Page 5 of Outback Heat
“I just couldn’t sit by and let our Alphas wither away. They’re good boys. I watched most of them grow up from little fellas, and it breaks my heart seeing them taken by aura sickness.”
I believe her.
I don’t encounter much genuine empathy often these days, even in the hospital where it should be common. As someone with heightened empathy to the point of dysfunction, I feel a kinship with Ida. She cares.
“You’re a good person, Ms Parson,” I breathe. “I’m sure the town appreciates your efforts.”
Ida looks flustered for a moment, but hooks her arm around mine.
“Come on, Miss. Weber,” says Ida and tugs me towards a haze of red dust hanging in the still air at the edge of the town. “Let’s get motoring before we miss the show. You’ll see why everyone loves it when the rodeo is in town.”
“Call me Matilda.”
“And you call me Ida, deary,” she says, patting my hand still hooked around her elbow.
As we reach the edge of town, I realise the red cloud hanging in the air is dust kicked up by hooves and vehicles. The rodeo has been erected in an empty paddock surrounding the existing metal cattle yards - a maze of fences designed to corral cattle for transportation. Behind, there are rows of horse floats attached to large four-wheel-drive vehicles.
“The cowboys sleep in a bunk inside the trailer while they follow the rodeo around to different towns,” Ida explains without me asking.
“Wait, they sleep in there with their horse?”
Ida chuckles at my incredulous expression. “Most of these fellas would walk over coals for their horses. Living with them isn’t a hardship. They live and breathe for the rodeo.”
I feel like I’ve entered a whole other world. Everywhere I look, there are sounds and smells of horses and cows and giant bulls. Leather and hay, horse sweat and dust. And something uniquely masculine. It’s musky and a heady mix of pure testosterone. I shake my head, blowing air out of my nose.
Ida introduces me to more people dressed in full cowboy regalia, their faces alight with anticipation. Big broad-brimmed hats decorated with kookaburra feathers and cattle tags adorn their heads.
At the edge of my awareness, I can feel a few conflicting auras flickering in the distance. Alphas. Unmated and raw. I tuck closer to Ida and follow her diligently up into the temporary stands set up next to the rodeo arena.
Calling it an arena is a stretch. It’s a roughshod ring of temporary fencing that’s attached to the existing permanent cattle yards. The arena ground is dirt, torn up by the hooves of horses and cattle. At the back, there are three gates.
I ask Ida what they’re for as we settle onto the worn wooden bench seats, the grandstand shivering with every footfall.
“They’re the chutes for bull-riding. A cowboy sits on top of the bull while it’s in the chute and when the gate is opened, it’s game on. The beast will start bucking like a frog in a sock. The cowboy has gotta hang on for at least eight seconds.”
“Woah,” I breathe, barely comprehending who in their right mind would choose to ride an angry bull.
An idiot, that’s who.
Two
Murphy
“Areyoudickheadsreadyto eat my dust!?” I holler at my competitors.
“For fuck’s sake, Murphy. Would you shut the fuck up?” my best mate, Ben, growls beside me.
“Yeah, nah. You love it,” I say with a searing grin, slapping his ass and earning me one of his patented scowls. One of the other competitors sneers but, when he recognises me, he pales and lumbers away.
I don’t mean to brag but I’m kinda a big deal in these parts. Small town local boy made good. I left Bodella after high school and immediately joined the rodeo scene where I rode the wildest bulls and roped the fastest steers until I made a name for myself. I’ve been on the PBR, Professional Bull Riding, circuit for almost a decade.
The name Murphy Myers means something.
“Look, I’m only doing this to keep you from taking on something even more reckless,” Ben says with crossed arms. He’s a surly fella but, since he found his Omega a few months ago, his controlling aura has steadied considerably. He hasn’t punched me in the face since, which is saying a lot.
I try not to be jealous that Ben found his Omega. I really do. Yet, it still creeps in. I can’t help it. I’m not interested in June, who is a stunner and the sweetest little Omega, she’s just not my type. Far too shy for my liking.
No, I’m jealous he’s found his other half. That his world seems to have shifted from volatile and depressing to something more meaningful.
