39. Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Four
Wade
The stadium is buzzing with rowdy ranchers, bucking bulls, and outside folk that want in on the wild action.
The Rodeo Roundup is the one rodeo show in this small corner of County Texas Hill where locals come to make a name for themselves, debuting their talent—or lack thereof.
It’s also the hunting grounds for scouts, who linger and watch, keeping an eye out for the next big thing.
Same way they once scouted me.
Though my career was short-lived, despite taking a national title, giving it up was the hardest thing I had to do. And somehow, the easiest decision I made. Colt needed me. That was my priority.
I haven't stepped foot near a rodeo since. Didn’t see the point in trying to enjoy something that used to be my whole life… from the sidelines. Just another spectator in the crowd.
And yet, here I am.
All because she wanted to go.
The smell of livestock and leather hits the moment I step foot into the arena.
Dry dirt dances in the air, kicked up by hundreds of visitors.
The distant scent of funnel cake and slow-smoked brisket from vendors cuts through the stronger smell of stale, cheap beer and tobacco from the old-timers propped up against the rails, cigars hanging from their mouths.
Nothing’s changed. A rodeo is still a rodeo, and ain’t no amount of time going to change that.
My ranch hands scatter the second we are through the gates.
Hollering, shoving each other, all riled up like a bunch of cowboys who’ve never been let off the ranch before.
Truth is, we haven’t had a proper ranch outing since Pops passed, so I let them go crazy.
These men are good grafters; they deserve a good time.
Bryan barrels into me from behind, clamping down on both my shoulders hard enough that I reckon I’ll be finding his fingerprints there tomorrow morning.
“Buck, doesn't this bring back memories!” he shouts, as he is incapable of using his indoor voice. I don’t think the man’s got one to be honest.
“Look at all the buckle bunnies,” he adds, spinning like the whole damn place belongs to him, before disappearing in the direction of a group of women.
This man. Forever the playboy, and that ain’t changed since his teens. It’s gonna take one hell of a woman to wrangle him.
I've got no interest in whoever's caught his eye. Mine are already locked on someone else.
Maeve.
The five-foot-five beauty, wearing her new boots and my hat.
She’s standing a few yards off with Naomi and Colt, chatting away and laughing.
She spots me, giving me a small uncertain smile, like she's not quite sure what we can do out here. Like we’ve not been able to pretend pretty all these weeks.
I give her a slow, crooked smirk and a wink, quick enough that it’s gone before anyone can notice. Being this close to her and having to keep my hands to myself is its own breed of misery. So, I force myself to pull my eyes away before I do something stupid, and I beeline straight to the bar.
I wasn’t expecting any of the fancy stuff at the rodeo, but you’d think that, being in Texas, they’d at least serve some whiskey. Even if it’s that cheap shit that tastes like gasoline. But nope. I gotta settle for a warm beer.
With everyone off doing their own thing, I decide to take myself to an isolated spot along the arena railing, where I can watch the rides without being bothered.
Standing here now, arms folded over the railing, watching man after man load up into the chute…
I’ll admit I miss it. The thrill of locking your thighs either side of a bull, gripping with all your strength for eight seconds before hitting the dirt, just to ensure it counted.
That feeling. Every part of you switched on at once.
Nothing else exists. Just you and the bull.
It takes everything you’ve got—flexibility, nerve, coordination, and the particular brand of stupidity that makes you climb on in the first place.
All of it. All at once.
All things my body gave up the rights to some years back. I’d be lucky not to hurt my hip getting out of bed these days.
A big, ugly grey bull catches my eye, the rider loading into the chute. Fuck, that’s a beast. Hope they’ve not put some fresh newbie on it; that’d be asking for certain death, the way it’s slamming against the gates.
The gates swing open. I take a pull of my beer, then set it down fast.
Jesus. This kid can ride.
Not hang-on-and-pray ride. Actually ride. Seat solid, free arm working, hips rolling with the bull instead of fighting. Every move clearly deliberate.
I’d eat my hat if he doesn’t get the highest score yet. Hell. He might’ve even given me a run back in the day and I was damn good. The best at the time.
Eight seconds can feel like a lifetime for a rider, but as the buzzer sounds off, he comes clean off, landing both feet firmly on the ground like it was nothing. Whoever he is, he’s going places. No doubt about that.
The rider rips off his helmet, and turns to the crowd, grinning.
Jae.
Well. I'll be damned.
He’s eating up the applause, and I just know that little shit is loving the attention.
Doesn’t feel that long ago he was the kid following Colt around the ranch, cornering me with question after question.
What’s the hardest bull you ever drew? What do you think about in the chute? Were you ever scared going in?
I kept my answers short, but he never took offence. Just kept coming back with more. And I knew then he wasn’t the kind to give up on a dream.
