2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Grayson
“W here the hell have you been?” I grunt as Tate saunters up behind me. He still wears that same angry scowl. The one that says he’s not done with our argument from earlier. The topic set to arise again the moment one of us loses our temper.
“Don’t worry about it.”
My anger bristles below the surface. I can never fucking escape my brother. It wasn’t enough that he had to go become a pro champion in my sport or that he’s always tried to replace Dad since our parents died. No, the bastard has to be here, too, hovering over me like a dark cloud.
“Whatever.”
Turning my back on him, I go back to my conversation with Louise Vega. A young bull-rider newer to the circuit. Those chaps and boots barely broken in with good competition just yet. He was smart to come to a place like our fair county. A good number of the best got their start here.
Boulder Ranch hosts the Cole County Rodeo from April through October. For technically professional riders like me, but not part of big promotions like the Pbr, these events are a gold mine. Every month, there are paid competitions, and regulars like me and this new kid, Vega, sign up for every single one.
A lot of the younger guys will travel to other events around the country in between, but that time has passed for me. A dream long gone.
The memory closes in, my eyes pressing shut in an effort to shove it out. It’s not where my mind needs to be right now. Not when I’m still pissed at my dick of a brother hovering at my back.
Glancing at the men and women around me, more and more tend to be from elsewhere each season. I may not live in Cole County anymore, but I’m still considered a local. In a fit of stubbornness, I’d bought land just across the border.
Though bull riding has always been my calling, I grew up around horses and cattle. My family’s farm still serves as Tate’s home. Land that borders this very ranch.
So when I left, it was with a vision of having my own tiny ranch. It wouldn’t have felt right if I couldn’t have those same animals as an adult, too, alongside my two Bernese Mountain dogs. Both of which I rescued as puppies from a high-kill shelter a few hours away. Honestly, I’d have more if I had the time.
“I’ll be out at another event in June in Montana.” Vega pulls me out of my thoughts once more.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve ridden out there before. It’s a good event,” I nod. The kid has a solid head on his shoulders and takes direction well. He’ll go far in this sport if he can keep his body healthy or learn to ride through injuries.
The lights dim. A signal that opening night is about to start. Giddy anticipation fills me. This has been my favorite night of the year since I can remember. Before I took my life into my own hands by riding competitively, I was just a spectator. The same as everyone else out in those stands.
The Cole County Rodeo has been in business for four generations now. A legacy too perfect to disrupt. I’ve been coming here and competing since I was a teenager, so something like pride fills me walking out to the center of the arena for the fourteenth time as a professional.
“What the hell happened to your hand?” Tate growls in my ear as I place my hat back on my head, the ends of my dark hair curling at the nape of my neck.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” The snarl of his words making my jaw clench painfully.
“What’s wrong with you?” I grit through my teeth as Tate moves directly behind me. His body is so close I can feel the heat of his breath at the back of my neck. The feel making me twitch away. “You’re the one who fucked up your hand because you just had to punch me. Again.”
“Quiet, you two,” Bill Layman, another bronc rider, whisper-shouts at us as we fall into our straight line at the center of the arena.
The crowd roars through the curved seating area shaped like a wide U and flooded with light. Thousands of faces crowd here night after night to watch athletes and everyday people do something they love. A pastime that means as much to them as it does to us standing here in the dirt.
Two large flat screens sit high on either side of the long edges, each playing a slideshow of memories captured in this place through the generations—everything from the day the Miller family bought this ranch through last season’s closing night.
A picture of Tate and I fills the screens. The both of us on our horses, driving them into action during the amateur roughstock events. For years, we’ve both volunteered as pickup men when they needed them. As much as I hate to admit Tate is good at anything, we’re an unbeatable team at it.
More pictures scroll by as the announcer introduces each competitor. One by one, we step out of line, waving our hats to the crowd, most of us flashing nothing more than a closed-lipped smile. With each regular’s name, the crowd cheers louder. The roar deafening but exhilarating.
“And none other than Grayson Garrison. A bull rider just as good as his brother!”
My smile had been wide, waving my hat wildly until the announcer added on that last bit. Why the hell can I never just be my own person without that asshole’s name tacked onto mine?
Yet again, someone feels the need to compare Tate and me. At least this guy said I was as good. Most tell me I have the talent to reach the champion level the way Tate did in the Pbr.
“And Tate Garrison! This town’s very own local champion!” The crowd roars. The cheers ten times louder than anyone else received. My brother eats it up with a crooked grin and a final wave of his hat before slipping back into line next to me.
“What? Did you pay them to say that?” I grunt, shifting the tiniest bit away from Tate’s side.
“Fuck. Gray. I didn’t do shit.”
“Right. That’s why they all act like you’re a fucking god.”
“Grow up.”
“Fuck off,” I snarl. My fingers slow curl into a fist. I’m so tempted to punch the fucker, but I won’t do that in front of these people. The people who are from my home. A home I got just far enough away from to say I don’t live here anymore because Tate does.
Even worse, his farm—my childhood home—borders this place. Everyone at Boulder Ranch knows and accepts him like he’s family.
“Can you two go five minutes without acting like a bunch of asses?” Bill hisses.
Tate snorts. “Some of us can.”
With a scowl, I turn my attention back to the screens. There are so many memories up there. So many I’ve gotten to be part of.
“Ladies and gentlemen, these are your weekend competitors. Let’s give them another round of applause.” Cheers and whistles roar through the space once more. Another smile finally pulling at my lips. A painful one, but I grit my teeth against it. “Now, as many of you know, this will be the last year the Miller family is hosting the rodeo at Boulder Ranch. Come the end of the season, it will be under new ownership.”
There’s a mix of loud sighs and clapping from the crowd. So many of them grew up here too. The nostalgia making us all wonder what this place will become.
Moments later, our line of competitors filters back to the rear of the arena. Sharp pain lances through my face with every step. The tightness growing unbearable as my jaw continues to swell. My hand throbs, too, but I still have a job to do.
Tate thinks I don’t take anything seriously, but I do. When you’re in that ring, it doesn’t matter if you’re the one on the animal or not. It doesn’t matter if you’re the bullfighter, the rodeo clown, or the pickup man. Animals are unpredictable, and we have to be vigilant. When I’m in that arena, I become someone different.
“Hey, Garrison,” Tammy Whitelaw calls to me.
She’s a local barrel racer. I’ve known the woman since we were in diapers. My view of her more sisterly than she’d like. I’m no saint, but she’s a woman I’ve refused to ever touch.
“Hey you,” I slide up next to her.
“You headed to the Thirsty Pony after?”
“You know I always do.” I smile wide, though the pain is almost unbearable.
Her head tilts the way so many others have observing the side of my face. You’d think this damn beard would do a better job of covering it. “You might want to start working on ducking your brother’s punches,” she nods toward my swollen cheek.
“Sound advice.”
“Save me a dance, okay?” Her eyes noticeably rake down the length of my body before finding my face again.
“Don’t I always?”
She just grins, hopping off the gate and disappearing around the corner.
Inside, I’m groaning.
The faster this night is over, the better.