“What were ya thinkin’?” he asks. I can tell he’s mulling it over and he’s intrigued.
“Barbecue sauce. You’re from the Midwest, right? We should do a line of sauces. I’ve won grilling competitions, and the judges always rave about my secret recipe sauces.”
“Holy hell, man, I think ya might be onto somethin’.” The cowboy nods his head so vigorously that, for a second, I think his Stetson is going to fly off like a western UFO and land in the ever-present tuna tower. “I’m Kansas born and raised. God damn, that head of yours is just filled with good thoughts. I like you, Carter Caldwell. Yer good people.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that he doesn’t think I’m a weirdo psycho. It’s the first time I’ve gotten such a compliment. Most of the time, such adoring words are said to my brothers, not to me. As a result, I take a beat to drink it in and savor it.
“Yeah,” I say, the wheels in my head churning. Dollar signs appear before my eyes. “And rubs, like spice rubs. We’ll do a line of sauces and marinades and rubs. We could even name the recipes after the toughest bulls in the business. Your face, my face – it’ll be a huge hit. I can already see the commercials. They’ll be the only ones you don’t fast forward through on your DVR.”
Cody nods slowly. “Damn. I came to Vegas to ride bulls, but this is gonna be even better. Hells bells, my dad’s always talkin’ about hows I’m a gonna support myself after my career ends. It’s tough on the body, bein’ a cowboy.”
I nod, rubbing my hands together. I can just see it now, spread out in grocery stores all over the country. My name, Cody’s rugged face, maybe a little silhouette of a bucking bronco in the background. It’s going to be perfect. Not to mention, it’s going to make me a ton of money. And give me fame. Fame that will be completely mine…and not my family’s.
“So, what do you say?” I raise an eyebrow at Cody and hold out my hand for a shake. “Partners?”
Cody grins and slams his hand against mine, shaking it so hard I feel like I’m a human pogo stick. “Hell yeah. Partners!”
Maybe it’s lucky this charity event was held here at Sakana, after all. I look around. It doesn’t look nearly as second-rate as I thought it did when I first walked in.
Seems like there really is a silver lining to everything.
Chapter Seven
Pepper
“Basil, please,” I whine, crossing my arms over my chest and making big puppy-dog eyes. “I can’t go by myself. Where’s your unending desire to get all gussied up? Don’t tell me you haven’t had fantasies about wearing one in the bedroom?”
Basil laughs, tossing his head to the side and elegantly flicking his hair. “Can you picture me at a rodeo?” He asks dramatically, making big eyes and narrowing his eyebrows at me.
I burst out laughing. “Sporting a Stetson would take a performance worthy of an Oscar. That’s more like the gay man’s version of the NFR.”
“Okay, so maybe I can’t exactly picture it,” I say honestly. “Which is why you have to come. Please,” I say again, dragging the word out into three long syllables. “I really don’t want to go by myself. And there will be hot, sweaty cowboys. Tons and tons of them.”
Basil sighs dramatically and closes his eyes. He holds up a hand in the air, signaling me to shut up.
“Fine,” Basil says after a long moment. “I’ll suffer through. But that’s only because you’re very, very lucky.” He opens his eyes and smirks at me. “I was supposed to have a second date with Gary tonight. But he decided he’d rather Netflix and chill by himself than take me dancing.”
I ignore the subtle reference to masturbation, and throw my arms around my best friend and pull him close. “Basil, you’re the best. I promise to get you an intro to any bull riding stud of your choosing.”
“I know,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “But after meeting your brother, I might want an intro with the actual stud instead of the man trying to tame it. So, tell me, am I allowed to wear cowboy boots and spurs? Assless chaps?”
“Only if you wear a sparkly cowboy shirt too,” I respond. “Double points for Swarovskis. Seriously, you don’t understand how much this means to me. Thank you so much.”
Basil shrugs. “Hey, it might be fun. After all,” he adds, putting on a fake Southern drawl that’s syrupy enough to give me diabetes. “I ain’t never been to no cowboy show before. Yahoo!”
