“Thank you.”
Dax snorted. “She was talking to me, Allie.”
The woman laughed. “You two kids have some fun tonight.”
“You do look extra nice,” Dax said as we made our way to the stands. “Any reason why?”
I glanced down at my pale yellow strapless sundress. A sundress I’d picked because my back and shoulders were burned pretty badly and I couldn’t deal with a bra or anything else rubbing up against me. I was still wearing my boots; lots of girls wore skirts and dresses with boots, so why couldn’t I? And some pretty earrings, too. I wanted to look extra nice for Wyatt.
“Allie?” Dax nudged me. “Earth to Allie.” I smiled at him. His brows rose. “Uh-huh.”
“What, uh-huh?”
“Uh-huh, it’s about time.”
I nudged him back. “And how are things going in the make-a-move department with Molly?”
He frowned. “Not.”
That was interesting. I figured they’d have been having some serious make-out sessions at this point. Because I’m interested in having some serious make-out sessions.
“I think there might be someone else,” Dax added.
I stopped walking then. “What?”
He shrugged, but kept walking to the bleachers. “I don’t want to talk about it tonight. Let’s just chill and relax, okay? No Mom. No Dad. No Molly. Deal?”
I swallowed back the questions I had. “Sure.”
We headed to the middle section of the bleachers and climbed halfway up. High enough for all the people walking back and forth not to block our view but still low enough that the bugs and bats didn’t do regular fly-bys.
The “Star-Spangled Banner” was sung. The announcer did an especially cheesy opening speech about freedom, how blessed we were to live in America, and our troops—and somehow I still ended up teary-eyed.
Mutton bustin’ was up. “I’m going to have to dig out the pictures of you doing this,” I teased Dax.
He glared at me. “Great.”
I laughed, remembering Grandma steering a resistant four-year-old Dax into the dirt-packed arena. I—blond pigtailed princess that I was—got to sit and cheer him on from the stands. Nothing like watching parents put their three-, four-, and five-year-olds on a sheep tearing across a dirt-packed arena for their amusement. Dax had made it almost the length of the arena before the sheep had tossed him off. He face-planted and came up spitting dirt.
“This is just cruel,” he muttered now.
“Only for the kids bouncing on the back of the sheep. I think it’s hilarious.” I kept laughing.
He relaxed after the fourth kid—a genius who rode the sheep backward and made it all the way to the end of the arena—finished. We were all on our feet clapping then.
“Cut the kiddie crap,” someone yelled from the end of the stands.
“Sounds like someone’s had too much to drink,” Dax murmured.
When the kids were done, the rodeo clown entered the ring, wearing baggy pants, a beat-up cowboy hat over his microphone head-set, and suspenders with lots of bandanas tied on. He was making bad jokes and trying to keep the crowd amused. “Anyone here from jolly ol’ England?” he asked, with an absolutely horrible accent. “How about Japan?” He climbed up the arena wall and straddled the fence, searching the crowd.
“Want anything to drink?” Dax asked me.
“Water, please.”
“Please?” He shook his head. “Remind me to thank Wyatt.”
I grinned. “Don’t trip and break anything on your way down.”
“There’s my sister.” He winked and climbed down the bleachers.
“I think we have a winner,” the rodeo clown said to the rodeo announcer.
“Really, Cowboy Jack? Where are they from?” the announcer asked.
“Why, they’re all the way from South Africa,” Cowboy Jack answered. The family in question was all smiles.
“Cut the shit, Cowboy Jack. Nobody gives a rat’s ass if those people are from South Africa,” the same slurred voice called out.
Cowboy Jack ignored the heckler, asking the people, “How long is that flight?”
The woman was giggling and nervous. “It took—”
“Who cares? Sit down and shut up,” the irate voice continued.
I leaned forward, looking for the obnoxious drunk that was giving poor ol’ Cowboy Jack and the South African tourists so much grief.
“What was that again?” Cowboy Jack was good—I had to give him that.
“Twenty-plus hours,” the woman said, her enthusiasm somewhat deflated. She kept glancing over Cowboy Jack’s shoulder at the heckler.
