Page 53 of We Redeemed the Rain

He huffed a laugh but somehow didn’t smile. “No. I hope to go…eventually.”

I let my smile free. “That’s really cool. Who’s your best horse?”

He tipped his head, chewing a bite. He lifted a shoulder and wouldn’t meet my gaze. Was he…blushing? It almost looked like he had an answer, but didn’t want to tell me.

When he shrugged, I said, “Why don’t you tell me how the scoring works.”

Tag didn’t take another bite of his sandwich for the next ten minutes.

And that felt like an accomplishment.

The day flew by.

We stood by the arena fence, near the chutes, watching the last of the saddle bronc riding. Tag’s arms were draped across the top rungof the metal fence, his hands clasped on the other side. My voice was raw from screaming and cheering so much.

Tag didn’t ditch me. On the contrary, he was quite attentive though still very distant and quiet. He didn’t have much to say unless I asked a rodeo question—which got him talking every time. I wasveryeducated in rodeo-speak now because I liked listening to his accent and the way he dropped hisgs.

Any hint of worry I’d had that Tag was cruel to his animals to make them buck evaporated about thirty seconds after I saw him interact with one. Maybe paperhadcaptured his heart for them. He was gentle and kind. He was the only contractor who knelt in the dust to put protective boots—things that almost looked like leg warmers—on his horses before they were led to the chutes. When they finished their eight seconds of bucking, he led them away to a side pen, took the boots off, and gave each a treat and a thorough inspection. It must’ve been tradition because every single horse nuzzled his pockets as he took off their boots, impatiently waiting for their rewards.

I learned the flank strap didn’t hurt them, just tickled a little. The entire point of Meadowbrook was to teach the horses what to do when that strap tightened: get the cowboy off. And man, Meadowbrook’s horses were good at it, bringing in some of the top scores of the night.

The thing that amazed me most was six of his short-go horses wererescues. It amazed a lot of other people, too. At least half a dozen times, someone stopped Tag to say, “Is Windy Foot really a rescue?”Or“We heard a rumor Tom Sawyer’s from the feedlot.”

He was respected here.

Cowboys came up, shook his hand, and told him how happy they were to get one of his broncs in the draw. A good score for the horse meant a better chance at prizes for the cowboy. Theywantedto ride a Meadowbrook horse. Some people asked for advice. The older folks goaded him about being in the pro league next year.

If my goal was to know him, this was a great place to start. Fully immersed in his world, I soaked in every moment.

As one of Tag’s horses was loaded into the chute, the ridingcowboy—a young guy with a white hat—stalked up and threw himself onto the fence. We stood a few yards away. Tag stiffened.

“Hey!” He yelled over the background noise, startling me. Before I could even figure out where he was looking, he stormed off toward the chute where his horse was loaded. My heart thumped in my chest.What happened?I followed him.

The older cowboy manning the chutes looked down when Tag said his name.

“Piper! Don’t let him get on my horse!”

Piper tapped the riding cowboy on the shoulder and pointed at Tag.

Tag yelled. “Take ‘em off, man!”

The cowboy didn’t seem to need an explanation. He rolled his eyes. “You’re joking, right?”

“Take ‘em off or you don’t ride.”

The cowboy laughed and shook his head.

Tag stalked closer. “She’s gonna do her job just fine without two inches of metal diggin’ into her.”

“I’m not taking them off!”

What off? What off?I was frantic trying to keep up with the conversation.

Tag turned to Piper, his voice an angry growl. “Get JoJo out of the chutenow.”

Piper spat, “I don't got time for this bullshit. Just do what he says, Jones.”

The cowboy—Jones—jumped down from the fence, spewing profanity and calling Tag a prima donna. He stooped down and unbuckled something from around his boots. Standing up, he kicked the offending item away.Spurs. Huge, silver spurs with sharp points. “Happy now?”

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