Basil’s drawl sends me into a fit of giggles, that escalates as he waves an invisible lasso in the air. As soon as I recover, I hug him again and then take a deep breath.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m going to give Kristin the reins, and then we can go.”
Basil gives me a strange look.
“What?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips. “I know, I know – she’s not the best we have, but it’s the best I can do right now. We’re lucky that Sakana runs like a well-oiled machine.”
“No, it’s not Kristin,” Basil says, cocking his head to the side. “It’s just, you said take the reins.”
“Yeah?” I narrow my eyes. “What about it?”
I can tell Basil is trying his hardest not to giggle. As I stare at him, he emulates a horse and slaps his own ass. I almost double over. The shits getting so deep in here, I may need a pitchfork to start shoveling it.
“Nothing,” Basil says, blowing me a kiss. “It’s just, well, you can’t get away from those rodeo metaphors yourself, Miss Pepper Pants. It’s in your blood.”
“Oh, god,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m already regretting making you come with me. Don’t embarrass me.”
Basil smirks as he cocks a hip at me. “Are you one of those people who falls right back into your accent if you’re surrounded by it?”
My resulting glare is enough to make Basil grimace.
“Ouch,” he says. “Just wondering.”
I pop back into the kitchen of Sakana and give Kristin the instructions. Thankfully, I’m not expecting a very heavy day. Tuesday nights aren’t usually busy, which is just as well – the rodeo starts at eight, and I have no idea how long it will be before Cody’s go.
As soon as I’m done speaking to Kristin, I change from my black jacket into a pair of distressed jeans and a peasant blouse. Pulling my hair back in a ponytail, I wash my hands, check my teeth, and meet Basil in the foyer of Sakana. It feels reckless to be leaving work in the middle of a day – I can’t remember the last time I did this.
“It’s nice you’re going to support your brother,” Basil says as we step outside. It’s evening already, but it’s hotter than ever, and by the time we grab a cab and arrive at Thomas and Mack Center, I’m sweating like a stuck pig from my family farm.
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, he is my brother.”
Basil gives me an odd look. “Something about that says it all,” he mutters under his breath.
I frown and bite my lip. The TMC is packed – there are huge throngs of people everywhere, all clad like they just came straight out of Texas. Basil and I stick out like sore thumbs – he’s wearing a pair of fitted Diesel jeans and a black shirt that shows off his lean, cut body.
“People are staring at me,” Basil hisses in my ear, leaning down and putting his mouth close.
“People always stare at you,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs for good measure. “You’re hot. And dressed better than most men on the street.”
“Yeah, because I never want to appear unfuckable,” Basil says proudly, puffing his chest out. “But these people are staring like they’ve never seen a fabulous man before.”
“They probably haven’t,” I say. “There was like, one gay kid in my high school. People didn’t even make fun of him. They didn’t really know what to do with him. I just remember the drama teacher was thrilled – she finally had a reason to put on musicals with a strong male lead. Joseph, anyone?”
“Poor kid. Although, he probably enjoyed the technicolor dreamcoat more than most.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I think he moved to New York City like, right after gr
aduation. Last I heard, he had a major role in Rock of Ages.”
“Well, you basically did the same thing, girlfriend,” Basil says. “You should be just as proud of escaping the one-stoplight situation.”
We reach the ticket booth, and I pull out my wallet and pass over my license.
“I’m Pepper St. Claire – there should be two VIP passes for me,” I say, showing my ID.
The woman behind the desk frowns. “I don’t see anything.” She narrows her eyes and flips through an envelope.
I feel a flush creeping up my neck. “Try under Raelynn Higginbottom,” I hiss in a low whisper. If anyone hears me, I’ll die from the mortification.
The woman smiles and nods, slipping a sealed envelope from the will call box. “Oh, well why didn’t you just say so? Here you are,” she says pleasantly, handing over two VIP tickets.
When I turn back to Basil, he’s sniggering into his fist.
“If you say a word, I will murder you right where you stand,” I say, passing over one of the tickets. “Dead. Never again to see the light of the stage in your sparkly gown and cutlets.”
Basil puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me affectionately. “Oh, my little Raelynn is so grown up. She’s as ripe as a plumb pie.”
