Chapter 11
C harles had never seen so many cowboy hats in one place. If he hadn’t known this was Connecticut, he’d have sworn he was in Texas. Ryder led him through a vendor fair at the venue with tables and tents that had everything from riding gear to hats to music to food that looked and smelled amazing.
They’d had tacos, which he’d managed to eat without spilling all over himself, and now he was looking at the menu for the adult milkshakes Roper had been talking about.
“Jack Daniels and caramel? I believe we have a winner.”
“Ooh… I want the one with Irish cream and malted milk balls. That sounds like heaven.” Ryder’s dark eyes simply shone.
“All right.” Charles stepped up and ordered himself the salted caramel with Jack, and the Irish cream concoction for Ryder. They were much bigger than he had anticipated and he laughed as he handed a shake to Ryder. “Do people usually finish these?”
“God, I hope not. That’s twice the size of me, altogether!” Ryder grinned wide, and his expression was young, eager. “I do love whipped cream, though.”
“As do I.” He took the straw in his teeth and took a sip, startled for a moment by the sweet, the sharp bite of the whiskey, the cold ice cream, and the warmth from the booze that followed. “Oh, my.”
Ryder glanced up at him, tongue sliding through the whipped cream and chocolate. “Good?”
He hadn’t had enough to drink yet to use the alcohol as an excuse for staring, but he couldn’t help himself. Worse, he was fairly certain Ryder had noticed. “Delicious.” That came out a little thick, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Extraordinary.”
“I’m glad. You want to try mine? I’ll share.”
“Why not? You can try mine too.” He bent to Ryder’s offered straw and took a sip in as non-suggestive a manner as he could muster. The Irish cream was smoother than his Jack Daniels and the shake tasted more like candy than whiskey. “Ooh. Very smooth.”
He pushed his over, and Ryder leaned close to take a sip.
“Ooh…that’s yummy.” Ryder licked his lips.
“A little more of a bite, right? But the caramel, mmm.” And he was feeling it a little already. Must be all the sugar. That tended to make the buzz stronger. “I saw you admiring the stone in that bolo. What was it? Moonstone? It was lovely.”
“I think so, yes. It’s our birthstone, you know? It’s neater than diamond or the pink one.”
“Is it? That’s very nice. I thought it was a very handsome piece. April babies, hm?”
“Yessir. The twenty-second. Four, two, two.”
“And your twin brothers? When were they born?” He took another sip of his milkshake, and it made him shiver. “Ooh. Strong.”
“Christmas Eve.” Ryder drank deep as well.
“That’s interesting. I always wondered what that was like—being born on Christmas or New Year’s Day or Leap Year.” He wasn’t sure he’d like that, but then again, it was something different. Something that made you interesting to other people.
“When’s your birthday?” Ryder actually sounded interested.
“January 17. I’m a winter boy. Capricorn. Very on the cusp of Aquarius.” He used to know a lot about astrology, but he hadn’t thought about it in years. Had to be the whiskey.
“Oh, I get that. I’m on the day of—between Taurus and Aries. Our dad is a Taurus, our mom is a Capricorn, so…” Ryder chuckled softly. “Honestly, I have no idea what that means.”
He laughed. “Well, Taurus is stable and stubborn, Aries is spontaneous and loves adventure. So, essentially, you got the Taurus and Roper the Aries.” His mother, like him, was hardworking, practical and somewhat pessimistic.
Recently he’d begun to understand what they said about Capricorns aging backward, and he liked it.
“Roper was first, so I can believe it.” Ryder pulled a malted milk ball out of the milkshake and popped it in his mouth.
“My mother was an Aries too. Beautiful. Always coming and going. She had a large group of friends and boyfriends.” She hadn’t been the most present mother, but she’d been a good person, a happy person. Kind.
“Wow. Our mom is a school teacher now; dad is a cowboy. They were both rodeo people once.”
“Where do your parents live?”
“Silver City, New Mexico. They love it there.”
“Did they ever travel to see you both ride?”
“Oh, absolutely. When it’s closer to home—Midwest, Southwest, West Coast. They’re right there.” Ryder smiled, the expression warm, fond. “They’re exceptional parents.”
“They sound it. How old are your twin brothers?” He was curious, and they were here as just people, as Ryder had said, so he didn’t feel like questions were out of bounds.
“They’ll be eighteen this year. Crazy boys.”
Eighteen. So young. “Are they riding too?”
“They’re junior bronc riders, and they like to rope, too. Lasso and Latigo saw us beat ourselves half to death.”
“Given your names, I get the impression this was going to be a rodeo family one way or the other,” he said dryly.
“My mom still races sometimes, and Daddy ropes, so yes. We’re not super famous, just an old rodeo family.” Ryder tilted his head. “What about you? Do you have a lot of family?”
