Chapter 5
Knox
Iget my third horse shod for the morning and start packing up to head to the next stop when Jack calls.
“Define jackpot . . . like barrel racing jackpot—”
“Oh no, not can chasers,” he cuts me off. “A team roping jackpot. I wouldn’t subject you to the barrel racers. Being you’re a famous heartthrob bull rider, they might eat you alive.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that last bit with sarcasm and just thank you for acknowledging my success and not subjecting me to barrel racers. This works though, this way I can hit the gym later this afternoon.” I put my tools in the truck and shut the tailgate.
“Boy, you don’t work hard enough, or you’d be too tired to go to the gym.” He chuckles over the phone. “On second thought, come pick me up. I’m sick of watching TV.”
I’m pretty sure he’s at home watching team roping or some other rodeo event on TV, so why not crutch around watching it in person? Makes sense. “Yes sir, a little daylight wouldn’t hurt ya. See you in a few.”
I picked up Jack, and we rolled into the fairgrounds an hour before the event is supposed to start.
It’s your typical small town rodeo arena.
Rusted old bucking chutes, two small sets of bleachers and some pens for cattle.
We pull into the back gate where the contestants enter and drive across a grass field toward the stock pens.
There are trailers parked everywhere—no rhyme or reason to how any of them parked.
It’s like no one can stand the thought of having someone park next to them.
Once we’re close to the pens, I find a spot nearby with a tree that will supply some shade, and it’s out of the way from the contestants warming their horses up.
“I’ll let them know where we’re parked.” Jack pulls his phone out of his pocket as he cracks a beer he’d placed in the cup holder.
“Easy there, old timer.” I open the door of the pickup. “Start too early and you’ll forget how to operate those crutches.”
“Don’t tell me ho—”
I close the door, cutting him off just to rile him up.
The horses are brought over to shoe and I get started. Before I finished with the second, two other people showed up wanting full resets, which Jack, of course, hiked the price up on. That old geezer cracks me up—he’s always trying to up the price when he gets an excuse.
I get halfway through the first horse when Jack decides to crutch up to the arena to watch the start of the jackpot. “I’m going to watch for a bit. Come find me when you’re finished.”
“Alright, find somewhere to sit. You need to keep that leg elevated,” I tell him.
“Yes, mother,” he grumbles as he crutches away.
These team ropings can run on for hours, so he better enjoy it while he can, because once I’m done, we’re out of here. I need a good workout. It’s been a few days since I’ve been able to hit the gym and with the summer run coming up, I need to be as fit as I can be.
The summer rodeo run is grueling, to say the least. It’s nonstop rodeo from June to October.
I typically get on five or six bulls a week and that might not sound like a lot, but trust me, it takes a toll on your body after a few weeks.
Not to mention the hours spent driving and the lack of sleep and good food.
We rarely get to ride in the same place two nights in a row—we’re always loading the truck and heading to the next town.
That town might be two hours down the road or twelve.
That’s why we travel with partners. You have to split the driving, or you’d never sleep.
We pack our gear after the rodeo, and by then, all the restaurants are closed.
Our campers aren’t set up for cooking; they’re meant to drive fifty thousand miles in a few short months, which is what we do.
Truck stop food or whatever snacks we’ve stocked up on at the grocery store is what we survive on.
While technically the rodeo season is October 1st to September 30th, most of the big money is earned from June through September each year.
I had a good winter at the stock show rodeos and currently sit sixth in the world, with Trey not far behind in ninth.
But we have a lot of season left, we’ll both need to ride at our best to make the finals in December.
It’s always been my goal to win the World, and this year is my year.
It has to be. I’m not getting any younger and bull riding is a young man’s sport.
By the time I’m done with another horse, I see a white truck and trailer pull in—someone running late. Then, I see the Diamond Hart brand on the side. Through the windshield, I see long blonde hair and know instantly who it is.
I wonder who her partner is . . .
I can’t help but smile and shake my head. Of course she’s here. I get started on the next horse as I contemplate pushing my workout back an hour and sticking around a little longer.