Page 20 of Eight Second Hearts

The other rodeo clowns are off to the side, chain smoking while they wait for their job to start. Like Indie, I don’t fit in with the crowd I should. They don’t like me. I’m too young, too risky, too much of a character. But I’ll be damned if I ever change.

As Indie moves, I notice a small limp. She favors her right leg, standing in a way to ease the weight on the left. I frown, watching closely as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pill bottle. She shakes out two pills and pops them in her mouth, swallowing.

“Anything good?” I tease as I appear beside her.

She jumps, and it makes me grin to see I’ve snuck up on her so thoroughly. I live for her being off center. “Fuck,” she says, pressing her hand to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me.” But then she holds up the bottle. “No. Just pain pills. Nothing fun.”

“Bummer,” I say, eyeing the bottle as she tucks it away. “You in pain?”

She shrugs. “The mattress sucks at the motel is all. Nothing a few pills can’t fix.”

The way she refuses to look me in the eyes though tells me she’s lying. Indie Chen, war reporter, unable to look a rodeo clown in the eyes as she lies about her pain. Who’d have thought? I take note of the side she favors and file that information away for later.

“You’re gonna love this rodeo,” I tell her. “They score Ram properly.”

“Oh, good,” she replies. “That last one was bullshit.”

“It was,” I nod, pleased that she agrees with me. “He’s doing bareback and saddle on this one.”

“Both?” she says, her brows shooting up. “He can handle that?”

I grin. “Oh, little outsider. You have no idea what we can handle,” I purr, stepping closer to her. When her breath hitches,a shiver runs through me at the realization that she’s not as immune as she tries to be. “Let me happen to you, Indie,” I rasp. “I’d do dark, depraved, and slutty thing to be your good boy.”

Her eyes widen. “I bet you say that to all the buckle bunnies,” she breaths.

“The buckle bunnies?” I shake my head. “No. They don’t require much talkin’. You on the other hand?” I touch my hand to a strand of her hair, watching as it runs through my fingers. “I’d get on my knees for you.”

In the background, I can hear the announcer saying my name, introducing me. My cue. Indie stares at me through her straight lashes, her cheeks flushed.

“They’re calling for you,” she murmurs.

A spotlight hits us, and she steps back immediately, hiding from the attention, putting distance between us. I miss her being close to me immediately, but I can put on a good show regardless.

I grin at her. “Watch me put on a show for you, little outsider.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for the crowd,” she says, her eyes scanning the packed stadium.

“No,” I argue. “This one is definitely for you.”

Despite the lights on me, I adjust my crotch, and her eyes drop to my movements, widening when she realizes I’ve got a massive hard on. It’s for her. Fuck, it’s painfully hers. I step out onto the dirt, still hard as a rock, and the crowd goes fucking wild.

As they should for the likes of Beau fucking Rogers.

Chapter 14

Indie

This rodeo is bigger than the last two which means the prize pot is higher. There are also events I’ve never seen before on the second day. Like mutton busting. And let me tell you, mutton busting is the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen.

Small children dressed in their best western gear and little helmets are put on the backs of big, fluffy sheep. They just have to hold on as long as possible and the one who holds on the longest wins. Many of them fall off right away, and their little faces scrunch up before the waterworks start. Then they hear the crowd cheering and forget all about it, waving to the people. Nothing could have prepared me for the cuteness overload.

The rodeo events themselves are between two p.m. and four thirty p.m. every day. And my guys are performing at all of them. The opportunity for them to make a lot of money is high, and if Ramiro is doing the bareback and saddle, the chances of injury are also higher. Tripp, well, he always has the chance to get hurt. Beau purposely chases the adrenaline that comes with that.

I still haven’t gotten over his words from the day prior. Something about that man stirs every bad intention in me. Itwould probably be a mistake, but also. . . I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life that haven’t been half as fun as this would be. Maybe that’s just the little devil on my shoulder talking dirty. The angel must have taken the day off.

The women with blue handprints are still numerous through the crowd, but here, there are also families with the handprint, children even. Little kids scream their excitement when Beau steps out on the dirt, and he caters to them more than anyone else. One particular little boy sitting at the lowest point of the stands has a blue handprint on his shoulder. He sits perched in a wheelchair, his mom right beside him in a matching shirt. The cameras pan around the arena as Beau leaps over the bull, chalk flying in the air, and that little boy screams in excitement. That’s what gets Beau’s attention. The scream.

I watch as Beau darts across the dirt, the announcer talking about his movements uncertainly, clearly not understanding what he’s about to do. But I understand. I see it happening and I pull out my phone to take pictures. Beau springs up onto the metal railing and flips over it, making the crowd scream, but his eyes are only on the little boy in the wheelchair. I watch, enamored, as he kneels down to say something to the little boy. I can’t hear it. No one can over the roaring of the crowd—but whatever he says, it makes the little boy’s face light up. He shakes his hand and then stands, but not before he presses his chalk covered hand on the boy’s shoulder, leaving his signature blue handprint behind. The boy starts crying happily and my heart softens just a little more toward the rodeo clown.

---