Long Hard Ride (15 page)
She laughed.
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“Are you really okay, darlin’? She didn’t say nothin’ to upset you?”
How had he picked up on that so fast? “I’m fine. I’m ready to rodeo.
Good luck, cowboy. I’ll be cheering you on.”
“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. I probably won’t get much of a break, so I’ll see you after that ninety-point ride.”
Channing was smiling as she hung up.
Colby squeaked by in the tie-down roping competition with a top-five finish. As did Trevor. Edgard got shut out.
While other events were held and Colby and Trevor and Edgard weren’t competing, Channing jotted observations in her notebook. It was a good excuse not to have to talk to people. Again, she had a sudden burst of shyness.
The other wives and girlfriends looked at her a little strangely, but so far none had ventured over and introduced themselves. And she worried it’d smack of desperation if she made the first move. It wasn’t like she hadn’t suffered enough rejection in her life.
Colby managed to cover his bronc for a seventy-seven-point ride. The rest of the contestants didn’t fare so well, which left Colby at the top of the standings and a guaranteed spot in the second round.
Likewise Trevor and Edgard had a good run and landed in the top five, also guaranteeing them a return trip the following day. Cash and Brian wound up in first place in the team roping.
The food in the concession stand was pure grease and Channing wished she’d packed a healthy lunch. Her stomach rumbled loudly.
A pigtailed girl of about four looked up from beneath the brim of her pink cowgirl hat. “Your tummy sounded like a bear growling.”
“Well, maybe that’s because I’m as hungry as a bear.”
The girl considered her, sidled closer and then dug in her package of animal crackers, slyly passing over a circus bear. “Ya’are what you eat.”
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“Thank you.” Channing crunched the cookie. She debated on asking the girl her name but she figured the girl would clam up, lectures of not talking to strangers dancing in her cute little head.
“That’s why my daddy don’t never eat chicken. ‘Cause he ain’t no chicken.”
Interesting. She’d have to ask Colby and Trevor and Edgard if that superstition held true with all rodeo contestants all the time.
“What’s your name?” the girl asked out of the blue.
“Channing.”
“China? Like a doll?”
She repeated her name and the girl stared at her with enormous blue eyes.
“You shore do talk funny, lady.”
“Yeah? So do you, cowgirl. What’s your name?”
“Calliope Jane. ‘Cept nobody calls me that unless I’m in trouble.”
“What do they call you?”
“Callie. My daddy sometimes calls me Calamity Jane.” She pointed at the chutes. “My daddy is bulldoggin’ today.” Then those blue eyes lasered into her. “What’s your daddy doin’?”
Most likely his secretary, but not information she could share with anyone, let alone a sweet little girl.
“Callie!”
Both Channing and Callie whirled around to look at the harried brunette hustling toward them, her purple ropers clomping across the metal bench seats.
“Callie, hon, you need to leave this poor lady alone, can’t you see she’s busy?” Callie’s mother gestured to the open notebook and pen perched on Channing’s lap. “Sorry. She’s just a chatterbox.”
“Honestly, I don’t mind. It’s nice to have someone to talk to for a change. I don’t know many people here.” There. That wasn’t so hard.
The brunette studied her with the same intensity as her daughter.
“I’m sorry. Have we met?”
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“No.” Channing stuck out her hand and the woman shook it heartily.
“Channing Kinkaid.”
“Mary Morgan. Haven’t seen you in the family bleachers before.
Who’re you here with?”
“She ain’t gonna tell you her daddy’s name, Momma, ‘cause she didn’t tell
me
,” Callie said with a pout.
“Probably because she ain’t here with her daddy, Cal.”
Her rosebud lips made an “O” of understanding.
Channing hid a smile. “I’m here with Colby McKay.”
Mary’s eyebrows winged up clear into her straw hat. “So you’re the one.”
“The one what?”
“The one all them women are gossiping about.”
“Yeah?” Her heart knocked against her chest. “Bad or good gossip?”
