Page 111 of Rough Ride

Eli managed to grin over at me. “It matters to me. Butch is the good-looking one.”

Suddenly, there was movement farther down the tunnel behind Salmon. A raspy voiced boomed out, “Leave my friends alone.”

The bodyguards froze and turned around to face Sawyer, who was standing by himself in the middle of the tunnel. His black Stetson was tipped down over his face, and his black coat hungloosely around his legs. He looked like a man in a bad western movie who was about to get into a shootout.

In one smooth motion, Salmon pulled a shiny revolver out of the holster inside his jacket and raised it at Sawyer. “Boy, you brought piss to a shit fight. You’re outnumberedandoutgunned.”

Even across the tunnel, I could see Sawyer’s wicked smile. “Am I?”

Heavy, booted footsteps echoed down the tunnel as a crowd of men approached behind Sawyer. I recognized Abraham and Childress first, two of the other rodeo competitors. Collins came next, then MacMartin, then Sterling and Lawson. Within seconds, the entire tunnel was full of rodeo competitors, at least thirty of them, men who had been our rivals before this moment.

Several of them held cell phones—they were recording this clash. The rest carried makeshift weapons gathered from the working stalls. Hammers, rope, leatherworking knives. One even rested a branding iron against his shoulder.

“Itseemslike you were about to harm my friends,” Sawyer announced. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Salmon the entire time. “I’m sure I just misread the situation, though. You tell me.”

Salmon’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He glanced at the revolver in his hand, and looked at the cowboys who were crowded into the tunnel. Six bullets wouldn’t win against that many men.

He shoved the gun back into its holster and adjusted the button on his suit jacket. “You’ll never work in Fort Worth ever again,” he told me. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Then he and his bodyguards hurried down the tunnel. Sawyer and his army of rodeo cowboys parted like the Red Sea to allow them to pass. Only when they were gone did I let out a long sigh.

“You beautiful son of a bitch!” Eli said, running forward and embracing Sawyer. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Just protecting our own,” Sawyer replied, clasping my hand.

Eli shook his head. “Not that. I can’t believe you called us yourfriends. Twice! You heard him, right?” Eli went down the line of cowboys, shaking hands and clapping shoulders. “All of y’all heard that. The infamously-sour Sawyer Easton says we’re his friends!”

Sawyer’s jaw clenched, and he looked at me. “This is why I don’t make friends.”

49

Sophie

There was a weird delay in the arena prior to the award ceremony. The podium had been rolled out, along with a table bearing shining medals inside padded boxes. Board members for the Fort Worth Rodeo stood in a line, waiting to congratulate the winners.

But then everyone stood around for a while, waiting for something. Even the rodeo employees down on the arena floor glanced around in confusion.

What was going on?

Finally, after several minutes, the door opened at the end of the arena and a line of cowboys came marching in. The crowd applauded as every single participant of the rodeo emerged, walking around the outside of the ring, then turning to face the podium.

“And now,” the announcer finally boomed over the loudspeaker, “the winners of the Bull Riding event. In third place, with a score of 93, Elijah Hawkshaw!”

Eli skipped into the arena like an excited little boy, grinning widely. He leaped onto the podium, kicking the dirt off his boots and making finger-guns at the other cowboys.

“In second place, with a score of 94, your previous Fort Worth Rodeo champion… Chris Appleton!”

There was mostly polite applause for Appleton, with a scattering of boos mixed in. But there wasn’t any movement down at the arena entrance. Two of the rodeo clowns standing by the entrance ramp peered down into the darkness, then turned back and shrugged to each other.

Oh my God, I realized.He’s too sore of a loser to show his face.

More boos replaced the cheers as the audience in the stands realized he wasn’t going to appear. I smiled at the sound. It felt like validation.

Then the lights in the arena cut off, plunging the space in darkness.

“AND NOW!” the loudspeaker thundered. “WITH A FORT WORTH RODEO RECORD SCORE OF 97. YOUR NEW BULL RIDING CHAMPION. JOHNNY ARMSTRONG!”

Spotlights swirled across the interior of the stadium, finally snapping into place at the entrance to the ramp where Johnny stood. Tears ran down my cheeks as he slowly walked toward the podium. Cheers and roars of approval rained down on him as he stepped up to the middle spot. A cameraman ran up to him, shoving a shoulder-mounted camera in his face. Johnny tipped his hat to it.

---