Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The bodyguard feller hated him.
He scowled at Dawson the whole time he was walking Seamus the Movie Star through how they were going to set up training, how to put on the equipment they used, from shin guards to vests under their jerseys, and how they would run drills for days, both dry and with other animals before Seamus ever met a bull.
The other guy, the trainer-slash-chef, seemed more pleased with the whole chain of events, especially when Dawson said the man needed to do more cardio.
“See? I told you that you needed to run more. I’ve seen these guys do laps around the arena for an hour before a show in the videos they sent us.”
“Oi. Stuff it.” Seamus winked at Dawson, which made him flush, his cheeks hot. The guy was smokin’ hot, and it made Dawson a little stupid.
Which meant he’d have to watch himself. He wasn’t allowed to be stupid around a two thousand-pound pull, let alone when that bull was all over Mr. Hollywood.
“I don’t think he’s in any shape to teach you how to do anything physical, Seamus,” the frowning one muttered.
Now, that pissed him off. “Well, sir, I’m still recovering from an injury for sure. Rehabbing. But you put me in the arena right now, and I guran-damn-tee I could and would do my job. When was the last time you faced down a bull with a broken pelvis?”
His hands clenched into fists, but Dawson knew he wouldn’t hit anyone. That would negate his otherwise ironclad contract, and he wouldn’t get his money. And he needed to pay off bills and invest some.
“Whoa, now,” Seamus said. “Topher, back off. Mr. Dawson here—”
“Just Dawson,” he snapped. “Last name is Kincade.”
Seamus cleared his throat. “Right. Dawson here knows how to do his job. So no need to get all angry. And besides, I thought you and Nick both would be glad to see me get a slow start.”
“I am.” Nick held up his hands. “Chrissie there is just being an ass.”
Dawson fought not to roll his eyes. These three had more baggage than a major airline. “Y’all want to get started or not? No skin off my nose. I can go take a nap.”
The bodyguard guy actually growled, the trainer guy’s mouth dropped open, but Seamus just cracked up laughing. “God, you really have his number, don’t you? I’m ready. What are we going to do first?”
“Let’s put you through a typical warm-up so I can assess your abilities.” He held up a hand to the trainer. “Now, Mr. Nick, I’m sure you have him trained up a treat. And I know he does his own stunts. But this is bull fighter-specific.”
The guy relaxed. “Sure. Of course.”
“Topher, go sit. Seriously.” Givens patted the bodyguard on the shoulder. “Nick, hang out with us. He’s aware of all my weaknesses, Dawson. He can give me the language I need to make improvements.”
“Fair enough.” Dawson didn’t want to like this guy. He was already so damn pretty. Likeable might be a bridge too far. But he was going to give the man a good shot and not short him time and attention. “Come on into the pen then, and we’ll start with a warm-up.”
Givens followed him in through the gate while the Christopher feller went to sit down. Nate was there to be moral support, because they wouldn’t need any animals today. But it would be good to get some feedback from one of the bosses once this session was done too.
He nodded to Givens, then set off at an easy jog, circling the practice pen all the way to the rail, not taking any shortcuts. Then he did several passes in front of the chutes.
“This is where ninety percent of the action happens, buddy,” Dawson said, proud that he didn’t sound winded. He was getting back where he needed to be, and damn, he hurt.
“They’re bigger than they look on the TV, even from the stands. They seem so flimsy.” He got another one of those million-dollar smiles.
“Well, they have to hold a bull back,” he growled. “See, there’s not a flimsy thing about them, and if it hits you when they come out, the gate, it hurts.”
“Right. Big, bad gate.” The smile disappeared. “I assume that you want me to go run around the arena?”
“That’ll work.” Jesus, Dawson. Remember why you’re here.
Givens, who was wearing trainers that were probably worth what some people paid for a car, a pair of tight exercise shorts, and a Sesame Street T-shirt, nodded and headed off. He moved easily, as if it was nothing to run around, like he’d never been injured once in his life.
He was a fit guy, though, so Dawson could tell it was going to take more than a couple of rounds to tire him out. But he had a lot of muscles to carry to do cardio for that long.
The dude made it around twice, maybe three times before he ran over to where Nick was standing and pulled off his shirt, wiping the sweat away, still jogging in place, of course. “Nick, you got water?”
“I’ll grab some.” Nick walked over to the fence and looked him up and down. “You okay?”
“Surely he can run more than twice around the damn arena; it’s not even full-sized,” he snapped. “For fuck’s sake, this is absolutely nothing.”
“I’m fine.” Givens took off again, this time without the shirt on, so it was like watching heaven. All of the tight, hard muscles moved under perfectly golden skin. It wasn’t fair.
Nick came over with the water on the next pass, but Givens waved him off and started another round. Nick’s eyes never left Seamus once. In Dawson’s reckoning, these two had to be lovers. Had to be.
There was no way anyone could look at someone like that without being utterly in love with them
Nick tapped his foot and glanced at Christopher, who stood up.
“What’s up?” Dawson growled.
One of Nick’s eyebrows raised to his hairline.
“What’s up? Let’s see.” He ticked things off on his fingers.
“It’s not humid here, it’s eight thousand feet, and he’s used to being at sea level.
He’s going to push himself until he passes out because you made fun of him, so I’m going to stop him.
When I can’t, because somehow I never can, Christopher will.
” Nick glared at him, gathering a head of steam.
“Honestly, why are you being so mean? He’s a nice guy.
