Page 106 of The Wildest Ride

He sauntered off with his colt before Lil or AJ could respond, which was just as well because the cameras had been filming the whole thing like salivating jackals.

Tempers bubbled close to the surface this close to the end of the competition, and even the greenies had started getting tense and mean.

Once Hank was gone, Lil was up next. Unlike Hank, Lil took her time in choosing.

Climbing up to perch on top a thick white wooden fence post, she sat silently for a long time, just watching the field of yearlings.

AJ wondered what was going through her mind, wondering which of her inner voices led the conversation—the part of her that was practical and helpful, offering sage advice without beating around the bush; the part of her that loved the flash of the arena, cocky and full of high spirits; or the part of her that had something prove.

Whatever was going through her mind, she was in no rush about it.

Crews filmed anxiously, likely dreading the editing that would be required by all of this extended footage of her brooding, but AJ didn’t mind the show. She looked right, sitting like she was, staring out at the gangly fillies and colts playing in the pasture. She wore blue jeans and a black-and-white-checkered button-up, formfitting and tucked into her jeans, over which her qualifier champion buckle shined. Her hair was braided, the elegant lines her neck and undercut obscured only where her hat rested.

Lil would always look right wherever you pictured a cowboy: on the range, in the arena, on a fence in a pasture. The only place he couldn’t picture her was in a dusty gym in Houston. The realization brought an unfamiliar twisting sensation to his gut.

They were from different worlds, and soon they would both return to them.

Finally, Lil made her selection: a spirited blue roan filly, not quite grown into her prettiness but just bursting with potential. She led the young horse away, speaking low and quiet in her ear the whole time.

AJ chose in far less time than Lil, but not quite as quickly as Hank, picking out a chestnut colt that looked near seasoned already and played well with others in the field. He led him back to their paddock and bunk, adjoined like the two of them would be for the next week until it came time to say goodbye at the auction.

For this challenge, the Closed Circuit had made regular 4-H kids out of the final three, which, while making sense on one level—the audience for rodeo was often the same pond from which 4-H drew—was a novel experience in the sport.

Three days later, however, the novelty was wearing off.

Acting as a nonstop nursemaid to an untrained colt was proving to be more challenging than the previous real-cowboy-life simulation challenges had been, and by a long shot. While on the surface this task was easier, in truth it was an endurance form of torture.

To pass for readiness, each animal was required to be paddock ready, trained on lead, walking, trotting, and cantering, as well as shoed and shined. For appearance, the yearlings would be judged on their muscular conditioning and coat.

It sounded easy, a simple recipe of good diet, exercise, and training, even if he was a bit new with the animals—but it turned out to be far more than that.

He was monitoring his colt’s diet, but anytime he took the animal out for a bit of free time, the foolish thing tried to taste anything that looked vaguely plant-ish and came back covered in burs and mud, with the occasional tuft of fur missing.

Then there was training, which he’d learned could only occur in fifteen-to twenty-minute intervals, in order to lessen the risk of lameness. Depending upon how intense the activity was—because God forbid the delicate creatures walk uphill for too long—the colt might need to be rested for the whole rest of the day. AJ had learned that the hard way, losing an entire day of training and having to reorganize the whole week’s schedule to accommodate.

And now, on day five of seven, for reasons completely unknown to him, his shiny, shoed, toned, and honed little boy, ready for the ring in nearly every way, was off his feed.

He didn’t know what to do.

The day before, he’d tried to tempt the little guy, whom he’d temporarily named Bullet, with all his favorite treats, heedless of the risk the extra calories might have to his sale if it encouraged him to eat.

It hadn’t worked.

After that, he’d tried to trick him, distracting him with training and silly sounds in order that he might eat absentmindedly.

It didn’t work.

Today, he was knocking on Lil’s door, the cameras rolling.

Lil answered, fresh faced, smiling, her eyes unguarded, posture easier and more open than he’d ever seen before.

While he’d been up all night with a picky eater, she was glowing, pretty hair pulled back into a curly ponytail, having clearly had a long, sweet night of beauty sleep.

Horse sitting agreed with her. He shouldn’t be surprised. Hadn’t she said her horse was her favorite person to hang out with?

“AJ.”

He liked the way her tone warmed when she said his name, transforming the raspy kick into the sweet comfort of a hot toddy, particularly soothing in the face of her aggressive and obvious wellness.

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