10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
KAT
T he last rip of duct tape secured Porter’s spurs to the back of Bernie’s tennis shoes. He nodded to Porter, quietly confirming his understanding of marking out—where the positioning of his heels should be as the bronc left the chute.
I chewed on my already short thumbnail as Porter clapped Bernie on the back, adjusting the vest Porter also let Bernie borrow, and then nodded over to the bucking chutes. “I’ll have my riggin’, gloves, and chaps waitin’ for ya over there.”
Bernie gave him a tight smile and finally lifted his gaze to meet mine. Dropping my hands, I marched right over to him. “Are you being serious about this?”
He nodded, leaning lazily back against the stadium step he sat off to the side of. “I’m out the late entry fee money, so I can’t back out now.”
“Bernie, why? Why would you agree to this? You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. ”
“I’m not proving anything. I’m bored, and it sounds fun.”
“Fun?!” I clapped my hands together in front of my face and closed my eyes. “Your first time on a horse is going to be one where it’s intentionally trying to throw you off, and that is your version of ‘fun’?”
“Kat, this is the least risky thing I’ve done in months. Sure, I may break a bone, but hell, I’ll be alive.”
Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, a smile crept onto my lips. “You’re a dumbass, Bottle Cap.”
“Yeah, I’ve been told that a time or two,” he replied.
I cracked open my eyes, scanning someone who looked very much like a fish out of water, but also entirely secure in who he was. Dirt crunched beneath his shoes as he rose from his seat with a crooked grin on his face and took a couple of steps toward me.
“By the way,” I quietly started, ignoring the rising butterflies swarming in my belly as he neared. “Where’d you get the duct tape?”
Bernie chuckled, his deep green eyes peering down into mine. “I always carry duct tape. Like, literally always.”
“Why?”
“You never know when it’ll come in handy.” He raised a foot and pointed at the spur. “For example, when someone randomly needs to get spurs to stay on tennis shoes because that someone also decided at the last minute to get on a bucking horse.”
“Your mom is going to kill you,” I replied, and he grinned even wider.
“Probably. ”
My stomach tumbled, like my first glass of strawberry wine warming my belly. Despite his idiocy, I was also proud of him and jealous he seemed so easygoing.
“So, why are you really doing this?” I pushed, narrowing my gaze, and he glanced over my shoulder. His eyes glazed over, taking him away from the present to a place I’d seen him drift off to once or twice before.
His grin tightened, twisting into something harder than his usual carefree expressions he carried. There were layers to him. Layers hidden behind a shell of humor and jokes that I had yet to crack through. Something about him, despite the rather hard exterior he presented to everyone else, seemed soft.
Pained.
“Just… be safe,” I whispered.
He blinked heavily, his lashes fluttering over the far-away-look twisting his features into something I didn’t want to exist in. “No need to worry, Kit Kat. No one’s getting shot at, so I’ll be fine.”
My heart dropped to my stomach as he stepped away and didn’t even glance back at me. His gaze fixed onto the ground as his shoulders rounded forward, shifting from a hardened, confident man to one overwhelmed with a burden weighing more than the world. I watched his fading figure round the corner to the bucking chutes and disappear in the shadows and haze of chaos.
No one’s getting shot at. What a specific choice of words he’d used.
Words that confused me almost as much as half of the things he’d said to me. Except the heaviness that had slipped from his tongue hung stiff in the air. I wished there was something I could do to lift the weight from his shoulders, yet I barely knew this man. I’d barely seen into the cracks of his exoskeleton donned to protect everyone from him, not him from everyone else.
He seemed to be drowning in something that no one could save him from. What was the point of getting on that horse? There was a deeper reason than just the fact he was bored, and while I wouldn’t say anything, I’d overheard his mom ask him to not be impulsive, which only solidified my thoughts that there was something more.
The way he looked at his mom, talked about her, he truly cared for her, so whatever reasoning he had to be doing this had to be a good one. One that mattered more to him than respecting his mom’s wishes.
As the announcer’s voice bellowed around the stadium, alerting the crowd to the next event and last-minute entry, his words faded into a jumbled mess of familiarity. Mossy green eyes, shadowed beneath a ball cap instead of a cowboy hat since this was an informal event, rose between Wyatt and Porter. His gaze, glassy and far away, stared across the stadium at nothing.
Darkness settled over his entire figure, as if morphing him into a creature of night. Something that grew as the tension and adrenaline coursed thick through the crowds. He seemed to be eating it up, siphoning it from everyone around him.
Horses kicked at the metal chutes. The pounding echoing amongst the rising excitement bounced around the arena. Then, as if shedding his skin, the glass slid away from his gaze, and Bernie became something else entirely.
