A smirk threatened my lips. Ever humble Bad. Some things never changed, and I found solace in that.
Bad and my dad went way back. Back to their youth rodeo days. My dad used to rope, but his heart was never in rodeoing, it was in training. But the two stayed close through the years. Hell, they talked more than I talked to my family at this point.
Bad cleared his throat and aimed his next words at Quinn beside me. “Scorin’s got a lot to do with spurrin’. Your toes should be turned out with the spurs, and you can’t let up on it or else you’re gonna get a shit score. Rhythm and control play into it as well. There’s a hundred points total. Fifty for the rider, and fifty for the horse.”
“The horse?” Whit asked. “The horse gets points? For what?”
“For the way it performs. How much does it buck? How athletic is it? Did it just rock back and forth or make it damn hard for that guy to be in the saddle?”
Quinn and Whit took turns asking Bad questions about the difference between saddle and bareback riding and which was harder, but all conversation died when Cash’s name was called over the speakers. The air felt charged around Bad—it’s like I could feel his focus. It was sharp and hot on my skin, like burning coals.
And despite how loud everything was—between the crowd and the music—I heard the gate slam open,feltthe power in that horse’s hoofbeats in the loose dirt. Kid Rock’s “Cowboy” came on, but it only lasted eight seconds before the buzzer sounded. Bad didn’t shout out or make an excited fuss. He simply grunted out a soft, “Getcha some money,” under his breath.
I clapped, even as Quinn squealed in excitement. “He did it! That was so amazing!”
The entire crowd cheered, but none did louder than fucking Cash himself. His familiar crow and tagline of “Big Daddy’s in the house” echoed across the arena.
“Holy shit!” Whit said, her voice full of awe.
A wave of newfound cheers and claps erupted, and I rolled my eyes even as a grin pulled on my mouth. “Bastard just did a backflip, didn’t he?” I huffed.
“How did you—” Quinn began.
“I rodeoed with Mooney on more than one occasion. It’s his trademark move after a winning ride.” He always was such a fucking showboat. It always seemed to work for him though. Still seemed to from the way women were shouting his name.
“He damn near broke his neck tryin’ to learn how to do that,” Bad grumbled from my side. “Violet hates that he still does it.”
“She still match him when he rides?” I asked.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
I laughed, and Quinn said, “She matches with him? That’s so cute! Makes me feel bad for thinking how obnoxious his clothes were.”
Bad chuckled. “His clothesareobnoxious as fuck. But his mother loves it. And Cash may be a fuckin’ pain in my ass, but one thing is for certain. That boy loves his mama.”
Honestly, I didn’t know a soul who didn’t love Mrs. Mooney. She was the kind of woman who was everyone’s mama. It didn’t matter if you were hers or not, if you needed something, she took care of you. Don’t piss her off though. She was kind, but she was fierce, and if you crossed her, you better hide before she lit your ass up like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.
Most of the rodeo went like that.
Quinn and Whit—well mostly Quinn—asked questions about the events, while either Bad or I explained it to them. Quinn seemed to hold a genuine interest in everything revolving around the rodeo. Whether it was because of my involvementin it or her own curiosity, I didn’t know, but I was happy I’d brought her tonight. Everyone deserved to experience the magic of a rodeo at least once in their lifetime. Whit seemed to be enjoying herself easily enough, but I don’t think she appreciated the same aspects of the rodeo that Quinn did.
The closer time crept toward bull riding, the more my emotions went haywire. By the time barrel racing ended, leaving no other events aside from bulls left, my heart sped along faster than a runaway train.
Quinn leaned into me, her warm, gentle touch settling some of my nerves like putting a salve over a burn. “Are you okay?” she whispered in my ear, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.
Had she read my thoughts or something? Or was I just that easy to read? I opened my mouth to respond but the words lodged in my throat. I didn’t even know where to begin with explaining how I felt. Every muscle in my body was taut and full of tension, and my heart pounded so wildly in my chest I’m surprised she didn’t hear it. As it was, it damn near drowned out the sounds of the rodeo.
I offered a silent nod and squeezed her hand once before adjusting my attention toward Bad. “Are the bull chutes still over to the left?” I asked, my voice thick with an emotion I couldn’t—didn’t want to quite place.
“Yeah. Want me to get Cash and have him take ya back into the thick of it? Let’cha feel it again?”
I cleared my throat and shook my head, fighting the appreciation that battled with the fear and wistfulness swirling in my chest. “I’m gonna head that way,” I managed to get out as I stood, disentangling my fingers from Quinn’s.
She resisted for the shortest moment, concern reverberating in her words as she asked, “Want me to come with you?”
I shook my head, and suddenly the lump in my throat was back, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get the wordout. I didn’t want her to worry about me, but I didn’t want her with me for this either. Not because I didn’t want her to see that part of me, or because I feared she’d pity me or anything like that, but I just…I needed this moment alone. To go through the wave of emotions, to ride that tide without her there to witness it. It was just something I needed to do. My hands trembled so badly I clenched them into fists as I finally forced out a gruff, “No.”
“O-okay.” I instantly regretted my tone. I hadn’t meant to sound like that. I reached out a hand and drew her to me, slowly reaching up to cup her face. “Thank you, but no,” I whispered against her lips.
