Chapter 41 Tex #2
I sit there for a second, gripping the steering wheel, letting the adrenaline kick in. My body is tired—bone-deep tired from six days of a different kind of rodeo—but my mind is sharper than it’s been in years.
I grab my hat, shove it low on my head, and step out into the mayhem.
The smell of the fair hits me first: fried dough, spun sugar, manure, and the metallic tang of adrenaline. I walk past the food stalls, ignoring the stares from the townspeople.
They’ve all heard the rumors by now. The quarantine, the parasite, the Carson brothers locking themselves away with the Archer girl.
Let them talk. They don’t know the half of it.
I head straight for the registration booth near the chutes. Mayor Ruth Holloway is standing there in a bright blue pantsuit, clutching a clipboard and barking orders at a poor volunteer.
She looks up as I approach, her eyes widening behind her glasses.
“Tex Carson,” she says, her voice carrying that practiced political lilt.
She reaches out and squeezes my arm. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure you boys would make it.
Heard from Daisy Mae, who heard from Jasper that you had some kind of trouble with your Omega…
we weren’t sure if the Carsons would be up for the festivities. ”
Fucking Jasper.
“Wouldn’t miss it, Mayor,” I say.
Her smile tightens, but she looks relieved. “We’re glad to have you. The crowd needs a win today. They need to see things are getting back to normal.”
I nod, signing the waiver with a scratch of a pen. Normal isn’t a word I’d use for my life right now, but I’ll play the part.
I head to the holding pens. The other riders are already there, stretching, psyching themselves up. I spot Tripp Hollister near the water cooler.
He looks fresh. His shirt is starched, his chaps are polished. He looks like he just walked out of a magazine ad. He sees me and smirks, that arrogant tilt of his chin.
“Carson,” he drawls. “Heard you were busy playing doctor. Didn’t think you’d have the energy to ride.”
“I’ve always got energy to beat you, Tripp,” I say, not slowing down as I pass him.
He laughs, but it sounds forced. The other riders look at me with a mix of curiosity and wariness. They can smell the change on me. I don’t look like the reckless playboy who usually climbs on a bronc for a quick thrill. I look settled.
The announcer’s voice booms over the PA system. “Alright, folks! It’s time for the saddle bronc riding! First up, we have local favorite, Tripp Hollister!”
Tripp mounts up. The gate swings open. He rides hard, his spurs raking the horse’s shoulders in perfect rhythm. It’s a good ride. Clean.
The crowd cheers. The score flashes on the board: 86.5. Solid. Tripp dismounts and doffs his hat to the crowd, soaking in the applause.
I watch him, calculating. I can beat that. I have to.
The minutes tick by. Riders climb on, get bucked off, or post scores in the low eighties. I check my gear, pulling my glove tight.
I’m the last rider of the day. The cherry on top.
“Alright, folks,” the announcer screams. “Let’s give it up for the Copper Creek Ranch! Put your hands together for Tex Carson!”
I climb into the chute. The horse assigned to me is a big black bastard named Tsunami. He’s shifting in the stall, jerking his head, already itching to explode.
I lower myself onto his back, settling into the saddle. The leather smells familiar. The animal’s heat radiates up through my thighs.
I nod to the gateman.
The gate flies open.
Tsunami explodes out of the chute like a bomb went off underneath him.
The first jump is massive. It jerks my arm nearly out of the socket. I grunt, jamming my heels down, forcing my hips to stay in rhythm.
The horse bucks high, twisting in the air, trying to shake me loose. I feel the world tilt. The ground rushes up, then falls away.
It’s chaos. Pure, violent chaos.
I focus on my mark. My hand is locked into the rigging. My feet are kicking, matching the horse’s stride. Front, back, front, back.
The rhythm consumes me. The roar of the crowd fades into a dull hum. It’s just me and the beast. A battle of wills.
My shoulder screams. My back muscles burn. But I hold on. I think of Sedona. Lying in that bed. Waiting for me. She told me to win. She told me to bring her the buckle.
I hold on for the eight seconds.
The buzzer sounds.
The pickup men ride up, flanking Tsunami. I grab the pickup man’s arm and swing off, landing on the dirt with a soft thud.
My chest heaves. I take off my hat and wave it at the crowd.
The score flashes.
85.5.
I blink. I check the board again.
Second place.
Tripp wins.
I stare at the numbers. A year ago, I would have thrown my hat in the dirt. I would have punched a fence post. I would have been furious. Second place is just the first loser, right?
But I look at the score. 86.5 to 85.5. One point difference.
