He stopped dead when he saw David. “What?”
“Could you hold him there for a minute?” Mary asked. “David wants to check him out.”
Kylan clenched his hands, his mouth quivering as if he wanted to shout no, but he ducked his head and stepped away to the end of the lead rope, refusing to look at David. “Whatever.”
David eased close, reality smacking him square in the chin, turning his knees to rubber now that Muddy was finally within reach. His voice had an embarrassing hitch when he said, “Hey, buddy.”
Muddy’s ears dropped back, and he narrowed his eyes like he was saying “Oh. It’s you.”
David choked out a laugh. “What, you didn’t miss me?”
He laid a hand on Muddy’s neck, savoring the warm, silky hide, laughing again when Muddy shook his head, annoyed. David slid his palm over Muddy’s withers, down his back, onto his hip. Muddy cocked his hind leg and gave a warning swipe, but David knew enough to keep his body angled well clear.
He smacked the horse lightly on the rump. “Still up to that old trick, I see.”
Muddy craned his head around to glare but let the foot drop. David bent to slide his hand down, fingers probing bone and tendon. After picking up the foot, studying the hoof and the steel shoe, he set it down and repeated the process with the other hind leg, then the nearest front.
Muddy let out a loud, aggravated sigh, making it clear he was only tolerating the inspection because it wasn’t worth his effort to fight it.
“Like I told you, he’s fine,” Mary said, a softness in her voice David hadn’t heard before.
“Unbelievable.” David gave a single shake of his head. “If you’d seen the way he tore out of that parking lot in Cody…”
“I can imagine. He doesn’t do anything half speed.” She smiled. David smiled back, and there was a sizzle and pop in the air between them, two live wires connecting. Mary flinched. David jerked his gaze away, back to Muddy. He picked up the second front hoof, tilting it to inspect the sole, the set of the shoe.
“His feet were pretty bad when he came,” Mary said. “Took a while to get them shaped up.”
“I’ll bet, if he ran barefoot for two years. He’s always been prone to quarter cracks.” David put the foot down and stepped back, frowning. “He’s set kinda low in the heels.”
“Our horseshoer thought it would help him slide more when he stops,” Mary said.
Slide? Muddy? What the hell? David scowled at her. “You’ve been messing with his stop?”
Mary bristled. “We wanted to free him up a little. He’s so quick… It’s hard on someone like Kylan who’s still learning.”
“I didn’t train him to be a kid horse,” David shot back.
Kylan made a choked noise, dropped the halter rope, and fled around the back of the trailer. Mary glared daggers at David as she grabbed the loose rope before Muddy could take advantage.
Shit. David gave himself a mental kick in the ass. He’d forgotten the kid was standing there. He glanced toward the arena, the curious faces watching, waiting to see how this little drama would play out.
“I suppose you want to ride him,” Mary said, her voice as rigid as her posture.
More than he wanted his next breath, but not here. Not now. If he got choked up just petting the damn horse, who knew how he’d react the first time he got back on Muddy. His luck, he’d start blubbering, and that would end up all over Facebook, too.
Plus, it would be one more kick in the teeth for Kylan in front of all his friends.
“Later,” David said. He turned, walked away fast, every fiber of his being screaming in protest at leaving Muddy in Mary’s hands. One more day, max. Whatever it took, he’d have his horse back tomorrow.
Chapter 10
David rounded the corner of the catch pen, headed for his trailer, and came face-to-face with Galen.
“Everything okay?” Galen asked, his gaze focused beyond David’s shoulder.
“Just dandy,” David drawled, tossing in a sneer for good measure.
Galen gave him a long, level stare.
David was the first to look away. “I’ve got phone calls to make,” he said, angling to step around the other man.
“The kids were hoping you’d rope some with them,” Galen said.
David stopped short. “Why?”
“They heard you were pretty good at it,” Galen said. “Thought you might show ’em a few things.”
