Page 19 of Eight Second Hearts

The rest of the ride is mostly in silence. Clearly, they don’t want to say too much around me, and I don’t blame them. I’d promised things were off the record, but it would be hard to trusta reporter, I’m sure. Especially if there really are skeletons in your closet.

We make it to Tucson sometime early evening, and I direct them to a tiny motel close to the area where the rodeo takes place. The photos hadn’t looked terrible, and I’d assumed they’d been adjusted a little bit, but nothing could have prepared me for how absolutely shitty it was.

Ramiro scrunches up his face when he gets a good look at it. “You’re staying. . . here?”

I don’t blame him. Fuck, I’m tempted to find somewhere else, but every other place was double the price. Motels aren’t fancy usually anyway, but. . . yeah, this one is bad. The doors were painted red at one point, but much of that paint is chipped and peeling, some of them covered with half-assed graffiti. One of them has the word, “cheater,” scrawled across it. Another has what looks like a bad attempt at a penis.

The guardrails look like they’re hanging on for dear life and like I shouldn’t trust them to stop an accidental fall. One of the windows of the office has a board over it to cover what’s probably broken glass. The wood has been there for a while judging by the color of it. Hell, even the sidewalks and parking lot are overgrown, weeds bursting up through the cracks. It almost looks abandoned, and yet their website is alive and well.

“Yeah,” I finally answer. “It’s fine.”

I open my door and grab my bag, having every intention of walking into that office and getting what I hope is a working key. Fuck, I hope this place at least have bloodstain free rooms. I really don’t want to spend the next week hanging out with a murder victim ghost.

“Are you sure?” Ramiro asks, trying to stop me. “This doesn’t look?—”

“It’ll be fine,” I interrupt, closing my door after giving Bilbo another head pat. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Until then, little outsider,” Beau says as he leans out the window. “How about a kiss for the road?”

“See you later, Beau,” I respond, shaking my head.

“Spoil sport,” he teases. “I’ll convince you yet.”

“Good luck with that,” I say as Tripp drops it in gear and starts to drive away. Beau hangs out the window like a dog the whole way, waving and blowing kisses until they disappear around the corner. I shake my head with a smile and turn toward the office. The smile turns into a wince.

Fuck. Here goes nothing.

Chapter 13

Beau

This rodeo ain’t like the others and that’s a good thing. That last one was bullshit when it came to Ram’s score. He deserved better. We all knew that. Hell, even my little outsider knew that, and she don’t know shit about rodeo. The only thing that had kept me from storming over to the judges had been Ram’s stern look at me.

Bastard. He plays by the rules too much.

Not like me. Not like Tripp. Dear old Rammie likes to play caretaker for the two of us. Someone’s gotta tell him at some point it’s a lost cause. Ain’t gonna be me though. I like him taking care of me.

Like the big brother I never had.

La Fiesta De Los Vasquezis a nine-day rodeo in Tucson, Arizona. The chill in the desert air during the day doesn’t compare to the cold at night, but at least it’s not snowing right now. The cold makes my bones ache. The cold makes me a hint too slow when it comes to my tricks.

Slow gets you killed.

The moment we get to the fairgrounds, I look for her, a desperation to see her face deep in my chest. I shouldn’t be soattached so quickly, but I’ve never been one to shy away from a risk. And Indie Chen has hooked me so deeply in my soul, I won’t stop until I can taste her. Fuck, do I want to taste her.

“Try not to look like such a lovesick puppy,” Tripp grumbles at me, clearly in a mood.

“Try not to look like a drunk asshole,” I fire back. “Oh, wait. You can’t.”

“Children, children,” Ram chastises. But he’s looking for her, too. At least I’m not the only one intrigued by the retired war correspondent. There’s just something about her that I can’t shake. Clearly Ram feels it, too. It’s not very often that we have similar taste in women.

I don’t see her standing with the other press, but that doesn’t surprise me. They don’t take too kindly to someone like Indie joining their ranks. The rodeo circuit is a closed circle and anyone who doesn’t fit in don’t belong there. Funny enough, we don’t fit inside that circle either, but ain’t no one telling The Crimson Three no. That would be fucking stupid.

Ram and Tripp disappear to fill out some paperwork, so I’m left to trail around the arena, searching for any sight of my little outsider’s black hair. She only shows up an hour later, which is strange. She typically beats us here, so I’m worried that something could have happened to her at that shitty motel. Maybe I should go and check it out later, make sure it’s safe. Make sure no one’s going to break into her room and stab her. The place she’s staying in looks like that kind of thing happens a lot.

Why the fuck would her magazine set her up in such terrible accommodations?

She doesn’t notice me right away. Her eyes are on the arena, watching as the tractor runs around the dirt, prepping it for the event. That same tractor will run out there all night, making sure the dirt is free of potholes that’ll lame a horse.

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