I smiled at him and lined up for a funnel cake and lemonade. Maybe some sugar would chase away the lingering bad taste in my mouth. With a funnel cake in one hand and a huge frozen lemonade in the other, I scaled the bleachers. We’d lost our seats, but that was okay. I’d rather not sit in the same place, in case Mr. Holcomb decided to attack again.
We were up high, on the far left, right by the chutes for bull riding—which was up next. The speakers were blaring, making us wince at each other. But we sat, listening to the announcer joke back and forth with Cowboy Jack and two other, less-painted clowns down in the arena for bull reinforcement.
“We’re talking points tonight. We have two of the best all-around cowboys here, looking for big winnings. One wants to go to college to be a large animal veterinarian. The other, well, he wants a new truck.”
That caused a few laughs.
“First up, David Smith. Let’s see if a new truck is in this boy’s future. Can we hear it for this Dallas cowboy?”
The crowd clapped, some stomped their booted feet on the metal and wood bleachers, others whistled. The horn blasted, and David Smith and bull—a nasty-looking black thing—erupted from the chute in a cloud of dust.
“Whirlwind likes to spin,” the announcer commented as the bull did just that.
It looked like David’s ride was going to be fine, until Whirlwind slammed on the brakes and then took off in the opposite direction. Whirlwind went left, David went right—landing on his knee in a way that couldn’t be good. “Ooh!” the announcer called out, with half the crowd.
That was when the clowns kicked into high gear. David was pretty stunned, trying to push himself up in the dirt, while Whirlwind suddenly realized nothing was on his back. The clowns waved and ran in front of the snorting animal, leading it trotting into the exit chute and out of the arena. David stood, shook his head, dusted his hat against his leg, raised an arm to the crowd to let everyone know he was all right, and then made his way to the fence.
“Next up, a real treat, ladies and gents, a real treat. One-time Pro-Rodeo bull rider and helluva nice fellow, Shane Parker.” His ride was pretty amazing to watch. He seemed to know what the bull was going to do before it did it. His score was high, a 96. “Good thing he’s just here to get the crowd riled up,” the announcer said with a chuckle. “Too late to change your mind, Shane. Next up, a young all-around hoping to become a large animal veterinarian. I think we’ve got some folks from Texas A&M University here tonight to see him. I hear A&M has a pretty good vet school, is that right?”
A group in the bleachers to my right made a lot of noise. I laughed. A&M had one of the best vet schools in the country and everyone knew it.
“Show ’em what you’re made of, Wyatt,” the announcer went on. “I’m proud to say I’ve known this young man since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. When he started walking, his first pair of baby shoes was cowboy boots. When he could first sing a song, it was ‘Yellow Rose of Texas.’ And his first pet? Why, his roping horse, of course. Let’s hear it for Black Falls’ own Wyatt Holcomb.”
One wants to go to college to be a large animal veterinarian. My stomach twisted and my lungs turned heavy. All I could think about was Wyatt. He was bull riding. He was riding a bull. And his dream school was here to watch. You can do this. “Shit,” I hissed, pressing my hands between my knees.
The horn blew and the chute opened. My ears were roaring, or maybe it was the crowd. I heard the announcer, “…on Rabbit. Why Rabbit? Well…just watch.”
How a fifteen-hundred-pound bull could spring up, almost vertical, again and again, was beyond me. But Rabbit did. The bull barely touched down before he was airborne again. And again. And again. All I could see was Wyatt, his right hand buried in rope and his left hand held high. When Rabbit went up, Wyatt leaned back. When Rabbit landed, Wyatt countered forward.
It was the longest eight seconds of my life. I could only imagine how Wyatt felt.
But he made it. He held on, and with style. He lost his glove when he jumped off, but he didn’t get tangled up or stepped on or gored. He landed, jumped out of the way of Rabbit, and turned to look at the scoreboard. He didn’t seem to be aware of the bull running around him or the clowns doing their best to guide the bull out. When the scores popped up, Wyatt took off his hat and beat it against his thigh.
“Ninety-four points! Let’s hear it for Wyatt Holcomb.” The announcer went on, “Ninety-four points. Great job, cowboy.”