“You hear that? More than twenty hours just to see our lil ol’ rodeo! Well, I’ll be.” The announcer sounded impressed. “We’ll have to get you and your family something special. What do you have for them, Cowboy Jack?”
“A swift kick in the butt back to South Africa?” the heckler continued. I wasn’t having any luck seeing him, so I stood—so did half the stands.
The man was leaning against one of the lamp poles that surrounded the arena. His hat was tipped forward over his face, so I couldn’t see much of him. He held a longneck beer bottle in one hand, the other shoved into his pocket. He looked relaxed, at ease. Apparently he was completely comfortable being an asshole.
“How about some boots for the whole family?” Cowboy Jack asked the announcer.
“And some hats, too,” the rodeo announcer added.
“Give me a break,” the heckler yelled.
“How about you give me a break, Travis?” Cowboy Jack said to his heckler.
Travis—the obnoxious drunk man—pushed off the pole and threw his bottle over his shoulder, into the arena. Security came running. I think it was security; they were wearing white button-down shirts and white cowboy hats. Travis wasn’t impressed. He leaned back against the rail.
“Look, the white-hat brigade to the rescue.” Travis laughed. “Am I supposed to be shakin’ in my boots?”
One of the men stooped low to talk to Travis.
“Let’s get this rodeo started!” the announcer called out. Thumping music blasted—nothing like the twang of a steel guitar and a nasal-voice singer to kick things off cowboy-style. “We don’t just have some of the best US roping teams here tonight, we’ve got some international cowboys too.”
Roping. Finally. Wyatt. I sat, ignoring the white-hat brigade stand-off.
“Miss anything?” Dax asked as he sat, handing me my water bottle.
“You did, actually,” I replied.
“More child abuse? Wait, let me guess. Animal abuse?”
“Way better. A rowdy drunk. And cowboy security.”
He looked at me, surprised. “Man, seriously? And I missed it? That sucks.”
I laughed, opening my water bottle and taking a long drink.
“Roping’s up first?” Dax asked. I nodded.
“First in the chute, a couple of native Montana boys: Cary Green and Lance MacMasters. Points are based on time and any errors the boys make on the way out of the chute. Let’s see how they do…”
The gate burst open, the steer shot free, and the team swarmed in. They didn’t do so hot. Apparently the heeler broke the boundary before time—whatever that meant. It added fifteen points to their score. I sat back, smiling.
“Next up, all the way from Chile—”
Not Wyatt and Hank. I took another sip of water.
“How’s Mrs. D doing?” Dax asked.
I sighed. “Let’s add the Duncans to the off-limits topic list for the evening.”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Really?” He gave me a squeeze. “Sounds good to me.”
“Da-ax.” I felt my guilt rising. “I can’t turn my back on her—”
Something was happening. The header had the steer lassoed, but he let go of the rope—almost threw it.
“Ooh, that right there, ladies and gentlemen—a cowboy will put the safety of his horse before the win anyti
me,” the announcer said as the rider leapt from his horse, cutting quickly through the rope that was around the steer’s horns. It was tangled between the horse’s front legs. “After all, a cowboy is only as good as his horse. The trust they have is what lets them work as a team.”
The cowboy stooped, running his hands up the horse’s front legs. He patted the horse on the neck and tipped his hat to the crowd.
“Judges will have to decide if they’ll qualify for a re-run or not. Next up, Black Falls’ best, Wyatt Holcomb and Hank Pendleton.”
I sat forward on the edge of the bench but I didn’t have long to wait. Hank was fast, but Wyatt was faster. I knew, after talking to Molly, that the heeler had to be patient. He had to watch for just the right second, when the rope would catch both feet cleanly. And he had to do that as fast as possible.
He has a lot of patience. I smiled.
“Best score tonight, ladies and gents. 16.25 seconds. Let’s give them a big hand.”
I whistled, standing up and clapping, and I think I might have stomped my foot too—I was really proud and happy. Wyatt turned, lifted his hat in my direction, and smiled that holy-hell smile just for me.
