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“I’m trying.”
“I can tell.” She turns to lean against a tree trunk, facing me, and sighs. “I want to do it. Which probably makes me a glutton for punishment, but I want to see how Mab and I’ll fare in the arena when it’s for real. Even if it’s a local competition, Maria will be there on Duchess.”
I rest against a trunk opposite her. “And since Maria is the reigning national high school champ, this is a good way to test it out.”
“Right. I mean, I’ve ridden against her in practice. And Mab and I always do well, but Mab’s never competed. She’s a rescue, after all. She’s got, um, some baggage. So for all we know, she could get out there in the loud crowds and totally choke.”
Or you could, I think. Not that I, personally, think Winnie will choke. There’s no way. But I can see the excuse for what it is.
“I don’t know it this means anything,” I say, “but North TexasOpen is set to be my first rodeo, post Walker. Well, technically my second, but you know what I mean. So maybe we can do it together?”
“You and Mab?” she jokes.
“Right. Of course. Me and Mab. You can be our support cowboy.”
Winnie rolls her eyes theatrically. “Ugh. Fine. If I have to do everything.”
“You really do.”
She presses her lips together a moment, her eyes doing that easy thing again. That’s twice in less than an hour. Not that I’m keeping track.
“You’ll watch me race?” Her tone is vulnerable; all pretense dropped.
“I’ll be there the entire time, if you want. Will you watch me ride?”
She exhales, her shoulders drooping in relief. “The entire time, if you want.”
“Unflinching, Sutton.” I hold up a fist.
She taps it with her own. “Unflinching.”
Twenty-OneWINNIE
“I take back every time I’ve given you shit for nearly puking on Brody’s boots last spring,” I say.
I can tell Case is trying to hide his smile, but his dimple is, as always, a dead giveaway.
“To be fair, I deserved at least ninety percent of that. However,” he says, nudging me with his plaid-covered elbow, “I reserve the right to cash it in and return the favor a hundredfold if you upchuck off this tailgate tonight.”
I inhale through my nose, releasing my breath through tense lips. Clasping my clammy hands between my knees, I tuck my chin to my chest and concentrate on not puking. I don’t want to give Case ammunition to hold over my head for the next year.
Yes, it’s a double standard. What’s your point?
He wraps a reassuring arm around my shoulders and speaks in a low tone that’s saturated with reason. I’ve heard him use it on Moses and the more persnickety boarders, and I’m not sure the comparison is very flattering. “It’s just a race. You and Mabcould complete this clover blindfolded and still blow away the competition by at least a full second.”
Case and I are sitting next to each other, denim-clad legs dangling off the back of his dad’s tailgate. My very first rodeo. It’s a local thing, a county fair. Typical stifling summer night in the panhandle. Whenever the wind shifts from the direction of the livestock tents, it smells like a deep fryer made babies with a doughnut factory perfumed with a whiff of fresh manure.
Usually, I find eau de county fair intoxicating and nostalgic, but this afternoon, it’s wreaking havoc on my already-twisty stomach.
I lean into Case’s hold and allow my head to drop on his broad shoulder for a moment before mumbling into his sleeve, “I can’t believe I let them talk me into this.”
“Me neither,” he quips back. “I thought for sure you’d renege.”
I slug him, but his thick leather protective vest muffles the impact. I groan in exasperation.
“I almost felt it that time,” he offers. His tone is teasing, but these last few months of training and working alongside Case Michaels have given me a chance to get to know him better, and I can tell he’s tense.
I raise my head to look in his eyes. Just between us, lost in the ruckus of a gathering rodeo crowd, I check, “How’re you doing? You ready?”