A kid sidled up, the youngest and skinniest of the bunch. Couldn’t weigh more than a buck thirty-five, all knees and elbows and big, brown puppy-dog eyes. “Sure would be cool, unless you’ve got somethin’ better to do.”
David glanced around, found half-a-dozen more pairs of hopeful eyes trained on him. Had they nominated the little kid to speak up, figuring David couldn’t say no to the runt of the litter? How would Kylan feel about him butting in to the practice session? On the other hand, Galen wanted him here. David didn’t understand exactly why, but so far Galen was the most reasonable person he’d met in this place, so he was willing to play along.
“There’s never anything better to do than rope,” he told the kid, and went to get Frosty.
They started out flanking and tying on the ground. David held a calf at the end of a rope tied to a post, and the kids lined up to take their turns. Kylan hung back, silent and sullen. David couldn’t blame him. He’d probably rather get roping tips from the devil after the hell David had raised with his world.
The calf kicked, nailing David square in the shin. He sucked in a curse and caught a quick glint of amusement in Galen’s eyes. The man never missed a beat. The skinny kid—Sam—pushed off the post and ran toward the calf, his left hand sliding down the rope. He grabbed the calf’s flank, grunted, lifted hard, and toppled over with the calf in his lap, pinning him down. They wallowed around in the dirt until David got a hold and hoisted the calf up.
Sam staggered to his feet, face red with exertion and frustration. “I’m too little.”
“Nah. You just have a low center of gravity.” David grabbed his arm, pulled him into position. “Here. Get ahold of him like this. Bend your knees, get ’em down under his body, and roll him up onto your thighs.”
On the third try, Sam got it right and flanked the calf cleanly. He grinned up at David, eyes bright. “Cool.”
The others took their turns, drinking in David’s instructions, faces intent. Then Kylan stepped up to the post.
“I don’t need no help,” he declared.
“Okay,” David said.
Kylan launched from the post, his teeth gritted but his strides sluggish, as if his legs refused to heed the command to move fast. His flank was decent, the tie deliberate but solid until he tried to pull the end through for the half hitch, fumbled, and dropped the string. The calf kicked free. Kylan cursed, untangled the string, regathered and fumbled the tie again. His chin dropped, his shoulders sagging as he sat back on his haunches, letting the calf up.
“Stupid hooey,” he muttered.
“Tell me about it,” David said. “I missed mine to place in the ninth round at the National Finals.”
Kylan’s head jerked up, and for an instant, he forgot to be mad. “Really?”
“Yep. Happens to everyone.” David paused, considered keeping his mouth shut but couldn’t. “Might work better if you didn’t wear gloves.”
Kylan scowled down at the black nylon batting gloves. “Mary made me.”
“Why?”
Kylan shook his head, but Galen stepped up. “Show him.”
When Kylan didn’t move, Galen reached down, grabbed a wrist, and pulled off the glove. Every knuckle on Kylan’s hand was bandaged with blood oozing dark through the tape.
“Before the state finals, he tied the practice dummy so many times he wore the skin right off his hands,” Galen said.
Kylan jerked away, clambered to his feet, and stomped back to the end of the line. The kid had practiced so hard he’d made his hands bleed, and he still wasn’t any smoother than that? As David watched him shuffle away, the light finally dawned.
Shit. How could he, of all people, be so obtuse?
“Kylan’s got some challenges,” Rusty Chapman had said. And what had Galen said, about how Kylan wasn’t any good at regular sports, but in the arena Muddy could even the odds? David had been too busy sulking to pay attention. He should’ve seen it right off when he first got a close look at the kid, but he’d been too blinded by his own emotions.
Kylan wasn’t sloppy or lazy. His body literally wasn’t put together quite right, and probably neither was his mind. The telltale signs were written on his face. The smoothness of it, the odd shape to his eyes. Not Down syndrome—David knew firsthand what that looked like—but something that made his life difficult in similar ways. And now, when he’d finally gotten a break, had a little success, David was going to take it all away.
