which was prickly hot with embarrassment. “I’m worried that I might give him something. I haven’t been tested since Beau.”
“Oh. Oh! But… You’ve been careful, right? You always were, with me.” Dillon took a breath. “Look, that doesn’t matter now. Now you need to get a test and know, for both of you.”
“I know. I’ll make an appointment. I just don’t even know how to talk to him about it.
He—I swear, Dill, he trusts me. What if I fuck up?
” It scared him to death. He wasn’t sure he’d even felt this good with Beau, ever, and he’d thought Beau was the love of his life. This kid… Fuck, Landon was young.
“You’ll fuck up. We all do, huh? Shit, Tag, isn’t the important part what happens when we do?” Dillon spent too much fucking time with Coke Pharris. The man had a philosophy about life that was like no one else’s.
That didn’t mean Adam didn’t need to hear it. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Just tell him you want to do the tests and then, when everything’s okay, yay.”
“Except he’ll think I don’t trust him.” He did. Implicitly.
“Has he said anything, since it happened?”
“No.” Not about that, at least. Landon talked to him all the time, about everything under the sun.
The kid hadn’t said a word about going bareback, or about saying the whole four letter word starting with an ‘L’. Hell, Landon was here, wasn’t he? With Cotton and Kynan and the Aussies. Maybe Adam just needed to go see him.
“You think he’ll be pissed, man?”
Dillon gave him the respect of thinking before answering. “I think if he was, he would have already said something.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” Landon wasn’t shy and retiring. Adam sighed. “How are you and Pharris doing?”
“Good. He’s feeling looser in the neck, and he and Nate have been working Sterling’s ass off.”
“Yeah? You had a little, uh…” He didn’t want to say fit, but Dillon sure had thrown one. “Talk with Sterling, right? About Coke?”
“You mean the part where I threw my big queeny weight around and told him to the back the fuck off my bullfighter?”
“Exactly.” Adam winked. Dillon could be bitchy. “I can only admire your technique.”
“Sometimes it’s good to be the clown with the huge contract, man.” Dillon preened some.
“You’re scary, Dill.” Adam patted Dillon on the shoulder, knowing you never hugged the clown once he had partial greasepaint on. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime. Don’t stress it, just be smart, huh?” Dillon squeezed his fingers, smiling for him, encouraging.
“I’ll try.” Too bad that wasn’t his damned strong suit.
“Good man. Go forth and rope cows.”
“Will do.” Dillon was right. It was time to warm up his horse and get the rope loosened up. The rest could wait until after the show. That made sense, at least.
Coke was jogging in as he walked out. “Adam. How goes?”
The lead bullfighter was sweating, grinning, bouncing from foot to foot, the baggy shorts a bit too big. Someone was at his fighting weight these days.
“Good.” Adam clapped Coke on the back. “You look great.”
“Thank you, sir.” Coke offered him a grin. “Watch for Maker’s Mark. He’s in a shitty mood. We’re switching Mr. Bell out for that little Mexican fighter, too, in section four.”
“Got it.” He peered over his shoulder to make sure no one was too close. “Houston Rogers has a bad ankle again, but he’s trying to keep it quiet.”
Coke nodded. “I’ll catch him. No worries.”
“You’re solid as a rock, Pharris.”
“I try, man. I do try.”
“I know.” Adam grinned when Nate whizzed by, jogging laps. It was definitely time to get to work.
He headed back to the horses, back to the tack and the latigo and Bri, who was swinging a rope, slow and easy. That was more like it. Familiar. Comforting.
“Man, it’s sticky out here.” Bri grinned at him.
“Your rope hanging up?”
“Everything feels like it’s stuck together.”
“It’s pretty damp.” He glanced out at the arena. “Shit, I hope the dirt is worked good.”
“Bullfighters haven’t said dick about it, Troy neither. They’d complain if it was bad.”
“Well, that’s good.” He’d still have to run his mare through her paces extra careful.
“Uh-huh. Landon brought you some barbecue. It’s in the truck.”
“Yeah?” His belly rumbled, and he thought he could squeeze in time to eat before the show.
“Spoiled ass.”
Adam snorted. “Like he didn’t think of you, too.” Landon was Southern to the bone. He wouldn’t bring food for Adam without getting something for Bri and anyone else who might be around.
