Macon’s announcement that Breck Christianson, three-time CRA All-Around World Champion, was on deck to demonstrate steer wrestling—aka bulldoggin’ in the world of rodeo—pulled me out of the fantasy of Breck riding the range beside me for many years to come.
I squinted at the chute below me. On the left side I could see the top of Breck’s hat and the ears of his horse. I didn’t know who’d agreed to be his hazer—the guy riding on the right side during the run that kept Breck’s horse in a straight line—but I knew he preferred to have Sutton doing it.
The gate opened, the steer got a head start, and then Breck chased after him.
My gut clenched when Breck leaned over the right side of his horse, with just his right foot in the stirrup and his left hand on the saddle horn. His left leg practically stuck straight up as he slid it across the back of the saddle.
Most people thought bulldoggers launched themselves forward, but they actually leaned back. So once they grabbed ahold of the steers’ head, they could pull backward when both their feet hit the dirt. That balance to power ratio allowed them to twist their bodies and use their weight and strength to slam the steer on its side.
I’d listened to my brother discuss dismount strategies, complain about flexibility training and conditioning. I understood there was more to what steer wrestlers did than what rodeo spectators saw in the few seconds they spent in the arena.
When it all came together like clockwork? It was a sight to behold. Danger and precision that looked effortless.
That’s how my man’s first run went.
Breck had that steer down in 3.9 seconds.
Applause and whistles echoed throughout the arena. I had such a burst of pride for him to hear the entire school’s acknowledgment of his skill—an affirmation he hadn’t heard for far too long.
I saw him glance at the judge to see if there were flags for breaking the barrier or an illegal takedown. When he saw nothing but the impressive time on the scoreboard, his cocky grin made my dick hard.
And I paid particular attention to how he walked across the dirt. Not only because his rear view was damn fine with that tight cowboy ass and his broad shoulders, but I wanted to see if he favored his right leg. He’d mentioned having a sore knee last night. When I saw him hitch his shoulders and twist to the side, I figured he’d probably prefer a backrub to a blowjob tonight.
My voice of reason snorted disbelief.
After the bulldogging event was tie-down roping, and I noticed Breck served as hazer for the tie-down roper. Team roping followed, then barrel racing, and finally bull riding.
There was a fifteen-minute intermission before the next round started. I didn’t move, although I exchanged a few friendly waves with other instructor’s significant others as we killed time in the stands.
Breck’s second run resulted in just a tenth of a second faster than his first time. If this was a real competition, his combined score was good enough to land him in the payout slots.
After the demo ended, a quick thank-you to teachers served as the closing of the event. The arena emptied quickly but I didn’t rush out. Breck would track me down when he finished with his official duties. The school had horse handlers, so he didn’t have to deal with that, but he never trusted anyone to take care of his tack—a habit I respected.
Twenty minutes later I heard the clang clang of his boot heels on the metal steps as he climbed the risers. The happy grin, the light shining in his eyes when he looked at me…just did me in.
Yep. You are so dick-whipped over this bulldogger.
I stood when he reached me. He didn’t look over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching before he hooked his hand around the back of my neck and brought my mouth to his for a kiss.
“Hey.”
Another thing that made me so crazy about him? He kissed me hello. Every single time. Usually before he uttered “hey”—the standard cowboy greeting.
“Hey, yourself. Nice runs. You looked good. Smooth. Like you’re still competing a few times a week.”
He shrugged, but I knew he was pleased I’d mentioned it. “Thanks. You hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Good. I had a little extra time today so I went into town and picked up that ice cream you like so much.”
“You did?”
“Yep. Course, you’re gonna have to share.”
A mental image flashed of Breck licking the sweet white stuff off my stomach and cock.
“I also saw the new Lee Child paperback, so I snagged that for you too.”
Yeah. Not just about sex for me anymore—if it ever was. “Aw. Thanks. Is that a hint you need a break tonight and you’re actually gonna let me read?”
Breck growled and gave me a hard kiss. “Fuck, no. We’re gonna eat. Then fuck. Then I’m gonna school you on Madden, boy.”
“You wish. I have a surprise for you too.”
“What?”
“Not telling. That’s why it’s a surprise.”
He shrugged. “I know what it is anyway. Blood test results.”
Of course he’d gotten his too. “Mine were all clear. I brought them with me.”
“Mine’s all clear too.”
We grinned at each other.
Then he said, “Think it’d be obvious we’re impatient to fuck if we run through the crowd and back to the campsite?”
“Maybe just a tad. Besides, I’ll meet you. I left my truck in the office parking lot.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
I didn’t point out that would put us in direct view of the cafeteria and the dorms and everyone would know we were headed back to his place.
But Mr. Popular had to stop and chat with everyone. As much as I wanted time alone with him, it thrilled me to see the return of charismatic Breck, the confident cowboy, the guy in the thick of things. The joy on his face, like he truly felt their acceptance…was worth the wait.
Chapter Seven
Breck
“I suck as a teacher.”
Jerry, my colleague, the saddle bronc instructor, grunted and crushed his empty Coors can beneath his boot. “What makes you think that? Did one of your students say something to you?”
