The lack of movement made me nervous. Standing amongst these brutes was not smart. I could tell.
Lifting my gaze to take in the whole scene, I noticed, at the other opening to this mess of animal testosterone, stood a cowboy with an ass that would not quit! He stood with his arms folded, inspecting a group of five giant bulls. They, too, were still. In evil repose.
Groping that cowboy's ass with my eyes, I couldn't stop myself from a distraught sigh when he dropped his hands to his sides and turned in the opposite direction. Before he disappeared out of sight, he threw one final glance at those bulls, allowing me to get a peek at his face.
A shot of pure adrenaline pierced my gut and electrified my heart, spreading out to my limbs. My fingers tingled and toes went numb. I couldn't breathe. I nearly peed myself.
Apollo!
Like a dumb girl, my knees gave out and I missed my step. I kind of tilted and half fell into JP, who was not ready for my weight. He grabbed me as he stumbled toward the nearest bull pen, headed downward.
“Jess—“ JP struggled with my clutching hands, needing my weight removed to stand on his own. But I was wearing white; him disentangling at that moment meant I would hit the dirt. Unacceptable.
Phil to the rescue! His hands reached into my armpits, currently drenched with sweat, and, with effort, hoisted me upright. I teetered, clutching his shoulders, until I was sufficiently recovered. Then I gave Phil a smile and grateful nod. Not only was he a savior, but he refrained from wiping his hands on his jeans and making a yeuuck sound. Gentleman.
“Jessica, you alright?” Phil asked worriedly.
“What the....what is goin’ on Jessica? I am a married man!” JP said, half humorously, but half irritated.
I didn't have time to apologize. My head swiveled back to where that cowboy had disappeared. I needed to get there. To that place. I needed to follow that ass beyond the trailer, with my tongue hanging down my face if need be.
"Jessica?" Candace asked worriedly.
I spared her a glance. Then realized I was the subject of scrutiny.
One last check to make sure he was really gone, and not just hiding like a Jack-in-the-Box, I turned to my group with an apologetic smile. “S-sorry everyone. Sorry JP. Thanks Phil. I am stupidly clumsy. Sorry about that. I thought I saw someone I knew and stopped paying attention to what I was doing.”
“Jesus, Jessica. I thought they were going to toss you into the bull pen or something.” Candace sighed in relief.
“Candace. Lord’s name...!” JP said with too much hostility.
“Shut up JP,” she answered, using his new nickname.
“Who did you think you knew? I thought you were new here?” Phil asked as he looked around.
“This guy I half-met at the store the other night. I forgot my money and he paid for my groceries. I never really got to say thank you. He was over there by those big bulls.”
Everyone followed my pointed finger.
Phil groaned, his head tilted back to look at the sky with a smirk on his face.
“You mean Davies?” JP asked. “The guy that owns those five bulls?” He mimicked my point to clarify.
“I don’t know if he owns those bulls. But Mr. Davies, yeah. I don’t know the first name. Anyway, doesn't matter.” I was strangely desperate to change the subject.
So was Phil. “Jessica, have you ever seen rodeo bulls up close?”
He leaned toward me, his arm still half around my waist from the stumbling debacle. His eyes were clearer now than before. I saw little flecks of gold hidden in the depths of brown.
“Would you guys quit swarming her like a pack of hyenas?" Candace said with sauce as she stepped in, grabbing my arm and tugging. "Jesus, leave her alone, will you?!”
“Candace, lord’s name in vein...” JP muttered, slightly bowed, his hands in his pockets.
She rolled her eyes again and led me from the bull area as she said, “New blood, you know? They don’t need courage because you’re one of the group. They have all the time in the world to act like savages. You just have to get tough and tell them to buzz off!”
I smiled. “Got it. I am just really out of my element here.”
“Hey, where are you two goin’? The broncs are startin’ soon,” Dave yelled.
Candace waved her hand and kept walking. Still arm-in-arm, I followed without complaint. We struggled through the throng of people stuffing their faces with all manner of fried things before my curiosity got the better of me.
