“Don’t apologize to me. You wanna quit training, just say the word. All I’m doin’ is sittin’ on the fence watchin’. You’re the one who’s got the work to do.”
Bill might be sitting on the fence, but the bull hands weren’t. And if he wasn’t taking it seriously, he was wasting their time too.
“Ride the buck, not the bull,” Bill had been shouting at him. “Think less, feel more. Quit tryin’ to wrangle him. Ride the pattern.”
Bullet knew all this. He heard Bill’s voice in his head when he was in the chute, mounting on. It was the time in between that got him today. Once he eased his toes down the bull’s side, careful not to touch him with his spurs, he stopped hearing Bill’s voice and heard Tristan’s instead.
“It’s irresponsible for him to even try riding bulls. He has a child to raise.” Those weren’t the exact words he’d overheard her say, but they were close enough.
Once the chute opened, he didn’t have time to think about much, other than staying alive, if only to prove her wrong. And Bill was right, that would get him killed.
Bullet and the partners were on their way to the Flying R Rough Stock headquarters for a sponsored rider meeting. The cowboys and cowgirls who were already on the team would be there, along with new recruits being considered.
While Bullet was on the Flying R team, both as an employee and as a rider, it was the Lost Cowboy team he was vying for. It didn’t matter that Flying R was the bigger fish. If he was wearing the LC brand, it would mean he’d won Tristan over.
“We’re leavin’ at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning. Get some rest tonight.” Bill climbed down the fence and walked in the direction of the barn. “Oh, and Dottie wanted me to tell you she left dinner on the back stoop.”
“Thank her for me,” Bullet shouted back.
Bill waved and went into the barn.
Bullet looked at his phone. He had another hour before he had to pick Grey up from the babysitter. He could stick around and pull gates for the other guys.
Miss Dottie made dinner for him and Grey almost every night. He’d thank her, and then tell her she didn’t have to, only to have her shush him every time.
“No sense letting good food go to waste,” she’d say. Bullet didn’t dare suggest she not make as much.
Liv insisted she’d pick Tristan up at the airfield in Gunnison. She didn’t have Caden with her this time, so she suggested they take the opportunity to have a quieter “girls’ lunch.”
Tristan brought her portfolio in with her. “Would you mind giving me your opinion on some new designs?”
Liv clapped her hands. “I’d love to. I’m so excited.”
“It isn’t anything that special, just a few sketches for a new line.”
“Tristan, I spend most of my time listening to conversations about bull semen, and other equally disgusting rough stock minutiae. My girl talk is limited to making conversation with Caden and her dolls. Please, show me your work. I’m begging you.”
“Remember, these are preliminary.” Tristan set her sketchbook on the table, in front of Liv, and then watched her slowly turn the pages.
“Well?”
Liv flipped back to the beginning. “I absolutely love the riding jackets. I don’t know if I can decide which one I like best. You’ll have to make them all, and in my size.”
“Really? You like them?”
“No. I love them. They’re beautiful. So colorful. What’s this?” Liv pointed to the detail on one of the jackets.
“Turquoise inlay.”
“Yes! That would work perfectly.” Liv flipped the page and asked more questions. “They’re magnificent.” She pointed to another sketch on the page. “What are these?”
Tristan had sketched out complementary riding pants as well as undergarments designed specifically for riding.
“I didn’t realize Lost Cowboy was offering a new line.”
“I haven’t broached the subject with my father yet. I’m not sure—”
“Before you say another word, listen to me. You have to produce this line. There’s nothing else like it. Even if I never rode again in my life, I’d buy all of it. Every piece.”
Tristan was smiling from ear to ear. Liv’s enthusiasm was authentic enough that she couldn’t question her reaction.
“I wish I had one of your new jackets to wear to tonight’s dinner. It’s gonna be a serious shindig.”
“I haven’t heard anything about it.”
“I’m not surprised. The boys aren’t big on advance notice. I can tell you this much, Flying R rented out Tracker’s Bar in Mountaineer Square, and Ben’s band is playing after dinner. I hope you brought your dancing boots.”
“Are you sure I’m invited?”
“Of course you are. Everyone is. All the partners,—and you’re a partner—plus all the riders. I warned Ben that putting that many cowboys and cowgirls together when his band is playing is risky.” Liv winked at Tristan.
She’d been listening to CB Rice since she left Crested Butte. Ben’s music was definitely sexy, especially the records the band had released since Ben married Liv.
“You have heard that Flying R is sponsoring Bullet, right?”
“Is that your way of warning me he’ll be there tonight?”
“Yes. Are you okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, Bullet and I will likely cross paths often. I guess I didn’t tell you we made up before I left.”
“You didn’t. What happened?”
Tristan told Liv that she and Bullet talked before she left, and he had accepted her apology. “I’m sure he’ll be busy getting to know the barrel racers we invited to the meet and greet.”
“Maybe. Then again, he did specifically ask if you were coming into town this week.”
“He’s just interested in Lost Cowboy’s sponsorship.”
Liv patted her hand. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, girlfriend.”
“How’s this one look?”
“God, Bullet, would you stop changin’ your shirt? The last five you tried on looked fine.”
