The Wildest Ride--A Novel

by Marcella Bell

  The bartender took their order and he said: “Two IPAs for my friend and myself, please.”

  “Coming right up.” She punctuated her sentence with a wink and sauntered away.

  When the bartender left, Lil said, “Hope you’re planning on double fisting.”

  There was a strange note of serenity woven through Lil’s gravelly rasp that set alarm bells off in AJ’s head.

  Side-eyeing her, AJ shook his head. “No. I’m too old for that. One of them is for you.”

  Lil shook her head. “Not for me. I’m not drinking tonight.”

  AJ raised an eyebrow. “Now is that polite of you? The standard thing to do is to offer me a drink and toast in concession to the better man.”

  Lil shook her head with a small smile. “You know how sensitive I am to your feelings, old-timer. I’m just racking my brains how to break it to you that that’s me—even without all the required equipment.”

  Like the snap of a twig in the woods that gave away one’s location, AJ’s bark of laughter was loud enough to draw the attention of the full room, including the eyes of nearly thirty cowboys, and nearly every camera, to himself and the lone cowgirl in the room—and while she certainly wasn’t the only woman in the establishment, she was certainly the only woman who’d turned dancing circles around each and every cowboy in the place into a habit. And looked pretty doing it.

  AJ felt the uncharacteristic urge to curse under his breath. He could weather anything this group might throw at him, but when it came to interacting with humans, Lil was as likely to spook and bolt as she was to go on the attack. Either could be disastrous.

  That she was considering both was as clear as day on her face.

  Amidst their new audience, Hank DeRoy’s gaze moved slowly toward them, scanning the bar until he met AJ’s with a smarmy glint. Seeing who sat beside AJ at the epicenter of the moment, Hank stood. He separated himself from his cronies to make his way toward the bar.

  AJ made a small noise in the back of his throat, disgusted. Hank would come over and add fuel to the fire, throwing clumsy come-ons at Lil until she got up and left. It was as predictable as the sunrise.

  Equally obvious was the fact that the other man had extended their field of competition to encompass Lil. That he was the kind of man who didn’t see the problem with that, regardless of the fact that he was way off base with respect to AJ’s intentions toward Lil, was enough to condemn him in AJ’s mind.

  He hadn’t held Hank in the highest esteem before, but any man who was willing to pursue a woman for the sake of making a point wasn’t worth a damn, in his opinion.

  “Is this man bothering you, miss?” Hank slid up to the stool on Lil’s other side, a corny smile plastered on his face.

  Lil sighed, moving to excuse herself from the bar, but Hank stopped her with a hand on her elbow. Her body went still.

  The hair on the back of AJ’s neck stood up and he rose from the bar stool, taking a step forward without meaning to.

  The energy shifted in the room, tension cast like a fishing net over every soul in the establishment. The cameras zoomed in, the background arguments of the cameramen about angles and lighting mingling with the warbling of the jukebox to make a strange buzzing backdrop for a scene that seemed like it needed someone to step in and say something but was generating an audience instead.

  These were the moments reality TV lived for, a room full of mostly hotheaded testosterone-led young men on the edge of their seats. It was a new kind of spectacle for rodeo, though.

  Not the hotheads, and not even the potential for a fight that everyone was aware of, bubbling under the surface—that was as commonplace at the rodeo as it was wherever there was beer and loud music—but the underlying hunger for it, the desire for sensation, no matter how tawdry.

  Rodeo, after all, was family friendly. Buckle bunnies might chase cowboys, but that was a story for insiders. The official line was the bright, wholesome, rodeo queen and the cowboy married to the sport.

  But here, amidst the neon and brass and wood, the crowd’s desires were more salacious.

  Lil’s nostrils flared, her lips pressing into a thin line of irritation before she recovered enough to lift one corner of her mouth into a lopsided smirk. “In fact, he is, DeRoy, but only since he robbed me of a good night’s sleep in my rightful bed. You see, the only kind of man that bothers me—really, the only kind of man I notice—is the one sitting higher than me in the standings.”

