by Vicki Tharp
Untying Panache, Josephine handed Cora the lead rope. “Let her go. I found a back paddock that’s empty. We can let the horses out together and let them stretch their legs. Then it’s time for you to focus. You’ve got your horse to take care of and your run to worry about. Right now, that’s all that matters.”
They bundled up against the cold and led their horses to the far back corner of the rodeo grounds and turned Comet and Panache out to run. The two horses raced up and down the fence lines, their heads high, their manes and tails flying, with white puffy clouds of condensation streaming from their noses as they snuffed and snorted. Panache skid to a stop in the corner, turned and bucked and farted and ran back down the fence line.
Cora never got tired of watching her horse run.
When the horses settled, they each found a sandy spot and collapsed in the dirt and rolled onto their backs. Then they stood, shook the dust free and started nibbling on the dead grass.
While the horses munched, Cora’s mind drifted back to Ian. Was there a kernel of truth to her interest in Ian? Josephine had a point. If she didn’t see Ian as anything other than a friend, why did she feel disappointed that he hadn’t hit on her? She wasn’t so insecure that she had to have everyone fawning over her. In fact, she preferred that they didn’t…except for Ian.
Josephine leaned against the fence and tapped her boot against Cora’s to get her attention. “What’s the matter? Worried about the race?”
“A little.” A lot. But the race hadn’t been what she’d been thinking about. Josephine would laugh in her face if she knew that Cora had been all up in her head about Ian. The man she wasn’t interested in. Cora said, “Don’t tell Silas what I said about Ian.”
Josephine pursed her lips. “I pretty much tell Silas everything. He’s not like a lot of these guys. Gay or straight, Silas isn’t going to care. But if it’s that important to you...”
“Nah,” Cora said. “I guess it’s no big deal.”
* * *
Sunday nights at the rodeo always packed in the biggest crowds. At least that’s what Cora had told Ian. Apparently, everyone wanted to see who finished in the money. Then, add in the carnival crowd who’d taken over the adjacent fields, and it seemed like half the state had shown up.
Ian waited with his camera outside the uncovered warm-up arena where the barrel racers, ropers, steer wrestlers, and others warmed up their horses before competition.
Ian zipped his jacket up to his chin and pushed his new cowboy hat down farther on his head. Long ago, he’d cut the tips of the fingers off his gloves to give him more dexterity while he shot photos in the cold. He regretted that decision.
In the arena, horses and riders walked, trotted, and loped both small and large circles. A couple of the ropers had their horses on a loose rein as they twirled their ropes over their heads, their focus inward. Ian figured that like most athletes before a game, they were going through the motions in their head as well, picturing how their event would go.
“Hey, Slick,” Cora’s voice called out from behind him.
His heart skittered sideways, the way he’d seen a couple of the horses do when startled. Only he didn’t have the excuse of being scared.
He was turned on.
The Wrangler jeans Cora had made him buy weren’t going to hide that fact for long. Because the truth was, as much as he’d denied wanting to have sex with Cora, it was a damn lie.
Didn’t mean he had any intention of acting on it though.
She walked toward him, her limp hardly noticeable as she led her horse. He clomped along beside her at the end of his reins. Panache was a quarter horse, that much Ian had learned already, some sort of light tan with a wide white stripe running down the length of his nose.
He’d heard the term kind eye tossed around here and there when people talked about horses. He looked into Panache’s big brown eyes. The horse didn’t look like he wanted to stomp Ian into the ground, so he figured that’s what that meant.
“Slick,” he said, as he ran his hand down Panache’s long nose. “Very funny. I’m assuming that’s short for city slicker?”
“Artistic and smart. Killer combo. If the rumor gets out that you have a brain, all the suitors will start flocking.”
Ian glanced around. Even in his new clothes he remained practically invisible—which was fine with him—to the women. They were all drooling after the real cowboys.