Hell. Hell. Like it wouldn’t have been bad enough if Kylan was just a regular kid.
As David grabbed the rope, pulled the calf back into place, and held it for the next roper, he could swear he heard faint hoots of laughter from high in the cloudless sky.
David would’ve said it couldn’t get much worse, but as usual, he was wrong. From the minute the kids climbed on their horses, he could see it was going to be a wreck. Kylan was sulking, his whole body radiating resentment. Muddy fed off his mood and turned cranky, pawing and shuffling, mashing into the other horses. Every time Kylan touched the reins, Muddy grabbed the bit in his teeth and flung his head, damn near yanking the kid’s arm out of the socket.
David knew the feeling all too well, and he knew exactly what would come next, because it always did when Muddy got pissy. The horse ran up on the first calf, barely let Kylan throw before he slammed on the brakes, jacking the kid onto the swells of the saddle. The loop landed wide right, in the dirt.
The next calf, Kylan tried to speed up his rope, slapping it at the calf before Muddy could short him out. The loop nailed the calf in the back of the head.
“Follow through, Kylan,” Sam yelled helpfully.
Kylan shot him a glare, but on the next calf, he did try to stand up and rope. The loop hadn’t even left his hand when Muddy jammed his fronts in the ground, driving the saddle horn square into Kylan’s groin. The air busted out of him in an uff they could hear back at the chutes. He folded in two, his face going white and then red.
Ouch.
David’s privates puckered in sympathy as Kylan yanked on the reins and spun Muddy around. He rode out the gate and around the back of his trailer before sliding off to hunch on the fender. David glanced at Galen, but the older man didn’t move. Up in the bleachers, Mary stood, neck craned, but she stayed put. Only the girlfriend—Starr—hustled down the stairs and out to Kylan’s aid.
Well, it wasn’t like there was anything they could do, other than pat Kylan on the shoulder and remind him to breathe. Some things a man had to suffer alone.
“Who’s been straightening Muddy out when he needs it?” David asked Galen. Because it sure wasn’t Kylan. The kid was only along for the ride.
Galen hiked a shoulder. “Even an old team roper like me can tune a horse up a little.”
“Pretty well from the looks of it.” When Galen’s eyebrows shot up, David hustled to add, “I mean, he worked great yesterday. Today…” He shrugged. “Sometimes, he’s a real asshole.”
Galen laughed. “You got that right. Ready to rope some? I wanna see what that white horse can do.”
Chapter 11
David tucked the tail of his piggin’ string into his belt and clenched the small loop between his teeth as he rode Frosty into the box. He was conscious of the circle of spectators hanging over the fences, the boys plus their parents and a few friends, but only in an abstract way. He was used to having an audience. Years of habit had narrowed his focus to horse, rope, and calf.
He nodded, took two quick swings, and threw, already stepping out into his right stirrup as the loop went around the calf’s neck, pulling back on the reins with his left hand as he dismounted to speed up Frosty’s stop. His boots hit the ground, five long strides, block the calf, flank, tie, hands in the air. Smooth as silk.
He remounted his horse, rode forward to put slack in the rope, his mind replaying the run, picking out flaws as a pair of boys untied the calf. David built a new loop, put his piggin’ string in his mouth, rode in the box and did it again. And again. Three runs in a row because, as he’d explained to Galen and the boys, immediate repetition was important to get your mind and body in the groove. At home he would’ve run twenty head, but these boys had come to rope, not stand around and watch him all day.
When he pulled his hooey on the third calf and threw up his hands, a smattering of applause broke out. David’s concentration broke, and when he turned Frosty around to ride back to the end of the arena, he saw every individual face.
Sam grinned like he’d tied the calves himself. Galen nodded approvingly. Kylan and Starr stood beyond the fence in front of the bleachers beside the roping chutes, both sullen-faced, and Mary sat a few rows up beside a blond woman.
