Page 11 of Ace of Spades
“Okay, I see how it is—gang up on me. You guys are the worst,” he rolls his eyes at us.
Beau lets out a chuckle that doesn’t meet his eyes, a solemn look on his face as he takes in the three of us. He’s the oldest out of the group, and other than Rafe, the most level-headed here. This town means everything to him—to both of us.
“We’ll find a way to fix this,” he tells me, the two of us exchanging a look.
I nod my head, trying to convince myself that it was true. I would do anything for this town that I call home. We just had to find a way to stop the Sorrels before they drove everyone out completely.
Chapter 5
WESTON
“Party at Ryan’s,” Chance announces, the two of us driving back to the Denver rodeo grounds after taking gas station showers. “Chelsea said they’re headed there now.”
I placed first tonight in both saddle bronc and bareback, the earnings burning a hole in my pocket. I’d bought us a round at the bar and paid for our showers, and I’d be sitting down on the drive back in the morning to figure out how to divide it among the ranch, my mom, and anywhere else around town.
Neither of us had brought any horses with us this weekend since Chance had decided not to compete in tie-down, so we could go straight to the party without having to worry about pulling the trailer.
“Sounds good to me,” I tell him, running my fingers through my still-damp hair before replacing my cowboy hat with a backwards ball cap.
Ryan Lockwood was a Denver local, and had been on the circuit for long enough that his post-rodeo parties had become more known than he was for actual team roping. His house was just a few miles down from the rodeo grounds, an open invite for anybody looking to let loose for the night.
The front lawn was jam-packed with trucks as we pulled in, the sound of the music and laughter pulling us around the back of the house. String lights decorated the covered patio of the single-story red brick home, the cattle in the back field wholly unbothered by all of the partygoers.
We find Beau sitting on one of the laminate countertops inside, Chelsea resting between his jean-clad legs as he rests his chin over the top of her head. Rafe observes everything around him, beer in hand as he takes in the crowd.
The two of them could fool anyone into believing they were the mature ones in our group. Meeting them now, nobody might guess that Rafe and I actually met at the Juvenile Delinquent Center back in high school, and Beau never went anywhere without a joint stuffed down his boot.
“Well if it isn’t Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dumb,” Chance laughs, grabbing a beer from a nearby cooler and greeting our friends.
I look around the house after doing the same, trying to see if there could be anyone here tonight that might pique my interest. A five-foot-two barrel racer with amber eyes and onyx hair crosses my mind, and I instantly shake my head. No, most definitely nother. But of course, I would find myself attracted to the one person on this circuit that I should be staying furthest away from.
As if my thoughts summon her, the back door opens, and none other than Hailey Sorrels walks through the door, following Ava inside. Her long black hair is straightened, making it appear smooth and sleek against her fair skin. She’s wearing a denim jacket over her hoodie, with jeans that look like they were custom-made just for her.
As if she can feel my stare, she turns to face me, an adorable blush grazing her cheeks as our eyes meet, making her light dusting of freckles even more discernible. I flash her a wide grin, watching her throat bob as she lifts her chin in defiance.
There’s something about her—she has this feistiness, this fight that draws me to keep pushing her more. I watch her nervously look around for a place to sit before Ava notices us, dragging Hailey along with her.
I wouldn’t put it past her to go after Chance again tonight, but I think our entire group knew exactly how that would go. My friend had a strict one-and-done rule.
“Hey guys!” Ava greets, offering each of us a hug as Hailey stands behind her, wrapping her arms around her middle and looking around as if she doesn’t know what to do with herself.
“Hey,” Hailey offers, giving us a small one-handed wave as she looks to everyone but me, refusing to meet my eyes.
“How’d you guys do today?” Ava asks, her attention primarily directed towards Chance.
“Rafe and Beau got a no score. Rafe caught the horns, but Beau missed on the heel,” Chance offers, shooting an apologetic glance at our friends.
“I got a gnarly draw, but I got a good score out of it. And this fucker over here got first in both of his events,” he says, motioning to me. “What about you two?”
“I shaved off almost a whole second from last week,” Ava flashes us a warm smile. “Got me in the top three!”
“Congratulations,” we tell her, each clinking our beer with hers before turning towards Hailey expectantly.
“I did fine,” she says. “I placed in breakaway, but I knocked over the third barrel during my run.”
She was being modest—I had watched her earlier in both of her events, and as much as I hated to admit it, that girl has some serious skill. Even with the penalty, her time still landed her just short of placing in the top three.
“You know, Wes trains horses for a living—maybe he can help you with Casino’s problem in the alley?” Ava offers on Hailey’s behalf with a wink, the latter blanching at the suggestion.
