by Sarah Price
Brooke, a little put-out at getting the brush-off from a fangirl, jerks my arm. “Come on, Cat,” she says. “Let’s go.”
We continue following the line. I’m shocked at how long it is. It snakes through the lobby, around two corners, down a corridor, and right up to the venue doors. Once again, security is standing there, scowling at the mass of laughing, shoving, pushing, and annoying girls toward the front of the line. They’re totally trying to jockey for position.
Brooke walks up to one of the guards and simply states, “We’re with the talent,” then waits for him to open the door and let us through.
The girls in the front start taking photos of us.
The guard doesn’t even question Brooke. He just steps aside and reaches for the door handle, then lets us pass.
How did she do that? I wonder, completely amazed at her ability to blend with the talent and slip right through. I’m really liking this new Brooke.
Unlike Topsfield or Cowtown, there is a large vestibule where people in white T-shirts are setting up merchandise tables. Directly behind them is a black wall with two sets of double doors. That’s where Brooke heads, and like the little lemming that I’ve become, I follow.
As soon as Brooke opens the door, I hear it. Noise. Loud noise. Some of the boys are warming up their horses. I recognize Clayton Wade right away. He’s a class act, with his dark blue jeans and black long-sleeve shirt. I love his cowboy boots: black and silver. He was so nice to me in Cowtown, taking the time to talk to me backstage, even though there were tons of other girls trying to get his attention. I wonder if he’ll remember me today. Probably not. He literally meets thousands of girls each week.
Someone calls out Brooke’s name, and when I turn, I can see Randy jogging over to meet us. To my shock, he greets her with a more-than-just-friends kiss. Holy Hannah! My sister is really dating Aiden Quinn’s brother!
He winks at me and gives me a hug. To my surprise, it’s a limp hug. I hate that. Suddenly my suspicions about Randy are confirmed. Something is amiss here. I never would have imagined Randy Quinn to be a limp hugger. Now he definitely is on my radar in regard to trustworthiness. I make a mental note to keep my eye on him.
“Good flight?” he asks Brooke.
Suddenly I’m invisible and the two of them are off in la-la land. My stomach twists and I want to vomit. Limp hugger Randy and Brooke? A couple? I shudder at the thought, but then realize that sucking up to him will improve my odds of meeting Aiden, and I don’t just mean standing in a line for a thirty-second encounter.
Speaking of Aiden, I’m ready to go backstage. To meet my future husband! Let’s go, people. Get me behind those magical curtains that separate the semi-diehards from me, the one and only true diehard cowgirl fangirl. The fangirl who has traveled from the Northeast to Dallas for this very moment. Now. Meeting Aiden. Chop-chop.
But Randy and Brooke only have eyes for each other and are completely oblivious to the fact that I’m standing there. When he takes her hand in his and they start walking, I fade into their shadows and follow them backstage like a puppy dog.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dexter
When we get backstage, I’m immediately overwhelmed by the activity around me. Everyone is hustling around trying to get ready to go onstage. Several men are checking the gates to make certain they’re secured, and a few people are hanging signs along the arena. Randy and Brooke have disappeared, so I’m left to wander alone.
Outside the arena, there is a passage that leads to a large room. I walk into it and see that more merchandise tables are being set up. There are separate tables for Clayton, Bobbie, Brent, Andy, Chloe, and, of course, Aiden, plus a few other people whose names I don’t recognize.
“What do you mean you ran out of pink hoodies?”
I turn in the direction of the shrill voice that’s coming from Chloe’s table. I recognize the older woman as Chloe’s mom, or, as Randy called her in Cowtown, Chloe’s mom-ager. She’s obsessed with her daughter, constantly taking Chloe’s photo while she’s DJing for the show.
I have no idea where Gary found Chloe. It’s easy to see that most of the boys on the tour don’t like her. And no one likes her mom, who acts like Chloe is akin to Taylor Swift. She plays music and wiggles around on that platform. That’s it. Heck, she doesn’t even ride horses!
Curious, I make my way over so I can eavesdrop.
