Picking Roses

by BA Tortuga

  Time to pull his hat down like old Chris LeDoux and ride this sucker.

  “Ride this bitch, Les, man. You can do this.” Grundy grinned at him, the broken teeth making him look like a jack-o-lantern.

  “You know it.” Les grinned wildly in return. He tugged up on his rigging, making sure nothing gave, then bent his knees and raised his boots. That was when he nodded his head, ready for that gate to swing.

  The gate popped wide and he lifted his legs to mark out, heels up over the horse’s shoulders. He had to stay in that position for the first leap or he’d get a no score.

  Disqualifying wasn’t going to happen today. He needed a purse, dammit. A check so that he could wash his truck and take Rosie for a steak. Les gritted his teeth, his head snapping back with the force of the mare’s initial leap.

  Damn. He held on, eyes rolling back in his head as he focused on keeping his ass in the middle and finding this bitch’s rhythm. He had to spur, so he got his legs moving, up and down, his back hitting her hard ass with every buck. His spine rattled like an old Halloween song about them bones.

  The eight seconds on the back of Sunspot was like a hundred years in real time, that old girl’s arched back and stiff kicks making him work up a sweat.

  The whistle finally blew about the time Les thought his teeth would rattle out even with the mouthguard in place. He pulled himself upright, then turned his head, searching for the pickup man.

  One of the Taggart triplets was right there, and Les grabbed hold of the lean waist, letting the man and momentum drag him off the horse. He ended up with his boots on the dirt, running a few steps alongside the horses before he broke away and caught up with himself enough to stop.

  The crowd was cheering like mad fools and the eighty-two points on the ride was going to keep him in the money. He pumped his arms for the rodeo fans before trotting over to grab his rigging off the arena floor.

  He wiped his forehead off, then went to get his bag before he checked his phone.

  There were two texts—one from his sister that said, Good ride, and one from Rosie that said, Take care of yourself.

  He didn’t blame her one little bit for not wanting to be there, to go through watching someone ride, but it felt damn good, knowing she was thinking of him. Fine as frog hair and twice as hard to find, the feeling Rosie gave him.

  He texted back. Where you at?

  The fabric shop picking up my best friend a gift. U done?

  I am.

  His body was letting him know he wasn’t all that young, damn it, his joints and muscles beginning to ache. Maybe he ought to check in with sports medicine and get an aspirin.

  The text bubble came up, disappeared, then returned. Wanna get together??

  Heck yes.

  He wanted to see all of her that he could. Or as often as he could. Whatever.

  His phone rang seconds later, Rosie’s number popping up. “So, where would you like to meet? I can catch the bus in half an hour.”

  “I can meet you out front at the gates.”

  “Good deal. I’ll be there with my shopping bag. I’ve been playing.”

  “See you soon, honey. Can’t wait.” He could put her bag in his truck. Trying to drive out of the park and find a place to park when he got back would be a nightmare.

  This worked just as well as going to take her out. This way he could drive her back to the hotel after they ate and goofed off, wandered a little bit. There was a lot to see.

  He waited for her, nodding to people as they passed, but really wanting to see nothing but a pretty dark-haired lady in… Oh, a red sundress that looked like heaven. Les stared because he could, at least until she saw him. Lord, she was fine. She had on big, dark sunglasses and a silly little crushable hat, sparkly flip-flops and Lord help him, he was stupid over her.

  Les moved, his feet taking him right to her. “You’re looking good this afternoon, Rosie.” He felt like a hound dog on a trail, unable to stop moving.

  “Hey, cowboy! I went shopping and found little Western fabrics for Lindsay’s baby. Her mom’s making a quilt for the baby shower.”

  “We can lock it in my truck if you want.” He took her arm and bent to kiss her cheek.

  “That would be great, thank you. How was your ride?”

  “Good. Ended up in the money for the go round, which helped out a lot.” She smelled so good, like flowers and woman. Les breathed deep, worried now that he smelled like horses and sweat.

  “Oh, congrats! That means you can have the extra-long corny dog for supper.” Her smile lit up her whole face, her dark eyes sparkling.