  A chorus of playground oooo’s rippled through the bar, but the insult rolled right off him. His smile was as saccharine and heavy as the Kentucky gentleman in his voice. Smacking his lips, he let out a long hmmm. “Princess, you sound like a woman looking for a firm hand and I just happen to be famous for my grip.”

  A spattering of chuckles met his statement, but Lil just snorted, cringing.

  AJ’s reaction wasn’t so casual.

  Once again, he was moving before he processed his intention to do so, closing the distance between himself and DeRoy at the same time as he wedged his body between Lil and Hank, subtly blocking her from both the cameras and Hank’s flirtations.

  “The standings indicate that between the two of you, hers is the stronger hand, Hankey, which puts you out of the running.” AJ kept his voice light, though his muscles were as taut as if he were in the arena. A handful of cowboys in the room hissed, likely Hank’s pals, while the rest laughed at what they thought was a light razz.

  But instead of backing down with a bunch of hot air, as AJ expected of Hank after years of push and pull and despite the obvious height and weight AJ had on him, this time DeRoy didn’t back down.

  They’d competed against each other for nearly all of their adult lives and never once had they progressed this far down the path of physical violence, despite having exchanged fighting words on many an occasion.

  AJ shouldn’t have been surprised that it was happening now, though.

  Some men couldn’t help acting like fools when women were involved.

  But understanding that didn’t mean putting up with it.

  Rodeo was rodeo, and this was rodeo—even if it was a dive bar in Ardmore.

  And whether Lil liked it or not, AJ was obligated to look out for her. The Closed Circuit might not be her first rodeo, but it was her first PBRA rodeo, and the difference was the same as the difference between indie film and big budget Hollywood. There was real money to be made in PBRA, even when it was the pet project of an eccentric producer, as the Closed Circuit was. And where there was money to be made, there would always be sharks in the water.

  Lil might put up a tough front, but she was sheltered and, he suspected, naive enough to fall into a trap before she knew to be wary—a trap like DeRoy.

  It wouldn’t happen while he was around, though, and if Hank didn’t know how to quit, AJ would just make sure he was around all the time. It was as simple as that.

  “Garza, you jump in so much, I might think you were jealous of this little thing going on between me and the first lady of rodeo.” Hank smiled at Lil around AJ’s form, and AJ wondered if the expression ever worked to pick up women, transparently sleazy as it was. There was nothing but bedpost notches and a big picture of himself hidden behind Hank’s baby blues.

  He looked the part of the golden son of the south, which should have been enough to send women running, but, like the cronies he collected everywhere he went, Hank never appeared to lack for female company.

  With an easy chuckle, AJ shook his head, opening his mouth to say that he didn’t mind at all what the first lady of rodeo was into, so long as he didn’t have to deal with its breathing in his face, when a new voice broke into the conversation.

  “Now, Hank DeRoy, I am wounded!” Sierra Quintanilla’s words, perfectly pitched and utterly feminine, carried high over the crowd noise, laden with coquettish offense. “Lil Sorrow might be our brand-new
feminist icon, but everybody knows that I am the first lady of rodeo!”

  Hank was smooth when he turned to Sierra with a tip of his hat. “Pardon me, Miss Sierra. What I meant to say was the first lady of rough stock.”

  AJ almost snorted, but held back in respect for the rodeo queen’s efforts.

  As far as expert redirections went, hers had been well done. AJ didn’t know how calling Lil a feminist icon would go down, though. He was a feminist himself—his mama would accept no less—but he also knew, just like Sierra did, that this wasn’t a crowd where the label was considered a compliment.

  Sierra’s interruption, followed by her abandoning her position in the center of the line dance, surrounded by cowboys on either side, to cross the room and give Hank a theatrical punch in the arm, gave Lil enough time to reach over and pinch AJ’s biceps.

  Securing his attention, she made a quick cut motion with her hand at her neck, the universal sign for “cut the bull, I can fight my own battles.” To which AJ responded with a shrug and a grin. As she’d wanted, though, he stepped back.

