Page 49 of Tempting Wyatt
“Hey,” my brother calls out after me. “Caleb texted me back. He’s here already.”
I glance around at the growing crowd. “Yeah? Him and about a thousand other people.”
With my thoughts already so dark, Caleb is the last person I need to see. What he’s doing here is beyond me. Probably fucking around, chasing stray buckle bunnies, if I had to guess.
“Good point. How the hell are we going to find him in this crowd?” Isaac glances up at the full grandstands and then at the people milling around.
“Um, guys?” Ivy wraps a petite hand around my bicepand tugs my arm while using the other to point toward the giant LED screen across the arena. “Is that him?”
I’m momentarily distracted by her soft touch, so it takes me a second to figure out what she’s pointing at.
Isaac and I stare at the image of a bull rider on the screen. Our last name is in giant letters above the blue-and-black outfitted rider. Apparently, he’s currently in third place.
Isaac and I speak at almost the exact moment. “What in the actual fu?—”
“He’s lost his damn mind,” I grumble. “The hell is he thinking?”
Ivy’s eyes are wide. “Does that mean he’s in third place in the world?”
Surely not. “No. I’m sure it just means this rodeo.” My eyes land on the giant logo at the top of the screen. It’s a silhouette of a bull in mid-buck, with a lone star on its shoulder. Frontier Bull Riding Federation event then. They’re relatively newer, started by some retired rider from Canyon County ten or so years ago, but growing. Lost a couple ranch hands to them last summer. “Must be mostly amateurs here.”
Isaac clicks a few buttons on his cell phone, then stares at it, slack jawed. “It looks like he’s ranked on the pro circuit.” He holds up a YouTube video titledBull Rider Shows No Fear at Lone Star Showdown. “Check this out.”
I wave his phone away. I don’t want to see the full video. “Dad is rolling in his grave as we speak.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised. Fucking Caleb. Since birth, he’s been determined to do the very things he was asked not to.
Isaac makes a sound of agreement while he and Ivy watch the video.
If a bull doesn’t kill my brother today, I might.
Our entire lives, Dad had one hard rule. For us and the ranch hands.
No bull riding.
That was all he asked. He’d had an older brother who got paralyzed riding and then took his own life soon afterward.
Uncle Luke.
Dad rarely said his name. But we’ve known the story of his short life for most all of ours.
“Wow,” Ivy says softly, returning her attention to where I’m contemplating hog-tying Caleb to get him out of here before he breaks his neck and our mother’s heart. “I don’t know much about bull riding, but it looks like he knows what he’s doing.”
Isaac clears his throat and meets my gaze. “He’s good, Wy. Like, damn good. Fearless. As solid of a rider as I’ve ever seen. According to the stats online, if he scores high enough today, he’ll qualify for the semi-finals at the end of the month.”
The world spins too quickly around me. The people, the sounds, the smell of funnel cake, beer, and animal shit.
I can’t comprehend how this is happening. Pro riders train for years, attending camps, and have world-famous coaches from the time they’re kids. Other than on our ranch, Caleb wasn’t ever allowed anywhere near a bull. Hell, none of us were.But this is Caleb we’re talking about. He’s basically a walking, talking middle finger that tends to do exactly what everyone tells him not to. He’s always been impulsive. Fearless, as Isaac said. Reckless, in my opinion, and we’ve all paid a price for it. I can only hope that maybe he’ll pull his head out of his ass before he ends up in a wheelchair.
Or a casket.
CALEB STAYSON FOR eight and gets a decent score. Ivy cheers loudly for him and spills beer on herself. She laughs while Isaac helps her clean up, and I consider removing his hands—permanently. If I didn’t need his help on the ranch, I would.
Caleb finishes in second place and, according to Isaac, scores high enough to qualify for the semi-finals in Vegas.
Figures. I’ll be here, doing my best to hold on to every inch of our family’s legacy with my fucking knuckles bleeding, while Caleb is out, partying it up and risking his damn life for a good time.
The auction goes as well as could be expected. Ballbuster gets us about what I hoped for, but Hothead falls a little short. I have to let him go anyway.
