Rough Stock (Small Town Southern Boys #3)

Chapter 1

The bar was crowded when Jensen Strader stepped inside.

Raucous outlaw New Country blared from the jukebox across the room, and clusters of cowboys were interspersed with tables full of buckle bunnies, all ogling guys in Stetsons or felt American Hat wide-brims. He scanned the room, hoping he’d find at least a couple of groups of guys he knew.

Sure enough, Calvin Waters and Stag Hendricks were laughing, beer bottles in their hands, with a couple of guys Jensen had never seen before.

Over in a corner, Amos Hartley had a girl who looked to be barely legal squeezed up against a wall, and the discussion they were deep into was certainly not about calf roping, but it still might have something to do with rope.

“Hey, Jensen! How ya doin’?” Calvin’s voice boomed when Jensen walked up to the group. Stag stuck out a hand and Jensen took it for a firm shake.

“Pretty good! You guys looking forward to tomorrow?” he asked as he signaled the server coming toward them by pointing to Stag’s beer.

“Oh, yeah. This is gonna be a good one. I hear they’ve got over eight hundred tickets circulating. That alone is good news,” Stag said, taking another draw on his beer.

“That is good news. Last one I did was in Tupelo and I think we had about four hundred and fifty both nights. Pretty good turnout, considering they did zero advertising,” Jensen said as he handed the server a five spot and took his bottle from her hand with a nod.

“Yeah, not bad.” Calvin pointed around the room.

“We’ve got a premium crop of guys here, some seasoned and some new.

That should get the crowd going. Oh, and Max and Tilford are here.

” Jensen knew Max Barlow and Tilford Pennebaker―premier ropers, both in tie-down calf roping and team roping, and both bull riders.

Of course, with egos like theirs, they blew through roping partners.

Both were late thirties, both single, and both known womanizers.

He’d wondered who the buckle bunnies were so focused on, and his question was answered.

Their conquests, like their wins, were legendary.

“I’m surprised they’d show up for an event like this one with a fifty percent unknown factor,” Jensen said before putting his bottle to his lips once again.

Stag laughed. “Oh, we’re not. They’re out to decimate.” With that, he pointed across the room to the far end of the bar.

Jensen turned to look and almost dropped his bottle. “Shit. Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. The buckle bunnies are here for Max and Tilford, but they ain’t the guys’ main focus this time around. Nope, it’s her,” Calvin said with a nod toward the woman sitting there.

Shyanna Owens. Jensen had heard about her, but he’d never seen her.

She looked pretty benign sitting there, sipping on what surely was whiskey, but she was sitting alone.

No one was making an effort to engage her, and Jensen thought that was pretty odd.

He’d been taught if someone was a threat to him, he should try to get to know them, their weaknesses, their strengths, and where to cut in for the kill.

“Think I’ll go over and say hello,” he said, hitching up his jeans.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Stag said, his deep voice struggling to contain a laugh. “I hear that bitch is a real man-eater. They say she’s the original rough stock―not just hard-headed and determined, but a wild child who ain’t never gonna be tamed.”

Jensen grinned. “Can’t be that bad. She’s kinda cute.”

“Like a rattlesnake,” Calvin added. “Fast strike and deep bite. Plenty of venom. Just be careful.”

“Will do.” Jensen turned to head that direction.

Behind him, he heard Stag say, “Just remember―we warned you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jensen called back to them as he walked.

The closer he got, the more unsettled he became as he watched her.

She wasn’t looking around, just sitting there, staring into her glass.

By the time he got within five feet, he was thinking of turning back around and almost running away, but he couldn’t.

Saving face was his only motivation at that point, and he couldn’t back down.

As soon as he stepped up beside her, he asked, “Is this seat taken?” When she didn’t reply, he pulled it out and sat down.

“Whatcha have?” the bartender asked.

“Another one of these?” Jensen said, holding up his almost-empty bottle.

“Coming right up.” As the bartender turned to walk away, Jensen spun to face the woman, but she never even acknowledged his presence.

“Hey,” he said, using his friendliest tone, “I haven’t seen you around. My name’s Jensen Strader.” He extended his hand and waited.

She glanced at his gesture and ignored it as she growled, “Whaddya want?”

Jensen pulled his hand back, afraid she might slap at it. “Just wanted to say hello. I try to get to know as many of the guys on the circuit as I can.”