Bri had the good graces to look ashamed. “Maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” Adam shook his head and flipped Bri off on the way to get some food. He’d have to thank Landon later.
He was good at that.
Really good.
“Cotton, you want I should pull your rope today?” Landon was flying. Fly. Ing. He’d done rode himself Bumper Cars for a ninety-three pointer.
Ninety-three.
Him.
Going to the short-go, yessir, and sending money home, praise Jesus. That last tax bill was done. Hoo, yeah. Truck time.
“Sure, Nutbutter.” Cotton clapped him on the back, riding glove already taped up. “You done good today.”
“No shit on that. I stuck like soft bubblegum.”
“You sure did.” Cotton bounced from foot to foot, chaps fringe swaying. “Do it again in the short-go and you’ll eat so good tonight.”
“You know it. Me. Sister. Hell, I can pay two years of taxes.” Two whole years on the house.
“Your house has taxes?” Cotton waggled those red eyebrows.
“Well, the land does and, leastways, I got me a house, not some trailer in the pasture.” He teased right back. Cotton and his girl was building a house on the family ranch, not wanting to kick Cotton’s momma and sister out.
“Yeah, yeah. Butthead.” The bull was loaded, and they got Cotton’s rope in place.
“This one, he spins left. You keep it in the middle, oui? Make money for your girl.” He yammered, grabbed the rope, and set his heels on the gate.
Cotton nodded, eyes on his hand, on the rope. Cotton didn’t need to answer. The man was in the zone.
“You and me, we go to the short-go together. We make us some money.”
“Hell, yes.” Cotton wrapped the rope around his hand for the last time, and Landon scrambled over the gate, out of the way.
Cotton nodded and the gate pulled open, that little red bull spinning like mad under Cotton’s butt. Cotton held on, and Landon chanted, “Four, five, six…”
Cotton started sliding into the well, and Landon held his breath. Lord have mercy. “Come on, Boll! Stick that bastard!”
The bull turned back on itself, Cotton popped into upright, and the buzzer went off half a second before Cotton went flying like a helicopter rotor.
Mr. Coke and Nate were right there, Sterling shoving Cotton to the fence, pushing hard.
Cotton climbed the rail and waved his hat, grinning ear to ear.
“Woo! You done it, boy!” Landon hooted.
Cotton nodded, giving him a high five. “You and me got to pick a bull, man. For the short go.”
“Hell yeah!” There was gonna be a party tonight. All they had to do was ride one more bull each. He glanced across the arena, noticing Adam watching him from horseback.
He couldn’t fight his smile. Damn, but his cowboy was the finest man in history.
“You all right, Nutbutter?” Cotton teased, punching his arm.
“I am fabulous. Amazing.” He was on cloud nine.
“Well, come on and let’s look at the bull pen.”
He knew Cotton’s dream was to stop riding, start breeding bucking bulls. Landon was all about the horses, wanting a set-up like Adam had. He hadn’t even known you could have that until he’d seen it with his own eyes.
Cotton was going on about some one-horned beast with a forelock that reminded Landon of a movie pirate. Landon squinted at the bull, pondering.
“What? He’s got a good track record.”
“Uh-huh. But he’s favoring his front right leg. You want me to go look?”
“I think you should. If he got a cut…”
“I’m on it.” He climbed over, the fence cool and smooth on his hands.
Cotton leaned on the rail, watching. One of Dillon’s silly basset hounds was down there under the bull’s belly, sniffing that hurt foot.
“Scoot, now.” There was a smell that made him groan. “Lord. He got him rot, Boll. I can smell of it.”
“Shit. I’ll get Troy.” The bull stamped, and Cotton held down a hand. “Come on, now, before he kicks.”
“Let me give it a look, first. I bet he’ll need a poultice.”
“Be careful.” Cotton disappeared, no doubt going to get Troy, the stock manager, and whoever owned this bull.
The other bulls were shifting, the contractors moving them about, and he had to do himself some wriggling, to keep himself from getting squished between hamburger on the hoof and the fence. None of them bulls wanted a piece of him, though. They was a docile lot when they weren’t at work.
“Nutbutter? What the fuck are you doing with my bulls?” Cash Bartlett glared down at him from under his XXX Stetson.
“He got hoof rot. It smells of it down here. You cain’t buck him.”
“Hoof rot.” Cash squatted down, peering through the bars of the fence. “I just had him vetted two weeks ago.”
