Chapter FourAn Unlikely Alliance
Do I have any chance of winning even one big prize in the PRCA championships? I need the money, for sure, to keep my family's ranch afloat. But I feel like a pathetic excuse for a cowboy right now. Maybe I should just go home and find a real job as an accountant or...something.
The thought evaporates as soon as it enters my head.
McKendricks don't quit. Dad always told us so, even when the doctors were certain he might never walk again after the accident.
Even when the medical bills started piling up like tumbleweeds against a barbed wire fence.
Dad's doing much better, but the bills won't disappear.
I shake my head and focus on untacking Thunder, letting the familiar routine calm my pissed-off attitude. The gelding nickers affectionately, sensing my mood. I pull a piece of carrot out of my pocket and offer it to him. He prefers carrots over store-bought treats.
A sigh whispers out of me. "At least one of us performed today. Wasn't me, though."
I check his legs for any signs of strain, but everything looks good. Thunder's as solid as they come, bred for endurance and heart rather than flash. Just like his rider, I suppose.
"Clay McKendrick, you sorry son of a bitch, get your head outta your ass."
I glance up from where I'm sitting on a hay bale behind the livestock pens, wallowing in my own misery like a barnyard pig. Buck Hawkins stands there with his hands on his hips, looking madder than I've ever seen him.
"Buck, what's wrong?" I ask, sitting up straighter.
"Don't you 'Buck' me, boy. I just watched you ride like you belonged out there, and now you're sitting here moping like someone shot your dog." He shakes his head, frowning. "What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing. I'm sizing up my chances realistically." I stand up and dust off my jeans. "Second place won't win championships, and championships are what I need to save the ranch."
"Hell, son, you think every cowboy who ever made it big won their first rodeo?" Buck's weathered face softens just a touch. "This is one day out of a whole season. You're in this for the long haul. That's the only way to win."
I push a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up like a mud pot. "Long haul doesn't mean much when the bank's breathing down your neck, Buck. I needed that win today."
"And you'll get it next time," he insists, with the sort of confidence I wish I could bottle and drink. "But not if you're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself instead of studying what went wrong."
My mouth opens, but I don't get the chance to speak. The sound of boots on gravel draws my attention.
Jo Callahan is approaching. Her eyes catch the late afternoon sun, making their emerald color seem to glitter like polished gems. My stomach does a weird little flip that I immediately blame on hunger.
"Gentlemen," Jo says with a curt nod to each of us. "Buck, they need you at the announcer's booth."
"Be there in a jiff." He glances at me and winks. "Don't worry so much, kid. Everything will pan out, trust me. Old Silver Tongue knows all."
Then he trots away, leaving me alone with Jolene Callahan.
She looks damn good---sexy as hell, actually---though all she's wearing is a pair of faded jeans and a pastel plaid shirt that hangs below her hips.
I shouldn't get so turned on by that, but I am.
Big time. I find myself wondering what it would be like to kiss that smart mouth of hers until she's breathless and so wet for me that the scent of her desire fills the air.
Christ, McKendrick. Get a grip.
Jo settles onto the hay bale beside me. "You look like somebody told you Christmas was canceled."
"Been thinking, that's all."
"Hmm, that could become a dangerous habit."
Is she flirting with me? Nah, she wouldn't do that. But Jo is close enough that her thigh brushes against mine---and my dick twitches in response. Christ, I hope she didn't notice that. I need to keep my voice steady, though having her this close makes my pulse kick up like a spooked horse.
Jo leans back on her hands, studying me with those keen eyes. "What's eating at you? And don't say 'nothing.' You've been wearing that storm cloud expression since you left the arena."
I debate whether to tell her the truth. Hell, half the rodeo circuit probably knows about my family's financial problems. It's hardly a secret. Most everyone has heard about my dad's injury.
"The ranch is in trouble," I finally admit while staring down at my boots. "Has been for a while now. Dad's medical bills after his accident...Well, let's just say they weren't covered by our insurance."
Her expression mutates into something that's almost tender. "How bad is it, Clay?"
