“YOU’RE UP, Traynor!” The chute boss waved a clipboard at chute four, where a big, rawboned roan mare waited for his happy ass.
Of all his rides this week, he was dreading this one the most. Gale Force was a hell of a bucker, and his neck could only take so much more bareback.
Still, this was where he was in the money. This could keep him up there where he needed to be.
God help him, he wanted this bad. He wanted to win this bitch and then go home to his Stetson.
The thought was hard and fast and rang in him.
Curtis blinked but headed over to the chute. Two riders were set to go before him, but his rigging was in place, and they moved quick this late in the week.
“Good ride, cowboy.” Old Vick grinned at him, half his teeth gone along with four of his fingers.
“Yep.” He nodded shortly. No one would accuse him of being rude. Curtis zipped his vest, then adjusted his neck roll.
Please God, eight seconds. I need eight seconds and to mark out.
Curtis stepped up to the chute, grabbing the top rail. He took a deep breath, then grinned wildly. “Okay, lady. You. Me. Good score.”
She rolled her eyes at him, but she knew her job, and she was daring him to do his. Her ears flicked, signaling readiness, and he climbed over the rail, Tim Halloway there to keep him from pulling a Pecos Bill’s girlfriend. What was her name, anyway?
He got his legs set, his spurs above the shoulders. “Let’s do this.”
Curtis nodded, and the world set to rocking.
Gale Force leaped out, and he marked up on her shoulders until she began to buck four strides later. When she did, she went textbook, head down, back feet so high she could have kicked the moon.
He was either going to die or this ride was going to break records.
Curtis gritted his teeth, reaching back and up with his free arm, keeping the elbow bent on the other to hold the rigging.
“Come on,” he bellowed. “Kick, you nag!”
For a half second, Curtis knew he was fixin’ to go cartwheeling, but he stuck like a burr, and when that buzzer sounded, his happy ass was looking for a safety man—Nobert or James. He gave no shits.
The mare got real mad once the whistle went off, running along the fence line, and he got the feeling she was about to try to scrape him off. There. Pick-up man.
Of course, about the time he reached for that fast-moving man on horseback, Gale flipped her back feet up, sending him ass over teakettle.
Curtis landed so hard he felt himself rattle, heard it as his bones tried to find different places.
The crowd was roaring, so he climbed to his feet and took off his hat, waved it in the air. The scoreboard showed his score, which he’d missed with the bad get off. Eighty-two.
Goddamn.
“I hope you saw that, Roper. I hope you were watching.”
He limped out of the arena, listening to announcer Dallas Ray shout him out. “Curtis Traynor for eighty-two points! That’s a go-round winner, folks, and might just sew up Traynor’s all-around win!”
Oh, praise God and Greyhound. He waved his hat again, then headed back. He needed to sit. He needed to breathe. He needed to see if it was true, if he was that close to taking the big purse.
Miles waited for him at the gate, pounding him on the back. “I think you got it, buddy.”
“Math ain’t your strong suit, Miles.”
“Yeah, yeah. You need sport medicine?”
“Huh? Nah. I just need to sit—”
“Traynor. Get your ass back here and get your checkup.”
Right. Sports medicine wasn’t taking no for an answer. They always worried too much.
“Lord, Pete, you’re a bossy fuck.”
“I got nothing on Doc.”
“True.” He creaked back behind the chutes, grinning at the paramedic who doubled as Doc’s assistant. “I’m not hurt, just shook.”
“Let me feel better about it by looking. That was a great ride, man.”
“Thanks.” They did the handshake man-hug thing. He’d known Pete for ten years, at least. “Might have done the job.”
“God knows you worked for it.” Pete shone a light in his eyes. “Pupils look good.”
“It’s my spine, not my skull,” Curtis teased. “Landed so hard on my tail I jostled my insides.”
“Anything hurting in particular?”
“Just my ass.” He winked, but it was true enough.
“Tailbone?” Pete was a smart man.
