Page 8 of The Wildest Ride

Henry Bowman was an old-school cowboy, a man who had run cattle when there was still a use for it, learning the tricks of the trade on the range rather than in a rusty Houston gym like AJ and Diablo. Henry had been the second Black cowboy to win the PBRA world championship and the first to bring in over a million in prize money. In his heyday, no one had called him The Old Man. They called him Black Butter.

The name, thankfully, didn’t last.

His reputation as the smoothest ride in the history of the PBRA did. Not even AJ could match him there.

AJ tilted his head toward Diablo before asking The Old Man, “Devil drag you in?”

Henry shook his head with a smile. “Nope. Claudio called me this morning,” he said, tipping his hat in Claudio’s direction.

Claudio held up the stopwatch. “30.09 seconds.”

The time wasn’t good enough, but AJ held back his grimace. Henry was right—he was old. Six years ago, he’d have clocked twice that, distractions and all, and with a lot less pain. Returning The Old Man’s smile and adding a shrug, AJ said, “I’ll fire him later.”

“You can’t fire him,” Henry said. “He doesn’t work for you.”

“Can too. He’s here on my dime this morning.”

Henry started, “Now, AJ...”

AJ raised his hands. “I know, I know, I know. You don’t want me ‘wasting any money in this sinking ship,’ but seeing as he’s here timing me, it made sense he’s working for me. Besides, this was the only place I could think to go.”

“Something wrong with the equipment at your ma’s?” The knowing warmth in Henry’s eyes took any bite out of the words.

AJ smiled. “She might catch me...” It wasn’t a lie.

Henry shuddered. He had gone his own rounds with Meredith Garza, and he wasn’t inclined to repeat. He said, “Diablo tells me there’s a bit of nonsense at play.”

AJ shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about all that.”

“You’re coming out of retirement?”

AJ didn’t miss the way both men’s eyes latched onto him like hawks eyeing a mouse. Each would scrutinize every element of his response, so he hedged.

“Temporarily.”

“AJ. Anything you win is still your money. I won’t take it.”

“Not technically.”

Lawyer’s ears piquing, Diablo said, “What do you mean, ‘not technically’?”

“Technically, CityBoyz is the entrant...”

Henry sighed. “And how did an after-school boys program enter a rodeo as a contestant?”

“Email. And we’re not in yet,” he said, his dimple flashing again. “We’ve got to qualify first.”

The corner of Diablo’s wide mouth lifted. “I take it the PBRA Closed Circuit ‘rodeo-like-no-other’ was open to the idea of the great AJ Garza coming out of retirement to sponsor an imploding charity?”

The Old Man flinched. The move was minuscule. AJ only saw it because he was looking so closely.

He might try to hide it, but Henry was ashamed of what was happening to CityBoyz.

A frown drifted across AJ’s eyes, though he kept it from his face, answering Diablo’s question with a slight smirk. “They’ve included it in their newest ad...”

Henry muttered, “I’ll just bet. Now, you know this isn’t necessary, AJ. You’ve only just got back. I talked to Diablo in the hallway. What we’ll do is shut down and regroup, go through and do it proper. Got our Devil out here all the way from Phoenix. He’s going to get us proper nonprofit status so we can apply for real grants. There’s no need for all this foolishness.” Henry gestured toward the bull and Claudio and the stopwatch. “You’re closer to forty than twenty.”

AJ brought a hand to his heart. “You’re shooting to kill there.”

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