Chapter 1
Shiloh
“Calm down, Shiloh, we don't have to be at the arena until nine. What is your hurry?” Cash says, rolling over, putting his hands on his face, groaning. Although we grew up cowboying and getting up at the ass crack of dawn, Cash has NEVER enjoyed mornings.
“Shiloh, you're a psycho.” He sighs, throwing his covers off and putting his feet to the floor before he says, “And yes, Beau is meeting us there.”
Technically he is right. I am a little crazy about being there early, but I like to scope out the competition.
Cross and I are currently first in the team roping standings, and if we get there early enough, we can look at the steers and scope out what we will be working with.
We are on our way to making it into the NFR this year.
Not that Cash and Beau aren’t, but we are higher in the standings by two wins.
They aren’t as uptight about it as Cross and I are.
I hear footsteps down the hall and look over my shoulder to see Cross looking at me.
He takes his black felt cowboy hat off, running his hand through sandy blonde hair that is wavy, nearly touching his shoulders, his light blue eyes looking back at me.
He strides over, looking in Cash’s room before he says, “Fuck, man, lets get going.
I already loaded all the horses up, including yours.
Let's go.” Cross is my best friend and team roping mate.
He's pretty much my other brother, and we are closer in age, which is why we rope together, and Cash ropes with Beau.
“You two give him a break,” Mom says as she walks by, rolling her eyes.
“Traitor,” I say over my shoulder.
Yes, we still live with our mother, but in our defense, we are rarely home, and there is no reason in buying or renting a place when living here is big enough for all of us. After Dad won his world title the first time, he bought this big ranch out here in Laramie, Wyoming.
This place gave him room for his bull riding school and all of us enough room to do the things we wanted.
We have a twenty-stall horse barn, an arena, and steers to rope with.
Once Dad passed away, Mom sold all the bulls for the bull riding school to Uncle Tuff, and I can’t say I wasn’t happy about it.
After that traumatizing day, I never wanted to see a bull again.
I can’t exactly avoid them considering the rodeo lifestyle I have chosen, but I am glad I don’t have to live with them anymore.
Honestly, there is no real reason to leave, and even if there was, I can’t think about leaving my Mom.
She never remarried, and as good as she was at barrel racing, she gave that up too.
She still rides and gives lessons, but her heart just wasn’t in rodeo anymore after that day.
The light in her eyes when she would enter an arena was completely gone, and she honestly hasn’t been the same since.
She’s the best Mom, don’t get me wrong. When Dad died, she raised us on her own.
Uncle Tuff and Aunt Lucy helped her as much as she would let them.
She tries to hide her sadness and put on a happy face, but the older I got, the more I could tell she just wasn’t the same, and I feel if one of us moved out, it would break her heart even more.
I could be way off base, but I can’t imagine losing the love of my life like she did. It was hard enough for me and Cash.
It’s been 15 years since Dad passed away, but the sting still remains. As much as I miss my Dad, rodeo is in my blood, and I feel closer to him when I’m roping. I still remember him teaching me to ride and rope, and without rodeo, I don’t know who I am.
Cash slowly stands, grabbing his wranglers, and looks to Cross and me, still standing in the doorway staring at him, before he says, “Shit, quit staring. I’ll be out there in five, okay?”
Cross and I look at each other, shrugging, before I say, “Okay, but I’m timing you. If your ass isn’t in that truck in five minutes, I’m dragging you out.”
“I’m up, aint I?” He says, leaning down, grabbing his boots to put on.
Cross and I shake our heads and walk to the kitchen to see Mom buttering toast with a whole spread of breakfast on the table. Breakfast is my favorite. “Mom, we are leaving in like five minutes. You didn’t have to make all of this.”
Mom is always keeping herself busy. She doesn’t sleep much either anymore; she's typically in bed around 8:00 and up by 4:30.
“Make yourselves some sandwiches and bring them on the road,” she says, smiling as she lays the plate of toast on the table beside the bacon, eggs, and cheese.
“Thanks, Aunt Liz,” Cross says as he grabs a paper towel and starts digging in.
I chuckle at him; he never says no to food in any capacity. I look at Mamma and ask, “You sure you don’t wanna come, Mom? Watch us kick some ass?” I smile at Cross, and he looks back at me as he bites into his monstrous sandwich he just made.
He nods his head, covering his mouth. “Yeah, you should come. We have room.”
“I have a few lessons today. You all have fun.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
She does come if we make finals usually, but she for sure doesn’t make it to all of our shows anymore, and I respect it, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me sad.
I know Dad would never miss a show, but I shove it down because everyone deals with grief differently.
She feels closer to him here, whereas I feel closer to him in the arena.
I make my sandwich and look up and walk over, hugging her before I say, “Have a good day, Mom. I’ll call you after we run and let you know how we do.”
She kisses my cheek. “Okay, baby, y'all be careful. Love you.”
“Thank you for the breakfast, Aunt Liz,” Cross says before he walks out the door to the truck.
I glance to the hallway and see Cash lazily walking out of his room. “Two minutes left, brother, and we are headed out. Make you a sandwich and let's go.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, groaning and looking at Mom, who laughs at him and kisses his cheek as well.