“Yeah. She bucked that last time and down I went.”
“Come on all the way back and let me look. I promise not to get too personal.”
Yeah, Stetson might just get grumpy about that. He followed dutifully, though, because Stetson would also get miffed if his ass was broken.
“Good ride, Traynor!” Folks were cheering him on, waving to him, all the way to sports medicine, where Bonner Nelson was lying there, arm at an awful angle.
“Well, shit, Bonner, you trying to get out of putting up the Christmas tree for your new wife?”
“How’d you guess?” Lord, that had to hurt. Bonner had pure agony written on his face.
“I know how lazy you are. Anyone go to get your lady?”
“No. I mean, I called her, but she’s gonna meet me at the hospital. I don’t want her seeing this. She’ll see me once it’s in a splint or a cast or whatever.”
“Yeah. Jesus. They calling an ambulance?”
“They are. Andy had to get carted out earlier, so they had to call in another one.” Bonner arched up off the gurney. “Christ.”
“Let me give you something, Bonner,” Pete grumbled. “Please?”
“I ain’t gonna tell a soul, cowboy. I swear.” Curtis knew that kind of pain. He’d broken his pelvis once, and thought he might keel over every time he moved.
“Okay. Okay, yeah.” Bonner looked like he was gonna die.
“Just hang tight, Traynor. Let me help Bonner out.”
“I’m good.” He grabbed a doughnut doolie to sit on and settled in to call Stetson.
“You did it! Cowboy, you showed that mare!” Stetson’s voice sounded so good to him.
“Right? She was trying to trip me up.” He glanced at Bonner and said a little “there but by the grace of God” prayer.
“You landed hard. You okay? I saw they grabbed you from sports medicine.”
“That’s where I am. I landed hard. Just a precaution, though. Checking my tailbone.”
“Ouch. I had a horse break mine three years ago. That’s tender.”
“I don’t think anything popped, but I might be shorter.” He lowered his voice. “That won’t be a turnoff, right?”
“I promise not to even notice.”
“I like how you think.” He knew he was a banty rooster. Good thing Stetson didn’t mind.
“One more ride, huh? You ride one more bronc and you’ve got it done, no question.” That was his Roper, working the numbers. Stetson would say he was stupid, but Curtis knew better.
“Yep. His heeler missed in round three, and his calf came free in round five, so I bet he can’t catch me. I’m pulling out of the bull riding and just doing saddle bronc.”
“Good deal. Saddle is your sweet spot. Just don’t break your butt no more.”
“Nope. I promise. My butt will be ready.”
“Promises, promises.” Stetson chuckled, the sound so weirdly tired.
“What’s up with you, Roper? How’s Miz Betty?”
“I’m okay. Tired today.”
“Yeah? I’m sorry, babe.” He was. He wished there was more he could do, but he’d be back with Stetson soon.
“Eh. No worries. You need to just enjoy that score.”
“I do. If I want to worry, I will, though.”
“Bossy old cowboy.”
“That’s me. I miss you, Roper.”
“I miss you, more than you know.” Stetson’s tone had changed, back to tense and tired.
“Roper, is everything—”
“I’m ready for you, Traynor,” Pete said.
“I have to go. I… soon, okay? I’ll be home soon.”
“Soon. Just a few more days. Text me to let me know how your butt is. And eat something.”
“I will if you do. Night, Roper.”
“Love you. Night.” Then the phone went dead.
He sat there a moment. Love. Yeah. God.
“Come on, Traynor.” Pete beckoned him over to an exam table.
“Do I have to, Doclet?” Doclet. Oh, that was good.
“You do. Need that looked at. Drop trou.”
“Don’t let anyone video my ass, man.” This was actually more fun than riding.
“Shut up.” Pete snorted out a laugh.
Ah, there was nothing like letting someone check out your tailbone while you were in the middle of the room. Nothing.
Not to mention that Pete had damn cold hands.