Dax laughed when I sat down. “Don’t play hard to get or anything.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
He shook his head and nudged me. I nudged him back. Yep, seriously making a fool out of myself and so not caring. I watched as Wyatt and Hank rode out of the arena.
“You the Cooper girl?”
I turned. It was the heckler, staring down at me, looking really pissed off.
“You gonna answer?” he snapped.
“No, sir,” I spoke calmly, facing the arena, “I don’t think I will.” I didn’t know who he was or what his problem was, but I’d learned ignoring people normally made them go away. I could only hope Drunk Travis would do just that.
He didn’t. He stood there staring at me, completely unfazed by the people he was standing in front of.
“Allie?” Dax’s voice was soft. I shot him a look.
“That’s right. Allie Cooper. With the rich parents and fancy big house and college scholarship ideas.”
Who is this guy? I glanced at Travis. There was nothing familiar about him. Maybe he was another one of Dad’s old friends?
“Hey, buddy, can you move?” someone behind me asked.
“Can you shut up?” Travis answered. “Buddy?”
“Wanna make me?” the same voice asked.
Dax and I turned to see an overall- and feed-store-cap-wearing giant stand up. He smiled at Travis, crossing his thick arms over his barrel chest. I knew a dare when I saw one. I looked at Travis. Your move, smartass.
Travis laughed. “Cool your heels. I’m goin’.” He leveled an angry stare at me. “You stay away from my boy. No Holcomb needs a handout.”
My boy. Holcomb…
I stared then, too surprised not to. Travis Holcomb’s brown eyes narrowed, hostile. I didn’t see a sliver of the warmth and tenderness his son’s bore. I didn’t see any of Wyatt in this person. In fact, Travis Holcomb scared me.
I watched him sway as he made his way down the few steps of the bleacher to the ground. He didn’t look back, but he did check out a girl not that much older than me before he finished off another bottle of beer.
“That’s Wyatt’s dad?” Dax whispered.
“That dipshit? He’s Wyatt Holcomb’s daddy, all right.” The giant leaned between us, his breath a stomach-turning beer and nacho mix. “Can’t imagine Wyatt’s too happy ’bout it.”
I watched Travis Holcomb swagger to the end of the bleachers and disappear into the sea of cowboy hats. I suddenly understood why Wyatt wasn’t all that upset that his dad was gone so often.
“Allie?” Dax nudged me.
I looked at my brother. “Still processing… Kind of…in shock.”
The giant laughed. “Sounds about right.”
Dax stood and tugged on my arm. “Let’s go get some water.”
I followed, holding my half-full water bottle against my chest.
When we were walking across the gravel path toward the concession stands, Dax stopped. “Now, you okay?”
“I got the impression he didn’t like me.” I spoke softly, staring up at the black sky and millions of tiny glittering stars overhead. But there was something cold and twisting in my stomach. Something was…off. “He’s the anti-Wyatt, you know? Kinda scary.” I tried to tease, but my throat was tight.
“You got that too?”
I shot him a look. “Wyatt’s never really talked about him, or his home life.”
Dax nodded behind me. “Now’s your chance to ask him.”
I turned around in time to see Wyatt walking quickly to me—smiling that megawatt smile that made my insides melt, flip, and melt again. I didn’t care that I was grinning like an idiot. I could see how happy he was, a little proud even. He should be. I was.
Then his d—his d-dad—nope, can’t do it, can’t call him that—then Travis stepped in his path and Wyatt froze, everything about him changing. It kind of freaked me out to see Wyatt’s face so hard, his posture tense, like he was bracing for something bad. Really bad.
But Travis was his father. I waited for a high-five, that’s-my-boy moment between them. I got the feeling that wasn’t going to happen.
“You think 16.25 is gonna cut it at Regionals? Get you to Invitationals?” Travis’s tone was a disturbing mix of condescension and challenge—the kind of tone a coach used when he was trying to goad his players into success. The coach that the team hated.
“What an asshole,” I whispered, but Dax hushed me.