And I rode with a week’s worth of exhaustion in my bones. I rode with a body that should be resting.
I smile.
It’s a good ride. It’s a damn good ride for a man who spent the last six days mating his soulmate.
I walk out of the arena, loosening my chaps. I pass Tripp on the way to the trailer. He’s holding the buckle, his chest puffed out.
“Better luck next year, Carson,” he says, grinning.
“You got me this time, Tripp,” I say. I stick out my hand.
He looks at me, surprised by the sportsmanship. He shakes it. “You rode good. Considering the circumstances.”
“Thanks.”
I turn to leave the fairgrounds. The sun is starting to dip. I’m ready to go home. I’m ready to crawl back into bed with her.
“Tex.”
I stop. I know that voice.
I turn.
Joey is standing by the fence. He’s wearing a worn denim jacket, his hat pulled low. He looks smaller than I remember.
The anger that usually radiates off him is gone. He looks tired. He looks uncertain.
I stand there. I don’t walk toward him. I wait.
He shuffles his feet. He kicks a rock.
“I came to watch,” Joey says. “Didn’t know if you’d show up.”
“Good view from the stands?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He pauses. “You rode good. Real good.”
“Second place.”
“Still on the board. That’s more than most.”
The silence stretches between us. The air is thick with unspoken words.
“I shouldn’t have left,” Joey says abruptly. He looks up, meeting my eyes. “That day at the ranch. I shouldn’t have run off.”
“You were mad.”
“I was scared,” he corrects. He takes a step closer. “I saw her. And I saw you all… surrounding her. And I panicked. I thought she was going to break you again. I thought history was repeating itself.”
“She’s not breaking us,” I say. “She’s fixing us.”
Joey nods slowly. He swallows. “I saw the way you looked at her. And Billy. And Seth. It’s real.”
“It’s real.”
“I was a dick,” he says. “To her. To Clara. To you. I said things I shouldn’t have. I let my jealousy get the better of me.”
“Jealousy?”
He looks away. “She was always the one who got away. For all of us. I guess… I guess I just didn’t want to see her with anyone else. Even my brothers.”
He runs a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry, Tex. I’m sorry I didn’t stand by you. I’m sorry I didn’t stand by her.”
I look at him. The stubborn mule. The bull rider.
“Come back to the ranch,” I say.
Joey blinks. “What?”
“Come back. We’re having dinner. Sedona is awake. Come tell her you’re sorry yourself. She’s got a big heart, Joey. Bigger than all of us.”
He looks at the ground. He nods once.
“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“I’m heading out now. You can follow me.”
I turn and walk toward the truck. I climb into the cab. I check the mirror. Joey is walking toward his own truck. He’s coming home.
I start the engine. I pull out of the lot and onto the highway.
The drive feels short. The radio plays a song about dirt roads and sunsets, but I barely hear it. My mind is already at the house.
I pull into the driveway. The porch light is on. The house looks welcoming. It looks like a home.
I park the truck and kill the engine. I sit there for a second, looking at the steering wheel. Second place. A truce with Joey. A home waiting for me.
I get out and walk up the steps.
I open the door, and the smell of dinner hits me. Roast chicken. Herbs.
Seth is in the kitchen, plating food. Billy is sitting on the couch, his boots off, his head leaned back against the cushion, eyes closed.
And Sedona is there.
She is sitting on the armchair, wrapped in a blanket. She looks tiny. She looks exhausted.
But when she sees me, her face lights up.
She smiles. It’s a tired smile, but it’s real.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I say.
I walk over to her. I kneel down. I take her hand.
“I didn’t bring the buckle,” I say. “Tripp beat me by a point.”
She reaches out and touches my cheek.
“I don’t care about the buckle,” she whispers. “I just care that you’re home.”
“I’m home,” I say. I lean forward and kiss her forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Billy opens one eye. “Did you win?”
“Second,” I say.
“Good enough,” he grunts. He pats the couch cushion next to him. “Sit down. Dinner’s ready. And Seth made enough for an army.”
“And Joey’s coming,” I say.
They both look at me.
“He’s sorry,” I say. “He wants to make it right.”
Seth nods. He sets a plate on the table. “Good. It’s about time this family was under one roof.”
I sit on the couch next to Billy. Sedona reaches out, grabbing my hand, linking her fingers with mine.
We’re messy. We’re complicated. We’re unconventional.
But as the smell of roast fills the house and the sound of Joey’s truck pulls up outside, I know one thing for sure.
We are whole.