Keep your elbow up, Bro. You're droppin' it again.
The memory hit warm and sharp, the way they always did.
I walked Speed in slow circles, lettin' him limber up, feelin' out his stride. He was movin' easy—relaxed but alert, that perfect balance you wanted in a head horse before a run. The animal was built for this. Tall, strong, quick off the mark. My job was simple. Get out of the box clean, run the steer down, throw a legal catch, dally up, and turn left to give Rhett his shot. Header was the easier job. I knew it, Rhett knew it. Ropin' two tiny hind legs on a runnin' steer while your horse was cuttin' and adjustin' underneath you? That was the tough shit. I left the tough shit to the man who did everything the hard way on principle.
We were the third team in the draw. Slim and Tommy were fifth. The bet was two hundred dollars and braggin' rights through 'til next summer, which—in a town the size of Larkspur—was worth more than the cash.
I moved Speed into a trot, then an easy lope, buildin' loops and tossin' them at nothin' to get my arm loose. The rope hissed through the air on every throw. Muscle memory. Rhythm. The particular calm that settled over me when there was nothin' to think about except the next five seconds.
A familiar voice cut through the warm-up noise.
"Lancaster! You plan on ropin' that steer or you gonna let it run off on you like your former fiancée?"
I pulled Speed up and looked over the rail. Hank was planted in the front row of the bleachers, one cloudy eye squintin' against the sun.
Fuckin' Hank.'Parently he couldn't decide if I was the one who was left or the one who did the leavin'. Changed every goddamn day.
Sittin' beside him was John Calvin. Hadn't seen him since our little impromptu visit to Livingston—which was followed by me fuckin' Calvin's tits.
"Mr. Calvin!" I trotted Speed over to the rail. "Wasn't expectin' to see you out here, sir."
John looked up at me from under bushy white eyebrows. "Hank broke me outta the joint. Told him I'd only come if there was funnel cake."
Hank grunted. "There's funnel cake."
"Then here I am." John's sharp eyes swept over Speed, then me, then the arena. "You gonna win?"
"Plan to, sir."
"Good. I got five dollars on you."
"Ha!" Hank shouted. "I got ten against."
Hank had exactly one job as a supportive community member, and TBH, he was failin' at it.
"Hank!" I pressed a hand to my chest.
"What? It's a smart bet. You're up against the Birmingham boys in the finals and they've been ropin' together since the womb."
"First of all, they ain't twins. Second of all?—"
"Quit jawin' and go warm up your horse." Hank flicked the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "Christ, you're as chatty as your old man was."
I smiled at the intended insult. I'd take any comparison to my dad as a compliment. "Yes, sir."
I tipped my hat to both of 'em and rode back toward the warm-up area, a grin on my face that I couldn't shake. John Calvin at the Meagher County rodeo, sittin' next to Hank, five dollars on me. If that wasn't motivation, I didn't know what was.
Calvin was gonna lose her shit when she saw her granddad. In the best possible way.
Rhett appearedat the rail on Duke, already warmed up because of course he was. He gave me a nod that meantyou ready?
I gave him one back that saidborn ready, asshole.
We made our way toward the stagin' area behind the chutes. The first two teams had already run—decent times, but nothin' that scared me. Back here was different than the arena—tighter, quieter, all business.
I backed Speed into the header's box. The box was small, just big enough for horse and rider, with three walls of metal fencing and the open end facin' the arena. The barrier rope stretched taut across the front of my box, attached to the steer's neck on one end and the release mechanism on the other. Break the barrier early and we'd eat a ten-second penalty that'd bury us.
Speed shifted beneath me, side-steppin' in the tight space. He did this every time—couldn't hold still in the box, had to move his feet, had to feel the ground. I let him. Kept my reins easy and my seat quiet. You didn't fight a horse in the box. You let him settle himself.