  “And spiral fries.” Les winked. “I do love fried stuff.”

  “I am figuring that out.” She took his arm, her touch just right. “Shall we wander? Look at the neat things?”

  “I think so.” They managed to get her cloth put away in the truck, then headed back in the main gates, stopping at the Dodge vehicles and the big hat outfit to get Les’ hat steamed and brushed.

  “Holler when you’re hungry, cowboy. There’s a lot of you to feed.” Rosie winked when she said it, flirting playfully in a Southern way that made Les worry he would spring a happy.

  “Oh, now, I’m always ready to eat, but I can nibble along until you’re ready.” Hell, he was tickled he knew what the question was.

  “Good deal.” She leaned a little and he felt the press of her breast against his arm, soft and giving and he wanted more.

  He could get used to this. He surely could. Les hummed along with the song blaring over the speakers and guided Rosie toward the big retail building.

  God, shopping on purpose and enjoying it.

  He had it bad.

  Grinning, he tugged her through the doors into the air conditioning, thinking how soft her hair seemed, how good she smelled.

  They goofed off like teenagers, checking out stamped leather belts and the sharpest knives in the world, new pigging ropes and Egyptian cotton sheets.

  “Look at that couch,” Rosie said, pointing out a leather sofa with cowhide down the sides. “That costs more than my rent for a quarter.”

  “Iggy would just chew on it.” His big slobbery baby loved anything with rawhide on it.

  “Gracious, that would a shame.” Rosie petted the couch. “Pres would just nap a lot and get white hair all over it.”

  “Mmm. Better put a blanket on it then.” He steered her on and they stared at a bunch of huge photographs of canyons in Utah before turning the corner.

  “Candy!” Les wiggled his fingers like a little kid. One stand had hundreds of types of classic dime store candy for sale.

  “Oh, do they have those peppermint sticks?” Rose grinned and grabbed one and a caramel apple candy log too.

  “They have root beer candy and red hots.” They were selling by the pound, so Les got them a bag and filled it with their goodies, weighing it down.

  Les laughed as Rose squealed over the sweets—rock candy and cherry sours and lemon drops. By the time they had a huge bag filled and checked out, they decided it was time for corny dogs and curly fries. “We must be hungry if we got that much candy, huh?”

  “We must be.” She chose a cinnamon candy out of the bag and raised it to his lips.

  Les nipped it out of her fingers, his heart racing when she touched his mouth. Just that much of a touch excited more than full-on naked with some ladies.

  “Oh.” She blinked up at him, her dark eyes the warmest things he’d ever seen.

  God, he wanted to kiss her, wanted to see if her mouth yielded to his, if she would be surprised or hungry for him too. He found himself dipping his head, wanting to taste the sugar on her lips, the cherry ChapStick.

  Rosie lifted her chin as if she was going to kiss him right back, and he put one hand on her hip, steadying them both, when someone knocked into them, bumping him good and almost causing him to lose their candy.

  When he glanced back down at Rose, she was blushing and hiding from him some, staring at light-up flowers made o
ut of beer cans. Les took a deep breath and munched his candy. They needed supper.

  They needed to not do this here in the middle of the whole world.

  Maybe later, after the carnival and the stock show and dark falling and some cotton candy… Rosie was worth every moment. No rushing. No accidents.

  When the moment came for him to taste her finally, Les wanted to take his time. He wanted to give Rosie the best first kiss ever. He wanted her to know he meant it.

  Chapter Seven

  Come on, sleepyhead! Look at you, sleeping in!

  The chime on her phone made her laugh out loud. Beau had started texting at nine, wanting to get together, but she’d ended up at the Village Inn until after three a.m., drinking coffee and talking Les’ ear off.

  She’d finally managed to be up and ready by fifteen ’til to have an eleven o’clock lunch, she hoped.

  Shut up, old man, she sent back.

  Oh, now, I’m getting younger every day.

  Where are you? she texted.

  Down in the lobby.

  I’ll be right down.

