Sorrel
There are two opening artists before Denton Reed comes on.
The arena is filling in, and I see a few familiar faces in the crowd.
A few ladies I ran with today and some team ropers who are friends with Sutton’s husband Ryder.
I wave to the group of team ropers, and they all lift their beers and give me a nod back.
We put on a roping once a month in the summer at the ranch.
It’s always a fun time. The rigs roll in and the kids all jump out and take off to play in the dirt.
When the roping is over, our ranch cook Jo makes a big feast for everyone buffet-style.
It’s a solid community, and we’re lucky to be a part of it.
Charli walks us over to the group of barrel racers we ran with today. My stomach clenches when I see Emery Smith, Huck’s other ex-girlfriend.
One of the few out of the group whom I actually like, Hailey, turns her attention to me.
“Nice run today, Sorrel. That was your young horse you ran?”
Emery glowers at me. I guess I won’t be getting any compliments from her. Of course, she doesn’t like me because she thinks I’m the reason Huck broke up with her. I had made sure they were broken up before we even started seeing each other; I know firsthand how these roughies can be.
I brush off Emery’s dirty look and respond. “Yeah, it was. His name is Zip. I’ve ran him at a few local jackpots, but this was his first pro rodeo.”
“Nice. I can tell he has drive; he’s gonna be a good one,” Hailey says.
“Thanks, I think—”
Emery cuts me off before I can finish. She brushes back her long black hair and squares her shoulders. “By the way, Sorrel, your horse looked a little lame when you left the arena. Might wanna get that checked.”
Before I can respond she smirks and turns around, starting a new conversation.
Bitch.
I stick my tongue out at her from behind, and Charli bursts out laughing. It’s childish, I know, but I don’t care. I can’t stand her. We’re polar opposites. If anything, I would think she’s more Huck’s type than me. She’s covered in tattoos and a little rough around the edges but still gorgeous.
Emery spins around, and I innocently shrug, pretending I don’t know what everyone is laughing at. She scoffs and turns back to her conversation as if she’s too good to give the rest of us the time of day. Someone really made her head way bigger than her ass, and I think I know who it was.
“C’mon, Sorrel, let’s go get a drink at the bar,” Charli says, grabbing my hand. I accidentally shoulder-check Emery while walking away.
Before she can do anything, a swarm of people swallows her up into the crowd.
I turn around and see how pissed off she is.
She’s jumping up and down and trying to claw her way through them, but there are too many people.
I smile and wave at her before we duck out of her sight. She’s all bark and no bite.
We get in line for the bar, and Charli balls her fists and grinds her teeth. “I should fight her.”
“Woah, easy now, killer,” I jokingly calm her down like a spooked horse. “We’re here to have fun, remember!”
That snaps her out of it and she shoots me a smirk.
She’s always down for a brawl. That was the reason she had to move away from Texas.
Her mom was scared she was going to wind up putting someone in the hospital or end up there herself.
I’m usually the levelheaded friend and nonconfrontational, but maybe this time I should turn her out to pasture and see what happens.
I let out a few deep breaths, trying to compose myself. The line for the bar moves quickly, and the tension in my shoulders eases when we make it to the front. There’s every kind of liquor you could want, but our choice is always whiskey.
“What’ll y’all have?” says the hot bartender with shaggy brown hair and a little scruff on his face.
Charli pulls her tits up and leans over the sticky bar. “Whiskey, straight up, two—make it a double, sugar.” She winks, and he smiles, staring right where she wants him to.
“You got it, miss.” He pours our drinks and scoots them across the bar, not taking his eyes off Charli. We take our money out to pay, but he pushes back the cash.
“This round is on me as long as you come back and see me again,” he says, giving Charli a seductive smile.
“Well, that’s mighty sweet of you. We’ll be back real soon,” she replies with her sweet, slow drawl.
He tips his head to her. “You better.”
We take our drinks and look back to see him staring at her curvy glutes. “Gosh, I love using all my ASSets,” she says, and we both combust into a fit of laughter.
I know anytime I’m with Charli my night will be full of belly laughs and lots of shit-talking.
“You be sure to give that man the tip he deserves,” I tease.
“You know I will.” She winks at me.
“Boots up, whiskey down!” we both say, clinking our plastic cups together so hard we lose a little of the liquid inside.
