Chapter Seven
Caine
“That horse’s got a grudge against him!” the announcer yells into his mic.
I stand with several of my men outside the chute, waiting for my next rider’s name to be called.
Weston stands beside me as we wait. We got her saddled, but Weston won’t mount her until his name is called. He’s focused, his face relaxed, his breathing even. He adjusts his hat.
“You got this, son,” I tell him, smacking his shoulder right as the announcer calls out his name.
He swings his leg over the fence post. He climbs on and sets his swells. He leans back, raises his arm and grips the single rein with his other hand.
The buzzer goes off, and the chute opens!
Athena is a beauty. She’s got dark red hair and a fiery temper to match. But Weston has his head in the game. His arm stays raised, his core firm as she kicks her hind legs. Athena does all she can to buck him off, but he holds firm.
Once he’s done, the pickup men help him dismount, and he rides back out.
Once he’s at the gate, I see a big grin on his face. “Did you see that!” Weston yells as he runs toward me. “Eighty-seven points, Caine!” The smile on his face is one of pure joy, and the young man deserves it.
The smell of beer and the stench of horses and sweat welcome me as I walk to the bar outside my hotel. Most of the boys did well today. Jason came in last. His brother even scored better than he did. This is supposed to be his year, but sadly, I can’t get the kid to focus.
I celebrate with the riders but leave them to their own devices once the buckle bunnies pounce. Frankly, I feel uncomfortable watching these young men and women grope each other. Plus, I don’t want anyone here.
Knowing two of my trainers are at the Mule, I make my way across the street from my hotel and wave when I see them sitting at the bar, a single stool open beside them.
I remove my Stetson and comb my fingers through my hair before putting it back in place as I saunter over to the bar.
Max and Zeke smile and wave me over. I take the open seat and wait for the bartender to take my drink order.
“What’ll it be?” he asks, his southern drawl even stronger than mine. Guy sounds more like he’s from Alabama than Texas.
“Amber ale,” I reply.
I haven’t turned my head an inch before the noxious odor of stale strawberries and vanilla accosts me.
A tall blonde with big curls cuddles up beside me. She wears a white tank top, a denim skirt and white cowboy boots. She smiles at me with her red-covered lips, eyeing me like I’m her next meal.
“No,” I say firmly, shaking my head before she even has a chance to say anything.
My brow furrows at my own words. Why am I turning down willing pussy? I look at my hands as I take my beer and take a sip of the crisp, cool drink.
I’m not myself. Ever since Pamela, I’ve noticed I’ve had a bit of a dry spell. And I’ve never had a dry spell.
But something causes me to shudder when this woman touches me, and not in a good way.
Just the thought of fucking her makes my stomach churn.
I know this sounds crazy, but a random fuck seems really unappealing to me right now.
She’s too tall, her eyes are too blue and not even a little bit green, and she’s too thin. She’s…
Well—fuck!
She’s not Micky.
Micky!
I groan in frustration. Why didn’t I get her phone number?
What the hell am I holding out for? I can’t turn down eager pussy over a girl I’ll never see again!
I turn my head and notice the blonde is still here, staring at me. I don’t think she’s used to being turned down.
“How many drinks have you had?” I ask her, noticing her face is flushed and her eyes don’t appear to be focused.
“Does it matter?” she asks, running a hand up my chest, leaning into me.
I have to turn my head away. Her breath smells of stale beer and tortilla chips.
She’s definitely drunk, and my dick might actually shrink if she touches it.
When have I ever cared about this before?
Power through! I tell myself. I have to fuck someone.
May as well be her—right? What the fuck am I waiting for?
“Are you a bronc rider?” she asks coyly. Her fingers walk up my chest.
“I used to be,” I say. “Now I teach young riders,” I explain.
“You have a mature look about you.” Is that just another way of saying I look old?
She kisses my jaw as her hand moves down my shirt. “Can I call you Daddy?”
Nope!
Nope!
Fuck me!
I’m done!
I can’t do this!
It’s like the universe is fucking with me! I’m waiting for Micky to walk around the corner and point at me, laughing. She’d be bent over, slapping her knee, pointing and saying, “Oh my God! She actually asked to call you Daddy! Oh my God!”
I can’t get the green-eyed girl out of my fucking head!
“Look, darlin’,” I say, turning my body before she can grab my dick, “I’m not interested.”
I grab her hand and remove it from my person.
“You’re not serious.” She curls her upper lip in a sneer.
“I’m serious.” I give her a curt nod.
“Are you gay or something?”
My hands fist on my legs. My mouth hardens, and my eyes drift to Zeke and Max, who frown.
“Yes.”
I’m a cowboy through and through, but I also know an ignorant shrew when I see one. Her comment was meant as an insult. But I won’t let it stand.
Max’s eyes widen before he bursts out laughing. Zeke elbows his husband, but when that doesn’t help, Zeke lifts Max’s hat off and smacks him upside the head. That immediately stops the laughter, and Max scowls at his spouse.
The blonde narrows her eyes at me, her hands on her hips.
“Honey, I’ll be whatever you want me to be if it will get you to leave me the fuck alone.” Yes, I’m being harsh.
“You’re an asshole,” she spits.
“If I say I am, will you take off?” I ask, not at all masking my annoyance with her.
With that last comment, the woman turns on her heel and stalks off. I picture her imagining my face under her boots with every little stomp she takes on the floor. But to my relief, she’s off to find her next victim.
“Did the famous Caine Montgomery just turn down his first buckle bunny?” Zeke asks. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline.
“She smelled like shit,” I say defensively, looking at my beer.
“Uh, huh. In the past, you would have just turned her around and bent her over in the bathroom,” Max replies.
“Fuck off,” I tell him.
“We will, but for now, why don’t you get us another drink,” he says sarcastically.
“Caine will deck you, and it will be your fault if you keep pushing,” Zeke says, shaking his head. “He’s an asshole on a good day.”
Max grins. But has the wherewithal to shut it.
After another beer, I make my way back to my hotel, alone. It’s so bizarre. Nothing makes sense about what I did, but I can’t even make myself want that woman. I just—no.