“You know that everyone wants Chloe’s pink hoodies!” her mother screeches. She’s a middle-aged woman with blond hair and too overweight to be called pudgy. Her face is pale and tired looking, but she’s putting on airs as if she’s the Queen of England, or, rather, her daughter is. “Where’s Randy?” she shouts, looking around.
I see Chloe walk over. She’s playing with her long, blond braid that hangs over her shoulder. Her makeup is done and, in my opinion, makes her look too old. “What’s wrong, Mother?”
Not Mom. Not Momma. But Mother. I roll my eyes even though no one is paying attention to me.
“These ... these people don’t have your pink hoodies!”
Chloe’s eyes bulge out of her head. “What!” She turns and glares at the defenseless worker that’s setting up her table. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not the one who orders the merch’,” the worker says sharply. “Don’t complain to me.”
Now Chloe spins around and glares at her mother. “What do we do? Everyone wants a pink Chloe hoodie!”
Another eye roll. Not everyone, because I sure don’t.
“Find that Randy guy.” Her mother gives one more scowl to the worker then starts walking off. I wonder if I should warn Randy but then I remember his limp hug and the fact that, once again, I have not met Aiden yet. Randy’s on his own. I decide to follow along, curious to see if there are going to be fireworks.
Sure enough, five minutes later, Chloe and her outraged mother find Randy. He’s drinking a soda and talking with Brooke and another guy whom I’ve never met. Without excusing themselves, the Chloe team barges in and stands between Randy and the others.
“What’s the meaning of this?” her mother says, her voice loud and shrill. She points to the small showing of items on the table. “Where are Chloe’s pink hoodies!”
Limp hugger or not, Randy doesn’t skip a beat. He shifts his attention from Brooke to her and says, “We only put out what we have. It’s up to Chloe’s manager to monitor inventory levels.”
Chloe glares at her mother, who doesn’t miss a beat when she snaps back, “This is outrageous!” Her hands go directly to her hips as she glares at him. “All those girls! You know they want Chloe merchandise. They look up to her. Now what do we have to sell them?”
Randy shrugs. “Not my problem.”
“What do you mean it’s not your problem? You’re the tour manager!” Chloe’s mother screeches. “I notice that your brother has a full inventory of items on his table!”
I can’t stop myself from feeling sorry for Randy. He keeps his cool. I’ll give him credit for that. I probably would’ve kicked her in the shin, which is why I’d never be a tour manager, I suppose as I mentally cross that job off my list of potential careers.
“Mother! Fix this!” Chloe whines. Her face is turning red. Despite her theatrics, I do not feel sorry for her. I still don’t even know why she’s touring with the rodeo guys.
Her mother, however, is the perfect picture of compassion. She turns to her and places her hand on Chloe’s arm. “There, there, Chloe. Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.” With a last glare at Randy, she adds, “Let’s see what Gary has to say about this!”
After they storm away, Randy shakes his head. “She doesn’t bring much to the table,” he mumbles, “except headaches.”
“What do you mean?” Brooke asks.
Randy sighs. “She doesn’t have much of a social media footprint, and she’s the only horse girl with a serious following.”
Horse girl? I almost choke when he says that. She seems more into DJing than r
iding. Heck, I didn’t even know that she rode at all!
“Gary found her. He likes the music when the boys ride. Trust me, if he could find a replacement, I bet he’d get rid of her in a heartbeat. Her mother is the biggest pain in the ...” He catches sight of me and stops before completing the sentence.
Brooke follows his gaze and spots me. “Hey, Cat! Where’ve you been?”
“Checking out the merch.”
Randy’s phone must have vibrated because he steps aside to read a message.
I take advantage of his absence to sidle up to Brooke. “Where’s Aiden?”
Brooke bites her lip. “He’s not here yet. Apparently he’s flying in from Denver for the show.”
What? Not again. “What’s he doing in Denver?”
She shakes her head. “Randy wouldn’t say.”
Mom was right about that female intuition! I knew Randy was up to something. Trying to stay calm, I steady my voice. “I’m going to meet him, right?”
Brooke nods. “Yes, yes, yes. I told Randy and he promised me that you would. In the meantime, why don’t you head over to the refreshment area and get some photos with the other guys?”