“Candace, who is Davies?”
“Willie Davies?”
I shrugged.
“That guy that you thought you saw by the bull paddock?”
“Yeah, that guy.”
“That was probably Willie, yeah. He doesn’t ride bulls or anything. Actually, that’s not true. He rides bulls for fun. I don’t think professional bulls like you see here, but easier, less dangerous bulls. His dad wants him to take over the company eventually because the older brother went off and became a lawyer. The older one is really cute! Davies...everyone just calls him Davies... Well, Davies is cute, too, but untouchable, you know?"
Seeing that I didn't, she explained. "Just 'cause he's got so much going for him. The older brother...Thomas is his name...is a lawyer. That’s about it. I mean, that is a big deal. I’m not saying it isn’t or anything, but it’s just that one thing, and Davies has a bunch more. He has the bulls. He breeds them. He rotates them so they keep with the animal rights stuff and all that. Well, the animal rights people hate rodeos. But the best treated and kept bulls are kept by Davies. And usually the best stock. That is his own thing. His dad had no part in that.”
Candace was in her element—talking without interruption. She rattled on as she escorted me where ever we were headed, and I let her, rapt in attention.
“Then you got taking over the business,” she continued, “I‘ve heard that he doesn’t want to, but will. I don’t know. Then he has properties, and a ranch, and lots of livestock, and the whole thing. His dad’s thing is only one part. He’ll probably be wealthy off that and all, but then he’s got a ton of his own stuff that also makes money. Plus he looks good, and I hear he is real nice. Untouchable, you know?”
Through the long-winded explanation of his person, my heart sank lower and lower. It must be the same guy, I just didn’t know he was on such a high pedestal. The abnormally hot guys that turn your insides to gravy are rare enough. The ones that do that, which are also gentlemen, are about three percent of the population. Add into that the guys who are also successful? My chances equaled non-existent.
Candace had her worry mask on as we stopped in a beer line. “Geez girl, you look like your cat got run over.”
“My cat.... no, I’m fine. Just hate being told people are better than me.”
Instead of laughing at my hilarious, and true, joke, she said, “Look, we’ll get you a beer, and me a beer, and meet up with everyone else. They’re really nice guys, but they can get to be too much.”
“Yes. Yes, they can.”
She sighed. “Well, they’ll loosen up. Say ‘no’ a few more times and they’ll move on to the next girl.”
Awesome, huge confidence boost, that. I thought sarcastically.
All she had to do now was throw some dirt in my face and rub ketchup on my white shirt and I'd be all set.
We got our drinks and hit the stands to meet the rest of the crew. I quickly stuffed Candace between me and Dave. I didn't need his hands following his roaming eyes.
My neighbor on the other side was an older man with a large, handle-bar mustache. I gawked in amazement—I couldn’t help it. Black, long, expertly manicured, it was a masterpiece. You didn’t see that shit often.
I had my phone out, incognito, and was just about to snap off a picture when he looked down at me.
Ah!
Those shockingly pretty green eyes rooted me to the stands. He stood with a scowl, glaring.
I slipped my phone back into my purse, trying to smile thr
ough my grimace.
“Stand up, Jessica!” Candace whispered frantically.
Yeah, right, and have this guy belt me for trying to steal his soul with my smartphone? That’d be the day!
“Oh-oh say can you see—“
I jumped up as if sitting on springs and slapped my hand to my chest. Now I understood the scowl. Only someone with a death wish didn't worship America while in Texas.
Lesson learned.
As the decent signer was ending her montage of national pride, a collection of fine horses with sparkly young women erupted from the opened gates to either side of the structure in the middle of the stadium.
“These are the teen something-or-other,” Candace explained “helpfully.”
Three pairs of brown horses with their uniformed riders did a lap around the arena with a giant American and Texas flag. Their outfits, made with some cheap, heavy material, and fastened with so many rhinestones Elvis would be jealous, sparkled and threw the light, blinding anyone paying attention—which were all the old men.