I walk out the door to the chill of the early morning air. The rooster crows, and the sound of farm animals all around makes me smile. It’s going to be a good day. I can feel it.
After an hour of driving, we are finally at the Lakedown Rodeo Arena in Cheyenne.
We park the trailer and hop out. It's early October in Wyoming, and it’s not super cold yet, but in the early morning, it is still a bit nippy.
By midafternoon, it will warm up a tad. I’ll be happy when we are in Texas next month because in late October here, it starts to get cold as fuck.
Growing up in Wyoming, you’d think I’d be used to the cold, and I am a little, but I hate it nonetheless.
I round the truck, walking to the back of the trailer, when Cash speaks up, “Go sign up and check out your steers. I’ll unload the horses.
” He fishes some cash out of his pocket, handing it to me, and continues, “Sign me up too.
Beau said he signed up online, but he's running late.”
“Typical,” I say, taking the money. I love Beau, but much like Cash, mornings are not his strong suit, and he’s always late.
Cash has perked up a little, considering he slept in the back the entire way while Cross and I cut up in the front.
“You sure?” I ask, looking at him. His brown hair curls out of this brown felt cowboy hat, and his green eyes crease in the corners as his smile widens. He looks so much like our dad it’s uncanny.
“Yeah, go on. I know how you two love to be the first ones here,” he laughs, opening the back of the trailer.
I hug him, and he hugs me back before I say, “Thanks.”
Cross laughs, swinging his arm around me and raising his hand to Cash in a silent thanks as we take off to the arena.
“You ready? I have a good feeling about today,” Cross says as we make our way up to the stand to pay our fees.
Like I said, we are close to making it in the NFR this year.
We always do well, but this year is our shot.
We haven’t made it to Vegas yet, but something tells me this is our year, and I think we both feel it.
“We got this,” I say, grabbing his arm around me as we make our way up to the booth to pay.
Cross and I are pretty well known out here in the circuit.
Everyone always assumes we are together; however, we are far from it.
Neither he nor I see each other that way, but we have given up correcting people at this point.
We cut up a lot, which leads people to believe we are flirting, but at this point, we just like to keep people guessing.
Cross has been a brother to me since we were kids.
He has had a girlfriend here and there, but no one who has really stuck this far.
He’s a flirt, though, that’s for sure. If he isn’t with me warming up or checking steers, he is typically lurking around the barrel racers.
As much as I like to hang around the boys, I have never really put myself out there to even consider a relationship.
When I say rodeo is my whole life, I mean it.
I don’t have time for boys if I want to make it to the NFR.
That’s my focus. I’m not going to follow some cowboy around the circuit like some buckle bunny.
As we walk up to the booth, we both pay our fees. As I turn around to walk toward the corral to see the steers, I run right into someone, making me stumble backward, and Cross catches me right before I fall.
“Damn, could you have stood any closer?” I scold as I look up to see a guy in a ball cap.
His dark hair curls out from the back of his hat.
He's wearing a white T-shirt and a gold chain around his neck.
His arms are tan and strong, with a full tattoo sleeve curling around his left arm that I have no interest in deciphering right now.
I look up to his silver eyes, and he smirks, biting his lip before he says, “If you had looked up instead of at your boots when you turned around, you would have seen me.”
I roll my eyes at his cocky response as Cross pushes me up right before saying, “Don’t be an asshole.”
He shakes his head with a laugh before he slides a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, packing them and pulling one out, placing it between his lips before he looks at Cross, saying, “Asshole is my middle name.” There is an arrogance laced in his tone, and as much as I try to deny it, this man is sexy as hell, but I keep my spitfire attitude.
“Shocker,” I say as I walk past him, brushing my shoulder on his, hard enough to make him stumble backward, and he chuckles before he says, “See you around.”
Cross walks by my side, swinging his arm around me, and I glance back to see the stranger lighting his cigarette with his eyes still glued on me, and then he turns around to pay his fee at the stand.
“What a prick,” Cross says as we make our way to the steer pens. He then chuckles before he says, “You were looking at your boots in the dirt like you always are.”
I push him off of me, laughing. Ever since I was a little girl, whenever my boots hit the dirt, I like to watch the imprints they make. Weird, I know, but I've chalked it up to a bit of OCD. I don’t constantly look at my boots when I walk, but for the first few steps in fresh dirt, yeah, I do.
“Shut up,” I counter, and I can't keep my eyes from drifting back behind me as we walk. As much of an asshole as he was, I’m not blind.
He was hot, but if I was a betting woman, I’d put money on him being a bull rider, and that right there seals his fate as far as I’m concerned.
Bull riders are off limits. I refuse to get close to anyone ever who bull rides because I can’t handle the thought of those 8 seconds.
Before, I used to love it. It was exciting and fun.
But that is how I learned at an early age how fragile life is and how deadly the sport is.
It’s never if you get hurt; it’s how bad, and I’m not putting myself through that.
I don’t care how good-looking that stranger was. I will not go there.