Not that I really want to, but I guess a few selfies with Clayton and Bobbie would be okay. I already have some from Cowtown, but second selfies would escalate me into super de duper cool status on social media, so I make my way toward the area where the food and sodas are set out. No one that I’ve met has been backstage and here I am ... not once but twice! Take that, Leslie Murphy!
Along the way, I realize that the long hallway behind the rodeo arena is empty. I see a few guards hanging around, chatting with each other. I peek into the refreshment area, but none of the rodeo guys are there. I do, however, spot a small skateboard. I glance around, and since no one is watching, I decide to take it for a spin. After all, the concrete hallway looks prime for airlifts.
At first I’m nervous. Who left the board in the hallway? I hope they don’t catch me goofing off on their board. All I need is to be thrown out when I’m only moments away from meeting Aiden! But after a few minutes, no one shows up, so I get a little cocky and begin to push it with my foot and glide down the hallway. Shifting my weight, I move in gentle waves toward the far end of the hallway.
By now, my confidence is really high. I take out my iPhone and post not just a selfie but a selfie video. “Hey, guys!” I say into the camera. “I’m backstage at the Rodeo Rage in Dallas. Found this skateboard. I wonder whose it is?” And then, without any warning, I fall.
It isn’t even a fall. It’s a crash. Into someone.
“Whoa, cowgirl!”
I look up and see Clayton Wade. My iPhone is still recording. I fumble and try to stop it.
“You okay?” Clayton has his arm on mine, steadying me. When I don’t answer, he gives me that same quirky smile that he gave me at Cowtown.
Once again I’m speechless, so I nod.
He stares at me, narrowing his eyes. “Hey, I’ve met you before.”
I nod again.
He laughs. “That’s right. The fangirl who doesn’t talk! I remember you from …” He snaps his fingers twice.
“Cowtown.”
“So you do talk! What’s a Jersey fangirl doing in Texas anyway? You must be a diehard!” He looks impressed.
I scowl. “I’m not a diehard fangirl.” I emphasize the word fangirl. I refuse to be categorized with all of those screaming girls with their light-up posters as they fight their way to the front of the arena. Not only is this my third Rodeo Rage, I’m backstage. I am totally superior to any fangirl, even a diehard.
Clayton scratches at the back of his neck. “You’re pretty good at that.”
Huh? I must have given him a blank look at the change of conversation because he points to the skateboard.
“Oh, that. Yeah. My brother has one. I use it when he’s not around.”
“Really? Let’s see what you can do!”
Is this really happening? Is Aiden Quinn’s best friend in the whole entire world paying attention to me? “Uh ... well, it’s not my board,” I say sheepishly.
“Yeah, I know. It’s Aiden’s.”
OMG. My heart stops and I stare at him, wide-eyed.
“Aiden ... Aiden Quinn’s?” I manage to ask. I’m surprised I’m not making more monkey noises like I did in Topsfield.
Clayton laughs. “Don’t worry. He won’t care. He’s not even here. So”—he points to the board—“show me your stuff.”
My hands tremble but I hand him my phone anyway. It’s still recording and when I grab the board, I notice that he is holding my phone up and filming me. Steadying my nerves, I feel emboldened and do a few facing turns before I stop, stand on the back of the board, and turn it back toward Clayton. Then, as I push with my other foot, I head in his direction. Before I reach him, I shift my weight and manage to do an ollie north, pressing my one foot on the front of the board and flipping it. Amazingly, I land on the board as if I’m a total pro.
“Whoa!”
I don’t know who is more impressed: Clayton or me. I usually land that trick fifty percent of the time. Luckily, this was one of them.
“Now, if only you rode …,” he says, his hazel eyes sparkling.
“I ride.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.” I hope that didn’t sound like a monkey noise.
“What do you ride?”
I make a face at him. Is he serious? “Horses.” What did he think I rode? Motorcycles?
Once again, he laughs. His eyes crinkle into little half-moons when he does and I realize that he’s cute. Not as cute as Aiden, but I can definitely see why so many girls follow him on social media. “No, I mean what type of riding.”
