Page 37 of The Wildest Ride

He shook his head to clear it, but it didn’t bring an accounting of the lollygagged time back—more signs of age.

As he followed the staffer out of the arena, it occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Lil Sorrow come in at all during the practice window. AJ had been the first in and, unintentionally this time, the last out.

Lil Sorrow was probably one of those who thought prepractice was bad luck.

AJ hoped not. That type was common but usually didn’t have stamina. AJ was surprised by the disappointment he felt at the thought. He hadn’t realized how much he was looking forward to the competition.

But anybody who thought they could do two months straight of intense rodeo and beat AJ Garza doing it was going to need a whole lot of stamina.

Rubbing his shoulder, he walked back to the RVs thinking through the rest of his afternoon: a shave, a shower, and a hot meal. The shower might be cramped, and the meal might be something microwaved, but the whole setup was still cushy compared to what most cowboys were used to on the real rodeo circuit.

He and The Old Man had slept in the truck and eaten microwaved Chef Boyardee in mini-marts many a night in his early days.

That’d been a long time ago, though—back when D was still in college and before AJ’d won his first big prize. A lifetime ago now.

These days he could afford hotels and restaurants. Or, rather, he could during his last days as a pro.

These days he was retired. Closed Circuit or not, he had to remember that.

And when he wrapped this up, he was going to go back to Houston and settle down.

The lie fell flat even to his own mind. No wonder it didn’t work on anyone he considered family.

He didn’t even have a home to stay in.

Houston might be where his mother was, where her life and her students were, her school, her house—everything in her life besides him—but he was just a passerby there, a visitor whose real life was spent on the road.

And while she’d always have a place for him at her house, at thirty-six years old, he sure as hell wasn’t going to move back in with his mama.

No matter how much she badgered him.

He’d meant it when he’d said he’d probably find a place near the gym. It didn’t need to be fancy, just a place to crash after coaching. That was the only thing about his future he was sure about. If he wasn’t going to ride anymore, he was going to have a hand in shaping the next generation of champions.

And if that happened to be in his image, then so much the better. Was that very different from any other man?

If he’d been more inclined to think ahead, he might have found a steadier career, as Diablo had, but rodeo had hooked AJ young, leaving no room for anything else. Like any other professional calling, a man wanted to leave his mark.

As far as callings went, rodeo hadn’t done him wrong.

He’d made good money—enough to buy his mom a house and enough to retire comfortably at thirty-six—and, unlike most, his body was still in good shape. The only crutch it’d left him with, in his eyes, was a long stretch of life ahead of him with nothing much to do with it. What else was there to do when rodeo had been all he’d ever wanted to do?

Arriving at his RV, he decided to eat first, tossing one of the frozen dinners the competition provided in the microwave. It was fresher than he’d expected but hit the spot only because it was food.

In the bathroom, the RV’s mirror and sink were fine for shaving, but the shower was too small for a man his size. The water hitting the top of his shoulders and sliding down his back, however, was still a hot, slick massage he appreciated.

AJ took longer in the shower than he should have, but the water stayed warm.

He was really starting to fall in love with the RV. He could just get one of these and live in the gym’s parking lot.

The thought had a certain amount of rich-guy-next-door appeal. Whether parents would be real keen on leaving their children at a facility that boasted the desirable amenity of a single man living in a trailer in the parking lot was, however, questionable.

A knock on his door drew him out of his thoughts. He turned off the water and hollered, “Just a minute,” before wrapping a towel around his waist.

Lil Sorrow stood on the other side, arms crossed in front of her chest. The mulish cast of her face widened to alarm as her gray eyes swept down from AJ’s face to take in his bare chest and towel-clad body. Cheeks reddening, she looked away, and AJ fought the urge to let the towel slip a little lower, just to see what she’d do. Nothing too prurient, of course, this was still rodeo after all, but enough to throw her off balance. His need to throw her off balance seemed to grow every time he tried and failed.

Standing this close, her skin looked more baby soft and creamy than it had before, her cheeks silky brown and perfectly smooth—and blushing. He was staring at her, he realized with a start.

Straightening abruptly as he cleared his throat, AJ asked, “What’s up?”

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