Page 12 of Eight Seconds to Ride

“Better watch your back, Shooter,” Colt muses from beside Cope. “Looks like the new kid’s coming for your title.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Cope makes a pouty face, running his finger down his cheek like a tear. “Oh, no, is someone mad that he’s finally got some real competition?”

“He fucking wishes,” I sneer.

And speak of the fucking devil, Sterling comes and sits down across the fire from us, beside Boone and Grady. His gaze meets mine for a split second before it darts away.

“Aye, Sterling,” Colt all but shouts at him. He glances over at him, brows raising questioningly. “Conrad sent us some of your rodeo footage. Can’t wait for you to kick ol’ Shooter here down a notch or two. His ego could use some humbling.”

Everybody, including Sterling, laughs. But I don’t. My eyes stay plastered on his face until he looks directly at me, all the shy, uncomfortable energy from earlier gone, and says, “Yeah, me either.”

“Watch yourself,” I grit out. “Don’t need you getting too big for your britches and embarrassing yourself.”

Sterling smirks. “Don’t worry about me,cowboy. I can handle my own out there. Appreciate the concern, though.”

He’s in for a rude fucking awakening when we get on the road next week. Victory will taste sweeter than ever this year.

6

Shooter Graham

I’m outside of Cope’s house at a quarter to seven, waiting on his slow ass to get out here. We head out of town today for the start of rodeo season, but we have to stop by Grazing Acres to pick up the camper. Each year, we tow the camper from place to place, using it to sleep in at every location. It saves us a fuck ton on lodging expenses. But up until a few months ago, neither of us lived in a place that could accommodate storing something that large during the off season, so much like with our horses, Conrad let us store it there since he has so much land.

It was originally Whit’s idea when they were still married, but thankfully, Conrad never rescinded the offer after they got a divorce. While I consider Conrad a friend, and he’s a great guy, I’ve always been closer to Whit, so it honestly could’ve gone either way.

The passenger door opens, and Cope tosses his duffle in the back as he climbs inside. “About time you got out here, man,” I huff as I put the car in drive.

“Oh, shut up, grumpy.” He laughs, putting on his seatbelt. “You were out heremaybefive minutes.”

The ride over to the ranch is short and mostly quiet. I’ve been in a weird mood all week since the night of the bonfire. Whether he meant to or not, my dad got into my head, and I don’t fucking like it. Our first rodeo is tomorrow night in Bellfire, Colorado, which hugs the southwestern border. It’s about an eight-hour drive from Copper Lake, so we have a whole day of travel ahead of us that I hope won’t be spent in the same headspace. I need to fucking shake this.

The PRCA is divided into regions depending on which state you live in. Wyoming is in the Mountain State Region, along with Colorado. So, we compete within that region all season. This is the shittier part of rodeo—the constant driving back and forth. It’s one of the reasons Cope and I bought the camper several years back. Instead of paying for a hotel for days at a time, or worse, driving home after every single show, we camp out at each location, saving a ton of time and money.

Turning on my blinker, I take a right, pulling onto the gravel road that leads to the ranch. It’s long and windy, and eventually takes us right up to the front of the house. I park beside the truck Sterling is currently loading up, a grumble bubbling in my throat as I take him in. He’s about the last person I want to see this early in the morning.

Cope chuckles beside me as he unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out, like he knows exactly where my mind’s at. “Getting ready to head out?” he asks Sterling as I round the hood, intending to go find Conrad.

I toss a single glance over at Sterling, making brief eye contact, before I stroll around the side of the house, finding Conrad in the barn. “Hey, what’s up?”

Glancing up, a smile graces his lips. “Morning, Shooter. You ready for the rodeo?”

“Hell yeah, you know I am.”

He chuckles, wiping his hands off on a rag. “If you want to pull your truck ’round the back of the house, I can help you load the camper.”

“Cool, thanks.”

It only takes Conrad and me about ten minutes to get the camper hitched to the back of my truck. By the time I drive it back to the front of the house, Cope is still talking to Sterling. They’re apparently in the middle of a fucking riveting conversation. It grates my nerves. I put the truck back in park and climb out, meeting them where they’re standing beside Sterling’s truck.

“You’re planning to sleep in your truck?” Cope asks, sounding flabbergasted.

“Well, yeah,” Sterling responds. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got an air mattress I can lay across the truck bed.”

Cope scoffs. “And if it gets cold?” He sounds appalled. “You can’t fucking do that, bro. You’ll fuck up your entire back. Do you know how grueling our job is on your entire body?”

Dragging my gaze over to Sterling, he looks offended. “Of course, I know that. This may be my first pro year, but it isn’t my first rodeo, you know.”

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