Chapter 20 #2
Seamus winced at the thought. Damn, that made him queasy as fuck. “Yeah, that had to suck. I can tell you just from having this broken ankle that it sucks really hard.” He chuckled. “Not that I’m making light of what these guys do to their bodies because I’m not.”
“Yeah, they really do put some work in, and sometimes it goes terribly wrong.” He frowned a little. “I’m not sure they get the support they need either.”
Seamus tilted his head. “I know there’s a fund, right?”
“There is.” Greg waved to him. “And they do great work. I shouldn’t get all depressing, right? I’m here to make you like the sport.”
Something on the arena floor caught his eye, and he realized that the bullfighters had come out to do their warm-up. There were three of them plus the barrel man, and they were all jogging. It was really pretty.
Especially Dawson. He had to admit he kind of spaced out the Greg guy. Because Dawson was truly amazing-looking out there, and all he wanted to do was watch.
He heard Nick take up the conversation with Greg, and that was great because that way he didn’t have to focus so much.
Cowboys started filtering in and they were doing calisthenics, too, on the back of the chutes. The crowd filled up the seats, and soon enough they were announcing the beginning of the show, and the lights were going to go down.
Seamus felt like he was on the edge of his seat, ready to just bounce, clap, yell, or support the guys anyway he could.
There was a moment, a quiet lull of a moment when Dawson looked up and saw him as if he felt seen, loved, and he broke out into a smile as Dawson tipped his hat, acknowledging him. All right, that felt nice
He nodded back, beaming, and gave Dawson a thumbs-up.
Then he noticed the others looking at him.
He couldn’t wait to meet everybody. Of course he knew names—the barrel man was Michael Boe, and then Davi Souza and Deuce Porter in the ring.
Shit, he even saw Ranger Johnson, the young alternate, who’d been called up in case Dawson needed him.
Both Deuce and Ranger had been sort of mentored by Dawes. He’d heard their names a bunch in passing.
Seamus gave the kid a once-over, trying to decide if he ought to be jealous or not. The kid was pretty in that freckled, Howdy Doody sort of way.
If a guy was into that, he’d totally be ripe for the picking. However, Dawson had a type. He knew this because he could see hints of his own look in Michael, the barrel man.
He also knew that Michael could growl if he didn’t get enough alone time, and that had been a problem…
Seamus was all about the together time. He was rarely alone. And he was usually pretty cheerful because Dawson was the grumpy one.
“Greg, dude, you’re in my seat.” Seamus looked up when somebody came to stand right next to their seat arrangement, looking down at the suit who was still sort of hanging out with them.
“Sterling. Did I know you were going to be here?”
The cowboy who had to be Dawson’s friend and mentor, Sterling, sort of wrinkled his nose and curled one side of his lips up in a smirk. “Obviously not, are you gonna ask? But this is my seat and…”
Greg just sighed and shook his head. But he stood. “Sure, buddy, no problem.”
Sterling shot a patently false grin at him. “Thanks, man.” He waited until Greg was out of his sight line, then rolled his eyes and murmured, “Good boy.” Then he nodded to Seamus. “I know who you are.”
He grinned at Sterling and dipped his chin. Man, these cowboys were shitty actors. “I know who you are, so we are even up.”
He went to stand up, and Sterling put one solid hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t, don’t. It’s cool, I got this.”
Sterling leaned down and shook his hand. “So good to meet you, man. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Ditto, I’m so glad you’re here. You are important to Dawes, and I can’t wait to get to know you, no bullshit.”
He figured he liked Dawes, Dawes liked him, Dawes liked Sterling, ergo he and Sterling were going to be great friends.
“I hear that you learned how to be a bullfighter…” Sterling stared at his ankle.
“This is an injury from falling off a stage while I was doing a dance number for a musical. So, no, I went to Fearless Pharris’s bullfighting school and learned enough to film about three minutes worth of film.
” He rolled his eyes. “That took me a month and gave me a ton of more respect than I already had for what you guys do for a living.”
