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“It was put into law a hundred and fifty years ago to bar a banker from entering the race. Seems like everybody forgot about it.”
“And you figured you’d remind them.”
“Looks like it’ll happen next week. Think you can learn by then?”
“What makes you think I don’t know how to rope a calf?”
Again I laughed, this time from deep in my belly. “Poppy June Blum, I might not have seen you in a long while, but I know you better than that.”
“You don’t know a goddamn thing.”
My smile tilted. “I remember trying to teach you myself a long time ago. Best practice I ever had was trying to show you how to use a lasso. Really had to break it down to the basics. Even then, you couldn’t be taught.”
“Or I had a terrible teacher.”
“Maybe that,” I said, leaning in. “But probably not.” Steam might as well have shot out of her ears as I straightened up, raising a hand to address the room. “Good to see you all. Best of luck.”
With a wink at Poppy, I turned for the door. Evangeline, who hadn’t said a word, followed. Neither of us spoke until we were back in the SUV and pulling out of the Blum’s property.
“Good job in there. I don’t think she suspected that you care about her.”
“I don’t,” I lied.
She gave me a look.
“It’s complicated.”
“I’ll say.” A pause. “Think the trial will work?”
“I sure hope so,” I answered. “I suspect Doug Windley’s bad back might put him out of the running altogether, and Poppy can’t rope a training dummy no matter who helps her. Take it from somebody who tried. We might just eliminate all the competition in one go.”
“Assuming you’re able to get it done.”
“I’ll be just fine, thanks.”
“Really?” She folded her arms. “When was the last time you rode a horse?”
“It’s like riding a bike, Angie. Except with four legs and a pulse.” She didn’t look convinced. “I was a junior rodeo champ.”
Her mouth popped open. “No, you weren’t.”
“I was. You didn’t see all the trophies in the living room?”
“I thought those were your dad’s or your brother’s.”
“You didn’t even consider it could have been me?”
“No, because you never told me. You, sir, are an enigma. And I’m looking forward to seeing you on a horse. I just hope you don’t make a fool of yourself.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Should I worry about Poppy? Won’t look great on your resumé to run against no one.”
“Won’t do much for my standing in town if I have to ruin Poppy either.”
“But you will if you have to,” she noted.
“Let’s just hope I don’t have to,” I said, the words like a prayer.
And I really hoped God was listening.
5
TRY ME.
POPPY
“Son of a bitch!”
It sounded a little more like sunuhdaditch with the piggin string in my mouth, Wyatt’s mare slowing beneath me, and my rope trailing in the dust behind us.
The stupid roping dummy kept on going, mocking me all the way.
I steered the mare with my legs while I coiled up the rope. When we fell back, Wyatt slowed the four wheeler pulling the dummy.
“C’mon,” he yelled over his shoulder, lining up for me to follow again.
I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my glove, my heart banging and my belly full of fire. There was nothing to do about it but spur the mare and try again.
The sun had already passed its peak and was on its way back down, but for the second time this week I’d been at Wyatt’s since it’d barely crested the horizon. About an hour ago, I’d graduated from the stationary wooden horse and roping dummy to an actual horse and mobile dummy. I’d been feeling pretty good about myself too, which should have told me something.
I hadn’t successfully roped the dummy once since mounting up, and I was mad as all hell about it.
Goddamn Duke and goddamn Evangeline and goddamn anybody else who helped set this mess up.
Evan had done his best to find a way out of the calf roping, but city council wouldn’t bend. Duke already had them eating from his palm like a bunch of stupid lambs, backed by his party and swaying the council with nothing more than a phone call from Charlie Williams. And now here we were, about to rope calves for admittance into a political race and nobody questioned it. The town was abuzz and taking friendly bets as to the outcome.
The odds were not in my favor.
My narrowed eyes locked on the calf as I drove the mare faster to catch Wyatt, my arm winding up to swing the rope overhead, remembering the mass of information that’d been drilled into me for the last couple of days. Two fingers on the shank of the lasso to control it and keep the loop open, being sure to point at that dumb rubber cow with every rotation. Swinging it like I was throwing a curveball, mindful of the tip of the lasso to make sure it was pointed right where my fingers aimed. The piggin rope I’d use to tie the calf down was scratchy and dry in my mouth, the tail in a belt loop of my jeans.