  Rosie slid on her flip-flops and scooted out to the elevator, feeling lazy as anything.

  Beau stood in the lobby, solid as a rock, signing an autograph for a young fan.

  Rose hung back until the wee one moved off, but then she hugged her fellow Cajun tight. “How’s Sam today? Better?” she asked.

  “He is. Grumpy that he’s missing all the action. How are you?” He kissed her cheek gently and led her out to his truck. He loaded her up in the passenger seat, such a cowboy that.

  “Good. I was up late, chatting with someone.” Her cheeks heated.

  “Like on the ’puter?” He sounded surprised, and she couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t online much.

  “Nah. Like at the Village Inn.” Laughing and blushing and touching hands over the tabletop.

  “No shit? Pardon my French.”

  “Yeah. I met a guy. Les Jacoby.”

  “Saddle bronc rider?” Beau said, eyes narrowing.

  “Bareback.” She shivered, arms wrapped around herself. She hated the thought of those sharp hooves. “Although he’s mostly a working cowboy, a big ranch.”

  “Ah, just rodeoin’ for the hell of it?” Beau nodded sagely. He respected working cowboys, which some rodeo men didn’t.

  “Yes. You boys and your games.” She had to tease, had to. Mr. Beau had retired from bull riding, wasn’t on the circuit at all, and from all he said, didn’t miss it. That was unusual in its own right, as most cowboys couldn’t give up the ride until injury forced then to. Though she guessed Mr. Sam’s injury had done that for Beau right enough. The two men were…together.

  “Yep. I’m doing fantasy baseball right now. Got to keep busy.” His warm chuckles made her laugh too. “I was thinking Old Chicago’s.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Timmy had loved the beer flights at the Italian brewpub. “Fantasy baseball? Seriously? That’s cool. How are you doing?”

  “I’m shit at it. Sam made some good picks.” He turned off the main road from the parking lot. “I’ll do better with football.”

  “You are a Cajun.” They pulled out onto the highway and headed into town. “It’s been a neat vacation. I’m going to see George Strait tonight.”

  “Oh, King George. Nice.”

  “Yeah. You going?” she asked. He would probably get to meet Mr. George if he went.

  “Nah. Sammy’s missing me and I’m driving back after we lunch.” Look at that smile. Someone wanted to go home.

  “Oh. Oh, did I slow you down?”

  “No, ma’am. I wanted to sit and jaw with you while I have the chance.” He never made her feel as though she was a bother. Not once.

  She reached out, squeezed his wrist. “You’re good to me, Mister Beau.”

  His cheeks pinked right up. “Aw, now, I just like your company.”

  “Good, because I’d cry if you gave up on me now. Tell me everything about home.” Sometimes she missed Louisiana so bad, but going back there was as painful as going to a bull riding, with memories everywhere.

  “It’s hot. July in Louisiana. Mawmaw is canning okra.”

  “Oh… I don’t suppose she’d send me a jar?” She loved pickled okra and the stuff at the Brookshire Brothers wasn’t the same as homemade.

  “She’ll send you that and some chow chow too.”

  “That would be a blessing, thank you. I’ll send her some nice yarn.” She had some lovely alpaca she’d found at a garage sale that would make a nice gift for Beau’s mawmaw. The old lady knitted and crocheted blankets and hats for the babies at the hospitals and for the hurricane shelters, as well.

  They made it inside the restaurant, and it took forever for the hostess to seat them, but the waitress was with them so fast that they barely had time to talk.

  “She’d love that, all right,” Beau finally said about Mawmaw, she thought. “Man, I could eat one of everything. Sammy’ll be jealous. He loves this place.”

  She wondered if Les would like it here. Somehow she doubted it. He seemed like he’d want something less fancy. All those beers to choose from. Of course, Beau made good money. Les was like her—working for pennies, so he could eat a lot of ninety-nine-cent corny dogs for what this place cost.

  They ordered iced tea and appetizers, and she was glad to see Beau skipping the beer since he was driving.

  The artichoke dip was so good, though, and the pasta was real nice when it came, full of tomatoes and cheese and basil.