“No. It just seems none of them are makin’ any progress.”
“Progress.” Jerry snorted. “These kids are here to learn the basics. Think back to when you were seventeen. Did you give a hoot about makin’ progress? Or were you more focused on if the pretty girls were watching you acting like a rodeo cowboy stud?”
A beat of silence passed and the campfire popped, sending a flame of orange sparks into the air.
“Shoot. Sorry. Sometimes I forget that you’re…” He gestured distractedly. “You know.”
I grinned. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that you forgot I’m…you know…”
“Smarty.”
“Anyway, yeah, I had an ego and liked people watching me become a rodeo stud and All-Around Cowboy contender. But I also had discipline and drive to get better in all three of my events. And I can’t get these boys to focus on just one event when they’re in class.”
“Discipline and drive is why you’ve won more championships than the whole lot of these students—combined—ever will.” He paused. “There’s only one student here with the potential to win big.”
We both said, “Etta Geyer,” at the same time.
“See? You know talent when you see it, Breck. You can’t feel guilty because none of your kids have talent.”
“Lucky for Sharla, she knows she’s got a gem in Etta.” Sharla, the barrel racing instructor, had twenty years on me and Jerry age wise. She’d retired from competition before I’d started competing. I’d never met anyone who knew every nuance of the sport like she did.
“Etta may have to give it up because of her family situation.” Jerry cracked open another Coors. “I ain’t a gossiping old fart, but this is her last year to prove herself on her high school team and snag the eye of one of them college rodeo team r
ecruiters.”
“Where’s she from?”
“Nebraska.”
“So she lives too far to use Gradskys’ stock to make a splash.”
“Yep. Damn shame. But I think the school officials would call it an unfair advantage.” He sent me a sideways glance. “Etta’s been clocked below eleven on Whistler’s Dream.”
I shook my head. “That’s unheard of.”
“That’s why I hope that little gal gets to make a name for herself.”
We watched the fire for a while. I kicked the closest charred log deeper into the embers.
Jerry swallowed a mouthful of beer. “The last three weeks of this session are gonna drag out forever.”
God, I hoped so. I couldn’t believe how fast time had flown by and I’d been in Colorado for two months. Cres and I had been together for seven of those eight weeks. When I realized I only had three more weeks with him, tightness banded across my chest and I felt as if I was slowly suffocating.
“If you think you’re a sucky teacher, does that mean you won’t be back next session?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer.
Then Jerry’s cell phone rang. He said, “Sorry, I gotta take this,” and swung his legs over the other side of the log, disappearing into the darkness.
Staring into the flames, I brooded about my uncertain future. I didn’t trust my ambivalence toward teaching because I was a master at self-sabotage. Maybe I considered this teaching experiment a failure so I had an excuse not to sign on for the next session. Then I could stick with the “I’m a ramblin’ man” warning I’d given Cres and return to the blacktop.
But I didn’t want to go back on the road. Facing miles of empty highway day after day…I knew firsthand it was as lonely as it sounded.
Loneliness hadn’t been an issue since I’d rolled into the Grade A complex. I spent my days surrounded by students and staff and my nights wrapped up in Cres.
Sexy, funny, sweet Cres.
I’d been such a fool to think I could work him out of my system. The more time we spent together the more I wanted. Yet Cres hadn’t mentioned extending our time.
Maybe because you’ve done a bang-up job convincing him of your “itchy feet.”
Only because he’d been so insistent about never getting into another serious relationship, and I didn’t want to be the pathetic hanger-on, trying to convince him that I was worth the risk to his heart, because I wasn’t sure I was.
There was some confidence. I’d gotten my mo-jo back in the arena, but I didn’t have the same certainty with Cres unless I was fucking him.
Why did this have to be so fucked up? Why couldn’t I just tell him my feelings had changed and I needed more than “just sex?”
Because I was worried that his feelings hadn’t changed. He’d made some strides in letting go of his guilt for moving on from Mick, but I knew he was still hung up on the guy. In all the weeks we’d been together, Cres hadn’t asked me to sleep over at his house. Which made no sense…unless he considered the bedroom he’d shared with Mick a sacred place he never wanted to share with another man. By denying me access to his personal space, he believed he was keeping to his original declaration he didn’t want anything but a physical relationship.
As much as it bugged me that I hadn’t gotten an invite into his bed, I had too much fucking pride to ask for one.
Boot steps stomping across the underbrush had me shaking off the melancholy. I expected to see Jerry reappear, but Macon stepped out of the dark woods.
“Breck! What are you doin’ out here?”
“Enjoying the campfire, the stars, and the clean Colorado air.” While I’m wallowing in uncertainty of where “what is” intersects with “what could be.”
Jesus. Where had that hippie-dippy philosophy come from? I sounded like I’d been sampling some of their product.
Macon eyed Jerry’s empty beer can. “Are you enjoying an icy cold beer? Because I’d take one if you were offering.”
“Sorry. Fresh out.”
“I forget you’re a teetotaler now.”