And I’m glad he didn’t, because his score flashes up and it’s a damn good one. Top of the leaderboard. Well deserved.
I find Colt where I left him, beer in hand, laughing with Naomi. I don’t miss that Maeve’s nowhere to be seen, but seeing Colt looking at ease, actually happy… That stops me in my tracks.
It’s not often I get to see a smile on my son’s face. Been happening more these past few months though. And I’ve got a feeling seeing Jae here is only going to add to that.
I step beside him. “You see who just rode.”
He clocks my expression. “Who?”
“Jae.”
“No way. He never said a word—” He's already up on his toes scanning the arena. “That little shit.”
“Stayed on the full eight.” I say, bringing the bottle to my lips. “Scored well.”
Colt looks back at me. “Go find him, he should be done now.”
“Sorry Naomi,” he throws over his shoulder, already disappearing into the crowd. Naomi is unphased, turning to chat with somebody nearby.
Me? Well, I set my attention on finding my angel.
Doesn’t take long. I knew where she’d be—the bar. She’s wedged between Bryan and Wyatt, both men’s elbows leaning against the counter, laughing at something Maeve has said.
I walk up to them. “Y’all leaving me out?”
“Wade.” Maeve looks up at me, eyes bright and for a second, it’s hard to remember we’re meant to be pretending.
“I thought I’d join you for a drink if that’s ok?” I ask, though it isn’t really a question. I just want to be near her.
Bryan hooks an arm around my neck, dragging me in. “’Course it is. Can’t remember the last time we all went out together.” He turns, shouting. “Ma’am! Another round please!”
“One sec!” The bartender calls back, busy fetching glasses from the back of the bar.
We fall into easy talk while we wait. Maeve’s laughing at one of Bryan’s stupid stories—one I’d rather she didn’t hear—but the way she fits in with them, like she belongs here… I find I don’t mind it so much.
“So, what can I get you boys?” the bartender says, stepping up to the bar, and as my eyes look up at her, I stop cold.
Gina Martinez.
After all these years, the resemblance to her brother is still there. My whole body locks up, and my fists tighten at my sides.
“Wade Carter,” she says carefully.
“Gina.” The name comes out flat, direct. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”
She hesitates before explaining. Her dad passed. Left her and Gino that run-down trailer park on the edge of town. She came back to see if it’s worth anything, while exploring another business venture in the meantime.
Not here to cause trouble.
That’s what she says.
I study her for a second. Trying to decide if I believe it. After all, she is a Martinez, and that family has never given me a reason to trust them.
“Gino with you?” I ask. Needing to know. I don’t know what I’d do if I see that man in town without a warning.
Gina’s face shows an array of emotions, not exactly landing on any of them for longer than a second. Concern, worry, apprehension, annoyance. All of them.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Been trying to reach him for weeks. You know what he’s like.”
Yeah. I do. And that’s the problem.
“Still using?” I ask, despite knowing the answer. But she lets out a humourless laugh.
“Most likely, but as I said, not had any contact with him. Could be dead for all I know.”
A knot tightens low in my stomach, my mind racing with what a return of the Martinez means. Because if Gina’s here, and their father gone, word will eventually get out. Especially if there’s money involved. Gino wouldn’t let that opportunity go.
And if he comes to town… Then there’s a possibility that Ruby will too.
I can’t deal with that right now. We can’t deal with that.
I’ve just told Colt the truth, let him choose if he wanted to see her or not. If she turns up, then it takes that away from him. The choice.
Or worse… If Gino knows the truth about Colt, then whatever relationship I have managed to salvage with my son would be over.
“Wade?”
Gina’s voice pulls me back, and I realise she’s been holding out our drinks. I go to take mine, but she doesn’t let go.
“I promise, I’m not my family. I ain’t here to cause trouble.”
I nod, not really having any words as the anxiety settles through me.
Do I believe her? I do… But that doesn’t mean that her being here isn’t going to be the catalyst of an impending shit show.
I stare at the bottle, my thumb circling the top of it.
Bryan leans in. “You alright?”
“Fine.”
The lie comes too quick, and I know Bryan clocks it with how his eyebrow lifted. Luckily for me, he lets it go.
It’s only a second later I feel it, before registering what it is, the lightest press of a hand across my lower back. There and gone in a second. I don't look at her, but I feel her eyes on the side of my face. I'm here.
It doesn't help as much as it should, because now my eyes are working one to the dozen, scanning all the faces in the crowd. Looking for a woman with bright blonde hair and eyes like my son’s. She’s coming… I’d be stupid if I thought otherwise. It’s just the matter of when.
I scrub my hand over the back of my neck before picking my beer and draining it in one go.
Maeve's gone quiet beside me, worry blanketing her eyes.
I slam the bottle down harder than I mean to, “What do you say if we move this to the Lone Coyote?” ?