Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
TRISTON
W alking into the staging area of the arena in Billings feels like stepping through a portal, dropping me into a different time and place, separate from the last couple weeks I’ve spent in Creek Falls.
The straw bedding, the metal temporary fencing, the low grunts of the bulls and louder brays of the steers.
All of them settle over me like a well-worn shirt, molded to my body.
The weight of my vest and the feel of my hat are just as familiar.
Even my competition chaps with their extra long fringe and specialty beading and engraving.
They should be soothing. The ritual of wearing them and adjusting their weight settling me the same way it has the last nineteen months.
I breathe deeply, centering myself, adjusting the cuffs of my light blue Western-cut shirt.
It’s habit that has me running my arm across my forehead, wiping away nonexistent sweat just to smell the vanilla scent.
It’s stronger than ever before, the warmth of it soothing my stomach better than every other ride.
She hadn’t even asked, just grabbed my wrists as I was leaving the hotel and marked them.
Yes, everything about this should be as natural as breathing. It’s what I’ve lived the last eight years at various competition levels. And yet…
“There’s the man himself!”
I shake out of the thoughts and turn around, shoving my hands in my pockets.
Michael crosses the large open space with a broad smile.
A few of the others from the circuit follow behind him, laughing and shoving each other in that way Alphas do when they’re not entirely competitors but not truly friends.
It’s another thing that’s as familiar as breathing, watching the guys chirp each other.
As they get closer, I can smell the edge to one of their floral scents.
Even without anything hinging on the ride, one of them is on a rut-amplifier.
“That buckle looks mighty damn fine, man.”
I manage a smile that’s just smug enough to not have them asking questions.
“Thanks,” I say.
Michael holds out his hand. He pulls me into a one-armed hug as soon as I take it, clapping my shoulder.
The others don’t hug me, but they touch the brims of their hats and smile easily enough.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I mirror their movement, touching my finger and thumb to my own hat, and then pull my phone, swiping open the text from Lance.
Found them just fine. Be there in a few minutes.
How are they handling everything?
Like pros. Haven’t flinched at a single camera.
Thank goodness .
I don’t know that I can stomach the next two seasons if they’re unnerved by all the cameras and interested parties.
Michael pulls my attention back to him.
“A little birdie told me you went and found yourself an Alpha while you were hiding out in Wyoming,” he says. He raises an eyebrow as he adjusts his helmet, perching it on his hip.
The others stop their chatter, focusing on me like a pack of wolves.
“Oh?” One of them—Collin—asks. He breaks apart from the group to stand next to Michael. It’s his scent that holds the edge of the rut-amplifier.
Michael nods. “Lots of little birdies, actually. All over Instagram. Birdies that are pretty devastated to know the rodeo’s most eligible bachelor might not actually be one anymore.”
“Are there?” I ask with a surprisingly steady voice.
One of the guys pulls out his phone and starts messing around on it.
“Well, hot damn,” he says, chuckling. He turns the screen so the rest of us can see what’s on it.
It’s a post from Instagram. The photo is blurry and not centered, clearly not from one of the true paparazzi that sell their photos to various outlets and gossip websites.
Even still, my face is clear enough and so is Emily’s where she walks beside me, our hands laced together.
She’s dressed in that gorgeous off-white sundress with the floral lace overlay.
Even without looking at the date of the post, I know it must have gone up some time since Wednesday.
I thought the courtyard was pretty private. We all had.
How many people saw us having those private moments between signing the various forms needed to register as a pack and the paperwork to adopt Penny?
Collin swipes through the other photos in the post. All of them are various angles of Emily and me, including us kissing. My stomach twists, and it takes all my self-control to keep the desire to throw up off my face.
The only saving grace is there doesn’t seem to be any of Penny. Hopefully that means we get to control her being announced to the world.
One of the guys whistles. “Damn, she’s hot.”
Another one laughs. “Triston’s gone and found a hot-as-fuck Alpha. I need to win me one of those buckles, too.”
“Fuck off,” I growl.
They all freeze, their gazes swinging from the phone to me, surprise and indignation on their faces. More than one scent flares out from them. Fear roots me to the spot.
“Triston! There you are!” Lance’s voice cuts through the noise of the animals and the various other athletes walking through the area now.
A group of four guys walks by me as I turn away from the bull riders.
The one in the center tips his hat in greeting, and I offer a small smile.
Their pairs of matching shirts mark them as two of the roping teams.
The one nearest me calls out, “Congrats, man! Beautiful ride.”
I only smile in answer, turning to focus on Lance.
A flash of dark brown hair and tiny bright pink boots has me abandoning the guys and crossing the arena.
Penny’s shriek cuts through the open space.
Lance doesn’t bat an eye even as a little girl rushes past him.
She’s in flare jeans and a white shirt overlayed with a pink vest that matches the boots.