I shrugged. “I don’t miss it, to be honest. I really don’t miss the bad decisions I made when I was liquored up.” I’d been hesitant to mention my non-drinker status to Cres, but he’d been fully supportive. He didn’t drink around me—his choice, not something I’d asked of him. He’d told me he’d rather have the taste of me in his mouth than beer anyway.
“I hear ya. So where’s Cres?”
“At his home, I reckon. Why?”
He lowered onto the log. “No reason. You two are usually joined at the hip.”
“He’s hit the busy season at the ranch now, so he’ll be around less.”
“Sucks for you,” Macon said. “So what’s this bullshit I’ve heard from Mom that you’re not re-upping to teach next session?”
“I’m not…not re-upping. I haven’t decided yet.”
“No need to get defensive. I get that dealing with teens isn’t for everyone. I thought you’d give it more than one session. Especially now that you’ve found someone worth sticking around for.”
“Me’n Cres haven’t discussed makin’ this relationship permanent, so we’ll see.”
“Yeah, right.” Macon smirked. “After seeing you two together, you’re feeling the burning need to go back on the road?”
I didn’t need him grilling me on things that were already pissing me off. “What are you doin’ here, counselor?”
“Babysitting, apparently.”
“Lemme guess. Stirling and Liam got into it again.”
He touched his nose.
“What is the deal with them?”
“They were both used to bein’ the alpha dog in their previous positions and neither is willing to be the beta even for one damn day.” He pinned me with a look. “Organic farming was my little sister’s bright idea, not mine. If I had my way, we’d use that acreage for pot. But it’s too late in the season to build grow houses. If she intends to plant anything next season, she has to prep that soil now before it snows so it’s ready to go in the spring.”
“What needs done before it’s ready to go?”
“Plowing, tilling, taking soil samples, figuring out what needs to be added to adjust the PH levels for each heirloom variety. Hiring a certifying agent. But instead of getting a jump on that, she thought it’d be funny to put powdered purple Kool-Aid in Liam’s favorite lab gloves.”
I winced. “Shit.”
“Yeah. His hands are stained the most hideous shade of purple. She bought him new gloves only after I chewed her ass, but she refused to apologize. She said he needs to grow a sense of humor. Then she added that next time she’ll dump blue powder in his cup.” He sighed. “Now I have to worry how Liam will retaliate, because there’s no way he’ll let this slide.”
Kool-Aid reminded me of the summers I’d spent toiling on the farm in South Dakota. I’d never minded the work—it was working with family that drove me away. I’d known from age ten that I wanted to rodeo and farm, so I’d practiced my rodeo skills during the day and pored over Ag magazines at night. I’d taken great satisfaction in the purple ribbons I’d won in 4H and for FFA at the state fair for the produce I’d grown in my section.
“What were you thinking about just now?” Macon asked.
“Sorry.” I shot him a sheepish look. “Didn’t mean to tune you out. I was just thinkin’ about farming and college. Lost opportunities.”
“Or ones that were taken from you?”
“I’ve had enough distance to admit that goin’ back home and helping run the family farm hadn’t ever been in the cards for me.”
Macon leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “So if you really hate teaching, would you consider coming to work for us on the organic farming side of Grade A?”
“You askin’ me because you wanna pass off the babysitting duties?”
He laughed. “I’m pleading the fifth on that one. But I am serious because if you would’ve said no to the rodeo
school, I planned to ask if you’d be interested in the Ag side.”
Maybe I did have options besides hitting the happy trail to nowhere. “Why?”
“I’ve known you since college. I trust you and you’ve got the background to be a real asset. And I don’t think you’ll find anyplace else that suits you better on a personal level either. You have acceptance and respect here, Breck. That’s something you were looking for the past couple of years.”
He’d poked every one of my “Yes! Where do I sign?” buttons. That was the perfect example of Macon being the Gradskys’ secret weapon in negotiations; he wouldn’t walk away unless he got what he wanted.
Maybe you should adopt that philosophy.
“I’ll think about it.”
A log popped with enough force it sounded like a gunshot and I jumped.
“Is this a private party?”
I jumped again and my head snapped up.
Cres stood on the other side of the campfire, his hands jammed in the front pockets of his jeans.
Macon chuckled and stood. “It is now.”
“Hey, Macon. How’s it goin’?” Cres asked.
“I can’t complain. How’ve you been?”
“Busy and cranky.”
Macon pointed at me. “Maybe you can pull each other out of your bad moods.” He hopped over the log and vanished into the forest.
I refocused on Cres. Firelight created a glow as if he were a mythical woodland creature.
“You’re lookin’ at me like I’m a ghost, Breck.”
“Since I hadn’t expected to see you tonight, I worried you were just an apparition I’d conjured up.”
“Nope. I’m flesh and blood and bone.”
I cocked my head. “Did you say you had a boner?”
He laughed. “Not yet.”
“The night is still young.” Except it wasn’t. It was after eleven and past the time early rising ranchers were usually in bed. “So you were in the neighborhood?”
Cres plopped down on the log across from me. “Nah. I was restless. So I took a drive.”
“And ended up here.” Why? Because he wanted to watch the next episode of Archer on Netflix with me? For a fast goodnight fuck to take off the restless edge?
Strung Up: A Blacktop Cowboys® Novella Page 9