“I’m goin’ for better than fine, Lyric.”
“Why’s that? Somebody gonna be at the dinner tonight you’re aimin’ to impress?”
“Heard there’s a new batch of barrel racers gonna be there.” He was lying. He didn’t care about anyone invited other than Tristan.
When he brought Grey over to play with Caden this morning, he’d asked Liv if Tristan was arriving in time to attend the dinner, and she’d told him she was leaving in an hour to pick her up from the airport. If he hadn’t had so much work to do he would’ve offered to go in her place.
“Tristan McCullough’s the reason you’re in such a state, and we both know it.”
“Just tell me which shirt looks the best. This one or the green one?”
“The blue one. It makes your eyes look bluer.” Lyric rolled her eyes at him. “You’re not wearin’ those boots are you?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with ’em?”
“They could use a good polish for starters.”
“Shit. I don’t have time to polish my boots now. Why didn’t you say somethin’ earlier?”
“For goodness sake. Take ’em off. I’ll do it.”
“No, I’ll do it,” he grumbled. Damn, this woman had him rattled. He didn’t remember the last time he was this nervous. Maybe before the first time he got laid.
He saw her as soon as he walked into the bar. Tristan was across the room, talking to a cowboy he recognized. Stormy was his name, and he’d been bragging earlier about nailing a Lost Cowboy sponsorship.
She was looking mighty fine tonight, with her Cowgirl Tuff jeans tucked into her deep red boots, her red and silver fringed shirt hugging her womanly curves. The other cowboys had to have noticed too.
Something Stormy said made Tristan laugh, which burned a hole in Bullet’s gut. When he saw the guy reach out and touched her hair, it took Bullet all of five seconds to cross the room.
&nb
sp; “Hey, asshole, I don’t think the lady wants you mawlin’ her.”
“Bullet!” Tristan gasped, and then looked at Stormy. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for me.” Bullet leaned in closer to her. “Don’t mind you talkin’ with other fellas while you’re waitin’ on me, but I draw the line at them touchin’ you.”
“Waiting on you? Are you joking?” Tristan spun away from Bullet’s grasp on her arm, but Stormy had already walked away.
“Hey, darlin’, it sure is nice to see you.”
“Give me a break, Bullet. I told you once before, I’m not your darlin’. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a conversation to finish with one of our new riders.”
She shouldn’t have rubbed his nose in it like that, but he made her mad with his caveman antics.
“Can I buy you a drink, cowboy?” she approached Stormy, who was standing at the bar.
“Open bar, ma’am, but I’ll take a rain check if you’re willin’.”
“It would be my pleasure. I’m so sorry about Bullet. I don’t know—”
“It’s okay, Tristan. Bullet’s got a reputation for settin’ his sights on a pretty lady and not givin’ up until she’s his, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean, and I assure you, I’ll never be his.” The way it came out made her cringe.
“Glad to hear it. Uh, does Lost Cowboy have a rule against the boss lady dancin’ with a rider?”
“Of course not, and if we did, my daddy is a long way from here, and would never know.” Had she really just told a cowboy that she’d bend the rules for him because her father would never know? What had gotten into her? It was Bullet, dammit.
She danced with Stormy for two songs, and then excused herself.
She looked around the room and didn’t see Bullet. Maybe he left after embarrassing himself. She looked around a second time, but still didn’t see him.
When Tristan turned back to the bar, Bullet was standing next to her. “Who ya lookin’ for, darlin’?”
“No one,” she scowled. “Just seeing who else is here.”
He held out his hand. “Dance with me?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Come on, now, one dance won’t hurt any.”
Bullet was using the same tone of voice he had the last time she saw him. The same one he used with the filly. Why was it sending chills up her spine?
“You think you’re pretty smooth, don’t you?”
“Nah, I’m not like that, Tristan. You should know better.” He leaned in, close enough that she could hear him breathing. “Dance with me,” he whispered.
“Um, maybe one song.” What was she doing? Getting closer to him was not a good idea. Why wasn’t she walking in the opposite direction? Instead, she let him lead her to the dance floor.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered as he drew her close. Much too close.
1967
“Calm down and start over. What happened?”
Bill joined Clancy in the kitchen. When he did, Clancy shook his head. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
When he hung up the phone, he rested his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “Son,” he began, “there’s some trouble with your mama.”
More bad news. Bill was beginning to think his family was cursed. Clancy made two more phone calls after the first. Bill went up to his bedroom because Clancy asked for privacy.
“I’m goin’ alone this time,” he said after he asked Bill to come back downstairs.
“Are you gonna tell me what it’s about?”
“I’m not, and I need you to trust that I’m makin’ the right decision by not tellin’ you.”
“Did he hurt her?” Bill caught Clancy’s wince.
“No, son, not in the way you think.”
Bill didn’t like it one bit that Clancy was keeping something from him, especially since it was about his mother and sister.
“I don’t like it.”
“I know you don’t.” Clancy put his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “As I said before, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
9
The spring schedule was set. Bullet would be moving broncs from the Crested Butte operation to Patterson Ranch in Black Forest later in the month. Next month, he’d move more broncs to Black Forest from Jace Rice’s place in Montana.
