Page 25 of Rodeo Cowboy
“It’s clever.” Silver points a fork at Ford.
“It’s lame.” Ford points his fork back at him.
There’s always been a sense of friendly competition among my brothers. I’m not surprised when they dive straight into stories of our childhood.
Silver points his fork at me. “I remember one summer we stayed at the rodeo camp, and Sammy here got bucked off his horse and landed in a pile of cow manure?”
Chuckles and giggles ripple through the group.
“In front of the cowgirl he was crushin’ on.Remember that, Sammy boy?”
“I remember the time Silver’s horse took off with him, and he ended up hanging from a tree branch like a rag doll.”
The infectious laughter spread like wildfire.
“That was a one-time thing, Sammy. And if I recall, I’m not the one who’s been hanging around lately.”
“At least I didn’t manage it on my own.” I take a long sip of my coffee, wishing it had a splash of whiskey.
“At least I didn’t get a mouthful of shit.”
“Language,” my niece Libby chimes in.
Dean interjected, “Speaking of sh-crap, remember when Hart was trying to rope that steer, and it kicked him so hard, he went flying into the fence?”
Hart shakes his head. “Yeah, I remember that. But, at least I didn't get dragged through a thorn bush like Wheeler did that one time.”
Wheeler rubs his arm, which still has a scar from that incident. “Hey, it wasn't my fault that dang bull was so stubborn.”
Beck chuckles. “And who could forget the time when Ford accidentally lit his pants on fire while trying to start a campfire?”
“I was skunk drunk.”
“No excuse.”
“I burned down our house two days ago.” A sense of unease settles over the table as McKenna’s confession is met with silence.
Ayla squeezes my leg under the table.
“It was an accident,” McKenna says with a hint of unsure.
“You and I shall not be on campfire duty,” Ford tells her. “That also leaves the old man out ‘cause he burned down the local kissing booth last year.”
“Shit, I reckon I did.” My pa’s voice booms down the table. “On purpose.” He winks at McKenna, and chatter resumes long after everyone’s eaten.
“Here they are. Come in.” Silver swings open the back door and welcome five cowboys and one cowgirl.
Not just any gang, but our old Walker Ranch gang. Wyatt Silver’s family—whom my brother was named after—owns the local lumberyard. Daisy Fox is Hope's cousin and a world-champion barrel rider. They’re the only two I’ve kept tabs on. I don’t know what the fuck Badass Bronx, Smoking Ash, Killer Kane, and Cobra Crowe have been up to.
“Aunt Ayla?” Willow whispers loud enough I hear.
I glance over and catch her niece’s fist hitting her leg. Her gaze is zeroed in on Daisy, and I realize she’s star-struck.
Ayla catches her wrist and snarls, “what?”
“That’s Daisy Fox. Champion barrel rider. My idol.” Willow sits back with stiff shoulders and her eyes locked on the cowgirl.
I’m more curious about why the old gang is here.