“No. I had my mom, but she passed away right before I met Tad. And my father, well, I told you about him. I do remember my mother’s parents a little.” His mother raised him modestly, but she’d come from money. “I would have liked to have siblings, but my mother was happy with just me I guess.”
“I’m real sorry for your losses, sir.” Ryder almost reached out for his hand. “You’ve had so many.”
“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” He shrugged.
“I think that’s one of the reasons I wasn’t sure I wanted to hire anyone after I—after Tad died.
But I do appreciate your company.” He took Ryder’s hand and held it for a second, then slowly let it go and pushed his drink away. “Hm. I think I’ve had plenty of that.”
“You made a dent in it, yessir.” Ryder’s smile was warm, focused on him. This was dangerous.
He needed to put a little space between them.
He took a breath and stood up slowly in case he was more tipsy than he realized, but he was fine. Buzzed, no question, but steady. “Care to walk a bit more? Do you think we should find our seats soon?”
“Let’s wander. There are a few of my former sponsors I’d like to show my face to.”
“Lead the way.” He followed Ryder back out into the crowd. They hadn’t gotten very far when a big man in a black hat bumped into Ryder, knocking him back a step. He caught Ryder instinctively by the shoulders to keep him upright.
“Sorry, man. Whoa! Hang on. Roper? Ryder? Which one are you?”
“Ryder. How’s it going, Hank?” Ryder didn’t sound incredibly pleased to see this Hank.
“Fair, fair.” Hank was looking Charles over as he spoke. “I see you’ve kept yourself busy since you hit your head.”
Ryder moved to where he was between him and Hank, protecting him. “Yep. Busy and happy. You doing well?”
Ryder, who was half this man’s size, was getting between them. Anyone else might think that laughable, but he knew Ryder was tough. He’d seen the YouTube videos.
“Fine, Fine. No need to get defensive, boy.”
“I’m Charles.” He’d just be friendly. He wasn’t afraid, but he wasn’t keen on the idea of Ryder getting in a fight. And why did it seem like every big man they came across was aggressive around Ryder, anyway?
“Pleased. I’m Hank.” The big man shook his hand, and he narrowly avoided making it a competition. “It’s good to see you on your feet again, Ryder.”
“Thank you. I’m tickled as all get out that I got out with all my brain cells.” Ryder offered him a tight smile. “Have a great event.”
That was a clear “go away”, if he’d ever heard one.
“I plan to. Enjoy watching.” Hank looked him up and down again before nodding to Ryder and walking away.
“You’ve got your hackles up,” he said softly as Hank stepped back into the crowd. “He was looking at me as if I might be competition.” He’d been off the market for a long while, but he understood jealousy when he saw it.
“He and I used to be close. We’re not now.” Ryder’s voice was tight, bordering on angry.
It was difficult to resist the urge to give Ryder a warm hug. Another part of him wanted to follow Hank and give the man a taste of his knuckles. “I understand it’s none of my business, but all the same, I am very sure that it’s his loss.”
“I’m a little bit your business, but thanks. I did the saying no, and I was right to do so, but it made things harsh—folks talk.”
Charles sighed. “He aired your private business. I’m sorry.”
“Yes. He did. He sucks. You, on the other hand, are a decent human being. Thank God.”
That made him smile. “Thank you. I do try. And for what it’s worth, I don’t mind letting people think I’m your private business now.” He winked at Ryder.
Ryder chuckled softly, cheeks gone pink. “Well, I think folks are making assumptions, and I don’t mind.”
They were definitely making assumptions. There had been certain moments today when parts of him wanted to make assumptions too.
He didn’t plan to assume anything. What people said about assumptions was typically correct.
And he wasn’t going to think that way.
He couldn’t.
Even if he found himself wanting to.
“Who’s the guy standing on the fence?”
“That’s the gate, and he’s pulling Pistol’s rope.” This was surprisingly fun, telling Mister Charlie everything the man didn’t know about bull riding.
They had amazing seats—three rows up, in between Rope Canutt’s family and Skylar Paulson’s. Apparently they were having a vacation together.
“Like pulling it tight, you mean?” Charles was glued to the chutes, watching everything and so curious. Charles leaned closer. “No wonder those bulls seem so annoyed.”
“It’s not annoyance. It’s genetic. Seriously, it’s bred into them. If they were uncomfortable, they wouldn’t buck.”
“Oh, no. I was kidding.” Charles touched his knee for a very brief second. “I did some reading before this trip about how athletic these bulls are. Now, me? I’d be annoyed.”
“I—Yeah.” Folks didn’t do that. Not even gay ones. He knew there were some handcuffs and ankle…cuffs? But tight around the middle?
Nope.