My eyes were glued on him. He seemed…relieved. I jumped up, whistling like mad. He didn’t look at me this time. In fact, he turned away, heading out of the arena.
My heart twisted. I started down the bleachers, moving as quickly as I could without stepping on someone’s kid, beer, or purse. Once I was on the ground, I hurried to the end. I didn’t know where I was going, but I figured I’d find my way.
Behind the announcer’s podium were row after row of pens. Some held horses, some calves, some bulls, some sheep. Some were empty. And all along the fences were cowboys. Some had finished their turn, some were waiting, some sat on top of the fence, others leaned on them, just hanging out.
I ignored the “Hey, sugar,” from one particularly friendly cowboy and walked on, rounding the corner. For a minute I forgot about everything except Wyatt’s smiling face. He was talking to a group of men, very clean-cut, professional. I swallowed. They were wearing collegiate logo shirts—maroon. They laughed, at ease, joking.
Dax came up beside me, but I grabbed his arm. “We can’t interrupt.”
“That was fast,” Dax whispered, nodding toward the college recruiters. “Guess they liked what they saw.”
“Of course.” I glanced around. “But his dad…”
Dax looked around too. “We’re going to have to run interference, aren’t we?”
There was no sign of Travis Holcomb, which was a huge relief. “I don’t know, Dax.”
Dax leaned against one of the fences. “We’ll just hang here.”
After a few minutes, Wyatt shook hands with the three men. Once the men left, Wyatt went back to collecting his equipment. And I headed his way.
“Wyatt?”
He paused, but didn’t turn around. “Hey.” His voice was low.
“You were amazing,” I gushed. Why wasn’t he turning around?
“Thanks.” He stuffed the coils of rope in a beaten-up satchel on the ground.
I waited.
“Wanna go get something to eat?” Dax asked.
“Can’t. Gotta pack up and get home.”
“Okay,” I said. Something was wrong.
“Go well with the recruiters?” Dax asked, sending me a questioning look.
“Think so. Having lunch with them tomorrow.” He turned around then, but he looked at Dax—not me.
“That’s great,” I said. “I’m so…so happy for you.”
His jaw muscle bulged. “Thanks.”
Wyatt! Talk to me. Look at me.
“Need help?” Dax offered.
Wyatt shook his head. “Got it. Thanks, though. I appreciate y’all coming out tonight.”
I couldn’t take it. I closed the space between us, putting my hands on his arm. I felt the way his arm tensed, saw the way he closed his eyes. “Wyatt?” I whispered.
I heard retreating steps…Dax leaving, probably.
He stared at my hands. “Allie,” his voice was a growl, “you need to go home with Dax now.”
“You want me to go?” I didn’t lift my hand, I couldn’t. He was trying to push me away, I could tell. Because of his dad?
His lips were pressed flat and he said nothing.
“Okay. I’ll go. Just…I just wanted to say…I’m really proud of you. And…well…I–” I mumbled to a stop.
He looked at me then, the pain in his eyes raw and unguarded.
“Wyatt, I’m here. Okay? I want to be here—for you.”
His nostrils flared but he leaned closer to me, the rim of his hat touching the top of my head, shieldin
g us. His gaze held mine. “Go home, Allie.”
“I’ll go.” I swallowed, making sure I spoke clearly. “It’s just that…I love you.”
13 CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He froze, completely surprised. If his breath hadn’t hitched, I wouldn’t have known he’d heard me. He just stared at me, until I felt like a complete idiot. I stepped back then, lifting my hand from his arm.
It hurt. I hurt. I suspected his life was a lot more complicated than I knew, but I thought…I hoped…he cared about me too. Maybe I just wanted him to?
“Night.” The word was a garbled mess and I headed back in the direction I’d come.
“Allie,” he ground out, taking my hand and pulling me down one of the alleys between empty pens. It was darker, but I held on to him, my heart thumping in my chest.
He stopped and turned, his hands sliding up my bare arms to my shoulders, causing wicked delicious shivers the whole way. His hands, callused and rough, were feather-light along my neck, cupping my cheeks and tilting my head back as he bent low.