"Bad enough that if I don't start placing first instead of second, we're gonna lose everything." The words taste bitter in my mouth. "Four generations of McKendricks have worked that land, and I'm about to be the jackass who lets it slip away."
She remains quiet for a long moment, and it feels like she's inspecting me---like I'm a prize bull. When I finally raise my head, I notice something unexpected in her gaze---calculation. Whatever she's up to now, I'm not sure I'll like it.
Jo leans toward me, crossing one leg over the other. "You know what your problem is, McKendrick?"
"I'm pretty sure you're about to tell me---whether or not I want to hear it."
"You're thinking too small, McKendrick." She stands up and brushes hay off her jeans. "Sponsors, that's what you need, Clay."
Did the rodeo ice queen just invoke my first name? That's...strange.
"Sponsors?" I let out a humorless laugh. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly Brock Sterling. Companies aren't lining up to throw money at me."
"They could be." She crosses her arms and widens her stance. "You've got the talent. What you lack is the story."
"The story," I repeat flatly. I've got no idea what she means.
"Yes, the story. The narrative. The thing that makes people want to root for you." Jo starts pacing, back and forth, back and forth. "Sterling has a pretty-boy image and family connections. What do you have that makes you stand out from the crowd?"
I shrug, feeling increasingly uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "I ride horses and bulls and rope calves. Same as everyone else here."
"God, you're dense." She halts directly in front of me, hands on her hips.
"You are the underdog fighting to save his family's legacy.
The fourth-generation rancher who refuses to give up.
Clay McKendrick the guy who drove thousands of miles to get here because quitting isn't in your DNA.
" Her tone grows tougher with every word as passion lights up her features---passion for winning, that is.
"That's a story people want to get behind, you stubborn ass. "
I gape at her, caught off guard by the fire in her voice. "Even if that's true, how's that supposed to help me? I can't exactly walk up to some corporate bigwig and tell them a sob story about my daddy's medical bills."
"No, but you can create buzz. Generate interest. Make yourself someone they want to associate with." She resumes pacing. "The rodeo world is all about image, Clay. You need to give them something to talk about."
"Like what?"
She stops in front of me, setting her hands on her hips.
"Sex appeal, Clay. That's your secret weapon.
Sponsors will clamor to throw money at a rugged cowboy with the heart of a champion.
" Jo's eyes narrow on me, her gaze lingering on my face in a way that makes my skin itch.
"You've got the looks, the talent, and the backstory. What you're missing is visibility."
I snort, shifting uncomfortably under her scrutiny. "Visibility? I'm competing in the same events as everyone else."
"And then disappearing to lick your wounds in private afterward." She gestures around the empty area behind the pens. "Meanwhile, Sterling's working the crowd, posing for photos, and making sure his face is plastered across every rodeo magazine and social media site."
"That's not my style," I mumble, but a nagging voice in my head wonders if she might be right.
"Your style is about to cost you your family ranch." Jo's words hit me like a slap to the face, sharp and stinging. "You think your pride is worth more than four generations of McKendrick blood, sweat, and tears?"
I jump up fast enough to make her take a step back. "Don't you dare---"
"What? Tell you the truth?" She doesn't back down, stepping closer instead until I can see the gold flecks in her green eyes. "Do you want to save that ranch or not, Clay? Because sitting here wallowing in self-pity sure as hell isn't gonna do it."
The anger builds in my chest, hot and fierce. Who the hell does she think she is? "You don't know a damn thing about what I'm willing to sacrifice for my family."
"Then prove it." Her voice drops to a near whisper. "Stop being so precious about your image and start playing the game like everyone else. Leverage that hot body."
The words hang in the air between us like smoke from a campfire, and heat flushes my face. Did Jo Callahan just call me hot? My brain scrambles to process that fact while my body responds in ways that are definitely not appropriate for a public conversation.
"My what now?" I manage to croak.
She rolls her eyes, but a faint pinkness creeps up her neck. "Don't let it go to your head, McKendrick. I'm talking strategy, not giving you a personal assessment."
"Right. Strategy." I clear my throat, trying to ignore the way my pulse has kicked up another notch. "And what exactly does this strategy involve?"
She smirks. "Come with me now, and you'll see."