Chapter 5
The Ride - Chris LeDoux
Wyatt
F inn and I strolled through the rodeo grounds, soaking up the surroundings we knew so well. We were in our element, a world that made sense when everything else was upside down.
Familiar gravelly voices caught my attention, drifting over from a worn wooden picnic table in a patch of shade. “Hey there, Collins! Winter! Get yer asses over here!”
Finn shot me a sidelong glance, and I shrugged. When the old-timers called, you answered. These faded cowboys might be retired, but they were walking encyclopedias in rodeo history and life on the circuit.
As we approached, a wave of nostalgia washed over me at the sight of their weathered faces carved with wrinkles earned from decades under the relentless prairie sun. These men had been bull riders, bronc riders, ropers, and even clowns back in their day. Now, they just lingered at the rodeos, chewing tobacco and swapping tales that got more embellished every year.
I imagined Finn and me riding until we physically couldn’t anymore and then being the ones sitting here, reliving the good old days over and over. It was not an idea that excited me. I wanted more than that. A home. A family.
I pushed the thought out of my mind.
“Have a seat, boys,” Big Jim rasped, patting the bench beside him. Despite his advanced age, a lively spark still danced in his pale blue eyes.
We slid onto the bench, and I could already feel the conversation sliding in a direction I wanted to avoid, as it always did with this crowd. Nothing was off limits or too personal for these guys.
“Seen your daddy lately, Wyatt?” Big Jim asked, his face crinkling like an old road map.
The old-timers were blunt and didn’t beat around the bush. They asked what they wanted to ask, oblivious to anyone’s feelings.
“No, sir. Jake... He’s been gone a while.” I tried to keep my voice steady. Dragging up memories of Jake Collins was like ripping off a scab before the wound healed.
“Damn shame, that.” Big Jim shook his head with genuine regret. “Your father was one hell of a cowboy. Best damn roper I ever saw until—”
“Until he took up drinking and gambling,” another cowboy chimed in. “We all like our whiskey, but ya got to know when to draw the line. Sad to see a good man fall like that.”
A chorus of solemn nods and murmurs of agreement rippled through the gathered cowboys.
Finn gave me a sympathetic smile.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “He was good, once.” My jaw clenched as a knot formed in my gut.
“Married a city girl, didn’t he? That’s where he went wrong, I tell ya,” another man added, his voice tinged with a knowing sadness. “Couldn’t handle the ranch life. Took off and left him to his vices.”
I dropped my gaze, unable to meet their eyes as flashes of memories assaulted me—the sound of my mother’s suitcases thumping down the stairs as she fled in the night when I was just a kid, then Jake stumbling home late, reeking of cheap whiskey and even cheaper perfumes.
Thanks for reminding me, guys. I swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat. I had been so young then, too young to understand why she left or why my dad spiraled out of control afterward.
“Used to have that little cattle farm, right?” Big Jim continued, oblivious to my discomfort. “Heard it got sold a while back. You ever think about getting it back? A man’s gotta have some land.”
Every day , I thought but didn’t say. Instead, I nodded.
The dream of reclaiming my family’s farm was always at the back of my mind. I imagined what it would be like to have Kinsley there, her laughter filling the wide-open spaces. But I quickly shoved that thought away. We were done, and there was no use dwelling on what couldn’t be.
Finn jumped in. “Wyatt’s doing fine on the circuit. He’s got his sights set on bigger things now.”
I appreciated Finn’s attempt to steer the conversation away from the past. He knew all too well how much I struggled with my family history and losing the farm.
“Yeah, the circuit’s been good to us,” I agreed, forcing a smile I didn’t quite feel. “But you never know what the future holds.”
That seemed to satisfy the old cowboys, who launched into another wild tale.
As the sun stretched higher in the sky, I looked out across the arena. Rodeo was more than a sport; it was a community, a family. But even surrounded by friends and legends, a part of me felt like an outsider, carrying the weight of a legacy I wasn’t sure I’d ever fulfill.
“Well, speaking of riding, we better get moving. Thanks for the stories, gentlemen.” I stood up. “Big day tomorrow.”
Finn rose as well, tipping his cowboy hat to the old guys. “Always a pleasure, gentlemen. I’ll try to remember to send flowers next time.”
A chorus of hearty guffaws followed us as we stepped away, their howls of amusement still ringing in my ears. I grinned and shook my head. Finn always had a way with those old codgers. He already fit in well with the senior crowd.
I caught sight of Kinsley across the grounds, her blonde hair shining in the sun as she laughed with some friends. A pang of longing hit me. The sight of her still made my heart kick against my ribcage in a way it shouldn’t.
Finn and I navigated through the dwindling crowd, each lost in our thoughts, when a figure caught our attention.
Rhett stood a little way off, isolated from the rest of the rodeo’s festivities. His phone was pressed to his ear, and even from a distance, the strain in his posture was clear. He paced back and forth, his movements sharp and agitated—very unlike his usual easygoing demeanour.
Finn nudged me, nodding towards Rhett. “Wonder what’s got him all riled up,” he murmured.
Rhett ended his call with a frustrated swipe. He rubbed a hand over his jaw—a gesture of stress we rarely saw from him.
I shrugged. “No idea. He never talks about his life away from the rodeo.”
I was ashamed to admit that, even though we considered him a close friend, we knew little about him. We knew his record in the arena but nothing about his home, his family, or what he did when he wasn’t throwing himself into the chaos of the rodeo circuit. It was odd, considering how much time we spent together travelling from one competition to the next, sharing wins and losses.
“Kind of strange, isn’t it?” I said. “We see him almost every day, yet there’s so much we don’t know about him.”
“I remember when he competed. It’s been a long time, but damn was he good.”
“Makes you think, doesn’t it?” I said. “A guy like Rhett, with all that talent, just up and quits.”
Rhett had given up competing years ago. No one knew why. The only reason he’d given was that he preferred the steady paycheck he got from working as a pickup man. We hadn’t known him well back then—not that we did now—but we hadn’t really been friends until this past year when he started travelling with us.
Rhett noticed us then, quickly masking his previous frustration with a practiced smile. He waved, walking over with a casual stride that hid the tension we’d witnessed.
“Everything alright?” I asked as he approached, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Rhett’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, family stuff. You know how it is.”
We didn’t know. Despite the countless days and nights spent together on the road, Rhett remained a mystery.
He glanced between Finn and me. “What about you two? Ready to show these folks what real roping looks like?”
I forced a grin, trying to match Rhett’s lighthearted tone. “Absolutely.”
Even as the words left my mouth, a flicker of doubt crept into my mind. The pressure to perform left me feeling like I was in quicksand, and I would just keep sinking. I needed a win, not just for the prize money but to prove to myself that I still had what it took to make it in this sport.
Rhett’s gaze lingered on me for a moment as if he sensed my inner turmoil, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he nodded towards the arena. “Well, I better get back to work. I have to be in the arena for the bronc riding.”
I turned to Finn. “Let’s go check on the horses, make sure they’re ready for tomorrow.”
Finn nodded, and we made our way towards the stables. The scent of hay and horse sweat filled my nostrils, grounding me in the moment. This was what I lived for—the thrill of the ride, the rush of the competition.
As I ran my hand along Drifter’s flank, feeling the power and strength beneath his coat, I couldn’t shake the nagging fear that I wasn’t good enough anymore. That maybe my best days were behind me, and all that lay ahead was a slow, painful decline.
No, I thought, clenching my jaw. I can do this. I have to do this.
I had to believe that tomorrow would be different and I would turn things around. Because if I didn’t, I didn’t know how much longer I could keep going, keep chasing this dream that slipped further away with each passing day.