Page 5 of Eight Seconds to Fly

He’d grieved my father as much as I had. They’d been friends for decades. Most people would have taken the opportunity to buy me out, but not Jack. He loved me like a daughter too, I knew it in my soul. But still, I hadn’t been able to go back to the farm. Hadn’t been able to see my old house, my old room, Daddy’s recliner.

I’d gone straight from the hospital to California, and I’d never been back. I talked to Jack and Judy on the phone every month though. They kept me up to date on things back home.

I was brought back to the present by Frankie’s voice. “I don’t trust that guy, Tessa.”

Yeah, that was a good gut feeling. I wouldn’t like to be cornered by Junior in a dark alley either. But it was what it was, and until he did something super out of line, we all had to suck it up and take precautions. He wasn’t someone I could make random allegations against, especially as one of the only card holding female bull riders in the country. So I’d suck it up.

But I would take a baseball bat to him if he stepped over the line. Daddy hadn’t raised a shrinking violet.

I drove us back to the hotel, just a cheap little place with two single beds and a flea infestation. I might have money, but I tried not to touch it. Except for the truck and my dues every year, I didn’t dip into my trust fund money unless it was an emergency. I wanted to make it in this life on my own.

I let Frankie grab my duffle, something I’d never do if there were other riders around. But when it was me and Frankie, the rules were different. I unlocked the door to the room.

“Dibs on the first shower,” I called, racing for the tiny ensuite to the sound of Frankie’s cursing. It might be molding bathrooms and cheap diner food, but I was living my dream, and that was enough to put a smile on my face.

Partieson the last night of a rodeo were all the same. Girls in short skirts and pristine boots. Banged up cowboys. And more booze than was probably healthy for a person.

I drank my beer as I stood to the side of the room, tapping my toe to the music streaming from an old school jukebox. Frankie was across the room talking to a pretty redhead in a silk camisole with legs that went on for forever. He’d occasionally shoot a look in my direction to check I was okay, but then he’d turn back to the conquest of the night. On cue, his dark eyes shot to me, and I tilted my beer at him.

“You seem too pretty to be here by yourself,” a smooth voice said from beside me, and I looked over at a rider. Not one that I knew personally, although his face was familiar. No, it was his cocky swagger that told me he was a rider, and his shiny buckle just confirmed it.

His eyes sparkled with friendly mirth, but he didn’t give me a bad feeling, so I grinned and tilted my beer at him. “The rumor is that I devoured the last guy who approached me at a bar praying mantis style, so guys give me a wide berth. Especially ones who are looking to get laid.” I raised my eyebrows in his direction.

He looked down at me and laughed. “I bite back,” he said in a low, growling voice that almost had me abandoning my principles and dragging him out the back. As if he knew the direction of my thoughts, his eyes got hot. They were a pretty shade of blue, dark like violets. “I’ll take my chances, I think. Let me buy you another beer?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I have to drive. But I’ll take a bottle of water if you’re feeling chivalrous.”

He strode to the bar and I got a good look at him. Yeah, he had that lean muscle thing going on that made me weak in the knees. Short dark hair hidden under his hat. Wide shoulders that rippled with muscle.

Down girl. Down. I’d made it a rule not to date within the circuit. Don’t shit where you eat. Words to live by. Mostly, if I needed to scratch an itch, there was always a local boy at one of the stops who wouldn’t mind getting into the back of my truck with me. I never took them back to my hotel room, and Frankie never took his conquests back there either. We respected each other.

But this guy, he was real pretty and I was really happy and it was making it super hard to remember why I didn’t date on the circuit.

“So, you a rider? Did you ride at today's rodeo?” I asked, and he tilted his head.

“I ride bulls, but I was down for some sponsorship thing today. Didn’t ride. I’m in the WBRP.”

Living the dream then. I tried to pick his face better, but still, I had nothing.

“Congrats,” I said, clinking my nearly empty bottle to his.

“How ‘bout you? Go to see the bull rides today?” I grinned into my drink and nodded. “Yeah, I was there. Some good rides today.” I left it at that. I had nothing to prove. “Where are you from?”

I settled in to listen to the cowboy, whose name was Dylan. He was from Montana. His family owned a horse ranch that bred stock horses up there. He was basically a walking cliche. But he was funny and attentive, and was kind but dismissive to the girls who came up to get his autograph and his attention.

When a loud voice boomed through the room, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Again. Junior was in the house, and there went the neighborhood. I turned back to Dylan, who was telling me about the time a bull stepped on his head and pushed his helmet into his eye socket. I winced, but we all had stories like that. You didn’t become a bull rider expecting to walk away unscathed. Hell, if you could walk away at all you were lucky.

“Montaigne. Nice to see you, bro.” Suddenly, Junior was there, getting in Dylan’s face worse than the buckle bunnies. I worried that if I looked down, I’d see Junior had a raging hard on. “Stan Wilfred Junior,” he reintroduced himself, even though he was pretending like they were best friends.

Dylan pasted a smile on his face. “Sure, Stan, nice to see you. How’s your Dad?”

I scoffed when Dylan called him Stan, because Junior hated that name. I’d personally hate being called anything as infantile as Junior but hey, the guy wasn’t exactly winning in the IQ department.

Junior’s eyes slid to me and narrowed into slits. “Dad’s fine. Keeping interesting company here. Better conquests around than the Piranha.”

Dylan continued to smile, though there was a hard glint in his eyes. “So she said, but I’m happy enough.”

I raised my lip in Junior’s direction. “See, he’s happy enough. Run along,Stan.” I looked around for Frankie, but he seemed to have disappeared with his own conquest for the night. Fuck, no one to run interference.

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