  “You’re a million miles away, Rosarita,” Beau teased her once he’d powered through a calzone, some garlic bread, and a huge salad.

  “Yeah, it’s been…different.” Everyone had been so kind, and she wouldn’t have met Les if she hadn’t come, but life was strange. She’d almost kissed him last night, almost did it, but… He hadn’t made the first move and she just couldn’t figure out how to be that way. She hadn’t had a first kiss since she was fifteen and she just wasn’t sure how she was supposed to be all ‘come take me’.

  God, maybe she wasn’t ready to date someone new. Maybe she should just give up on this whole fantasy.

  “He was a good guy, your Timmy.” Beau took her hand, squeezed it, and she nodded.

  “He was. I can’t believe that it’s already been three years. Some days it feels like it was yesterday. Some days it feels like a whole other life ago.”

  “It takes work to keep going day to day. I feel so damned lucky sometimes, and then sometimes I want to break things.” That was a lot of words for Beau, and it said more than he might ever tell anyone but her about Sammy’s injuries.

  “Yeah.” She couldn’t imagine living with a broken Timmy. She didn’t know how to imagine it. That waylaid madness.

  “Sorry about that.” He patted her hand before he let go. “You ought to come see us. Make a long weekend out of it sometime soon.”

  “Don’t you be sorry. You know I got your back.” And she wouldn’t hurt Beau for all the tea in China.

  “Thanks.” He tried to grin, but that flash of anguish on his face was enough to make Rosie tear up because no one cried alone.

  “Hey. Hey, he’s okay. He’s fine and missing me. See?” Beau grabbed his phone, showing line after line of texts.

  The last one just said, “Come home, Boug. I miss you. Next trip, I wanna come.”

  “Oh.” Rosie laughed and if the sound was watery, no one noticed, right? “Good for him. I miss his face.”

  “So? Say you’ll visit.” He grinned at her, his air of anticipation clear.

  “I will. I’ll bring sweets and we’ll visit and have a cookout.” She did love any excuse to make candy or cookies.

  “Make pralines and it’s a deal. I’ll even leave the gumbo off the menu.”

  “I want beans and rice with andouille.” She loved red beans and rice, and there was always music at Beau and Sam’s.

  “You got it. Sam will want to do a pig roast.” Beau seemed so cheerful at the idea that she h
ad to grin.

  “I’m in. I miss the hounds.” Drooly, stinky beasts. Droopy too. Nothing like her baby dog. They adored everyone and everything, those monstrous bloodhounds Beau bred. Their ears fascinated her, dangling like minute steaks.

  “Oh, God, Boudreaux has taken to being Sammy’s balance dog.”

  “Now, I might pay to see that in person.” Boudreaux could get excited and knock a man down.

  “See? There you go.” He licked sauce off his fork for a moment. “Want to split a big cookie?”

  “God yes.” She would love that, all melty yumminess and ice cream.

  Chocolate solved a multitude of the world’s problems.

  Chapter Eight

  Les stood with his foot up on the rail, watching the first round of bull riders go down like ducks in a carnival game. Boom. Bang. Ouch. Bulls six so far, cowboys zilch.

  He was just awaiting his turn on the broncs, and it would be soon, the way the boys were hitting the dirt in two to three seconds.

  Lord have mercy.

  He nodded to Norville and Pooter, who were taking the long walk down the arena to watch the ropers. Both headers were on a hunt for a good heeler and Les’ money was on Norville stealing Troy Montrose’s boy before Pooter could.

  “Hey, Les.” A cowboy he barely knew came to stand next to him, arms up on the rail, booted foot on the bottom of the fence. Montana, this one was from, he thought. Saddle bronc. “You riding today?”

  “I am. I pulled Moaning Leo. You?”

  “Humdinger. Good motion on that gelding. You’re gonna get your neck jerked around.”

  “Nothing new there.” Shit, he’d started thinking he was getting a little long in the tooth for this game, but he kept showing up. The money he could make in one weekend in Cheyenne came out to more than his salary some years. Good thing he got room and board from his day job.