  With more space between the two, and made into a group by the presence of Sierra, the lingering threat in the air dissipated. No longer was it a case of two rivals fighting over a single woman. It’d turned into a regular double date.

  Smile growing, with lots of teeth aimed in Hank’s direction, AJ shook his head and said, “So sad, a man trying to put strong women against each other.” Leaning back against the bar stool, AJ crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh. “Insecure if you ask me. Now, I look at these two phenomenal women, and there’s no question. Sierra Quintanilla, rodeo queen extraordinaire, is the undisputed first lady of the rodeo, and Lil Sorrow, sweeping in and embarrassing cowboys like the grim reaper of rodeo dreams, is the Empress of Arena. Both of them are blessed with crowns.” He uncrossed his arms to give a little chef’s kiss, to the loud delight of the less-trained men in the room.

  Beside him, Lil closed her eyes and sighed, but the cowboys in the bar devoured the drama like it was candy. Hooting and hollering, whistling, and jeering, mostly at Hank, though his friends loyally jeered at AJ, the rest of them stomped and ordered more rounds, their attention on the foursome breaking apart as they separated back into smaller groups.

  Sierra might be the show’s hostess, but AJ was as much a master of the scene as she was, and if monikers were being thrown around for Lil, he was going to have the last word on it.

  No longer the direct center of attention, and with no more blows about to be come to, the four of them stared at each other.

  There was no reason to remain clumped together as they were, other than the fact that without hitting anything, and without a bull in sight, AJ was left with the fight lingering in his blood, bubbling and rolling, and nowhere for it to go.

  “I propose a drinking game,” he said.

  Sierra spoke first. “Yes!” Immediate and a tad breathless.

  Lil, as expected, shook her head. “Not for me, thanks. Not one for games.”

  Hank laughed, thinking she was joking. AJ laughed, knowing she wasn’t.

  “You play tonight. The prize I claim for ousting you from the top spot.”

  Lil crossed her arms in front of her chest and lifted an eyebrow. “We never made a bet.”

  “Now that’s not very sporting, Lil,” Sierra said quickly, her eyes on AJ.

  At her side, Hank nodded. “Never pass a chance to make a fool of Garza.”

  Lil laughed, shaking her head. “No thanks. I’m not much for drinking, either, so the only fool I’d be making is of myself.”

  Their conversation had once again caught the attention of greenies and the camera crew. Zeroing in on their quartet, they in turn alerted the rest of the bullpen cowboys.

  Lil’s face set, and AJ was impressed, knowing that no amount of peer pressure, not the whole bar nor the Closed Circuit contract she’d signed was going to make her drink now.

  She began to shake her head, opening her gorgeous mouth to say as much, when Sierra broke in with a bright, artificial laugh. “Oh, I love games! Why don’t we just play without her.”

  Lil’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowing, and AJ almost laughed. He didn’t think it’d been her intent, but Sierra’s words had been exactly what hypercompetitive Lil needed to hear. The woman might not like games, but she sure as hell liked to win. Almost as much as he did.

  Eyebrow arched, she said, “I’ll play, but just one round. We have a show tomorrow.”

  He grinned. For the second time in a row, he’d beat her, and the feeling just kept getting sweeter.

  The game was as simple: rodeo trivia. Answer the question right, no drink—answer the question wrong, drink. Complexity wasn’t his point. Snagging Lil’s attention, hooking her into the fun in a way even she couldn’t resist, that was his game. Fortunately, just like him, he knew she couldn’t resist a chance to show off around the rodeo. And if he got to make a fool of Hank along the way, so much the better.

  15

  Eyes opening, Lil wasn’t sure when one round had turned into six, or where her things were, but when all was said and done, one thing she was absolutely certain of: she was the undisputed champion of rodeo...trivia.

  And just like in the real competition, winning had been a near thing, with AJ on her heels the whole time.

  Things had started easy enough. She set off strong, peacocking her knowledge with an air of sober remove, the last player to take their first drink, lasting rounds longer than anyone else.