Doing it now would give him time to evaluate the stock and determine which horses he and Bill would take to each of the events before the rodeo season kicked into high gear.
“You sure about this?” Bullet asked Bill when the bronc meeting broke up.
“About what specifically?”
“All of it.”
Bill smiled at Dottie, who had been in the meeting with the rest of the Flying R partners. “Been a long time since my girl and I traveled the rodeo circuit. We made a lot of friends over the years, some we haven’t seen since Billy retired from ridin’.”
Bullet shook his head. “I don’t get it. Billy tells me you aren’t keen on what you call modern rodeo, yet your son was a national saddle bronc champion. Where’s the disconnect?”
Before Bill could answer, Dottie rested her hand on his arm. “It’s the timed events Bill has a harder time with.”
“But aren’t those events closest to what happens in a cattle operation every day?”
“No, son,” answered Bill. “At least not in the same way. Sure, we rope. But it’s different when you’re tryin’ to do it in a number of seconds.”
“What’s your stand on ranch rodeos?”
“I have to admit I prefer them. What about you, Dottie?”
“The Working Ranch Cowboys Association is goin’ on twenty years in operation. We’ve participated in their Ride for the Brand cattle drive in Colorado Springs for a few years.”
“I think it’s been longer than that, but you’re right. I’m much more ‘keen’ on ranch rodeo events than I am on the Professional Rodeo Cowboy Association’s events, for example.”
Bullet needed to have his head examined. Instead of focusing on the two rodeo circuits he’d need to compete on to achieve his own dreams, he was talking to Bill and Dottie about the ranch rodeos instead.
There was no way he could travel solely to ranch rodeos and compete in other events. He’d need to be in two places at the same time. And he was the stupid one who’d brought it up. Why?
If he didn’t compete in enough PRCA sanctioned events, he’d never qualify for the Super Bowl of rodeo—the National Finals Rodeo held in Las Vegas in December. The same with the Professional Bull Riders, which was the organization Bullet wanted most to ride with. He was initially hoping to ride for the Touring Pro Division, considered the minor league of the PBR. As a Touring Pro rider, Bullet could compete in PBR-sanctioned events and start moving up in earnings to qualify for the bigger events.
But neither the PRCA or PBR had anything whatsoever to do with ranch rodeos.
“You got a problem now, don’t ya, son?” Bill rested his hand on Bullet’s shoulder.
He gave them a fake smile. “Nah. No problems. Only opportunities.”
Bill and Dottie were good to him, and putting his desire to be a professional bull rider in front of what they were doing didn’t sit right with him. At the end of the day, he needed a steady paycheck and a home for Grey. He didn’t need the thrill associated with covering a bull for eight seconds, he just wanted it.
Bill squeezed Bullet’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll work it out. The Flying R partners aren’t gonna be satisfied with ranch rodeos alone.”
Bullet felt sick to his stomach and, more than anything, needed to go for a walk. He felt his dream slipping farther out of his reach, and he didn’t want Bill and Dottie to sense his frustration. He used the excuse that he was going to check on the filly he’d been working with the last time he was in Crested Butte.
“I get the prize for biggest mouth, that’s for damn sure,” Tristan overheard Bullet say to the horse. “Why in hell I
can’t learn to keep it shut, I just don’t know.”
The horse reared, probably because of the tone Bullet was using. The filly could sense Bullet’s anger and frustration just as well as Tristan could.
She’d gone outside to stretch her legs and feel the sun on her face. The back-to-back meetings all day were wearing on her, but the next one was hers, and that made all the difference. In a few minutes, the Lost Cowboy sponsorship meeting would begin. She was equal parts nervous and excited about signing new team members. In years past, they hadn’t signed five competitors. Today they were signing twenty. And Bullet wasn’t one of them.
He hadn’t brought it up last night either. She’d expected him to, particularly after the run-in with Stormy. Instead, he danced with her. Tristan lost count of how many times. After the first two songs, Bullet went to the bar and got them both a drink while Tristan talked to Lyric about today’s meetings. Before she could get too deep into business mode, he whisked her back to the dance floor. Bullet was a good dancer. That hadn’t been a surprise, but his graciousness, and their conversations, had been unexpected.
This morning, Lyric told her about Bullet’s late wife’s struggles with bipolar disorder and how hard Bullet had tried to make their marriage work. Tristan was beginning to think she’d been wrong in her initial assessment of him.
“You talkin’ to yourself or the horse?” she shouted out to him.
Bullet waved, slapped the horse’s hindquarters, and walked over to her.
“Needed some time outdoors. Bein’ inside all day was gettin’ to me. I’m not one for sittin’ in meetings.”
“Me too.” Tristan looked up at the mountains surrounding the ranch. The sky was so blue, set against the green of the trees. No photo could capture its intensity. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air.
“Beautiful here, isn’t it?”
When Tristan opened her eyes, Bullet stood right next to her. “It’s the same in Black Forest. Sometimes Grey and I lie right down on the grass and watch the clouds move across the sky.”
“Mmm, that sounds wonderful.”
Win Me Over (Cowboys of Crested Butte Book 5) Page 8