“What’s up first?” Sara, a girl that hated me and loved Phil, asked after the girls had done a few laps and smiled their way out.
“Tie-Down, I think,” Dave answered.
After a long pause and some tongue waving by the announcer, a different gate, directly under the constructed booth—which was a two-story structure—spit out a little calf running like hell.
“Oh! How cute!” I exclaimed, leaning forward.
A cowboy on a horse erupted through a gate on the far left, in hot pursuit, swinging a lasso over his head. He was fast and practiced, controlling the rope as if he'd been doing this all his life.
When the rider was a couple horse lengths away from the fleeing calf, he gave a mighty lob, the rope flinging in front of him like a web from his wrist. The loop circled the calf’s two back legs, tangled, and snapped taught as the cowboy gave a jerk.
The horse stopped. Dead stopped. As in, running really fast one second, then standing still the next. It was a great trick for everyone but the poor calf, who was ripped backward. Its front feet, unable to hold, gave out, scraping its face along the ground.
Handle-Bar-Man was scowling down at me again. Apparently that weird squeal I’d just heard came from me…
As the poor little calf was flailing, trying to get back up, its back legs tied and held in the air as the horse continued to yank on the rope, the cowboy jumped to the ground and sprinted forward. Once to the struggling calf, he jammed his knee into its neck to keep it put, grabbed its legs, and started tying its feet together. His hands moved at super-sonic speeds, round and round the two caught feet, and then to one of the front feet. Round and round, some sort of knot, and the cowboy was up, his hands in the air like he just perfectly landed a gymnastics vault.
“Oh yeah, good for you, dude. You just got one over on a tiny calf!” I seethed.
I shot Handle-Bar a warning glance, promising death if he dared interrupt my bovine crusade.
It didn’t turn away his glance.
The announcer gave the time and praised the cowboy for his great work at S&M. A ten gallon smile to match his hat, the cowboy got back on the horse, released the rope, and went on his way, waving to the crowd as he left.
“Stop snorting, you’re making a scene,” Candace whispered.
Chapter Five
I ignored Candace. You can’t let a little rain ruin your half-hearted protest.
The calf, seeing its tormentor leaving, tried to get up and walk out. Hard to do when all but one of your legs is tied together. The poor thing struggled until two young boys ran in to mess with the rope. It was enough for me. I wasn’t all that into this “sport.” I decided to get a beer and look at smelly animals. Or smelly people. Or maybe even ride the Ferris Wheel. Anything but watch the poor calves chased around and tied up.
JP interrupted my attempt at standing.
“What’s up JP?”
“Just thought I’d come and explain things about this event so you get the full gist of it.”
“Oh. Well that’s okay. I’m not a big history buff. I hear the beer stand calling my name.”
“Just give me a second now.”
The next cowboy caught up with the calf, threw the rope, and only caught one leg this time. Apparently that was bad news, since the crowd made a disapproving groan. I thought getting both feet caught up was bad. The calf now had one leg pulled up at an awkward angle and was trying to scurry away on its remaining three limbs.
“On the ranch,” JP was saying. “Cows and calves wander the fields with very little restriction. They have some fences here and there to keep them on the property, but many ranches are so big that the animals don’t see those fences often. When it is time for branding--”
I flinched. What’s worse than being hamstrung by a dude and a horse? Having your flesh burned off by hot iron, that’s what.
“Yeah, branding sucks.” Apparently JP noticed my flinch. “But it isn’t so much worse than a tattoo. And cows have tougher hides than humans...”
“JP, it is beer-thirty, and you’re in my way.”
“Okay, okay. Just listen. When a calf needs medicine or is hurt or something, they need to round it up and get it back to where it can get treatment, right? Well, they aren’t dogs; they don’t come when you call them. So the cowboys gotta go out on the ranch and get ‘em like you see here. They run like hell when you try to catch them, so you gotta rope ‘em, tie ‘em up, and doctor ‘em. It looks worse than it is.”