“Do I look like a fucking guy to you?” she snapped, then took another sip of whiskey.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like … Look, I just wanted to come and say hello, welcome you to the circuit, that’s all.

Sorry if I bothered you,” he said. The bartender brought his bottle and he decided maybe it was time to give up and move away.

She obviously wasn’t interested in getting to know anyone, and he couldn’t blame her after some of the stories he’d heard.

Just as he turned to go, he heard her say, “Yeah. Run. Just like all the rest of these fucking yellow-bellied cowards.”

A frisson of fury bolted through Jensen’s body as he spun back toward her. “I’m anything but a coward, but if you’ve got to be so god damn rude, I’m leaving. I’ve learned over the years that there are some people you just can’t be nice to because they’re such assholes.”

“So now I’m an asshole?” she asked, but there was a different quality to her voice. It almost sounded like she found it funny.

“I dunno. Do you wanna be an asshole? Because if you don’t, there are some things you should change pretty fucking fast,” he pointed out.

“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. You know who I am. Why the hell would you come over here? Do your little friends over there know where you are?” she asked, tossing her head toward the other guys.

“Oh, yeah. They told me not to come over here but, of course, I ignored them. I’m my own dog. I don’t usually take cues from the people around me, especially if they’re fucking yellow-bellied cowards,” Jensen quipped.

To his shock, a tiny smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “How would they take to you calling them that?”

“If it’s true? Don’t see that they’d have a say in it,” he said, trying hard not to chuckle.

“And you’d take a punch for that?”

“Fuck yeah,” he answered. The only thing he couldn’t fight was the grin that spread across his face.

For the first time since he’d been standing there, she looked up at him and grinned herself. He was shocked again when she held out her hand. “Shyanna Owens.”

The grip she gave him when he took it was a surprise―firm and yet soft. “Nice to meet you.”

She nodded. “Likewise.”

Okay, we’re making some progress here, he thought. “You looking forward to tomorrow?” he asked as he sat down.

She shrugged. “Why would I be looking forward to tomorrow? It’s work.

There are about eighteen guys out there who want to slay me.

I spend all my time looking over my shoulder.

Am I looking forward to tomorrow? Nah. Another day at the office,” she said and swallowed down the whiskey.

When the bartender looked her way, she held up the glass. “Hit me again.”

As Jensen watched, the bartender poured another two fingers into the glass and Shyanna took a sip. “Do you enjoy what you’re doing at all?” he had to ask. It certainly didn’t sound like it.

“Let’s see … I’ve been called a whore, a dyke, been sabotaged, had my horses injured and poisoned, one of them stolen and he’s never been found.

They most likely killed him. Oh, and I’ve had the shit beaten out of me at least a dozen times, and a couple of guys have tried to rape me under the guises of ‘teaching me a lesson.’ Do I enjoy what I’m doing?

When I’m left alone and allowed to do it peacefully, sure.

Otherwise, it’s a pain in the ass, but I’m not going to back down that easily. ”

Jensen was almost speechless. “They tried to rape you?”

Shyanna chuckled. “Oh, yeah. What did that one guy say? ‘This is the only reason you’re doing this, to get close to the cowboys, so it’s my responsibility to oblige you.’ I believe those were his exact words.”

“You’re shitting me.” Jensen could hardly believe it.

“Wish I were, but I’m not.” Shyanna took another sip of whiskey and sighed after it went down. “That’s the kind of treatment I’ve gotten. That’s the kind of stuff you and your buddies have put me through.”

“Hold up just one damn minute,” Jensen almost yelled. “I’ve done nothing of the sort. I had nothing to do with any of that. My mama taught me to respect women, and I do. Matter of fact, she taught me to respect everybody, and I try to do that―always. So before you―”

“Calm down, cowboy. It was just a figure of speech. I didn’t mean you specifically. It’s just that you’ve all started to look the same because you all treat me the same. That’s all,” she said, staring down into her glass, and Jensen could’ve sworn she was embarrassed.

“It’s okay. I get it. But you won’t get that shit from me. And if anybody gives you trouble, just let me know. I won’t stand for it,” he told her firmly, and he meant it. Nobody would rough her up as long as he was around, not if he could stop it.

She chuckled. “I can take care of myself, but thanks. I’m no weak little fading flower.”

“We all need a helping hand from time to time. Has nothing to do with you being weak or a woman. Just has to do with the business. We need to hang together. When times are tough, being unified is what keeps us going.”

She chuckled again. “You’re so fucking na?ve.”