“I bet they didn’t know or it hadn’t started.” He put his shoulder to the bull, encouraging it to shift, before pointing right at the top of the cleft. It wasn’t big yet, about the size of a pencil eraser, but it’d get bigger. “See? Right there.”
“Well, shit. I got to pull him, Troy.” Cash shook his head. “I’ll have to treat it.”
“Come on up, Nutbutter.” Cotton hauled him up. “Good catch, man.”
He shrugged. That was what his people did. “You want me to poultice him once you get him in a stall, you holler.”
Cash nodded, clapping him on the back in thanks. “I might at that.”
“Come on, Landon. We got to ride again.” Cotton was bouncing on his toes. “Focus.”
“Yeah. I can do that.” Landon bounced, too, working his head in a circle.
He tucked his shirt in, pulled on his glove. He was second in the event, so far. He needed a win, a guarantee into the finals. If he could just stick it out for a score in the high eighties, he could do it.
“Adrian’s gonna pull my rope, man. Ash and Cameron, they can get yours.” Cotton nodded to two of the rookies, Colorado boys from way up in the mountains.
“Sure, Boll.” He nodded, smiled. Cotton was more particular that way. He liked the Aussies like Adrian pulling his rope when Landon couldn’t do it.
He waved at the boys. “Hey, y’all. Thanks.”
“No problem, man. Any friend of Cotton’s.”
He nodded. Shit, he didn’t have no troubles with none of the men, even that Kynan boy that could be mean as a ’gator with a broke tail. Of course, Kynan also had a sunny smile and a love of life that made up for it.
He watched Adrian buck off, Little Denny, then Bonner made his eight on Calypso.
Time to ride.
Landon stared at the bull. Okay, now. I need me an in to the finals, you know? And I need to pay Sister’s taxes, so you do good by me and I’ll spur for your score.
The big beast rolled its eyes, snorting out a ball of snot. This would be a battle royale.
He settled in, wrapping his rope, closing his glove and banging it shut. Mind in the middle. Mind in the middle.
He heard the crowd sigh. Cotton must’ve gone down. You and me, you beast. We’re gonna give ’em a show. Landon wiggled, got his seat, then nodded, the gate swinging wide.
Buckboard jumped out of the gate and turned right into his hand. Landon grinned hugely, sitting up, his free arm swinging. His ass started to slide, but he corrected, bearing down, Laurel’s face behind his eyes. He needed this for her. For their house. Hell, he needed this for him, too. A truck.
The buzzer sounded and he pulled at his hand, snapping out a curse word when the rope stuck fast. No. No, come on, you bitch. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Coke move in, Mr. Nate on the other side. Cotton was shouting at him, something about leaning forward to release the pressure.
Panic wanted him to lean back, but he kept himself on it, pushed forward. “Y’all! Help me, now.”
Nate threw a shoulder into the bull’s side, turning it away from the sliding rope, and his hand popped free. Coke was right there on the other side, yanking him down and tossing him away before Buckboard could get his balance.
“Yeehaw!” He hollered, waving his hat. He’d done gone and done it!
“Move, Landon!” Nate pushed him back toward the fence. Whoops. Seemed to him like Buckboard didn’t think they’d made a deal.
He climbed up, and Cotton hauled him over by his shirt collar. “It look good, Boll?”
“Looked like another ninety, buddy!” Cotton clapped him on the back, hooting.
Adam roped the bull, got him moving, but what Landon saw was ninety-three.
Ninety-three and a win.
He started dancing, hollering out his joy. Adam and the bull flashed by, and on the way back out, he saw Adam’s huge grin and thumbs up.
Damn. Damn, what a good fucking day. It got better when the last three riders went down without a score and he was the event winner.
He got to stand beneath the huge check, and he made sure Cotton got a picture to show Sister. Grinning ear to ear, he bounced through the interviews and all, then headed back to the locker room, walking on air.
He’d done it. He’d got himself to the finals. Now all he had to do was ride like hell for the rest of the season.
Hell, he’d be able to take care of Sister. Thank God. Another two years of taxes would be taken care of, and she could patch that hole in the roof.
Landon grinned. Lord have mercy. He had his cowboy, a paycheck. Life was good. His stomach rumbled. Maybe it was time to see if there was food.
Barbecue, Adam, and a beer—not in that order.
Yeah. This was the life.