“It does? Really? When were you running full steam away from someone that caught your feet with a rope and pulled?”
JP gave me a disapproving scowl. “No, it really isn’t as bad as all that.”
I smiled to ease the tension, nodded, and said, “Probably not. But it is just a little much right out of the gate for this non-country girl. My sport is drinking at present, and I would like to get back to that.”
JP sighed and gave the “o-lay” gesture. Get on your way, little doggie.
Handle-Bar was probably relieved.
After I had a brew in hand, I wandered through the livestock area and saw the prize animals. I couldn't focus, though. Discolored hay and poop was all my brain registered.
Poop. Ew.
God boomed from the heavens that Team Roping would begin soon. Oh good, one cowboy on a horse wasn’t enough, the poor calf needed to get double-teamed.
On the way to the Ferris Wheel, I noticed a small crowd forming in the bull area. Hoping some sort of action was afoot, I headed that way. Unfortunately, when I got there, nothing was happening. Just a bunch of guys looking at the monsters.
As I looked around for the second time, I overhead two cowboys talking about one of bulls. The older one was complimenting the younger one on a great draw. Intrigued, which is a nice way of saying confused, I stepped up to the bull in question.
Its large head slowly swayed in my direction. As if in comment to its audience, it gave a loud grunt. It sounded like a dragon! I immediately backed up. It had me locked in a stare off with a slightly lowered head. I did not wish to die today.
“The smaller ones aren’t always easier, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
My insides felt like champagne popping a cork.
It was said right behind me, from someone obviously experienced in ninja warfare, because I’d thought the only people near were the ones I was eavesdropping on!
Jumping with the scare, I must have cleared the ground and convulsed at the same time, but the thing that had people looking my way was my high-pitched scream.
The rest of my beer—that which wasn’t all over my shirt—sloshed over my arm as I whipped around. Ready to do serious damage, I looked up into the clear blue of the Caribbean. They eyes sparkled and ignited, catching my look and sucking me in.
That's about the second I went Gumby. Legs turned to rubber and arms lost feeling. I did a face plant into the hardest, most exquisitely bumpy check I’ve ever felt! I wondered if t
hose pecks would glisten in soft light, and if not, I was more than willing to apply oil to him!
And by him, of course I meant Apollo.
He grabbed my arms with two large hands and practically lifted me back into a standing position. Being that he exerted very little effort, I felt lighter than I did earlier when the other boys practically fell over me instead of standing me up.
After I was steady, he let me go and stepped back. The space let me focus, mentally brushing clouds out of my thoughts. He was every bit as handsome as I remembered. Maybe more so. He was clean shaven today, but he still gave off a manliness to his better than model appearance.
“Sorry if I scared you, ma’am. I always do that it seems.” He fluttered my heart with a gleaming smile.
My under garments got soggy.
“S-sorrn…” I cleared my throat in a nonchalant kind of way and tried again. “Sorry about your shirt.”
He didn’t bother to look down at his wet chest. I wasn’t that disciplined. Then I couldn’t look away. I was right about pecks. His wet shirt accented two famously sculpted masterpieces that deserved tongue play. Half his stomach was flat and ripped, each ab muscle defined. The other half wasn’t wet, and I’d run out of beer. Talk about finishing early!
“It’s all right,” he said in good humor. “No harm, no foul. I saw you checking out the bulls and thought I would come over and say ‘hi’. See if you had any questions?”
Will you marry me?
“I thought I saw you earlier near those big bulls in the corner. Are yours those? I mean, uh, those yours?” I pointed to the larger five bulls, trying to direct his probing gaze away from my tomfoolery.
He looked where I was pointing and then back at me. He spared a glance for my drenched clothes. “Yes, those are mine. Did you need a shirt? I’m sure I have a spare one in my trailer.”
I looked down at the mess that was me. I really knew how to make an impression. “Oh no, I’m okay. It will dry in no time. Thanks, though.”
Breene, K F - Jessica Brodie Diaries 01 Page 7