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Not that I didn’t enjoy meeting Rowdy. But, in general, I prefer to be clothed when making new acquaintances.
I should take a shower and put on my own clothes, but I’m a little afraid of what the bathroom will look like. So, I pull out my laptop instead.
Rowdy did a much better job of keeping his eyes to himself than I did. I studied every corded tendon in his biceps and every cut of his abs. He’s not tall, and he’s not big, but Rowdy Lovett has muscles on top of muscles in his wiry frame. And every one of them is etched in my brain. I may have memorized the muscles down his back. What does a guy his size—he’s not much taller than I am, and I’m 5’7”—do to look that … yummy? His muscles aren’t the kind that come from a gym. They come from hard work.
Google doesn’t take long to tell me what that work is. I get a full page of search results for professional bareback bronc rider, Rowdy Lovett.
First, I have to look up what a bronc rider is. Once I know it’s a person at a rodeo who tries very hard not to get thrown off a horse that is very determined not to be ridden, I’m left wondering how that’s a job.
A job that Rowdy does well, apparently. There’s a long list of results for titles he’s won for not getting bucked off a horse.
I click each one, reading not only about the titles, but also the money he’s won with the titles. It’s a lot. The entries go back ten years, and by my calculation, he’s won over a million dollars.
A million dollars!For staying on a horse.
I don’t know which is more surprising to me. The fact I had no idea this world of purposely riding bucking horses existed, or that people not only voluntarily do it, but that they can also make a lot of money in the process.
After I read all the entries and watch the videos of Rowdy’s winning rides, I watch them again.
I still have questions about this sport. Mostly about whether the horse gets hurt. The guy I met at the spring doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would hurt anyone or anything. But I’ve learned from my reading that bronc riders are required to “mark” their horses above the animal’s shoulders. That means the cowboy uses his spurs to dig into the horse’s neck—at least that’s what it looks like to me.
Maybe seeing the event in person would look different. I’ve never been to a rodeo. I’ve never even thought about going to one. Cowboys arenotmy thing—I write about billionaires and secret princes. But watching Rowdy masterfully stay on a horse who’s leaping through the air, shaking him around like a rag doll, I understand why he looks the way he does. He’s not staying on the horse by sheer luck. It takes skill and muscles.
Lots of muscles.
And I’m reconsidering my whole stance on cowboys not being my thing.
Especially if they’re all as polite and handsome as Rowdy was today.
I'm about to close the tabs—feeling a little silly that I've spent so much time e-stalking a man I've met once—but one last link catches my eye. It's a news story that mentions his retirement from bronc riding, along with his decision to join a local real estate brokerage.
And if that’s not fate trying to tell me something, I don’t know what is. Because a real estate agent is exactly what I need if I’m going to buy Aunt D’s place.
Chapter 4
Rowdy
I usually don’t go to the office on Saturdays. In fact, I don’t usually go into the office unless I’m meeting a client there. I’m not really an office kind of guy. But that’s the beauty of being a real estate agent. Most of the time I’m out and about—every day is different. Clients can always reach me by phone and when we do sit down to talk things over, we usually do it over coffee … or a good steak.
Real estate, as it turns out, is all about relationships. I just wish my work relationships weren’t the only ones I seem to be any good at.
But this Saturday I’m making an exception to my rule about avoiding my desk chair and filing cabinet. I know my broker, Zach, will be in the office. Work is how he calms himself down. I’ve got some explaining to do about why I helped Dakota humiliate his brother on their wedding day.
Even if Zach weren’t my broker, he is my friend. When I was laid up in the hospital with a broken back, wondering if I’d ever be able to ride a motorcycle, let alone a bronc, again, Zach offered me a lifeline. He talked me into taking real estate courses while I was healing. I needed something else to think about, and I needed a new career. Real estate, and Zach, gave me both of those things.
Selling houses wasn’t exactly the career I saw myself in, but Zach pointed out it’s something I can do as much or as little of as I want. Business is usually slow during winter, which leaves me time to put on bronc riding clinics for kids interested in getting into the sport. And, it turns out, I’m pretty good with people which, like I said, is what real estate is all about. The past couple years have been better than I thought they’d be when the doc first told me I was done rodeoing.
All that’s to say, I owe Zach.
I owe Adam too, for that matter. I’ve known them both since we were kids. They’re a few years younger than me, but we’ve always been friends. Not best buds or anything, but friends. And I hope I haven’t screwed that up because of the wedding. Or lack of wedding
I park my truck and slide out of the door. Once I’ve got my Stetson on, I head inside. Zach’s hinted I should lose the hat, teasing me about trying to cover up thinning hair. But I’ve got great hair. I just feel exposed when I’m not wearing a hat.
Zach’s waiting for me when I walk through the door. His face is blank, and for half a second I consider taking off my hat to see if a more humble stance will help. For half a second, I even worry it’s not Zach at all, but Adam. Theyareidentical twins after all.
“I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain, Zach.”
Zach gives me a sad smile, and I know it’s him. Adam’s not much of a smiler, even in happy situations.
