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How ‘Bout Them Cowgirls - George Strait
Wyatt
Itrotted Drifter over a hill, looking down the rodeo grounds. My gut twisted.
What the hell am I doing here? The question nagged at me. I had already withdrawn my entry and had nothing to do all weekend. I’d driven the guys here, so my job was done.
A heavy sigh pushed past my lips, and I let my shoulders slump. At least I was still with my horse. He tugged at the reins, telling me he wanted to go faster, and I thought I needed that too.
That familiar ache twisted in my chest as I thought back to last night. No matter how much I tried pushing it down and burying it, the memory burned as brightly as a cattle brand. The way Kinsley had looked at me through those heavy-lidded eyes, face flushed, and lips parted in a way that goddamn near stopped my heart. The feel of her soft curves melting against me when I’d picked her up off that bar floor, all whiskey-warm and pliant in my arms. And later, when she’d settled onto my lap, those small hands dug into my chest with a desperation that mirrored my own...
The fantasy took on a life of its own, spiraling into forbidden territory despite my best efforts. I could almost feel the feather-light caress of her fingers as they danced down my stomach, those plump lips branding hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of my neck. My chest heaved with each shallow pant, a familiar tightness building low in my belly.
As much as it killed me, I’d done the right thing walking away. Kinsley had been drunk, emotional, and not thinking straight. Taking advantage of her in that state would’ve been a new low even for a screw-up like me. But, Christ, had I wanted to.
My hands were shaking now, the muscles in my jaw pulsing from being clenched so damn tight. I tried forcing the image of her from my mind, but it was seared into the back of my eyelids, torturing me with every flutter of those long lashes and slight pout of those full lips.
With a harsh shake of my head, I forced myself to take stock of my surroundings. Drifter was pulling the reins from my hands, asking to be let loose.
“Alright, if you’re up for it.” I patted his neck and urged him forward.
He broke out into an easy lope, and I relaxed, enjoying the gentle rocking motion of the three-beat gait. Easy rides were all we were doing. He needed to move, but I let him decide how much and how fast. So far, he was happy and eager to go.
The morning sun was warming, and I was grateful for the shade of my hat. I let Drifter lope to his heart’s content until he slowed himself to a walk. He tossed his head as if to say that had felt good.
“Back to your stall, buddy.” I steered him back to the barn arena but wished it was a big, grassy pasture I was bringing him to.
We rode past the warm-up ring. It was full of barrel racers getting their horses ready for their event.
I scanned the arena until I spotted her. She had Gambler trotting calmly around the outside of the ring. I breathed out a sigh of relief. The horse looked good, really good. His well-muscled hind end was tucked neatly underneath him, propelling him forward. His head and neck were relaxed and reaching in a beautiful open frame. As beautiful as Kinsley was; that was what I had noticed about her first—the way she rode her horses. While so many riders were always yanking on their horses’ faces and kicking them forward, that wasn’t Kinsley’s style. She was an exceptionally kind rider. She let her horses move in a way that was free and natural.
Our philosophy on riding was one of the first things we’d bonded over, but it hadn’t taken long for me to fall in love with everything about her, especially her smile. She was always smiling; she was always happy. I had never met anyone like that.
For as long as I could remember, my mother had been miserable. She hated life on the farm, hated rodeo, and hated my father. Though, my father was an alcoholic with a gambling problem, so I couldn’t blame her too much for that last one.
She was young when she met him, a girl from the city who thought it would be fun to go to the rodeo and flirt with the cowboys. She got pregnant by one of those cowboys and suddenly found herself stuck on a small-town farm that was barely getting by while her husband was off at rodeos every weekend. She stuck it out for as long as she could before she packed a bag and left.
Unfortunately, she forgot to pack me. I stayed with my father, who had no choice but to take me on the circuit with him.
My father had been a great cowboy, but the more he drank, the worse he got, which meant prize money was not coming in. The pitying looks I got from people still haunted me, so I’d learned to hold my head up high and pull myself up by my bootstraps.
I loved life on the circuit. My dad wasn’t too concerned about where I was or what I was doing, so I had a lot of freedom. I met Finn and followed him and his parents around; sometimes I would even jump in their truck to ride to the next rodeo, and I didn’t think my dad even noticed when I didn’t ride with him and just showed up in another town.
I watched Kinsley ride for a while, making sure that horse of hers was behaving, then took Drifter back to his stall and brushed him down.
“What’s our plan?” I asked him. “We’re going to need one pretty soon.” His ear flicked towards me, but that was all I got. “I know. My responsibility. A horse is for life.” I would have to figure out how to take care of him. I owed him that.
When he was settled, I went to find the other guys. They were already ring side for the barrel racing, which would start right away. I joined them on the rail.
“Good ride?” Finn asked.
“Yeah, he felt good.”
The first rider was announced—a rookie who knocked over the first barrel. It hurt her time quite a bit. Rider after rider made decent time, but nothing spectacular, not until Maisey. She flew.
“Holy shit,” Finn said. “Where did that come from?”
“Didn’t you see her last weekend?” Rhett asked. “Incredible. She’s killing it this year.”
