I don’t know what to do. I’m irritated as fuck! Pissed off at the world. Maybe I’m just pissed at myself. God knows I am! I fucked up and don’t know what to do about it.
And to top off the shit-cream-cone I have in my hands, I really believe my new riders have no clue or no care for their own personal safety. They are fucking everything up and are close to getting hurt in the process. I don’t mean a bruise either; I mean someone is going to break their leg or arm, hand or worse, their neck!
“Get off your goddamnass!” I yell at Jason for the fifth time today.
The fucker is so hungover, he can’t hold on to save his goddamn life! This time out of the chute, he was on Vixen for two fucking seconds before he fell on his ass.
“Sorry, Caine,” he sputters as he wipes off his butt, standing up.
“I want each of you to sit your asses down, now,” I tell the guys after I take a deep breath to calm down.
I wait as the four man-boys sit on the benches outside the barn. I don’t know how to get them to take this shit seriously. I really want to avoid having one of them hurt themselves just to get them to realize how dangerous this sport is. But unfortunately, the once seriously promising bronc riders have been showing up smelling of booze.
“I don’t think you guys have an appreciation for how serious this sport is. It’s one of the most dangerous sports in a rodeo. And that’s when people are taking their shit seriously,” I warn as I pace in front of them.
Jason smirks, the cocky son of a bitch.
“You know what, you little shit, get the fuck off my ranch. You don’t have any respect for me or my horses; you can get your ass in your car and fuck right off!” I yell, pointing my finger at him.
Jason’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down in agitation. “You can’t be serious. I’m the best bronc rider here.”
“No, you were. And that’s what makes this so sad. You were a promising student, but pussy and alcohol seem to have gone to yourhead. But let me tell you something… if you lose and make a shit of yourself out of the chute, no one is gonna want to fuck you. And if you end up breaking your legs, or worse, your neck because you’re being sloppy, I can guarantee everything will end,” I tell him, not pulling my punches.
“You wouldn’t cut me with Lone Star coming up.”
“And why wouldn’t I? You think my financial success, or that of my ranch depends on you? Let me tell you, it doesn’t,” I explain plainly, my arms crossed over my chest. “Do you even want to win? You can’t even keep a grip on the reins,” I retort. “And Jason isn’t the only one fucking up. Weston is the only one that doesn’t smell like ass today.”
Kevin scowls at me, his face covered in mud, his dirty blonde hair actually dirty from all the mud caked in his hair.
And Sawyer, Jason’s younger brother, is starting to learn his brother’s bad habits. But to my surprise, he lifts his chin and regards me with worried green eyes.
“I’m sorry, Caine. I’ll do better,” he says with a firm nod.
“Me too,” says Kevin.
“I’ll do better too,” says Jerod.
We all turn and look at Jason.
“I won’t have you drag them all down, Jason. This is your last warning. I won’t have you breaking your neck on my watch,” Iwarn him. My tone leaves no room for argument.
“Yes, sir. I understand,” he says. But the twist of his mouth leaves me feeling extremely distrustful.
“I expect you all here well rested and sober tomorrow,” I tell them. “Am I clear?”
I walk away, heading home for the day. I’ve been up since five AM, and I’m done. I’m just done. But I sigh heavily when I find my mother sitting on the porch swing at my house.
“Hi, Mama,” I say as I approach.
Yes, I’m wary. My mother, unlike my father, is adept at getting me to talk. And I was raised to respect my mother. Plus, the woman put up with so much of my shit as a kid, she’s earned my respect and trust.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she says as she stands and pulls me in for a hug. My mother isn’t exactly short, but she isn’t exactly tall either. I have to bend to hug her the way she expects. I’m a dirty, smelly mess, but Whitney Montgomery doesn’t seem to mind. She never has.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask as I walk to the porch-swing she just vacated. She pats my knee as she sits down beside me.
“You’re coming over for dinner,” she tells me.
“Am I?” I ask, raising a brow at her.