Eerily calm, he listened to whatever Porter said beside him. A button-up that clearly wasn’t his strained at his broad shoulders as his brows inched together. The shadows hiding his eyes deepened. My skin prickled as I studied a man who no longer seemed human.
Most people froze or fled when danger presented itself. Most people clammed up when nerves ripped through them. And when they tried something new, hell, life was over. But as I studied Bernie, it was as if that was where he was most comfortable.
And it was hot.
Wyatt bumped up against Bernie and smirked, as if sharing a secret with him that had me concerned. Then he adjusted his cowboy hat and stepped toward the next chute.
As if lightning ripped through me, the sounds of the stadium whirred back to life. “Wyatt Benson is up on Dust Devil, Keegan Powell is on deck, and a first-time rider, Bernie Phillips, is in the hole.”
My gaze immediately shot across the arena, searching the crowd like a madman for his mom. And there she was, frozen like a statue, though I couldn’t make out what was on her face at this distance.
Sighing heavily, I returned my focus to Wyatt as he settled onto the back of the horse snorting in the chute. With a heave, the animal shoved sideways and slammed Wyatt’s leg against the wall of the box. Bernie didn’t even flinch as his calculating gaze studied every movement of Wyatt’s.
Then the green chute door swung open and they were off. Hooves raised. Dirt flew through the air as Dust Devil twisted and turned, rising and falling in a very arrhythmic movement.
One.
His back legs landed on the ground and he lunged left as Wyatt’s spurs raked up his shoulders .
Two.
Front legs reared up, Dust Devil tossed his neck sideways, and he dove forward.
Three.
Hind quarter flew into the air and Wyatt leaned back, his left bicep locked to the side of his ear as his right hand clung to the rigging handle.
Four.
All four legs rose into the air, and the horse twisted sideways.
Five.
Wyatt slid to the left but the horse went right.
Six.
Dust flew into the air, a cloud of beige as the cowboy hit dirt, and the horse continued lunging forward.
Wyatt’s black cowboy hat lost in the chaos, Dust Devil continued bucking, the pick-up riders carefully guiding the horse over to the side and out of the arena to the left of the chutes.
The announcer’s drawl was a steady drum of unrecognizable tones as Wyatt slammed a hand against his chaps. His jaw clenched, rage seething behind his eyes as he shot his gaze directly over to Bernie.
I followed his line of sight and caught a smirk lifting on Bernie’s face. Something else was going on here. Slapping a palm against the railing, I crawled down the rungs and quickly jogged over to some cowboys who’d been perched on the fence here for hours now.
Shooting daggers at the nearest one who I knew, I noticed his brows raise. “What’s up, Kat?” he hesitantly asked .
“You know something, and you’re going to tell me what it is,” I hissed, jabbing a finger into his thigh.
He rapidly shook his head; his black hair poking out from beneath his cowboy hat waved with the movement. “Not for me to say.”
“Josh, don’t make me call your wife.”
Josh narrowed his gaze, his almond-shaped brown eyes darkening. “You wouldn’t dare. Then you’d also be waking the baby.”
I raised a brow. “For some shit you did.”
He sighed. “Well, fine. You didn’t hear this from me.”
“My lips are sealed.” I glanced to my right as the next bronc reared up and dove out of the chute. Bernie was after this guy, and my heart raced. Nausea built of nerves boiled in my stomach as I peeled my gaze away from the arena.
Josh licked his lips and ran a hand over his round face. “I overheard Wyatt calling that Bernie guy out for something. Believe it or not, Wyatt was the one egging things on, even though Bernie said to knock it off in a very polite but direct manner. It wasn’t until Wyatt said he’d back off from you that Bernie agreed to get on a bronc.”
My eyes widened and my jaw snapped to the ground. “What? I didn’t ask him to do that!”
Josh jerked away from me and threw his hands up in submission. “Don’t kill the messenger.”
“I’m very capable of handling my own shit. Especially Wyatt.”
“I know that. We all know that.”
“Then what the fuck was Bernie thinking?” I shoved my hands on my hips, glaring at Josh .
He shrugged his shoulders, inching away from me. “I mean, he was rather mature about it all. Kinda felt bad for the guy, actually.”
I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. The anger rolling hot beneath my skin sizzled, piercing needles through my veins. “Thank you, Josh.”
He chuckled lightly. “Go easy on Bernie. He seemed to have good intentions. Besides, Wyatt needs a good ego check, and if this guy can actually outride him, it’ll be worth it all.”
“Or Bernie will get himself injured,” I muttered, concern flitting through the rolling frustration.