“Depends on who you’re talking to.” Mary snorted. “No skin off my nose, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, know what I mean? Besides, near as I can tell you’re free, white and eighteen. Do what you want to and ignore all them self-righteous old biddies and cowpokes.”
Channing opened her mouth but Mary wasn’t close to finished.
“Like none of this stuff happened when they were rodeoin’ years ago?
Wrong. We’ve all heard the stories. And it ain’t like they wouldn’t jump at the chance to act young and carefree and hook themselves a hot studly cowboy if they could. I say, flip ‘em the bird—”
“What bird, Momma?”
Mary smiled indulgently and tugged Callie’s pigtails. “Don’t you never mind, girlie.”
“So Callie told me her daddy is a steer wrestler.” Steer wrestling or bulldogging, was another timed event where the cowboy chased down a steer. But instead of using ropes to catch the animal, the bulldogger launched himself off his horse, right at the steer as his hazer made sure the steer ran in a straight line. Once the bulldogger had a hold of the www.samhainpublishing.com 117
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animal, he picked him up, cranked his head around and flipped him on his side. Steer wrestlers usually only competed in one event, because the money was so good—but so was the injury potential.
“Yeah. Mike Morgan. Currently ranked second. We’re hopin’ for a big win here and in Valentine. Then we’ll go back home for about twenty minutes before we hit the
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in Deadwood. After that we’ll head to Cheyenne. Last year Mike did well in both places and we drove between Deadwood and Cheyenne five times in one week. Seems once I do get back to the ranch I’ll never catch up.”
“You must travel a lot, then.”
“Yep. It’s fun at first. Rodeo folks are the best in the world. It’s like a big ol’ family reunion. Then about halfway through the summer season we just wanna get back home, have a normal life, if that’s possible with a kid and a ranch to run.”
“Where are you from?”
“Buffalo Gap, South Dakota. What about you?”
Channing tensed up. “Outside of Boston.”
“Oh.” Mary frowned. “Whoa. How did you hook up with Colby?”
“Pure luck.”
“I’ll say.” She clapped her hands over Callie’s ears and said in a low voice, “He’s a wily one, but man, I’d take him for a test ride any time.”
Channing didn’t know whether to be jealous or flattered.
“Not that he’d pick me without me twisting his arm. Despite gossip to the contrary, the real word is he’s
very
choosy. He don’t usually bring a woman along in his travels. Ever.” She winked. “You plan on sticking around the circuit for awhile then?”
“Until Cheyenne.”
“Well, good. I guess we’ll be seeing you at the dances and whatever.
You going to the Wild Bronc tonight? We could toss back a couple of shots.”
“Maybe. Depends on how Colby does today.”
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Mary rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know how men’s attitudes depend on how they done in the arena. Pray you don’t have to know how Colby reacts when he gets hurt. But at some point they always get hurt.
Always. ” She shivered. “Come on Callie, let’s get you washed up before it’s Daddy’s turn in the box.”
“Bye-bye, China bear.” She giggled and raced off.
Channing smiled. Well, at least she wasn’t a total pariah.
She sat impatiently through the steer wrestling—Mike Morgan had the fastest time—and barrel racing. She was as curious to see how Colby would do in the bull riding as she was nervous.
What had possessed her to strike such a deal with him? Had she been delirious, still giddy from the amazing sex the previous night?
No, you made the deal because you want this. Even though it makes
you edgy, it keys you up. And you do feel safe with him.
She snuck out and drank a beer before the last event began, convincing herself it was not liquid courage.
The family section wasn’t covered with a canopy. The sun beat down on the metal and concrete making it as constricting as a sardine can. Not a breath of wind stirred. Sweat coated her skin and plastered her hair to her head beneath her hat. Most other supporters of the contestants had already left for cooler pastures.
Through a quirk of fate, Colby was the last bull rider. He’d drawn One-eyed Jack, another rank bull that’d been unridden in two dozen outs, according to Cash. But the last time he had been ridden, the rider had scored a record ninety-two.
At Colby’s request Cash had ventured into the stands to share the information about what Channing might expect—although in Channing’s mind it was Colby’s way of gloating.
