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The speakers crackle and buzz to life before the announcer welcomes the attendees and introduces the biggest hero this town will ever have.
Edison.
The crowd erupts and stands as the National Anthem ripples through the air.
Edison, his black head up with a creamy white spot, looks as badass as he did ten years ago. He prances onto the field like he owns it with Bella Larkin on his back, carrying a star spangled banner.
The horse bounces his way around the arena, dashing two laps before stopping in the center.
He tosses his head several times and snorts, just as the country music coming in the wake of the anthem hits its pitch, almost like he’s dancing to the beat.
Even I pull my hands off my burrito box long enough to clap. I’d bet my bottom dollar there isn’t a soul here who isn’t impressed with this beast.
As the song ends with Bella raising herself up in the saddle, hoisting the flag high, Edison tucks back one front leg and takes a bow.
Everybody in the stands fucking freaks.
Tory bursts out giggling at my side, scrunching her face, cute as a button and totally entertained.
Edison tosses his head again, as if to say you’re welcome, and then prances out of the arena.
The best part? Bella never touched the reins once.
The horse just followed the whole routine on his own. Some parts I wonder if he improvised.
It was amazing, yeah, but watching Tory blows me away even more as the big events begin.
She’s spellbound by the bareback riders, steer wrestling, and team roping. She yells out, cheering for the participants, and clamps a hand over her mouth, frowning during failed attempts.
Never knew the woman had a screamer set of lungs.
Fuck, and now that I do, my thoughts go terrible places.
Just as the saddle bronc event starts with a young rider and a bucking horse, I notice a newer pickup pulling in to the back side of the arena where most folks park their vehicles, livestock trailers, and campers.
The truck is unmistakable with the elaborate paint job advertising Selleck brand bulls.
Shit. I suck down the rest of my water and turn.
“Hate to spoil the fun, but it’s time to go get some pictures,” I tell Tory.
She nods and we get up, waving farewell to the Barnets.
We make our way out of the stands, around to the barns connected to the side of the arena, dodging laughing people probably going for their fifth drinks of the evening.
“See there? It’s Selleck’s truck pulling into the back of the lot,” she says, stopping to point.
“Yeah. The stock trailer that matches his truck is parked right next to the biffs.”
I’d noticed that, too.
“Good observation. This might be our best chance,” I say.
I also explain that the former rodeo queen he’s having his likely affair with is scheduled to perform in the barrel racing, which is the second to the last event. Bull riding is always the grand finale, and though I don’t mention it to Tory, I’m sure Selleck and Rosie West were locked away at the local motel till the last moment possible.
We arrive at the biffs—portable outhouses—just as the truck pulls up beside Selleck’s trailer.
Can’t be more than twenty feet away.
“I’ll be right back.” Tory shoots me a grin and then enters the last biff, the perfect excuse for me to be standing there, waiting on her.
I walk over and rest a foot on the split rail fence bordering the parking area and pretend to scan my phone. Really, I’m snapping pictures, everything I can get from Selleck’s truck.
Rosie’s clearly in the passenger seat, her wavy hair flopping around, but I can’t get a clear shot of her. Selleck backed his ride into the parking space and his rear window is covered with a window cling of a bull.
Still, I get a couple shots of him climbing out, walking around to the passenger side a minute later.
What’s he doing? Is he seriously gonna screw around with her right here in public?
Damn, it’s too perfect.
Trouble is, I can’t see through the cling, but he can, and he might notice if I move any closer.
Annoying.
Deciding I’ll have to wait until after the last events when I’ll have more people milling around for cover, I shift my stance and glance at the biffs.
Crap. Tory still hasn’t exited, and I wonder if her disappearing wasn’t just for show.
Maybe the burrito monster got her. She’s not used to eating like this.
Frankly, I’m amazed she even finished it when she had to take half her Mack burger home from the diner.
As the minutes tick by, my concern grows, and I wonder if I should go knock on the door and make sure she’s all right.
Just as I’m about to do that, a pickup door slams shut.
A quick glance over my shoulder shows Selleck entering the camper section of his stock trailer, while Rosie walks away from the truck, adjusting her top as she heads for the barns on the side of the arena.