Cora flipped her reins over her horse’s neck, grabbed a fistful of mane, and put her left foot into the stirrup. She bounced on her right leg a couple times and cried out as she pushed off. Instead of swinging up into the saddle, she flopped over it, her belly over the seat, her right leg dangling in the air.
Panache took a couple of steps, then stopped. “A little help, here,” Cora called out.
Ian slung his camera over his shoulder and hurried over and grabbed the horse’s reins, even though Panache just looked at Cora over his shoulder, as if he wanted to roll his eyes.
“Not him. Me.” Cora huffed and grunted.
“I don’t know what to do, but I think you’re embarrassing him.”
“He’ll get over it. Now put your hand on my ass and shove.”
Okay. If she insisted. Ian palmed her fine ass and gave it a good push, allowing her to swing her leg up and over.
Josephine trotted up on her light-colored horse. A palomino, he thought Cora had called it. He’d get the lingo one of these days. Josephine gave Cora a slow clap. “The Russian judges gave you a one-point-eight for that mount.”
Cora rubbed at her sore left knee and gave a mock bow while Ian pretended not to remember the feel of Cora’s firm ass on his palm. The flush rushed up his face and he needlessly fiddled with his camera settings.
“Ian,” Cora said, “I want you to meet Josephine’s fiancé, Silas Foss.”
Silas stepped around Panache and extended his hand. He had a couple of inches on Ian and some muscle. Not as much as Levi, but enough. Around his waist, Silas wore a tooled leather belt topped off with a large silver belt buckle, looking perfectly at ease in his boots and jeans and cowboy hat. Silas looked like the real deal.
Ian had looked at himself in the mirror that morning and felt like he was back in fourth grade dressing up for Halloween. How had he ever thought he could fit in? Even with the ‘right’ clothes, one look at him and any idiot could tell he didn’t belong.
“Ian Murphy.” Ian shook Silas’ hand. Silas’ grip was firm, but not one of those little-dick-guy shakes, where they had to prove how tough and strong they were by trying to break every bone in your hand. “Thanks for agreeing to take me behind the chutes.”
“Sure thing. The bull riding is last, but we can watch the barrel races from the chutes instead of the stands if you think that might give you some better shots.”
“I’ll try anything once.”
Ian wished the girls good luck and Josephine bent down, planting a big, fat kiss on Silas’ lips. When she pulled away, Silas reached up and pulled her in for another, then whispered something in her ear. Ian averted his gaze, his eyes landing on Cora. She watched Josephine and Silas with this kinda sad, kinda happy, kinda sappy look as if she were a diabetic staring at candy she knew she couldn’t have.
Cora made a face and grumbled at Ian when she caught him staring. “Don’t you dare take a picture of me.”
“I—” The protest sat on Ian’s tongue until he glanced down at the camera in his hand, his finger already on the button. He dropped his camera, letting the strap around his neck catch it. “Sorry. Reflex.”
Before Ian left, he couldn’t help snapping a quick pick of the backside of Cora and Josephine riding off into the ring together, their heads tilted together, deep in conversation.
On the way to the chutes, he and Silas didn’t get much of a chance to talk. It seemed like Silas knew almost everyone. He shook a lot of hands, kissed a few cheeks, and signed a couple of autographs.
Silas put a hand on Ian’s shoulder and stopped him
under the bleachers.
“What’s up?” Ian asked.
Silas stood with his hands on his hips, looking like he had something to say but didn’t know how to say it. “Um...look,” he started. “These are a bunch of good guys at heart. A lot of them I’m proud to know and call my friend. They’re the kind of guys that’ll have your back...”
“But?”
“Sometimes they aren’t tolerant of...how should I say this?” Silas thought for a second, then said, “Outsiders.”
Outsiders. Would Ian always be on the outside looking in? “Nothing new to me. I get it.”
“I just don’t want you taking something they might say the wrong way. It’s not anything they would say to your face if they got a chance to know you.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
That seemed to mollify Silas a little, though the crease in his forehead remained. Then Silas dug the toe of his boot into the ground and kicked dirt onto Ian’s boots. Ian jumped back. “Hey, man, I just bought those.”