“Oh.” Duh me. “Pretty much anything. My stepdad owns a riding stable in New Jersey. He has like a hundred horses. So I ride English and Western. Sometimes I compete in cross country and jumpers. But I really like Western the best.”
Clayton whistles and shakes his head. “A hundred horses? In New Jersey?”
“I know, right?” It is cool. One hundred horses. I know exactly what he’s thinking. After all, Clayton lives in Colorado, where horses are probably everywhere. But most people don’t put horses and New Jersey together unless they’re thinking of the racetrack outside of New York City.
“And what’s your name?” he asks.
“Cat.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Cat? Just Cat?”
I nod. “Just Cat.”
“Well, I tell you what, Cat,” Clayton says, then leans down as if he’s about to disclose some great big secret. He glances around before lowering his voice. “I’d like to see what you can do on a horse.”
Say wha’? I blink and stare at him as if he just spoke alien to me.
He glances down at my feet and inclines his head when he sees that I’m wearing my All-Star sneakers. “You up for that?”
“I ... I haven’t done much with barrel racing or ...” Or what? My brain draws a blank as I try to think of the right word. Truthfully, my riding level is so-so, and the only Western riding I’ve done is on the trails behind our barn. My riding might be impressive to little Girl Scouts from New Jersey, but it definitely isn’t on par with these guys. They are, after all, real cowboys. If Clayton wants to see what I can do, he might just see me run away from him!
“Reining?”
That’s the word I was looking for. “Yeah, that. I mean just a little.” My brain is not working. “But nothing like what you guys do.”
He shrugs. “Whatever. I’ll put you on Aiden’s horse. He’s gentle enough.”
My heart begins to beat rapidly. Did he just say that he was going to let me ride Aiden’s horse? “But ... but he’s not even here. I can’t just get on his horse!” If anyone I didn’t know ever rode my future horse, I’d be spitting mad! And I do not want to get on Aiden’s bad side before I even meet him.
Clayton, however, doesn’t seem concerned, and he
waves his hand at me dismissively. “Aiden’s like my brother. He wouldn’t care. ’Sides, Dexter needs some exercise. Come on, little cowgirl. Let’s get you into the saddle and see what you’ve got.”
For a moment, I wonder if I should refuse. Will Brooke get mad? Will Aiden? What if I make a fool of myself and fall off or, worse, get hurt? Brooke will kill me. And then my mom will kill me again. I don’t even want to think about what Marcus would do. In my mind I see Ashley, telling everyone at my funeral how she warned me to wear a helmet around horses.
But then I realize that this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. How often does a girl from Morristown, New Jersey, have a chance to ride Aiden Quinn’s favorite horse at a Rodeo Rage show? Hashtag: Never.
Ten minutes later, Clayton is leading Dexter into the middle of the arena. I’m trailing behind, looking around to see if Brooke is nearby to witness this. Luckily she’s nowhere in sight. My palms begin to sweat. It doesn’t help that it’s super de duper hot in that arena. Clayton doesn’t seem to notice when I tug at my shirt collar.
A few of the other workers, who clearly aren’t busy at the moment, gather around to watch us, and I know—I just know!—that I’m sweating under my armpits.
Clayton checks the cinch to make certain it’s tight then offers to give me a leg up. I give him one of my are-you-serious looks as I take the reins and jump high so I can swing my leg over the saddle. Maybe I’m mistaken, but I think I hear him chuckle.
For a brief moment, I’m sitting on top of Dexter and wondering how I got here. It was only three months ago that I got my iPhone for my birthday. Now I’m sitting on a horse, in the saddle of the top cowboy on social media. A cowboy who has over one million followers, the last time I checked (and I stopped checking at that point because being #3,134 doesn’t mean much anymore).
“How’s he feel?” Clayton asks.
I take that as my cue to actually do something. The color runs to my cheeks and I nudge Dexter forward. As the horse begins to walk, I try to forget that Clayton and several other people are watching me. Instead, I encourage Dexter into a nice slow lope around the edge of the arena. As we turn a corner, I inch the reins up Dexter’s neck and he begins to speed up.