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Portia was arranging the desserts at the other end of the table. When she looked up and saw him approaching, her welcoming smile made him momentarily forget about Bushwhacker until she asked, “Did you see the bull?”
“Yes and Rhine thinks I should take my name off the entry sheet.”
She stopped. “Why?”
“The bull’s one of the biggest I’ve ever seen.”
“Do you think you can ride it?”
“I do.” And that was the truth. He just wasn’t sure if he could for the eight seconds required.
“No one will think less of you if you back out,” Portia pointed out gently.
“But I’ll think less of myself.” Male pride was driving him, and be it brainless or not, he wanted to win. That pride also made him want to show off for the woman he loved. “Are these cakes for sale?”
“No for auction. Our Good Works Society does this every year as a fund-raiser. Do you have a sweet tooth?”
“I do.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Portia’s.”
She laughed and he nodded polite greetings to the other women adding cakes to the line. While they worked they kept taking peeks at him, making him wonder if they knew he and Portia were getting married.
“Matt won the pie eating contest a little while ago,” she told him.
“Really?” he replied with a laugh.
“Who knew that rail-thin body could hold so much. Of course he was pretty sick afterwards, but he gets bragging rights for the year.”
Kent was sorry he missed it. “Do you know where he is now?”
“He was with Doc Finney. She has a tent over on the other side of the bunkhouse.”
“He wanted to help out during the competition, but I think I’ll just let him nurse his pie hangover.”
“That might be best.”
Cal Grissom walked up. “You ready, Kent?”
Cal volunteered to help out, too. He’d done a bit of bull riding in his younger days.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Portia came out from behind the table. “I don’t have a bandana for you to wear, so this will have to do.” She gave him a slow sweet kiss more potent than a hundred bandanas. “Good luck, cowboy.”
Sitting on the top rung of the corral waiting for his turn, Kent watched Bushwhacker shed the first two riders as if they weighed no more than roosters. None of them lasted three seconds, let alone the required eight. A raucous crowd filled the risers fanned out around the oval. He spotted Portia seated with her family and his. Her kiss had been a pleasant surprise. He had no idea why she’d suddenly dropped her no kissing in public rule but he was glad she had. He’d be needing all the luck he could find.
Cody, the cowboy who’d spoken to him earlier, was up next. The previous contestant had been bucked off in less than a second, leaving the crowd so disappointed they couldn’t decide whether to laugh or rain down cat calls, so they did both.
Kent hadn’t seen Cody’s qualifying rides but now, watching him, Kent noted confidence and expertise in the way he sat the bull and wrapped the braided rope around his gloved hand.
“He’s ridden a bull or two,” Kent said to Cal.
“Or five or ten.”
Kent grinned.
