Chapter 11
“Well if it ain’t the infamous Billy The Kid.” I watch as he pulls up in his old red Ford, his window rolled down and some good ol’ country music playing from his speakers. “Hey, Billy,” I yell from the fence. “Why don’t ya come shoot the shit with us?”
He looks surprised, probably because up until this point we haven’t said much to one another on the days I’ve seen him tending to the horses.
Overall, I’ve taken over most of the chores, but habits die hard and he comes to check in from time to time just in case.
He seems nice, just quiet. Nodding, he pulls his truck up next to mine to park.
“Silent type, ain’t he?” I glance at Sawyer, though I don’t really need the confirmation. “Makes sense y’all get along.” We both let out a puff of amusement.
Billy walks toward us, taking a second to look at the barn, no doubt where he had expected to be after he got here.
He bears a five o’clock shadow, and though I bet he’s only a few years older than me, he seems to carry the weight of a man twice my age.
Stuck in his thoughts, always seemingly thinking about something or someone more important.
Similar to Sawyer, he isn’t the flashy type.
He doesn’t go out of his way to be noticed but, unlike Sawyer, he seems colder, more cut off.
“How’s it going?” His tone is gruff and hard to read, but sounds the same as it always does.
“Thought it was a nice day for some ropin’. Figured ya might be interested.” I try not to push him, in case he would rather be on his way.
Raising his arm to scratch his neck, I look over the tattoos on his dark complexion. Black and gray ink covers his forearm up past his elbow, but I can’t quite make out the designs.
“Uh, yeah, sure. Not playing for money, are we?” Sawyer lets out a breath and Billy laughs for the first time since I’ve met him. “Because Sawyer is not good.” He chuckles again.
I look from Sawyer to Billy. “Huh, then maybe we should.” I raise my hand up, pretending to whisper, but purposely speaking loud enough for Sawyer to hear. “Let’s have him bet somethin’ big, I’d sure look good behind the wheel of that Bronco.”
Sawyer takes the heat with stride, laughing as he crosses his arms over his chest before leaning back against the fence. “Good thing I’ve been hiding talents from you this long, Billy. I’m about to be the proud owner of two rusty trucks and anything else you two fools want to lose.”
Billy nods, an appreciative smile on his face.
“Boys, boys, the confidence is inspirin’, but so is my kindness.
Trust me, neither of ya want to be bettin’ shit.
” Cockiness flows out of me, reminding me of how it felt to bullshit around with the guys before each ride.
A sigh escapes me as I attempt to dislodge rodeos from my thoughts and to keep the sadness of their absence at bay.
“Hey, I didn’t say I wanted to bet shit against you, PAbrA star.” Billy isn’t defensive, just honest. No, nonsense.
Holding my breath, I hope he doesn’t go into some fit about me disappearing or how big of a fan he is. My palms sweat at the mention of who I am, or who I was. Trying to play it cool, I grin back at him, “Well, someone’s gotta win Sawyer his damn vehicle back.”
“Grab the ropes, I’m going to beat both your asses now that you teamed against me.” Sawyer cuts the tension that maybe only I created in my head.
We each file in through the side gate of the corral next to the barn. Walking over to one of the posts, I grab the ropes I had set out earlier and toss one to Sawyer.
Sawyer sets up about ten feet behind the dummy, holding the rope coiled in his left hand as he spins it above his head with his right. It revolves numerous times before I lose count, and I bite back the urge to tell him to trust his gut and throw it. No need to hold on for that long.
Between that and the angle of his elbow, it isn’t a surprise that the throw doesn’t land. I may shine when it comes to bulls, but roping is in my blood, it’s as second nature to me as breathing.
“Holy hell.” I pat him on the back with a laugh. “Thank God ya like singin’, Sawyer, because your ropin’ skills wouldn’t even beat kids in the youth division.”
Pulling in the coils, he shakes his head. “I’m a bit rusty.”
“About as rusty as Rhett’s truck.” Despite his hoarse voice, the smile on Billy’s face is warm, lighthearted. “You sure you don’t want a little oil for those joints before you go again?”
Sawyer readies himself, this time focusing more on his form. “A couple more throws and you’ll wish you hadn’t bet me anything." Keeping his eye on the prize, he lets go and ropes the dummy just how I expected him to. “Alright I’ve got it. Someone else’s turn.”