  Sierra had bowed out of the game first, which was predictable. The Closed Circuit might be a rodeo like no other, but that didn’t mean there was any room for rodeo queen’s gone wild—especially not the hostess of it all.

  Cowboys, on the other hand, could be as bad as they wanted to be.

  Lil, Hank, and AJ remained, locked in competition, their game of trivia a fierce microcosm of their dynamic in the circuit. In a particularly heated moment, it occurred to her that when the two men weren’t chest puffing and posturing, the three of them made for excellent competition, each one dedicated to rodeo, in the arena and out.

  Hank had the corner on all things horse related, which made sense when Lil learned he was the son of a respected breeding legacy based in Kentucky. Lil’s expertise was broad and pragmatic, anchored in the daily affairs of the ranch, her granddad’s training, and a lifetime of going to the rodeo. Unsurprisingly, AJ gave her a run for her money whenever a technicality came up. It was obvious he’d studied the rules, regulations, and history of rodeo the way an artisan studies his craft.

  But breadth beat depth in both of their cases. But not without a lot more than one beer.

  Lil had lost track after three. She knew there hadn’t been many more than that, but with her size, she knew the calculus didn’t matter that much. She had had too much.

  This she reflected on as she watched the ground, her upper body bobbing and bouncing against AJ’s back in time to the rhythm of his step. Her lower half was draped over his shoulder, his arm an iron band tight around her thighs.

  “I’m a walker, you know,” she said, certain she had a problem with the situation though not entirely sure what it was.

  AJ’s voice carried a laugh. “And a joker and a smoker, too. But I got you for now...”

  He did not sound drunk, and she suspected he was not. She had won the game, which meant he’d had more drinks than she had, but when size and tolerance were added to the mixture, it didn’t much matter. Life graded on a curve, it seemed, and on a curve, she was drunk.

  “I’m not a smoker,” she said.

  He did laugh this time. “I’m not surprised.”

  “What?” He was confusing her, jumping all over the place.

  She decided he must be when he said, “I’m taking you back to Winnie.”

  “Who’s Winnie?”

  Again he l
aughed, the sound a rumbling chuckle that vibrated through Lil’s body, sending warmth through her veins, as comforting as being covered with a hand-sewn quilt.

  “Your RV.”

  Startled, she bounced up, going rigid in order to look around. “When’d we get back home?” she asked, referring to the parking lot where their tour vehicles were parked.

  “After you tried to badger a local into bringing his calves out to the bar to prove, once and for all, you were the better steer wrestler, I lured you onto the bus with taunts, where you promptly fell asleep, and stayed asleep, long after everyone got off the bus, at which point I picked you up, and here we are.”

  Lil groaned. “And the cameras caught it all, I assume?”

  AJ nodded. “Sure did.”

  “Wonderful.”

  He shrugged, bouncing her on his shoulder as he did. “You won.”

  Suspicion took root. “Did you throw the game?”

  AJ shrugged again and she realized he was doing it on purpose. “You’ll never know, will you? Now, where are your keys?”

  Lil’s stomach sank. “In my purse.”

  AJ stopped in his tracks. “Purse?”

  “Put me down,” she demanded with a groan. “I have to go back.” She knew she shouldn’t have drunk anything.

  Obliging her, he made sure she was steady before taking his hands off her shoulders once he’d placed her on her feet.

  When she was sure she was steady, she looked up at him to see her purse dangling in his hand, a naughty, boyish grin on his face and, for a moment, she was mesmerized.

  Backlit by moonlight, he was wearing the same baseball cap he’d had on all night long—his signature look. AJ had made rodeo accept his baseball hat years ago, so much so that now it would be strange to see him in a Stetson outside of the arena or on the podium. On AJ, the cowboy hat was formal wear.

  But even casual, he was breathtaking, more so in person than he had ever been in the interviews and clips she’d watched of him over the years. He’d been so far away then. Now he was up close and personal, in the flesh—and the flesh was so good.