Wyatt’s gaze was fixed on the ground between his boots. He didn’t look up, at his father, at me, at anything. “It’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” Travis put his hands on his hips, laughing a short, disbelieving snort. “When did you get so lazy, boy?” His words were like hard, fast punches. I could see what he was doing to Wyatt, see the way the boy I loved most in the world withdrew into himself, and it hurt.
Lazy? Does he know his son? Does he know Wyatt works hard every second of every day? I didn’t realize I was moving toward them until Dax grabbed my shoulders and held me back.
And then Travis Holcomb did a hundred-and-eighty-degree turnaround from prodding to pity. “You think I like busting my ass every goddamn day so you can come out here and…and not even try?”
“A complete and total asshole,” Dax whispered this time.
“No, sir.” Wyatt’s voice was low, hoarse—breaking my heart. Didn’t his father see how rigid Wyatt’s jaw was? How his hands pressed flat against his thighs, shaking? I didn’t know what to do. I just knew I wanted to do something.
“But I do it, don’t I?” Travis continued.
“Yes, sir,” Wyatt answered.
I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my head. God, Wyatt. I…I’m here. And you’re not lazy, you’re wonderful and sweet and beautiful. It was stupid to think at him, but I didn’t know what else to do.
“Yes sir.” Travis Holcomb shook his head. “No sir. You best get used to sayin’ ‘no sir’ and ‘yes sir,’ boy. If you’re gonna keep half-assing things here, you’ll end up taking orders at the Frosty Palace.” He paused. “No matter what that pretty little skirt might tell you.”
Wyatt’s head popped up, his hands fisting at his sides. And Travis Holcomb smiled, stepping closer to his son.
I felt sick to my stomach. Am I the pretty little skirt? Am I causing these problems? I felt really really sick.
Travis’s next words were low, taunting. “You even gonna ride tonight?”
I saw Wyatt close his eyes, straighten his shoulders, relax his hands. “Yes, sir.”
“We-ell. That’s good. Real good.” Travis clapped his son on the shoulder. “Who you ridin’?”
Wyatt didn’t look our way as his dad led him back to the pens.
“Dax,” I blustered, “he…that son of a bitch is Wyatt’s father?”
�
�I knew he was a dick, but wow.” Dax was just as stunned as I was. “I think we’d better give them space, Allie.”
“Obviously,” I muttered, staring after the tall, strong figure of Wyatt and the smaller frame of his father.
Dax made some dismissive noise, but I could tell he knew something. I looked at him, waiting. “Molly said Wyatt’s dad is trouble,” he finally said.
“That would have been news thirty minutes ago. Now, not so much. Nothing else?”
“He’s kind of the town drunk. Gets arrested, swears he’ll never drink again, gets released and hits the road. Molly said most people try to give him a break.”
“Why?” That didn’t make much sense to me.
Dax shrugged. “I don’t know. Because it’s a small town and people in small towns look after each other?” I must have looked a little suspicious because he laughed. “That’s all I’ve got.”
“The lazy thing.” My throat tightened. “God…I mean…God.” I shook my head, anger almost choking me. “Wyatt works harder than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“You’re not going to want to hear this, but stay out of it, Allie.” He nudged me. “Okay? We don’t know the whole story.”
I stopped, glaring at him. “Whole story? There’s a story that would make that,” I pointed in the direction Wyatt and his father had gone, “fine? Really? I can’t think of a single thing that makes any of that okay.”
Dax pulled on my arm. “I’m not disagreeing with you.”
“Good.” I didn’t want to argue. The only thing that mattered was telling Wyatt—when we were home—that he was doing a good job. That he was amazing.
“Allie, just…don’t get in the middle of it,” Dax went on.
And once I know he knows that he’s incredible, I’m going to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. That was just what I was going to do. “Fine.”
“Fine?” Dax repeated.
I nodded. “Fine.” Tonight should be about Wyatt, about his successes. Whether or not his father wanted to give him props or not, I would. “We’ll enjoy the rest of the rodeo and track down Wyatt when this is over. Deal?”
“Hmm,” Dax murmured, not happy about my quick response.
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