Page 73 of Rough Ride

I retrieved my horse, whispering, “Good boy. Good boy. You did good,” as I walked him back to the starting area. Another gate opened to allow us to depart, but then I gazed up and saw one man sneering down at me.

“Not bad,” Chris Appleton said from atop his Chestnut Appaloosa. “Good enough for second place, I reckon.”

I didn’t rise to the bait; I was in too good of a mood. “Yours to beat, Appleton. Hope you don’t fuck it up in front of all those people.”

Leading my horse down underneath the arena, I stopped when I passed a TV mounted to the wall showing the rodeo from a better angle. I shouldn’t watch, it was only going to drive me crazy. But I couldn’t help it. Appleton was the final rider of the event, and he was the only thing standing between me and a first place medal.

The gate swung open, and Appleton’s horse lunged into the arena. As quick as lightning, he flew from the saddle and landed across the back of the steer, arms gripping the horns like the handlebars of a bike.

But Appleton’s legs kicked underneath the steer, knocking its back leg out and allowing him to subdue it quickly.

“He tripped the steer!” I shouted at the TV. “Tripping!”

There was a commotion among the crowd in the arena, which I heard through the TV speakers and directly above me through the layers of concrete. The camera panned over to the table of judges, who had put their heads together as they reviewed a small computer screen. One of them pointed at the screen, and another nodded.

There must have been a delay on the TV, because the in-person noise from the arena erupted before the TV showed the verdict.

APPLETON: DQ (ILLEGAL HOLD)

“YES!” I shouted. He was disqualified for tripping the steer.

Which means I had won first place.

On the TV, Appleton sprinted over to the judges table and gesticulated angrily. “He’s not a happy camper,” the television broadcaster said, “but that was clearly an illegal hold.”

“THERE HE IS!” Eli shouted when I returned my horse to his stall. “Atta boy!” He threw his arms around me in a genuine hug.

“You seem happier than I am,” I said with a grin.

“Ah hah.” He braced me by the shoulders. “I’m mostly happy Appleshit was disqualified. But I’m glad you won, too. We’re eskimo brothers, after all.”

I blinked at him. “Eskimo brothers?”

“You know. Two Eskimos sticking their fishing poles in the same hole.” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s a metaphor about sex, with the—”

“I got it,” I said with a laugh. “And thanks.”

Sawyer emerged from his stall a few doors down. “I’m less happy than Elijah,” he said. “You knocked me from second place to third. But I’m happyhedidn’t win.”

“Look at us,” Eli said, wrapping an arm around each of our shoulders. “We’re practically friends now.”

Sawyer removed Eli’s arm and growled, “Let’s not get carried away.”

“Speaking of sore losers…” Eli muttered.

Chris Appleton came storming down the ramp from the arena, shouting into a cell phone. “I don’t care what it looked like. I didn’t touch its fucking leg. Yeah, well how about youmakethem fucking see it. A DQ hurts my chances of winning the entire thing.”

“Who are you whining to?” Eli taunted. “The judges’ wives?”

“Fuck you,” Appleton sneered.

“Aw, don’t be upset,” I called out. “We’re going to Billy Bob’s after this. I’ll buy you a consolation drink. You look like you need one.”

Appleton stopped and whirled toward us. “I wouldn’t share a drink with you if I was dying of thirst. But I especially wouldn’t do so at Billy Bob’s. My ex works there.”

“Aw, don’t be afraid of Whiplash Willie,” Eli teased. “Even if you two have a history, I’m sure he’s moved on. Seen plenty of other cowboys givin’ him a ride lately.”

Appleton’s face twisted into a sneer. “Fuck you.”

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