Page 33 of Rough Ride

“Tough job for a woman,” she observed.

“Especially back in the sixties,” I agreed. “But she was a tough woman. Worked until the day she died, at ninety-four.”

Sophie sighed wistfully. “That’s the way to do it. Have a job that keeps you active later into life.”

We passed one trailer campsite where a rodeo competitor was brushing down his horse. When he spotted me, he turned and called out, “Tough day, Johnny. You’ll get ‘em next time.”

“Appreciate it, Abe,” I replied. “Hopefully you and I finish one-two in Steer Wrestling.”

We continued our walk in silence for a bit.

“Listen,” Sophie finally said. “I’m really sorry for getting you drunk last night.”

I glanced sideways at her. “I’m a grown-ass man. I knew what I was doing.”

“I used a dirty trick on you,” she continued. “I usually save that fake-liquor-bottle forrealassholes who are harassing me.”

“So what does that make me? A fake asshole?” I joked.

Sophie’s blue gaze swung my way. “You’re not any kind of asshole. Which is why I feel bad. I shouldn’t have deceived you.”

I waved to another cowboy we passed and smirked to myself. “You didn’t deceive anyone. I knew what you were doin’ with the bottle.”

She blinked in surprise at me. “You did? Then why did you agree to go shot-for-shot with me?”

“Because,” I replied, “it was worth the price to learn a little bit about you.”

“You thought so at the time, you mean,” she clarified.

“Right,” I said. But as she led Dusty along the path, I decided that it was still worth the price. Even considering how I performed at the rodeo.

I wasn’t going to say that to Sophie, though.

A distant expression came over Sophie as we circled the rodeo camp. I wondered what she was thinking. When we returned to my campsite, I said, “All right, now I’m starving. I haven’t been able to keep much food down all day, but I think my stomach is ready.”

“Good,” Sophie said with a wide grin. “Because I know just the place. Dusty can come, too. And I’m buying.”

15

Sophie

I’d been going on dates since I was fifteen. Almost half my life. And one thing I had learned, a rule that had never failed me: you could learn a lot about a man by his dog. The name he gave it, how he treated the animal, whether he considered it a member of his family or just an accessory.

One of my exes had a Black Lab he used for hunting. He never let the dog inside his house, forcing him to stay under the deck in the back yard. We only lasted a month.

Another guy I dated had a Chihuahua that had the personality of a rabid poltergeist, biting anyone who dared to get near his teeth. We only went on three dates, the last one ending when he channeled his dog’s energy and screamed at a waitress for messing up his burrito order.

Trent, my ex, didn’t like dogs at all. I should have recognized that red flag from the start.

So when Johnny mentioned needing to feed his dog, I jumped on the opportunity to meet his furry friend. It would be a test of Johnny’s character. A karmic sign as to whether or not I was making the right decision to give the guy a shot.

Well, if the universe was trying to send me a signal, Dusty was the equivalent of a flashing neon “date me” sign. He was incredibly sweet, very well-behaved, and in good shape. It was obvious that Johnny took good care of him, and loved him like a member of his family.

Maybe this cowboy wasn’t like the others.

Maybe.

We drove back to the Stockyards area and parked at Billy Bob’s. “So where are you takin’ me?” Johnny asked, opening the cab for Dusty and letting him hop out.

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