Chapter 2
Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow up to be Cowboys - Waylon Jennings the trip had been long, and he had gone from the trailer straight to standing in a stall. His back legs felt a bit puffy. What I wouldn’t give for a grassy pasture to turn him out in. I preferred him to live outside as much as possible, so he could keep himself moving, but that was difficult on the road.
“Let’s go for a walk, buddy.” I grabbed his halter from the hook and slipped it on over his ears.
He tossed his head a few times and pulled me towards the door of the stall, eager to be let out.
“He okay?” Finn came down the aisle towards me with a wheelbarrow and pitchfork.
“Yeah, he’s fine. Needs to move and stretch his legs a bit.”
Finn’s scrutinising gaze wandered over my horse. “Are you su—”
“He’s fine,” I snapped and walked past him out the door.
Drifter wasn’t just my horse; he was my livelihood. I made my living off his back, and if he wasn’t okay, I was out of the rodeo. I couldn’t afford to buy another horse, not with the tight margins we operated on.
There was a cool spring breeze, but the sun was trying hard to warm things up. I walked Drifter around for the better part of an hour, then found a patch of grass he approved of to let him graze–apparently, I wasn’t the best judge of grass. While he grabbed mouthfuls, I lay down, letting his lead rope drop beside me—he wasn’t going anywhere. I put my cowboy hat over my face, to block the sun from my eyes, but let it saturate the rest of me.
My mind was on my ride tomorrow.
Finn and I competed in team roping. It was a speed event where a steer got released from a chute, with us cowboys on either side. We raced after it, the header—Finn—roped the horns, and the heeler—I—roped the heels. The fastest time won.
There was a time where everyone touted us as the ones to beat and we were on our way to the big money. However, in the last couple of years, we’d hit a dry spell, and there didn’t seem to be any rain in sight. If we couldn’t start winning, I would have no choice but to quit. If I quit rodeo, I had nowhere to go.
I thought of the ranch. What I wouldn’t give to have it back, call it mine, and have something to show for myself.
A winning streak, a sponsorship—those would turn things around for me. But I had to earn them on my own. I wouldn’t take handouts because of whom I was dating. I wouldn’t become Cal Jackson’s puppet or Kinsley’s project.
Rodeo was my life, my passion, and I’d worked too hard to get to where I was to let someone else call the shots. I needed to know that every win, every dollar I earned, was because of my own sweat and skills, not because of whom I knew or was sleeping with.
It was a matter of pride, sure, but it was more than that. It was about integrity, about being true to myself and the code I lived by. I’d seen too many guys get chewed up and spit out by this life, losing themselves. I wouldn’t let that happen to me; I wouldn’t compromise who I was for a quick buck or a moment of glory.
If I was going to make it, it would be on my own terms. I’d stand or fall by my own merits, and I’d do it with my head held high. That’s just who I was, and no amount of money or fame could change that.
God, why did Kinsley have to be at this rodeo? She was nothing but a distraction—a beautiful, intoxicating distraction that turned my world upside down. I didn’t want to admit to anyone that I missed her, but I did.
Warm breath hit my face. I lifted my hat and peered over at Drifter grazing right beside me.
“What do you think, boy? Is this our year? You and me; no girls allowed.”
He gave a huff and a sneeze, spraying me with horse snot.
“Gee, thanks.” I wiped my face on my sleeve. “Was that a yes or a no?”
A loud truck rolled by at that moment, blasting a Miranda Lambert song.
My stomach tied up in knots because I knew it was Kinsley; I could feel her presence in my bones.
Sure enough, I glimpsed long blonde hair whipping out of the driver’s side window as the truck rambled over the gravel road next to our little patch of grass. My heart jumped in my chest. It was her truck, a black RAM Longhorn, but the trailer was new. A fancy brand-new Sundowner, complete with living quarters. I imagined what that thing had cost her daddy.
She focused on navigating through the bustling stable yard, so she didn’t see us but would soon enough when she stopped to unload.
I rose to my feet and brushed the bits of grass off my jeans with my now sweaty palms. I needed to go hide or something.
I led Drifter back to the barn, going around the backside so I wouldn’t run into her. The place was filling up, and voices—mostly gossip—carried through the air. I tried to tune it out, but when I heard Kinsley’s name mentioned, I couldn’t help myself; I paused outside a tack stall, where two girls were talking. They were barrel racers I didn’t recognize.
“I can’t believe she bought that horse!” one said.
“This is either going to make her unbeatable or take her out of the running altogether,” the other responded.
On impulse, I barged into the stall. “What horse?” I demanded.
The two girls looked at me wide-eyed.
“What horse?”
“Uh, Mr. Lucky Gambler. He’s, uh-uh—” the first girl stammered.
My pulse quickened, thrumming in my ears. “I know the one.”
Fuck.
I turned and marched down the aisle, pulling Drifter along behind me.
Oh, I knew the horse. I saw him splatter Sherry what’s-her-name into a barrel last year. That horse was dangerous. Everyone knew it.
What was Kinsley thinking?
Who was I kidding? I knew exactly what she was thinking.
Anything to win, right, Kins? Impulsive, reckless, and competitive-as-all hell girl.
I was so glad I was done with all her drama.
I put Drifter in his stall and tossed him a few flakes of hay and a scoop of his feed. After filling his water bucket, the anger I felt about Kinsley’s foolishness still hadn’t dissipated.
Maybe they’d had it wrong; maybe it was just a rumour. I had to see for myself.
I’ll just wander over to the unloading area…