“Ah,” Josh said, a crooked smile lifting on his lips. “Now I get it. You’ve got a crush on this guy.”
“Excuse me? No, I don’t. Why would me being concerned about someone who’s never even been on a horse at all allude to that?”
“Because you’ve spent the entire rodeo talking to him and giggling and shit, which I’ve never seen you do.”
My cheeks burned, hot embarrassment rising. There was no way that he was right, except I couldn’t deny that the anger I felt was more because of the concern I had for Bernie than actually being upset he did something to protect me. “Joshua Charles Thomas. If you so much as say a word about this to anyone, I’ll ruin you. And you know I can. I know everything about you.”
He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “Tell your brother he needs to be better about keeping shit to himself, or I’ll stop being his best friend.”
I laughed, and then quickly narrowed my gaze again. “Seriously, though. Shut it. ”
He furrowed his brows as the announcer said Bernie’s name. I glanced over at the chutes to find Bernie leaning against the rail, watching the horse he was going to be riding. The bronc slammed itself against the door as the rigging was tightened around his chest.
“Kat, why are you so concerned someone might find out you’re interested in this newcomer?” Josh asked, drawing my attention briefly away from Bernie. I clambered over to the rail and quickly pulled myself up onto the top rung, right next to Josh.
“Not only has he never even ridden a normal, broke horse before in his life let alone a bronc, he drew Popsicle,” I whispered, ignoring Josh’s question.
Josh turned his gaze away from me, latching onto the same crazy horse who Bernie had yet to be able to climb onto. “I’m sorry, but what?”
“He drew Popsicle,” I reiterated.
“That’s not what’s got me shocked, Kat.”
I waved my hand, dismissing his staggering concern, because yes, it was something I was also worried about, but it was compounded by the fact that Bernie was about to get on a bronc that was known to be extremely dangerous—not just dangerous for a regular horse, but dangerous for a bucking horse.
“I thought they retired Popsicle last year after he threw the one rider who broke his femur or pelvis or whatever?” Josh muttered.
My bottom lip trembled, as the gray appaloosa reared up, slamming his back against the chute .
“Apparently just from the pro circuit,” I replied, my voice choking on the last word as Popsicle tossed his dark mane, crashing back onto all four hooves.
“That’s why the other rider probably dropped out last minute.” Josh lifted the hat from his head and ran his fingers through his hair.
My breath quickened. Every pore of mine prickled as worry coated my tongue. “He’s going to get really hurt,” I choked out.
Josh’s brows twitched as my gaze latched onto the snorting creature stomping in the box. None of the other cowboys had let Bernie climb on yet, and the announcer was relaying statistics over Popsicle’s history and recounting a play-by-play of the absolute chaos roaring behind the black eyes of that horse.
“Bernie doesn’t look fazed at all by it,” Josh suddenly muttered.
Tearing my gaze from the horse, I latched onto the very man himself. He casually leaned against the rail, not an ounce of worry tightening the hardened features on his face. The two lines between his brows were vacant, his eyes locked onto the horse, and there was an aura of calm draped around him.
“He should be fucking terrified,” I said.
Josh slowly nodded, as if in the daze that Bernie should be in. “If he’s never been on a regular horse before, or seen a bronc until now, what the hell does he do that something like this isn’t scary?”
I kept my mouth shut, because I wasn’t even sure other than he was in the military. Something that his mom never really talked about.
Tipping my head, I studied his features as a fleeting thought bounced around my head. How strange it was that his mom never mentioned it. This was a small town, everyone knew that her older son was gone and had just randomly come home one day. But not a word about him being in the military as the reason for being gone floated around during the gossip.
Anytime his mom was asked about it, she’d skirt around the answer, avoiding outright saying he was deployed. And even when they’d asked for Veterans to stand earlier, he’d ducked his head and hid beneath his hat. Not in a manner that had me thinking he was ashamed to be, but for an entirely different reason. It hadn’t hit me until now how strange that behavior was.
And Arlington.
My eyes widened as Bernie finally climbed over the railing.
Had he buried someone else in the military? Had he lost someone to that damned statistic that no matter how much we tried to fight it, the number only seemed to grow? Twenty-two a day. Twenty-two too many.
My focus flew from the odd thoughts to the present moment, locking onto the sudden thrashing of Popsicle.
Bernie’s hand wrapped tightly around the suitcase handle and his shoulder crashed into the chute, a loud clang silencing the crowd. Even the announcer remained quiet as nothing but the horse and Bernie echoed around me. As hollow as the beat of a drum, my heart pounded in my ears.
“He’s gonna be fine, right?” I whispered.
Josh didn’t move. Not a single eye twitched to acknowledge that he’d heard me as the chute door swung open.