“Yeah, I know. Why do you think I’m getting them dirty? Consider it city slicker camouflage.”
“Bastard,” Ian teased.
Silas chuckled and clapped Ian on the shoulder. He led Ian through the chutes—a series of high metal rails designed to move cattle safely through to the arena. The bulls hadn’t been brought in yet, but a few of the bull riders had made their way on back. Silas introduced Ian around. Most were friendly. A few gave him the stink eye and a reluctant handshake. One spit a wad of tobacco that splashed on Ian’s boot as he walked by.
Was it the camera or was it Ian?
Silas pointed to the railings up ahead. “We can sit on top of the rails. Best view in the house.”
A man approached them, giving Silas the eye that time, and flat out ignored Silas’ friendly greeting. The man stomped toward Ian, his eyes narrowed, the hate rolling off him in dark, desolate waves. Ian capped his lens and fisted his hand. This probably wasn’t going to end well.
The bull rider didn’t take a swing at Ian, instead the guy rammed his shoulder into Ian’s as he went by and muttered under his breath, “Faggot.”
“Hey,” Silas barked.
Ian didn’t even have time to react before Silas had the man pinned against the rails, his forearm pressed against the man’s throat. “Shut your damn mouth, you got me?”
The man held Silas’s heated stare for a beat or two, then shoved Silas away, disappearing down the chutes without a backward glance.
Ian looked around, most of the men hadn’t noticed. A few had but quickly glanced away.
“I can see why you like these guys so much.” Ian layered on the sarcasm the same way he’d layered grease on an old axel back at his father’s garage, extra thick.
“Sorry about that. I warned you some of them were intolerant assholes.”
Ian didn’t really understand the animosity some of the riders had for him, but he didn’t let it get to him. Maybe they’d had bad experiences with photographers or outsiders in the past.
Either way, a rough day behind the chutes topped any day back home. “You did, and while I appreciate you sticking up for me, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
Silas grinned. “That’s what Levi said.” Then his smile faded, and he added, “But seriously, you shouldn’t have to put up with that shit just because you’re gay.”
Ian barked out a laugh. “You think I’m gay?”
“It’s okay, man.” Silas clapped him on the upper arm. “I have an uncle who’s gay. I don’t give a flying fig who you fuck.”
Silas climbed up the rails and Ian scrambled up after him. They settled on top, hooking their heels on one of the rails below to keep from falling off.
“I would say your secret is safe with me,” Silas said, “but clearly the word already got around.”
Ian laughed again. “Not that I think there’s anything wrong with being gay. I mean, it’s the seventies. Free love and all that. But, I’m not gay. I don’t know where you heard it, but you’re wrong.”
Silas cursed under his breath as understanding sank in. “Buddy, I think I know two women who owe you an apology.”
* * *
Cora heard the snap of Ian’s shutter before she heard the scuff of his boots in the barn aisle. Up and down the barn, people were busy taking care of their horses, getting them fed and watered and settled in for the night. Josephine had already finished up, but it wouldn’t be long until Cora would be nearly alone.
The barns late at night were one of her favorite places. A place where she could sit in the quiet with her thoughts, with nothing but the smells of fresh hay and manure, the rhythmic munching of feed, the soft nickers, the occasional rapid-fire bam, bam, as a disgruntled horse kicked at its stall.
Panache stood beside her in the aisle, nibbling on the hay bale she was currently using as a seat. She scrunched her fingers through Panache’s forelock.
She belonged here.
But unless she started winning, she’d have to quit and find a job. The bull and bronc riders had it easier when it came to expenses. At least they didn’t have an extra mouth to feed, not to mention the stall fees, and God forbid, vet bills.
Cora glanced over at Ian as he took one last photo and reloaded his camera. She patted the end of the hay bale. “Have a seat. Did you get some good pictures tonight?”
“A few, I think. We’ll see once I get the negatives developed.”