It took David’s brain a few beats to switch gears, put a name to the familiar face. Hilary Chapman. David raised a hand in greeting, and Rusty’s wife responded in kind with the first welcoming smile he’d seen in days. David smiled back. When Rusty was still on the road, Hilary had been like a den mother, always looking out for the younger, single guys like David who didn’t have a wife along to be sure they got a decent meal once in a while.
If David ever did get involved with another woman, it would be with someone like Hilary. Sweet, understanding, possessed of the unshakable faith and infinite patience a woman needed to stand behind a man who made his living on the rodeo trail. Plus, she had a decent-paying job and summers off. Didn’t get much better for a cowboy. Hilary made killer blueberry pancakes and lousy coffee, and the last time David had seen her, she’d fed breakfast to a whole herd of starving cowboys in Salinas.
It was a day he’d like to forget, and not just because of the crappy coffee.
The memory twisted a dull knife in David’s gut. That morning in Salinas had dawned so bright and full of hope. After a miserable winter, he’d finally put a couple decent runs together at a big rodeo, made the short round, drawn a really good calf. He was on the verge of getting back on track.
But he’d fumbled his slack and knocked the calf off its feet so he couldn’t get a clean flank, a small mistake that had cost enough time to take him out of the money. As usual, he’d called Emily, looking for comfort. What he got instead had caught him flat-footed, like a double-barreled mule kick to the chest.
“I’m sorry, David. I know rodeo is the only thing you’ve ever wanted, but I can’t take it anymore.”
What she’d meant was she couldn’t take him anymore…and she’d already found a replacement. Hilary had known all the sordid details. Hell, every roper on the pro circuit had known, plus their wives and kids. David’s poker face hadn’t been any better back then. The echo of the pain and humiliation, the memory of all those sympathetic looks and wordless slaps on the shoulder had the back of his neck going hot even today.
And now here was Hilary, her head close to Mary’s, no doubt telling her the whole sorry tale. David couldn’t have felt more naked if he was standing in the middle of the arena in his BVDs. He swung off his horse and led Frosty to an open spot along the fence, loosening the cinches and giving him a rub between the ears before flipping the rein around a post.
Hilary got up and came to meet him. “Nice roping.”
“Nice calves. If I could run those little pooches everywhere I went, my summer would be going a lot better.”
Hilary reached through the fence to squeeze his hand.
“It’s good to see you, David. Even better to see Muddy.”
“He looks great, doesn’t he?” David said, not sure whether to return the squeeze, let go, or just stand there like a lump.
“As good as Muddy has ever looked,” Hilary said, a teasing gleam in her eye. David laughed.
“Well, I never hauled him ’cause he was pretty. Do you know if Rusty got my message today?”
She shook her head. “He left early to do some fencing on our summer grazing lease, probably won’t be back until suppertime, but I’ll make sure he checks the machine.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
She squeezed his hand again. “If you have time, come and rope with Rusty and stay for dinner if you can. Here…” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to him. “That’s our address, if you have GPS. And directions if you don’t.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
She turned and walked back to Mary, who was standing at the bottom of the bleachers talking to Kylan. David caught snatches of the conversation, Mary telling Kylan it was okay, patting his arm. He shook her off. She lowered her voice, put her hand firmly on his shoulder, and talked up at him, her body language fierce.
Kylan shook his head. “I want to go.”
“You need to stay, help push calves and run the chute,” Mary said.
David glanced over at their trailer. Muddy was tied to the side, unsaddled. Kylan had packed it in for the day. Might as well. He wouldn’t accomplish anything until Galen got on Muddy and made a few tune-up runs.
Except it wouldn’t be Galen any more; it would be David, and he wouldn’t be worried about whether the horse would work for Kylan. They thought Muddy was strong now. Once David got him dialed up to full speed, Kylan wouldn’t even be able to ride him out of the box, let alone rope on him.
Last Chance Rodeo Page 7