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Grady took a run and rear-mounted Rhett’s horse, so he was sitting behind the man. He got the laughing crowd’s attention and pointed at Rhett, encouraging a round of applause for the pickup man.
Rhett shook his head and elbowed Grady in the ribs. Still laughing, Grady jumped down, gave the horse a pat on the rump, and played to the crowd even more.
“Gawd, he’s such a ham,” Maisey shouted in my ear.
“The biggest.” I chuckled, shaking my head as Grady basked in the adoring crowd like a star at a movie premiere.
When Grady left the arena, girls swarmed him, and he soaked up the attention like a sunbather soaking up the rays at the beach. Finn and Wyatt walked over to him, and two girls diverted their attention over to them.
Wyatt smiled at a cute redhead, and I felt a stab of jealousy.
“Hey.” Maisey looked at me with concern. “He doesn’t go for buckle bunnies, you know that.”
“Yeah, I know.”
My brow furrowed as Wyatt charmed that cute redhead. He was leaning in close, that crooked smile of his on full display as they talked.
A pang of jealousy twisted in my gut, no matter how much I tried to tell myself that he didn’t go for buckle bunnies. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed at something she’d said had me gritting my teeth. He was oblivious to female attention sometimes, but did he have to play right into it?
“Are we going dancing tonight?” Maisey asked.
“Absolutely,” I said with a little too much force in my voice. If Wyatt was going to move on, then so was I. “Let’s go find something hot to wear.”
I grabbed Maisey’s hand and tugged her to the bleacher stairs.
Chapter 10
Kerosene - Miranda Lambert
Wyatt
The bar was packed to the rafters with folks boot-scooting to the twangy beats. The scuffed hardwood floors were littered with peanut shells, and the tables had damp circles left from sweating beer bottles. Neon signs flickered through the hazy darkness, barely illuminating the crowd swaying and spinning in the dim light.
I squeezed between wobbly tables and abandoned chairs, the smell of stale beer and sawdust thick in the air. Finally, pushing through to the corner, I found Finn hunched over the high-top, looking just as miserable as me while he nursed a longneck.
“We can haul him to the next few rodeos,” Finn said, barely audible over the bar’s pounding music. “Then maybe get him to my place.”
I rested my elbows on the table, pressing my forehead into my palms.
The idea of leaving Drifter behind gnawed at me. For the millionth time, I cursed my father for selling our farm.
“Even if I could afford that, what am I going to do on the circuit without a horse?” I took a long sip of my beer.
The option of leaving him with Finn’s parents was a small comfort. They would give me a deal on boarding him, like before, but I preferred to work off his keep. I didn’t want handouts. The weight of my future pressed down on me like an anvil. With Drifter officially retired, I was a cowboy without a horse.
I took another long pull from my beer, but it was doing little to wash away the reality staring me in the face. How was I going to keep gas in the truck and food in my belly if I couldn’t compete? Rodeoing was more than a way of life; it paid the bills too.
“Without team roping, maybe I should try tie-down again to finish the season.” Finn shook his head, mouth twisting into a grimace. “But I’m too damn old for that shit.”
“C’mon, man,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re not that old.”
Finn shot me a withering look, but the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “I’m not as young as I used to be, jackass. Hell, my knees creak tying my boots these days.”
We were both almost thirty—not old at all—but in tie-down roping, you had to chase down the calf on horseback, jump out of the saddle, wrestle the calf to the ground, and tie up his legs as fast as possible. It was a lot harder on the body. At least in team roping, we stayed in the saddle.
“Why so glum, son?!” Grady placed four colourful drinks with little umbrellas on the table in front of us.
“What the fuck are those?” Finn eyed the drinks.