“Oh, so you got to meet Coke and Dillon.”
“Yes, both them and Nate and Miss Tracey. And Little Bean.”
“Good Lord and Butter. Little Dillon.”
His lips popped open as he made the connection. “You are not serious.”
“Oh, son. I am serious as a heart attack.”
He shook his head. “So, how did that happen?”
“So, his momma Emily—Emmy—who is, well, she was the person who ran all of the electronics for here for years until the boys got big enough, and there were enough of the boys to start having to take them for this and that and, you know how that goes.”
He listened, completely fascinated.
“And so, she and Dillon were best friends. Still are. Like dear friends. And they named their first one after Dillon Walsh. He was actually there for the birth.”
“No shit.”
Sterling grinned at him. “I shit you not.”
The announcers started talking, warning that the show was starting in ten minutes.
That was plenty of time to chat. “Well, I looked up his daddy and he’s tiny.”
“Cotton? Yeah, he’s no bigger than a minute, but Miss Emmy?” Sterling glanced down and then back up. “Is not. And her brothers are gigantic. So they all have Cotton’s coloring—Miss Emmy is dark-headed, or was once upon a time—and they all look just like their daddy just super-sized.”
“Tell me that she had them all in football.”
Sterling agreed, smiling out into the stands, nodding at a fancy-looking cowboy down near the dirt.
“She still does. Little Bean is the oldest. He’s just graduated from high school.
He’ll be going to Montana State, and he is gonna play football and be on the rodeo team there.
All of his brothers are in football—from middle-school to varsity. ”
Seamus couldn’t stop grinning. “There is no way. That’s amazing. I wish I’d known then, I would have made him talk to me more.”
“Oh, he’s a quiet one. Shy as anything until he’s on the football field protecting his quarterback. He’s a neat kid and a damn good roper. Every summer his butt’s gonna be back in the arena, roping for Pharris.” Sterling looked down again, and that well-dressed man winked at him.
“Would you like to invite him up?”
“Hmm? No, honey, but thank you. He’s mine, and you’ll meet Colby at supper. He runs cattle, and he likes to be close enough to interfere with shit whenever he can manage it.” Sterling’s eyes twinkled. “The bullfighters love it.”
“I bet they do.” He knew how Dawson felt about interference from somebody who wasn’t supposed to be down there on the dirt or who could possibly get hurt if they got in the way. He didn’t know who that guy really was, but obviously if he ran cattle, he knew how to not get kicked or whatever.
“So, what kind of terrible stories do you have about Dawes?” He wanted to hear things. He wanted to have all sorts of ammunition to use against Dawson later on. Things to bring up and tease him about that were at least as bad as falling off a stage and breaking his ankle.
The lights went down and the pyrotechnics set off just about the time Sterling began telling them a story about Dawes running the wrong direction at some point and getting the horns. He figured he would have to get the rest of that later. Right now, the show was starting.
Michael, the entertainer, was the first one to be introduced, and then it was the bullfighters.
He nodded to Nick, who was busily filming every second, which was super handy, because then he could watch with his own eyes and know it in his heart.
Jesus. His man was beautiful. Dawes was absolutely everything he wanted in a person and in a partner—solid and strong, steady as a stone. He loved it.
Hell, he was deep in love with Dawson. All the rest was window dressing.
They started introducing the bullriders, and Seamus couldn’t keep up with all of them. He told himself by the end of this event he would know everybody’s name.
It was just like learning a script.
By the end of the next three weeks, he would know who was who. He’d know who Dawson wanted to win. He’d have figured out who was a good guy, who was an asshole, and what all the stories were.
Those were important.
He clapped when he was supposed to, cheered at the right moments, and when they asked everybody to stand, Topher grabbed him under one armpit, Sterling hooked one arm under the other, together they hauled him to his feet.
That way he could be polite and respectful because that was what he did.
Even if he was broken because he’d fallen off a stage like the world’s biggest idiot.