The glance I give him is cold enough to make the Vegas Strip freeze over, and Basil immediately withdraws.
“So,” Basil says, following me into the arena. It’s already packed – almost every seat is filled – and I have a hard time twisting through the crowds to the VIP box.
“What?”
“Why’d you do that anyway?”
“What?” I ask again, narrowing my eyes.
“Change your name. I mean, yeah, it’s a little country. But it’s cute. People around here like stuff like that. You probably would have drummed up more business as Raelynn rather than Pepper.”
“It’s kitschy,” I say, sinking into my seat. “And no one would ever take me seriously. I changed it when I moved to Kansas City, right after high school. I started working in a restaurant, first as a hostess, then a server, then as a sous chef.”
“I’m sure they would have hired you with your real name,” Basil comments. “Who doesn’t love servers with silly names? Think of Flo and Alice.”
I glare at him again. “Because. I wanted to–”
“Get away from your family?”
“Not exactly.” Guilt washes through me. “I love my family.”
“Oh, come on, Pep – you can admit it.”
“I should be relieved you’re calling me by my real name again, and I love my family. I really do. It’s just–”
“I get it,” Basil says with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “You have to do your own thing.”
I nod, relieved that he’s not going to make me explain anything else. “Right.”
The lights overhead begin to dim in and out, and Basil and I scoot our chairs flush to the railing. We’re dozens of feet above the dirt of the rodeo arena, but as the announcer’s voice booms throughout the space, I’m filled with a kind of heavy nostalgia that makes me feel like I’m right down there on the dirt, shaking in my cowboy boots.
I haven’t been to a rodeo in years. When I was growing up in Kansas, I went all the time – it was the biggest form of entertainment around…at least until high school, which is when kids started driving around all night with a couple of paint guns, aiming for every sign in sight. I still miss my first barrel horse, Princess. She could haul ass, and we won as many runs as we lost.
“This is kind of cool,” Basil says. A cocktail server, dressed up as a cowgirl, bats her lashes and offers us a tray of mint juleps. We each take a drink, and I toast Basil.
“To the rodeo,” I say. “It’s like being back in Kansas without ever leaving Vegas.”
Basil clinks his glass against mine, and we both take a long drink.
After a few sub-par rides, the announcer’s voice calls my brother’s name, and I can feel my heartbeat quicken in my chest. The crowd erupts into a din so loud, my ears ring. Cody’s a great rider. He’s good at everything – calf roping, bronc riding, you name it. Still, it makes me a little nervous every time he gets on one of those mean, snorting bulls. If they ever hurt my brother, I may have to start eating hamburger.
“Holy shit,” Basil says as he grabs my hand. “That thing is huge!”
I gasp as a two-thousand-pound bull pops up above the metal cage. I can see it now, snorting and pawing at the ground inside of the confines. It can’t wait to burst through, with Cody trying with everything he’s got to stay on for the required eight seconds. When I see Cody prepping his grip for his ride, my palms start to sweat, and I yank my hand free from Basil’s grip.
“This is exciting,” Basil gasps, wide-eyed. “I’m actually glad I came. It’s all so…rustic.”
“Good,” I mutter under my breath, not looking at him. I’m focused on the arena. After Cody gives the go-ahead signal, the cage flies open, and then the bull bucks free into the arena as the crowd cheers and yells.
My blood pumps through my veins as the bull twists and bucks at the same time, flailing its massive body every which way but loose. Cody struggles to stay on, his free hand flailing in the air for balance. For a split second, I think my brother’s going to land on his ass in a heap of Higginbottom. Cody’s a master, though – he holds on like a pro as the bull darts around the arena.
The crowd roars to the sound of the buzzer. He did it. Soon, the audience chants the seconds that Cody’s managed to hang on.
Eight.
Eight.
Eight.
“Oh my god,” I mutter, clutching at my breast. I’m sweating again – just like I’m back under the hot Vegas sun – and my drink shakes in my hand.
