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“How’s Cooper doing? Nervous yet?” Diesel asks.
“Actually, he’s doing really well. Wouldn’t be surprised if he placed. I know the competition won’t be easy, though. As long as he stays on his A game and gets out of his damn head, he’ll make it happen,” I explain. “We’re actually meeting tonight to continue our lessons. Most of it’s mental, but a large portion is physical too. You ever thought about riding?”
Diesel’s a big guy with lots of muscle, and with the right training, he could probably go far.
He snorts. “Hell no!”
“Big D here’s too much of a pussy,” Grayson snaps with a chuckle. “He nearly cried when he saw a spider in the truck last week.”
I burst out laughing.
“I did not!” Diesel scowls and takes off running after Grayson, who’s way too fast for him. I remember being pretty much the same at their age.
Diesel bends over and picks up a rock and throws it at Grayson. It nails him right in the back of his head. Wanting to retaliate, Grayson starts throwing them back.
“What in the fuck are you two doin’?” Jackson yells.
I cross my arms and watch them chase each other like kids.
“Nothing!” Diesel says, finally dropping his ammunition.
Jackson looks at me and shakes his head. In that split second, Grayson nails Diesel in the forehead.
“What the hell!” Diesel screams and starts the chase again.
Jackson claps his hands to get their attention, but they’re lost. Seconds later, he puts two fingers in his mouth and lets out the loudest ear-piercing whistle I’ve ever heard. They both stop moving.
“Get your asses in the truck and get the hell outta here. Actin’ like rowdy children,” he demands, but he’s smiling.
“Learned it from you!” Diesel pops off, and Jackson rears up like he’s going to charge them.
It’s enough to scare the shit out of them, and they climb into the truck without hesitation. When I see the look on their faces as they back out of the drive, I chuckle. They’re giggling like schoolkids, and so is Jackson.
I shake my head, and Jackson pats me on the back. “Guess it’s time to get back to work.”
“Yes, sir,” I confirm, then head to the barn. One thing about working on the Bishop ranch is that there’s never, ever a dull day around here.
Chapter Nine
MAIZE
I can’t believe today’s the competition. I’ve been counting down to this ever since I got that phone call, and now it’s finally here. My nerves have gotten the best of me all week, and I’ve been a wreck, trying not to overwhelm myself. I know what winning could do—give me the opportunity to jumpstart my business.
When I was in culinary school, it was very competitive. I received job offers from many of the chefs who taught me after I graduated. I could’ve gone anywhere—San Francisco, New York, Dallas, or Chicago—and worked for upscale restaurants and fine dining experiences only, but the stress would’ve been too intense for me to handle. Instead, I explained I’d be working for the family business. Though it wasn’t what they wanted to hear, it was respectable, and I don’t regret my decision. Being under pressure like that isn’t for me, which is why I don’t enter cooking competitions.
When we arrived with the pit early yesterday morning and saw the competition lined up, I was ready to drink tequila straight from the bottle. Diesel and Riley got the wood loaded and the pit to temperature as I prepared the meat. Some contestants have been smoking meat longer than I’ve been alive. They take it seriously and want to win just as much as I do. Learning there were close to thirty teams nearly gave me a heart attack.
Mom, Dad, Grandma, and I arrived before the sun rose this morning. After we parked, I added more hickory to the pit as my parents put up the canopy with chairs, so we didn’t bake in the sun. I brought a checklist with timelines for my team, and as soon as Kenzie saw it, she rolled her eyes. My cousins have been the best support system and have helped me so much, but not without complaint.
Dad gets up and stretches as Knox and Kane check the temperature of the food. Kenzie micromanages them, using her soon-to-be teacher skills, and it makes me chuckle.
“You okay?” Dad asks as I unlock my phone and check the time. I swear only ten minutes have passed since I last looked.
I shrug. “Yeah. I guess. As good as I’m gonna be until this is all over.”
“Honey, you’re gonna do fine. And even if you don’t win, I’m proud of you for trying. It’s hard to put yourself out there and allow people to judge and be critical of something you’re so passionate about,” he says, patting me on the back. “It smells delicious.”