His lips were so soft against mine. I hadn’t expected that. Or the way his breath mixing with mine made me dizzy. I swayed into him, gripping his dusty shirt tightly. His lips grew firm, a little demanding, and it was perfect. All I wanted was this—and more.
When his lips lingered, the heat between us took over. Pressed against him, his heartbeat bounced with mine. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer. His hand pressed against my bare back, hesitant…uncertain.
My hands moved, pressing against his hard chest and sliding up to cup his neck—knocking his hat off—keeping him there.
Why can’t I stop shaking? It was okay. He was shaking too.
I parted my lips, sucking in a ragged breath. His lips followed.
He pressed us against the metal pens at my back, keeping us upright and tangled in each other. I didn’t think, couldn’t think. Feeling was everything. Hot and sweet and happy, I ran my fingers through the close-cropped hair at the base of his neck, pulling him in.
The tip of his tongue brushed my lower lip. I made a strange noise, tightening my hold on him, pressing myself flat against him. There was no room between us, none. And it still didn’t seem close enough.
One of his hands traveled down my back, resting against the base of my spine, fitting me against him. Holy hell.
“Wyatt?”
His lips closed on my lower lip, tugging. Breathing was no longer possible.
“Wyatt?” It sounded far away.
Wyatt suddenly went rigid, his hands stopped moving, his lips lifted. He pressed his cheek against my forehead, breathing hard.
“Where the hell are you?” We both heard him clearly then. Travis Holcomb.
I held on, desperate. Yes, I wanted to stay wrapped up like this. But I also wanted to…protect him. My hands stroked through his hair, offering him comfort—I hoped. It seemed to work; he relaxed against me, turning his face into my hair, his nose brushing against my ear. His breath against my bare skin made me shiver.
“Wyatt!” Travis sounded impatient, irritated. His voice sounded closer.
“Walk down the end of this alley and go right. You’ll end up back by the food stands,” Wyatt told me, his voice low. He let go of me all at once, stepping back so fast I almost fell over. He stooped, picking up his hat and dusting it off on his leg. He didn’t say anything else before he left, heading back.
I stood there, breathing hard and reeling.
“Where have you been?” I heard Travis bark.
“Checking on something,” Wyatt answered.
Travis snorted. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”
“Travis?” A voice I didn’t know. “Hold up.”
“Evenin’, Clint. See you got your posse with you. What’d I do now?” Travis’s insolent drawl sounded amused.
“Meg says you didn’t pay for your ticket.” I assumed that was Clint talking.
There was a long pause, then a laugh and Travis said, “Are you shittin’ me?”
“No, Travis, I’m not.” This Clint guy sounded very serious.
“I’ll pay for it.” Wyatt’s voice was smooth.
“Like hell you will,” Travis interrupted. “I paid that bitch.”
“Be careful, Travis. It’s not the only complaint we’ve had tonight. Sheriff’s department was called—”
“Complaints?” Travis again.
“Complaints. Giving Cowboy Jack a hard time while he was working—”
“Jack called the sheriff?” Travis asked.
Clint was quick. “No, but about twenty people in the stands did.”
Travis snorted.
“And the fight? In the parking lot? Before the show?”
Travis tried to joke it off. “Wasn’t much of a fight.”
Clint’s tone stayed calm. “Harassing the Cooper girl in the stands?”
“What did you say to her?” Wyatt demanded. I don’t know if Travis heard the edge of anger in Wyatt’s voice, but I did—even though it was new to me.
“Your old man’s in trouble and that’s what you’re gonna ask me? I told you, boy, that girl’s trouble.” Travis’s voice grew hard, aggressive. “I told her to stay away from you. Like I’ve told you to stay away from her.”
“You need to come with us, Travis.” Clint again.
“You gonna make me?”
I heard Clint sigh, heard the sound of boots on gravel. “If that’s the way it has to be.” Although I couldn’t see it, I could just imagine the white-hat brigade closing in on Travis Holcomb.
“Just go with him,” Wyatt said calmly.
“You tellin’ me what to do, boy? You think you’re the man of the house?”