Her bunny blanket trails behind her, dragging along the concrete.
I lengthen my stride as she trips on some of the straw littering the floor.
Before she can trip again and hurt herself, I’m there and pulling her into my arms.
“Hi, Penny bug,” I whisper against her cheek between kisses. She giggles and wiggles against me. She pulls on the thin gold chain sitting around the base of my throat, tight enough it doesn’t hang down at all, and I quietly stop her.
“I like this. Let’s be gentle with it, all right?”
Her lips push into a pout. Then she taps my vest.
“Pa,” she says, tapping the vest again. “Papa.”
“It’s my vest,” I tell her, moving her onto my hip. “It’s to keep me safe just in case I fall in the wrong spot.”
Or can’t move fast enough, but my daughter doesn’t need to know that bit of information yet. She can watch 8 Seconds when she’s a teen if she really wants to know why the vests are mandatory.
Emily and Beau reach us then. Emily’s wearing jeans that hug her hips and flare at the knee, a more dramatic version of Penny’s.
Her hat and boots are the ones she wears when riding Redwood.
Her eyes are lined with dark mascara that makes her brown eyes pop.
She smiles, completely at ease, and warmth spreads through me at the sight.
Beau’s dressed in dark wash Levis and a Western-cut shirt with the top two buttons undone.
His hat is a true black, untouched by the sun.
Their joined hands swing between them. Neither of them seem worried or stressed or even uncomfortable.
Some of the anxiety that’s been plaguing me fades.
Penny taps my vest again.
“Papa,” she says. Then she twists and points to the hallway that leads to the temporary pens housing most of the animals. She babbles sounds that might be her asking to go see the horses.
Lance keeps a few steps away, his hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze sweeping the staging area.
“Do you have time?” Beau asks, tilting his head toward the hallway, too. “Or do you need to be getting to where they need you?”
“I’ve got time.” And I’d much rather spend the next half hour before the bronc riding starts with them than hearing the other bull riders chirp each other.
Lance checks his phone and then frowns. “Heads up, a couple of the lifestyle journalists are here and are making the rounds. You’ll have to give written permission for pictures with Penny’s face, but in theory they can use anything else.”
Emily squeezes my hand in reassurance. “We’ll be fine. Let’s go show Penny the barrel racers. Those horses are works of art.”
Beau chuckles. “You got something against the ropers?”
Emily only rolls her eyes and smiles.
Michael’s eyes are wide as saucers and Collin’s jaw is practically on the floor as we pass the group. Emily’s shoulders stiffen as she scents the rut-amplifier on Collin. It’s my turn to squeeze her hand in comfort.
Once we’re away from the main open area, I let Penny walk. She never ventures more than a few feet away from the three of us as we walk down the temporary pens.
“So how different is it?” Emily asks as Penny pauses in front of the sheep prepped for mutton busting. “A ride like this compared to the rides where money and rankings are on the line?”
“Not much, really. Well, the atmosphere is a lot different. The Alphas don’t tend to use rut-amplifiers as heavily when there isn’t money on the line, so everyone’s less on edge.
” I adjust my hat. “But they still draw the bulls the same. You still have to climb the chute and hope you wrapped the rope the exact right amount of times around your fingers. When I’m in there, what comes after the ride doesn’t matter.
It can’t, otherwise it’ll mess with your mind, and that’s when you make the worst mistakes. ”
She nods, deftly pulling Penny’s hand away from the fencing. In a practiced move, she perches Penny on her open hip. Penny drops her head onto Emily’s shoulder, clutching the blanket closer to her chest.
“Ten minute warning,” Lance murmurs.
We follow him back to the larger area. The guys are still there, converged around one of their phones.
Collin tilts his head back and barks out a laugh.
A month ago, the sound would have had my skin crawling.
Now, I just run my thumb over Emily’s knuckles and breathe in the faint vanilla that clings to her clothes.
“You want me to get some photos?” Lance asks.
“Yes, that would be good,” Beau says easily, holding out his phone.
Just like her birthday party, we take turns holding Penny. Unlike her birthday, I don’t feel ready to break apart. My smiles aren’t forced, and Emily’s touch is soft and confident. Penny pats my vest again, very clearly unnerved by it.
“It’s okay,” I say as softly as I can manage. I run my finger along the edge of the bright pink vest she wears. “It’s like yours, just heavier.”
“All right, just about time for everything to start,” Lance says, handing Beau his phone. “We’ll go get situated and let you focus.”
Beau wraps his arm around my waist, and presses his lips to my shoulder. Emily mirrors him, her hand flat against my spine. Her lips are soft as a feather behind my ear.
Nerves clog my throat and thicken my tongue, worse than they have in years.
“Have a good ride,” Emily whispers.
I steal a kiss from her and then Beau before letting them walk away.