Chapter Twenty-Six
By the time Royce and I swing our legs over the fence and drop down into the dirt, I can already feel my pulse picking up.
It’s ridiculous really.
I’ve roped cattle in rain, in dust storms, in the middle of the night with nothing but headlights and a prayer. I’ve done it in crowded arenas full of cheering fans, half asleep, half drunk, half frozen. I’ve done it when the stakes were high enough to cost me my next month’s rent.
This?
This is a fall festival with cheap buckles and a handful of wannabe cowboys trying to impress their girlfriends.
Still, the nerves are there.
Royce slaps me on the back. “Damn, relax. You look like you’re headed to the gallows.”
“Feels like it,” I mutter.
We head toward the temporary corrals set up behind the arena. The smell of hay, manure, and sweat blends into something oddly familiar. The cattle for the roping are already lined up—slow, fat steers that have probably never been pressured a day in their lives.
Which somehow makes it worse.
You miss on a wild one? Folks understand.
You miss on one of these? You’re just an old hack.
Royce swings up onto his bay gelding, who looks bored out of his mind. I take the sorrel they hand me, settling into the saddle with a quiet, internal wince as my body remembers all the reasons I stopped doing this competitively.
But Royce was right. As soon as my ass hits the leather, muscle memory kicks in.
My hands know exactly what to do.
That part never leaves you.
I glance up at the bleachers. Shelby stands just below Matty, Ruby perched on her hip, unicorn wings bobbing every time she shifts.
Ruby sees me and squeals, pointing, “There’s Daddy!”
The whole section bellows as I wave at my girl.
Shelby catches my eye and lifts her free hand in a small wave, her mouth tilting into that half smile. Not the fake smile she gives when she’s just being polite, but the one she gives when she’s truly pleased.
It does something to my chest that I pretend not to notice.
Royce nudges his horse closer. “You ready, cowboy?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He grins. “Good. Let’s go kick some ass.”
We take our place in the box. The announcer’s voice crackles over the speakers, introducing us with a level of enthusiasm that feels wildly overzealous for such a venue.
“And up next, we have Royce Trust and Waylon Ludlow. Folks, let’s see if experience really does count for something!”
Royce leans toward me. “No pressure.”
The gate creaks.
The steer lumbers out like it’s got all the time in the world.
For half a second, my brain freezes.
Then it all comes rushing back to me.
I gather my rope, the familiar weight settling into my palm. My horse moves when I ask him to. Royce shoots to the outside, and I move in. His loop sails clean and fast, snapping around the steer’s horns.
“Got him!” Royce calls.
I swing.
The loop feels good in my hand. Balanced. Easy.
It lands clean around the steer’s hind legs.
I pull back.
The steer stumbles, then drops, dust puffing up around him.
For a split second, everything goes quiet.
Then the arena erupts. A roar hits us, and I can hear Ruby screaming above them all.
I don’t even realize I’m grinning until Royce whoops and slaps his hat against his thigh.
“Hell yes!”
We dismount as the timer stops. Not a record, but fast enough to be respectable—and more importantly, clean.
Shelby walks Ruby down the bleachers and balances her on the top rung of the fence. Both of them smile at me like I just did something impossible.
Damn if the sight doesn’t make my heart thud against my rib cage. And as Shelby’s eyes catch mine, her smile as wide as the Wyoming sky, the space between us sizzles.
And I feel like a damn peacock.
Something warm spreads through my chest.
Royce and I jog back to the fence, handing off our horses.
Axle leans over the railing. “Guess the old dog still remembers a trick or two.”
“Barely,” I say.
We make our way back to the bleachers. Ruby launches herself over the top of the fence the moment I reach her, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Daddy, you won!”
“Not yet, sweetheart. There’re still more teams.”
“You were the bestest though.”
And that is prize enough for me.
Shelby smiles at her. “I think you might be biased.”
Ruby shrugs, clueless as to what the word biased means.
I set her back on Shelby’s hip. My hands linger for half a second too long at Shelby’s waist when I do, and we both notice.
The air between us shifts.
Just a little.
We make our way out of the arena and back to her family, and sit shoulder to shoulder as the rest of the teams go. I can feel the heat of her through the thin denim of her dress. Her knee brushes mine when she adjusts Ruby, and the contact sends an electric jolt through me.
I clear my throat.
Royce and I end up placing second. Bestest is won by a young duo who have been training as a team for years and are just beginning their own rodeo careers. Our consolation prize is a twenty-five-dollar gift card to The Prairie Pie and a polite round of applause.
When they hand it to me, I laugh and pass it off to Royce. “Here, take Elise for pizza and a beer.”
We rejoin the group.
Matty claps me on the back. “Not bad, Ludlow.”
“Whoa, was that a compliment?” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “I would trash-talk your performance, but then I’d have to trash-talk my cousin.”
“Ah,” I say. “That makes more sense.”
The sun is dipping low now, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. The arena lights flicker on. Music starts drifting in from the big event barn across the grounds.
Ruby yawns.
Shelby looks at me. “Someone is crashing.”
“Yeah, I should probably get her home,” I say.
I take Ruby from her and cradle her in my arms.
“You’re not staying for the hoedown?” Harleigh asks.
“Nah,” I say. “Don’t think this one is going to last. She was up early this morning to make me pancakes before the cattle drive.”
A symphony of, “Awww,” escapes the women.
I turn to Shelby. “Thanks for looking after her for me. That was fun.”
“My pleasure,” she says, handing me Ruby’s tote.
I leave the arena and head back toward the vendors in search of my mother to find that Pop finally made it. He’s off to the side of the booth in his suit and tie, talking to the town’s mayor.
“We’re heading out,” I whisper to Momma, tilting my chin to Ruby, who is passed out cold against my shoulder. “You riding with Pop?”
“Yes, we’re leaving as well,” she says.
“You’re not staying for the dance?” Imma Jean asks.
“No, ma’am. My little unicorn ran out of magic about fifteen minutes ago.”
“That’s a shame. The young ladies could use all the dance partners they can get,” she says, her eyes going to Momma’s.
“This is true,” Momma agrees. “You should go enjoy the party. We can take Ruby home with us.”
I shake my head. “You kept her last night.”
“So? A grandmother can’t keep her grandbaby two nights in a row?” Imma Jean says. “Don’t be cruel and deny her time with that sweet baby.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I just—”
“You just nothing. Hand her over and go on,” Imma Jean says, reaching out for Ruby.
I release my sleeping daughter, who stirs slightly, and Imma Jean kisses her head as she rocks back and forth.
“I’ll go get her car seat,” I say, surrendering.
“No need. Your father bought one for my car and his truck last week. We’re all set.”
He did? That’s news to me.
“Now scoot. Go chase some fun. We’ll see you in the morning,” she says.
I kiss her cheek and head in the direction of the music.
When I enter the open barn doors, my eyes instantly scan the crowd until they fall on a pair of long legs in a short denim dress.
Chase some fun?
More like chase a Storm.