You just met him. You don’t want this job, I’m sure another cowboy can take it or Mr. Coke can do it. But don’t be mean.”
Dawson wasn’t sure whether he was going to shit or go blind.
He wanted to punch this Nick kid in the nose, but he had no reason to want to punch this Nick kid in the nose.
Nobody had even been the slightest bit evil to him except for the security guy.
And even then, he was just doing his job.
He wasn’t particularly friendly, and it wasn’t as if Dawson could really fault somebody for that because he wasn’t known for being particularly genial either.
“No reason the guy can’t have water. We do allow water here on the ranch.”
“That’s good to know.” Nick got in front of Givens and stood there.
It was hilarious because, all of a sudden, it was totally clear just how big these men were. Between the three, there wasn’t one of them under six-three, and none of them under two and a quarter, even with no fat on any of those big bodies.
“Time for a break. Seamus, time for water.”
“But—”
“Listen to Nick, Shay. This is not an option.”
Dawson sighed, not out loud, and stepped in. “They’re right, buddy. I forget that we’re at altitude here. When I first moved up here from Texas, I liked to have died. I would be working out, and all of a sudden I was lightheaded and my muscles would seize.”
That was true enough, for the most part…
Seamus gave him a searching kind of look, then nodded and took the water from Nick, sucking a bunch down.
He kept walking slowly while he did, though, so nothing got locked up. Good man.
“Okay. Once you get a little of that walked off, I’ll start you on a few drills that will teach you about the pocket. Then we can have a long break for lunch and hit it again this afternoon.”
He thought he heard Nate snort, but Nick gave him an approving smile, and that left him blinking. Jesus, was there no such thing as an in L.A.?
“Cool, cool, cool,” Seamus said. “I don’t want you to take it easy on me because I’m a what do you call it? A greenhorn?”
“That’s one thing. We say noob sometimes too, since you’re brand-new to the bullriding stuff.”
“Yeah, and you don’t realize from up in the stands how things look down here.
It’s fascinating.” Seamus had his breath back now, and it was pretty impressive how fast that happened.
He needed to stop being an asshole, and he knew it.
It chafed that he wasn’t out on the road doing his job.
But that was hardly Seamus’s fault, and he needed to keep that firmly in mind. Eye on the prize.
“Come on now, I’ll show you what I mean when I say in the pocket.”
He posted himself in front of one of the chutes and had Nate help Seamus take up a position that looked like he was going to be on the bullfighting job.
“Now when the bull comes out, he’s going to jump out and hopefully start to spin in one direction or the other.
We’re gonna to assume this bull is going to spin right. ”
He twirled around in a circle like a bull spinning to the right, which made everybody else in the arena laugh.
“When I pop out of my spin, snort, wheeze, bull snot flying. I’m gonna come right at you, more than likely, or I’m gonna go the other direction and come at Nate.” Nate jogged around and positioned himself on the other side, sort of following Dawson’s instructions after the fact.
He turned toward Nate as if he was a bull coming out of a spin at the buzzer and lowered his head to run at the man.
Nate turned in, hit in the pocket just perfect, and he spun, trying to come at him. But Nate kept him at bay with one hand out, turning continuously in a tight spiral.
Dawson stopped and looked at Seamus. “That is the pocket. That is where you always want to be. You want to be more than a foot ahead of those horns at all times, if you can. And a bull being longer of body and super heavy in the front end is going to have a harder time turning in a tight radius than you are.”
“Right, okay. I can see that.” Seamus nodded and then did a tight spiral run just as he’d been shown. “You mean like that?”
“Yep. Now, I’m going to start over. You get yourself in your position. I’m going to come out of the chute and spin like a top. And then once I buck that cowboy off, I’m coming for you.” His face heated up as he said that because that could have some serious double meaning.
It was obvious that Givens was so focused he didn’t even listen to his words, didn’t get any kind of double entendre.
So Dawson set to try to catch Seamus unawares, to see how fast he could get the concept. One thing he could say for sure was that he needed to work on his twitch muscles. Seamus had some stamina, and he was built like a brick shithouse, but he needed to be faster.
They tried four or five times to run the little practice, and by that time everyone needed a break, including him and his damn leg.
Okay, maybe especially him and his damn leg.
“Let’s take a water break,” Nate said, looking at Dawes like he was worried.
‘Yeah, and then I think maybe me and Nick there need to get our heads together and talk about building some twitch muscles. Y’all got to remember that while we do need stamina because we work the whole event, you’ve got to be able to get up and move out of the way. So you’re going to have to be quicker.”
Nick, who had been leaning against the fence and tapping on his phone, nodded.
“I can see that. You’ve got some intense damn training right there, because it’s different than what we do.
So we need both. We’re going to add in some heavy weights, maybe some box jumps or medicine ball stuff. That’ll build those up.”
Givens groaned. “More HIIT training, huh? Yay!”
“Whine, whine, whine!” Nick grinned at Seamus. “Man, all you got to do is stand around and look pretty. Work it out.”
There went that million-dollar smile again. “No, now you’re telling me I have to be quick and look pretty. It’s not enough just to stand around; I gotta jump all over and be pretty.”
Seamus started leaping, looking like nothing but a gigantic dork.
Everybody started laughing—even Dawson. It was just impossible not to like this son of a bitch.
“You’re gonna get it, don’t you worry.” He told Seamus that, and he meant it, because Seamus had to get it. If he didn’t, he’d end up dying. Even if they only ever had him run slow old bulls.
Even an old bull was faster than Seamus.