Century Trails: Roughtstock Season Two (Roughstock #8)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Dawson Kincade stared at his current bosses as if they’d lost their goddamn minds. He respected the hell out Coke Pharris and Nate Walker. He really did. They’d worked the circuit for years, and they’d both been nominated as bullfighter of the year a dozen times.

But…

“Well, son? What do you say?’

Oh, ugh. Coke had this way about him. The cowboys called him “Gramps” for a reason. He could get this fatherly tone that simultaneously induced guilt and inspired a man to do whatever the hell Coke wanted him to do.

“A movie star?” He pursed his lips to hold in what else wanted to come out. Calm. Collected. “I ain’t sure I’m the man for that job, Mr. Pharris.”

“Oh, why not? I think you’d do a great job.” Coke smiled at him, face damn near angelic. Craggedy ol’ motherfucker. “Besides, I know you’re just hanging here doing your rehab. It’ll give you something to do. Let you start learning how to teach the young’uns.”

He wasn’t that broke.

Either money or body-wise.

He was just a little bent. That last wreck had turned him every which way.

The good news had been that he’d saved Maverick.

The bad news was that he’d got plumb stepped on and broke his pelvis right in half.

Snap.

Fucker had got his femur too, which sucked hairy monkey balls. But it wasn’t near as bad as the pelvis, which liked to kill him with hurting.

He was getting better, no question. He wasn’t fighting bulls yet, not really. That was why he’d come out here to New Mexico, so he could do something useful with his time.

Get in a couple of rounds of bullfighting every now and again and see how his body was doing.

Babysitting movie stars was not on that agenda.

“Nate, back me up here.” He glanced at Mr. Nate. “You know I ain’t the most patient man on Earth.”

Nate shrugged one shoulder, the other one frozen as if it were a block of ice.

“Look. This son of a bitch wants to go on screen and pretend to be a bullfighter. What makes you think for a second that we’re supposed to be patient?

We’re getting paid.” Nate shot him a wicked grin.

“In fact, we’re getting paid a lot, and we’re willing to split that money with you, son. ”

“I ain’t your son,” he grumped. He wasn’t a fucking child.

“Oh, don’t be that way.” Gramps winked at him.

“Just think, you’re gonna get paid good money.

Hell, you take the job, we take fifteen percent, and you get eighty-five percent of the fee.

You babysit this guy for six weeks, you don’t get him killed, and you can bruise him as much as you want to.

No knocking out teeth, don’t break him, but besides that, you don’t have to be patient.

You have to make sure he survives, make sure he learns something about bullfighting, and that he ends up alive at the end. ”

Dawson stopped and pursed his lips. “Well, now that’s not a half-bad deal. When you say good money, what kind of money are you talking about?”

Coke grinned slow and long. “The kind of good money that’s got four zeros at the end.”

Oh, sweet Jesus. He did like that. It could all go right into savings too. He could do some upgrades to his baby ranch. Get a couple of horses and shit. “Huh, that’s a lot of zeros.”

Dawson loved how Coke’s broken neck nods were more like seeing other people’s hearts beat—this barely there motion that almost seemed unconscious. “Yes, sir, that’s a lot of zeros.”

“And that number at the front of the zeros? Is it a high number or a low number?” There was a big difference between eighty-five percent of ten thousand dollars and eighty-five percent of ninety thousand.

“Well, I can tell you that it’s a better-than-five number.”

“I’m in.” Even at five—that was forty-two-five. That worked for him.

Nate chuckled. “Yeah, I thought you might be, you suspicious bastard. You know we got your back, Dawes. You’re one of our own.”

He knew it.

He forgot it every now and again, in the dark of the night, when the pain ate at him, but he did know.

Bull fighters were a family—with all the bad and good that came with it. And he loved this place, this bull fighter school Nate and Coke had established when they’d moved to New Mexico from Texas.

“I appreciate it, y’all. I really do.” He sighed a bit because he still didn’t think he wanted to babysit any kind of movie star. But at the same time, the money was good, and it wasn’t like he had to go anywhere, right? He could just stay right here and keep on rehabbing. “So, who is it anyway?”

Coke and Nate exchanged a look. “We can’t tell you until he gets here.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because we signed a non-disclosure agreement. Once he’s here, you meet with him to see if he approves of you.” Coke rolled his eyes. “If he does, then you’ll sign a non-disclosure agreement, and all will be well, but his management doesn’t want folks to know where he is.”

“And y’all agreed to this?” It seemed kind of outrageous to him.

“Dillon says it happens that way all the time.” Coke scratched his stubbly cheek, looking like he wasn’t sure he was saying the right thing.

Dillon Walsh was Coke’s life partner. Or were they married? He didn’t know. Maybe they were married. Maybe it was husband. Didn’t matter to him.

One way or the other, Dillon was the business dude. The guy who dealt with the suits.

“I guess if Dillon does it, then so be it. He knows how contracts work.”

“Yeah, he was an accountant. He knows how it all works,” Nate put in.

Dawson scoffed because that was still hard to believe.

As long as he could remember, Dillon Walsh had been the big entertainment man for the bullriding league, and he still had a hell of a lot to do with it.

He had retired a couple years after Mr. Coke, but not much went occurred on the entertainment side of it without Dillon approving of it.

Nate winked. “I know, it’s hard to believe, yeah? Anyway, so you’re gonna do it?”

“Long as we get along, I don’t see no reason not to.

How long do I have to get ready for this man coming here though?

” He could use at least another good week to get his strength back before he had to be running around the arena all day teaching somebody who was younger and probably had a personal trainer.