We came up with the catchphrase in college, and it’s always been our thing ever since. I take a sip, and the whiskey burns as it slides down my throat, but the heat settles in my belly. For the first time all day, I feel myself letting go of all the uneasiness I’d been holding inside.
The rodeo announcer's voice blasts through the speakers. “Up next, who you’ve all been waiting for is the one and only Denton Reed!”
The arena is full now—we push past cowboys and cowgirls and a few fans you can tell came in from the city for the concert.
It looks like it might get a little rowdy in here tonight.
We approach the front-right corner of the stage.
It’s a smaller setup where you can get close to the artist. Concerts at rodeos are pretty small unless it’s someone like Cody Johnson or Jason Aldean performing.
I prefer the smaller concerts. It’s exciting to see new artists who are still making a name for themselves.
Sometimes they get here before the rodeo and will meet some of the athletes.
It’s pretty cool to see different aspects of the Western lifestyle.
Rodeo is a lot like putting on a concert.
We’re also performing for fans. If there were no fans, there wouldn’t really be any point.
That’s what makes it rewarding—at least for me.
For some, it may be the money or the attention, but that’s not why I do it.
It’s a way of life, and knowing I might make a difference in one little cowgirl’s day when she watches me turn those barrels means the world to me.
“Hey, girls, good to see you here tonight!” I turn to my right and see it’s Len.
He’s a tall, burly old cowboy who looks intimidating but is more like a big teddy bear.
Len is a deputy for Dawson Country Sheriff’s Office.
He works off-duty at all the rodeos and sometimes at the local bar in town.
They’re still required to wear their uniform but it’s a separate gig from the sheriff’s office and a way for them to make some extra cash.
I started going to the Wagon Wheel when I was about twelve with dad while he had a few beers with his cowboy buddies.
Bars are different in small towns, and they let us ranch kids in during the daytime.
They like to have an off-duty deputy onsite during tourist season—it can get rowdy.
While dad drank and caught up with his friends, we would play pool and drink Shirley Temples.
Whenever Len was working, we would all whine when it was time for him to kick us out—usually when the bar got too busy or a tourist started acting up.
He’s always had my back since he started the gig working off-duty at pro rodeos and concerts.
I feel safer knowing he’s here if anything happens.
I don’t know about other types of concerts, but country concerts can definitely get wild. Cowboys, liquor, and country music—you know there’s always a scuffle waiting to turn up in the mix somewhere.
I give Len a big hug and he gives me a squeeze back. “Stay on your game tonight, Len. These cowboys just got paid, and I know where they’re spending it.” I gesture to the bar.
“I’m looking forward to throwing a few out. It’s the highlight of my night.” He huffs out a laugh.
I smile and turn my attention to the concert that’s beginning to start. Who I assume is Denton Reed swaggers out onto the stage.
I think I have heard a few of his songs but never knew what he looked like. He sure as hell doesn’t disappoint. I’m a damn sucker for a man in a striped pearl-snap shirt. He sits a red Solo cup on the stool next to the microphone stand, his guitar thrown over his shoulder.
Charli lets out a whistle sharp enough to blow my eardrums out.“Well, hot damn!” she drawls. “I’d ride that man like a rank bronc, spurin’ him and hoping he bucks hard.”
I almost spit my whiskey out laughing. I love her dirty mouth and innuendos.
She ain’t wrong though. He’s drop-dead gorgeous with chiseled cheekbones and blondish-brown hair that curls out of the bottom of his brown felt cowboy hat at the nape of his neck.
He doesn’t look bad from behind either, in just tight enough dark wash Wrangler blue jeans.
Veins run over his flexed muscular arms as he strums his guitar.
Charli said his music had been getting more popular recently.
He even has a few songs out on the radio.
That’s probably where I’ve heard him. I’m sure he’ll get a fancy record deal and a big tour soon.
That’s how it usually goes—country folk are usually first to support these smaller artists, and know about them before anyone else.
Take Zach Top for instance. I started listening to him years ago when he was just posting videos on Instagram.
Now it isn’t just cowboys and cowgirls that like his music.
But once these musicians blow up we can’t even afford to buy a concert ticket to see them anymore.
Good for them, though, if they make it that big.