Billy practices a few times and I forgo my chance. I don’t need it.
“Who’s up for a game of Pig?” They both look at me like I’m nuts. “It’s just like the basketball version, but ropin’ instead. Whoever loses mucks the stalls.”
“I’m in,” They answer in unison, both sounding determined.
“If ya don’t land your shot ya get a letter no matter what. No repeat tricks. Who wants to go first?”
“I will.” Still holding his rope, Sawyer looks around to choose where he wants to start.
He moves toward the fence, climbing up the rungs. With a few swings of the rope, he jumps and releases the lasso from his hand. He misses and nearly trips when he lands, sending us all into a fit of laughter.
“P,” I sing out.
Deciding to go next, I walk out in the dirt and do my best attempt at a cartwheel, throwing the rope when I hit an upward position. As expected, it lands exactly where I intended, and much to my shock, Sawyer’s does too, but Billy’s doesn’t.
“Makin’ it too easy for ya, aren’t I, Sawyer?” There’s humor in my words as I speak. “Ya talked a big game Billy boy, but ya musta forgot to bring it with ya.”
Billy blows out a breath, looking around like something will spark an idea.
“This next shot will put both yours to shame.” Taking his leave from the group, he stands a few feet from the plastic bull, climbs up the fence, facing away from it and does a backflip, roping the dummy once he hits the ground and swivels toward it.
“How the fuck can you do that, but not a cartwheel?” By Sawyer’s tone and the baffled look on his face, he and I both know he’s more than likely getting an “I” next.
I used to backflip off shit all the time but stopped because I was afraid of a freak accident preventing me from riding.
Funny how the accident came from the very thing I protected myself for.
I coolly walk over to the fence and climb up.
With a deep exhale, I let my eyelids fall closed.
There’s no way I’m getting a letter. I’m too competitive for that.
I lasso the bull dummy the same way he did.
“I’ll just take the letter. I don’t want to break my neck.” Sawyer bows out, always the responsible one. There’s gotta be one of us who is. God knows it sure ain’t me.
An old barrel next to the barn draws my eye.
I jog toward it, knocking it over. Dust billows up around it as it crashes onto its side.
Moving it closer, I mount the barrel and propel it forward with my feet while winding the rope.
Circling the dummy, I take my shot and capture it no problem.
It feels much closer to the roping I’m used to on the back of a horse, just with a bit more concentration so my feet don’t miss the barrel.
Sawyer has a look of dismay. “You would both do shit that would land me on my ass. I’ll just take the loss here.”
“G it is,” I laugh, “Get your shit shovelin’ boots on, buddy.”
“Well, this makes my day easier,” Billy says.
“Got any big plans this evenin’ Billy?” I prob, trying to gauge if he would find interest in going out tonight or if that’s just not his scene.
“I’m gonna go home so I can get some more done for my dad today. See y’all later.” His response lacks interest and since we don’t know each other much, it feels better not to force him into feeling obligated to more of my antics for the day.
The rumble of Billy’s truck comes to life as he backs out of the drive and advances back down the road, honking for one final sendoff. I smile at the reminder of something my family also does.
Sawyer walks toward the barn and I follow.
“Honestly,” he wipes the sweat from his brow. “You guys have been doing this so much, it only feels fair I step in, anyways.”
“Oh is that why ya missed your throws?” I toss back.
It feels like forever since I’ve shot the shit with a group of friends.
Most of the time on the PAbrA circuit was spent training and riding and doing interviews.
Serious because professionalism and focus both mattered.
This reminded me of the shit Duke and I used to do as kids.
Dumb, pointless, and a bit reckless, but fun nonetheless.
With the heaviness of the past few months, it’s a nice change of pace.
“Yeah, well that and because I’m rusty. Weren’t you listening?” He chuckles.
“Oh ya, that’s right.” I consider mentioning that I saw Daisy and Kaylee earlier at the coffee shop, but since I didn’t get confirmation on if they’d meet up with us tonight, I decide to let it be a good surprise if it does happen.
“After you get this shit cleaned up, let’s go out so I can find a lady and celebrate my win.”