However, One-eyed Jack was also a notorious chute fighter—which posed a danger for the rider.
Channing cringed as the twenty-five contestants struggled to cover their bulls. The buck-off rate was damn near one hundred percent.
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owner and rating. She moved down from the bleachers and hung over the railing, trying to get a better view on what was going on inside the chutes.
As usual Trevor was helping Colby get ready, standing behind him, holding the rope straight, parallel to Colby’s body while Colby rosined up the rope in long pulls. It didn’t look like the bull was putting up much of a fight. Because of the heat? Channing’s hope that the two-thousand pound animal was lethargic had nothing to do with the bet and everything with keeping Colby safe.
Colby’s free arm was wrapped around the metal gate. He scooted side to side, bobbed his hat at the gate master, and man and beast rolled out.
Evidently One-eyed Jack had saved his antics for the arena, not the chutes. All four black legs were out of the dirt from the get-go, then a quick switchback and the animal was nearly vertical. Colby hung on.
Another hard spin to the right, right into Colby’s riding hand, but he stuck tight, even as his hips tilted sideways. Three more vertical high jumps, another lopsided spin, followed by a fast reversal, four quick spins, one last perpendicular kick and the buzzer sounded.
He’d made it all eight seconds.
Colby did a quick release with his rope, liberating his hand, and hit the dirt ass first. The bull made a play for him, but the bull fighter distracted ol’ One-Eyed Jack, allowing Colby to run to safety. Even before he squinted at the screen to watch his performance, by Colby’s expression, he knew he’d ridden well.
When a score of ninety-one was announced, confetti flew in the grandstand, the crowd roared approval and he tossed his hat high in the air with a loud whoop and grabbed his bullrope.
Then he made a beeline for her.
Channing’s breath stalled in her lungs as Colby clambered up the fence, the metallic fringe on his chaps fluttering behind him. He hadn’t even taken off his riding glove. With one hand secured on the railing, he used his free hand to jerk her close and he planted a wet kiss on her.
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Right in front of everyone. He did it again, with a little more flair, amidst the wolf whistles and another round of clapping.
He grinned and pressed his lips to her ear. “Time to pay up, darlin’.”
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Chapter Eleven
Rather than dragging Channing through the muck behind the chutes, Colby sent his saddle with Cash, grabbed his equipment bag and met her out front by the contestants’ gate.
She smiled. Nervously?
He knew his answering grin was just a shade shy of wickedly smug.
“You ready?”
“Umm. Yeah. How about if we have a beer first?”
“Thirsty?”
“It’d be nice to suck down something cold and wet. You look hot. I thought you might want one to celebrate. I’ll even buy.”
“Mighty thoughtful of you, Chan.” When he placed his hand in the small of her back she jumped. He whispered, “Relax. I ain’t gonna bend you over the picnic table right now.”
Channing rubbed her lips along his jaw. “I didn’t think you were. I just really want a beer. Don’t you usually kick back after a performance?”
“Not here.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll see.”
She sauntered up to the beer stand. The minute he was alone he was swarmed. Buckle bunnies. Kids. Rodeo enthusiasts eager to offer congrats on his ride. He dropped his equipment bag and signed programs and anything else that was shoved in his face, including a pair of tits popping out of a neon pink tube top.
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It looked like Channing planned to wait for the crowd to disperse before interrupting him. Hell, the beer would be warm by the time that happened.
Colby motioned her over. The second she stood beside him, he draped his arm around her neck. A couple of disgruntled bunnies got the hint and went looking for action elsewhere. After taking a long pull off the cold brew, he sighed. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Thanks for wettin’ my whistle, darlin’.”
“You’re welcome, sugar.”
He nearly choked at the sarcasm in her tone.
One brassy-haired buckle bunny bulled her way forward and demanded, “Are you two together?”
“Yep,” he said dismissively. He chatted for a few more minutes as he finished his beer. “Well, I appreciate ya’ll comin’ out today. I’ve gotta get a move on. Hopefully, I’ll see ya’ll tomorrow.” He hefted his bag over his shoulder and kept Channing close as they exited the grounds.