When he sat, Panache gave him a quick sniff but went back to the hay when Ian didn’t cough up a treat. Ian wiggled his camera. “You don’t have to worry, I’m not selling those shots of you. I hate wasting film and I needed to finish up that roll. I’ll give you the negatives and everything.”
At that point, having her picture in the paper again was the least of her worries. “‘S’okay. In fact, I should be thanking you. If it hadn’t been for the money you gave me, I’d already be broke.”
“That was a tough break tonight,” he said. “At least you didn’t knock down any barrels.”
Cora twirled her hand in the air, an unenthusiastic ‘whoo hoo.’ “A three-legged pony could have run that race faster.”
“Not true. The two of you were flying. You were only out of the money by one one-hundredth of a second.”
“Might as well have been a minute. At least Josephine finished in the money, so we can afford the gas to Albuquerque tomorrow.”
He replaced the cap on his camera and placed it in his upturned cowboy hat and set it beside him. He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. “Uh...if you want, you can save your money and ride with me to Albuquerque. Josephine can give someone else a ride to split the gas money.”
She glanced up at him, surprised by his generosity. He’d already given her money. Ian wasn’t exactly loaded down with cash himself. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s a long, boring drive to Albuquerque. I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Her stomach fluttered, and for a second there she thought she recognized a spark of interest in his eyes. She should do what Josephine suggested and flat out ask him if he was gay.
But then he said, “You know, as friends.”
As if she didn’t need him to make that any more abundantly clear.
“Besides, I still feel bad about selling that photo to the papers. If I can help you out, I want to.”
It should have made her feel good that he wanted to help her, but if he’d only offered to assuage his guilt, then she wanted nothing to do with it. She didn’t want Ian’s pity, or anyone else’s. “Thanks, but Josephine and I are travel partners. I’d hate to leave her to deal with the horses by herself.”
Which was a complete lie. There had been numerous times when Josephine had taken the horses while Cora rode with some other cowboy, or Cora drove while Josephine had ridden with Silas. Sure, they traveled together, but they weren’t exactly attached at the hip either. It all had evened out in the end.
Ian shrugged. “Suit yourself. Offer st
ands if you change your mind.”
Cora pulled her knees to her chest and settled her arms around her legs. “Thanks.”
They lapsed into silence. It wasn’t exactly awkward, so Cora didn’t bother with any small talk. She wasn’t in the mood anyway.
“So, are you going to sit here all night and mope?”
That pulled a huff of a laugh out of her. She looked over at him. He had the sexy asshole smirk down cold.
“I was thinking about it.” Then her stomach grumbled and growled, sounding as if she’d swallowed a couple of pissed off pumas.
“Maybe you should think about getting something to eat.”
“I had a PB&J at noon.”
Ian glanced at his watch. “That was more than ten hours ago. You didn’t have any dinner?”
Cora shrugged, and the heat crept into her cheeks. At least the lighting was bad enough to probably hide her embarrassment. “Like I said. Limited funds.” She patted the hay bale. “I’m on my last bale of hay and I’m near the bottom of a bag of feed. I don’t have money to blow.”
“You can’t go all day without eating.”
“I do what I have to do. Besides, Panache is the one who has to run. I just have to hang on.”
“I saw you women race tonight. You do a hell of a lot more than hang on.”
Just because Ian was right, didn’t negate the fact she had to cut corners to save money, and if she had to cut corners, her horse wasn’t going to suffer for it. Her stomach growled again as the pumas started an all-out brawl.
“Jesus Christ.” Ian took Panache’s rope from her hands and stood. “I’ve got a better idea. Go to the carnival with me. We can blow off some steam and I’ll buy you a beer and a hot dog.”
“I have bread and peanut butter back at the trailer. I don’t need your pity.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Good Lord. Are all you Texas women so stubborn?”
By all accounts, Ian hadn’t even tried hiding his exasperation. He also didn’t give her a chance to answer. “It’s not pity. It’s what friends do.”