“No, sir. But I—”
The sound that followed made me flinch and move. I ran—not away, but toward it. I’d seen fights in school, knew the sound of a fist hitting flesh. I didn’t want to believe that what I knew had happened had actually happened.
A big guy—Clint, maybe—had Travis’s hands behind his back. It wasn’t hard to do, this guy was big and broad—and sober. Two other men stood nearby, looking back and forth between father and son, stunned. It was clear everyone was shocked by what had happened.
Mr. Holcomb wasn’t resisting. He was standing rigid, staring at the ground.
And Wyatt? Wyatt was staring up at the sky, breathing hard, his shoulders slumped—trembling. Wyatt. I ignored the three men, ignored Travis Holcomb, and went straight to Wyatt’s side. My hand found his, holding it tight.
He looked down at me, surprised. And then—he frowned. I knew he’d sent me away to protect me, but I couldn’t go. His left eye was swelling, a small cut through the brow. My heart was in my throat, choking me, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to do…say something. Instead, I squeezed his hand.
“You gonna be okay, son?” Clint—not the guy holding Mr. Holcomb—said.
Wyatt nodded, still looking at me. I didn’t know how to react. I tried not to frown or cry or freak out over the fact that Wyatt’s dad had just punched him in the face.
Clint cleared his throat. “He’ll spend the night at the sheriff’s.”
Wyatt nodded. “I appreciate you looking out for him, Mr. Javorsky.”
“You did real good tonight, Wyatt,” he added. “You ready, Travis?”
Mr. Holcomb looked at me, a narrow-eyed look that had me moving closer to Wyatt. Then he looked at his son. I could see the regret, frustration…but he didn’t say a thing. No apology, no begging for forgiveness, nothing. “Let’s go,” he answered Mr. Javorsky. We didn’t move until Mr. Javorsky and the others had escorted Mr. Holcomb away.
Wyatt went back to packing his bag. I helped, or tried to help. I understood he didn’t want to talk about what happened, but it was hard. Nothing I could say or do could undo what had happened. So I held his bag open when he needed it and smiled at him whenever he looked at me. I don’t know if it did anything for him, but it calmed me down.
By the time he was packed, h
is eye was so swollen I doubted he could see much out of it.
“You want some ice for that?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It’s fine.”
“So you’re finished here? Do you have someplace you need to go…something you need to do?” I asked. I didn’t especially want to say goodnight, but… “I guess I don’t want to crash anything.”
“Nope. I’m done.” He took my hand, leading me through the maze of pens and cowboys.
“You should get some sleep so you can wow the recruiters tomorrow.” I squeezed his hand. “Are you excited?”
He nodded. “I didn’t know they were coming. Doc Bergmann, the rodeo announcer, called them.”
I remembered the announcer talking about Wyatt. “Perfect timing.”
Wyatt nodded. “Scores were good.”
“Good? Wyatt, you were…amazing.” I tugged on his arm, making him stop. “Seriously.”
He smiled awkwardly, pulling me against him with one arm. “Thank you.”
I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. I didn’t care that we were surrounded by people; it was the right thing to do. His smile told me he felt the same way.
We headed toward the back pasture, toward his truck and trailer. Everyone seemed to know one another, and they all seemed pretty proud of Wyatt. He got slapped on the back, nodded at, and a whole lot of “Atta-boy!” in his direction.
Dax was waiting at Wyatt’s truck. “Geez, Allie, did you have to clock him that hard?” he asked, wincing over Wyatt’s eye.
Wyatt laughed. “Got hooked with a horn.”
I glanced at Wyatt. The lie came quickly, easily. Rodeo was an easy way to cover all sorts of bruises. How many bruises had his father given him? I wanted to pull him close, to hug him, to tell him I loved him… I swallowed.
“Oh.” Dax nodded, pushing off Wyatt’s hood. “Then I guess you got lucky.”
Wyatt nodded. “Hungry?”
Dax shrugged. “I don’t want to intrude.”
I looked at Wyatt. He was looking at me, his eyes so full of emotion I sucked in a deep breath.
Dax said something like “Yeah, so, this is awkward.” I think. I couldn’t really concentrate on anything else but Wyatt. Warm brown eyes searched mine, peering inside of me, making me light-headed.
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