That caused Coke and Nate to look at each other again. “He’ll be here day after tomorrow, but you’ll be all right. You know we’ll be out there in the arena with you to begin with, making sure everybody’s safe and happy.”

“Sure.” Nobody ever worked the arena alone anyway, no matter what they were doing. Even if it was just a placid practice bull, there was never only one man out there.

“Good deal.” Coke clapped him gently on the back. “Thanks a lot. You’re doing us a good turn.”

“If the money pans out, you’re doing me a good turn, too, so I’ll take it.” And if the money didn’t pan out well, then Coke Pharris and Nate Wilson owed him one, and that was worth all the gold in New Mexico.

“I don’t know if Seamus is going to like this, Mr. Walsh…” The mousy gal with the glasses who was Mr. Hollywood’s personal assistant wandered around the guest house—the best one on the property. “It’s very…rustic.”

Dawson sort of looked at the gal because really, this wasn’t any of his business. This part of the job shit belonged to the clown.

He was just here to—well to be honest, he was here because he was getting paid to be here—but watching Dillon work was kind of fun.

Also, what kind of name was Seamus? He didn’t think he’d ever heard that one.

The clown flashed his patented non-cowboy people pleasing smile. “Now, Miss Cain. Mr. Givens is paying us for an authentic experience. This is actually pretty classy for a bull fighter, isn’t it, Dawson?”

Caught flat-footed, Dawson figured he looked like an idiot. “Uh… Compared to the Motel 6, yessir.”

She offered him a grin which seemed less sarcastic and more genuine.

“I don’t see my boss going to a Motel 6.

That seems a bit too far for him. Me? I’ve been in lots of them.

” She winked. “So there’s going to be me, Christopher, and Nicholas.

Ms. Kramer might stop by, but if she does, she won’t stay.

” Jessica rolled her eyes. “Trust me, she wouldn’t be caught dead staying in a place with dirt road.

I’ll need some advice on where I can stay—a motel, a B they didn’t have to stay skinny.

“Anyway, I can almost guarantee you he’ll be cooking for all of you before it’s over.”

He looked at Dillon, who was pursing his lips like he was trying not to laugh.

“We love a chef,” Dillon said. “Never fear, as long as he doesn’t feed us too much oat bran and salad, we’ll be fine.”

“And Mr. Kincade here will be his teacher.”

Dawson blinked. “Oh, miss, Mr. Kincade is my father. Please just call me Dawson or Dawes.”

“And you can call me Jess. You don’t have to call me Miss.” She wrinkled her nose like she couldn’t stand that whole idea.

“Yes, ma’am.” He really wanted to tell her that he had no choice but to call her miss, that he couldn’t hardly bear the thought of Mr. Coke and Dillon looking at him like he was trashy by not being polite.

She smiled at him, her glasses bouncing on her cheeks.

“I can tell you he’s absolutely, one hundred percent looking forward to this.

He’s never done anything on this order before, and he’s been researching and researching and researching.

He even had an interview with Packer Stevens last month and went to his ranch for a few days. ”

Dillon chuckled, the sound knowing. “Oh, him and Adrian and Calleigh… they’re something else.”

She nodded. “The boss quite enjoyed it. Liked them all a lot. I didn’t get to go on that one.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You don’t go everywhere with them?”

Why didn’t they get the entourage? That didn’t seem fair at all.

She shook her head. “No. My grandmother had a stroke, and I needed to go home for a few days, so he gave me the week off.”

Dawson winced, his cheeks burning a tad. That was classy of him. Shit. “I’m sorry. I hope she’s okay.”

That got him a warm, genuine smile. “She’s recovering. She really is. Thanks for asking.”

He didn’t want this little gal to be real. He wanted her—all of them—to be caricatures. It was easier that way.

Dillon kind of rocked back and forth from toe to heel, distracting him. “So, what else do we need before he gets here?”

“Basically? Wi-Fi. Nicholas will bring whatever he needs on the workout front.”

“Well, we do have Wi-Fi. I mean, it’s satellite, so it’s got its challenges.”

“Yeah.” Dawes rolled his eyes. “God knows I know that, but it does work nine times out of ten.”

Dillon shot him a glare. “But if it doesn’t work, we have DVD movies, games, books. There’s an entire little entertainment room up at the big house, pool table, everything.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. And I saw there was an outdoor kitchen and a pool and all. Is that available as well?”

Dillon chuckled. “There’s a little grill area at the guest house here, but the pool and big hot tub are open to anyone. The private one behind the house is not.”

“Good to know.” She beamed. “I’m sure there will be a few more questions, but honestly, I think we’re ready.”

“Good!” Dillon clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. “You just come to me with anything else, okay? Well, except the training schedule and all. That will be up to Dawson and the bull fighting bosses.”

Dawes grinned. “I’ll keep him busy.”

Her laughter sounded a tiny bit strained, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll run you ragged.”

“Oh, and we have a place for the trainer and such, and then I can recommend a place for the agent lady who won’t want to stay here.

” Dillon steered Jess out of the casita, and they headed back up to the ranch house.

“Would you like some coffee? We have decaf or regular. I don’t let the cowboys make the coffee. I have a Nespresso.”

She giggled, letting Dillon link arms with her. Lord, that man could schmooze. Dawes followed them on, and he was pretty happy to feel decent when got to the house, not exhausted.

And there were doughnuts. Like, from town, fancy-ass doughnuts. He felt his fingers flex, and he grinned. Hell yes.

“Oh, my God, is there a Boston creme?” Jess peered into the box.

“Top right.” Dillon winked at him over her head mouthing, “Doughnuts for the win!”

He nodded. No shit.

Fried dough was amazing, and he was always—always—here for that.