Cody’s body bounces off the bull’s back like a rag doll, and he falls to the arena. For a moment, I wince – it doesn’t look like he’s going to get up. Then he scrambles to his feet and dashes to the side of the arena as the bull charges after him. Two rodeo clowns run into the arena, waving flags and honking horns, desperately chasing the bull away from my brother. Sure enough, the age-old trick works, and Cody escapes to safety. I can see that his face is red and sweaty underneath his helmet, and he’s wearing a grin that makes him look like the Joker.
A reporter from one of the local TV stations walks over to interview him after his triumph.
“Thanks, y’all!” Cody says into the mic in his trademark twang. “That was real fun!”
The crowd explodes with laughter and applause. Confetti and streamers fall from the ceiling, and Cody grins as two of the sexy cowgirl servers flank his sides. One massages his shoulders while the other twists the cap off a bottle of beer.
“I’ve got to congratulate my brother,” I say, getting up and setting my drink down.
Basil waves at Cody, but pats the seat beside him. “I’m going to stay here,” he announces. “I think I’ve found a new hobby. Watching the sweaty cowboys ride equally sweaty beasts.”
“Marvelous,” I say under my breath, rolling my eyes as I push my way out of the VIP box. It takes me almost ten minutes to weave my way through the packed arena. When I reach my brother, I can barely see him. More of the sexy cowgirl servers have appeared, and they’re plastered to him like white on rice.
“Cody!” I yell.
Cody’s head whips around at the sound of my voice. When he spots me in the crowd, he grins. Detaching himself from the sexy cowgirls, he pulls me into a tight hug.
“Hey sis,” Cody drawls. “When I left those VIP passes, I had no idea if you’d be able to get away. That was some ride, wasn’t it?”
“Of course,” I say, feeling a momentary pang of guilt that I almost didn’t make it. “You were great! More than great, you’re a true Kansas bad-ass!”
“Hell yeah,” Cody whoops with that lopsided grin of his, pushing a hand through his sweaty tangles of hair. “That bull was one heckuva wild ride, Raelynn. I almost didn’t make it to eight before landing on
my ass.”
I suppress a shudder. “I bet.”
“I’m parched,” Cody says. “Come on sis, let’s get a couple brews.”
I follow Cody to the bar, hanging back for a moment as he’s again surrounded by dozens of fans. Just as I’m about to walk away, he emerges from the crowd, holding two frosty beer bottles in his hands.
Cody passes one of the bottles to me and clinks his against mine before greedily guzzling half of the beer down his throat.
“So, sis, what the heck are you doin’ away from that fish market of yours?”
I roll my eyes at his redneck word choice. “Sakana is an award-winning restaurant. Remember?”
Cody laughs as he tips back the rest of his bottle. “Like you’d let me forget.” Up close, he smells like hay and sweat and dirt, and the scent is so familiar that it almost makes me ache with nostalgia. I haven’t been back home in years.
“Well, now that this is over, I guess you can go back to Kansas.”
“Aw, sis,” Cody says. His eyes twinkle, and I know he’s up to something. The last time it happened, he roped Mr. Thorne, our English teacher, and ended up suspended for three days. “Maybe. I’m actually thinkin’ of startin’ a business.”
I blink at him in surprise. “Oh, well, that’s good. It’s always wise to have a backup plan when you’re involved in a dangerous career like rodeoing.”
“I’m thinkin’ about makin’ a line of hot sauce,” Cody says. “Barbecue too.”
Good luck with that. I stare at my brother. He’s about the least business-minded person I’ve ever met. Just the idea of picturing him inside, stuck at a desk while doing a cost/benefit analysis, is enough to make me bust a gut.
“Don’t make fun,” Cody says, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve been thinkin’ real hard about it, sis, I think I could do it! Yer not the only one in the family with a head for business.”
“Well, it’s not easy, but I’m sure you’ll give it your best. No one’s ever accused you of doing anything half-way. Work ethic and determination is half the battle.”
Cody nods. I know that even if I try to offer advice, he likely won’t listen. Still, it’s frustrating. Things have always been so easy for Cody. He’s good at almost everything he tries, even if most of those things happen to relate to bulls, roping, and the rodeo.
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