Page 22

TWENTY-ONE

Isla

“God, I love the excitement of the rodeo,” I say to Rafe as we walk hand-in-hand to the stadium bleachers so we can watch the bull riding event. Starlight and I have already competed, and the final results will be announced at the end of the night. Gazer and I will run the barrels in about an hour from now, but it’s enough time for me to gather my bearings, relax, eat something light, and watch one of my favorite events unfold.

“I do too, but I’m glad I don’t ride broncs anymore,” he replies, grinning down at me. Once he does a full body scan of me and my attire, his grin turns into a full-fledged smile. “You’re looking quite flashy today, Issy.”

I’ve already changed into my performance clothes that I’ll wear while racing Stargazer. My outfit consists of a long-sleeved western shirt, dark jeans, and my favorite pair of cowboy boots. My shirt, boots, and hat are all color coordinated with my signature color, purple. Stargazer’s saddle has purple trim, and her tail is braided with purple ribbon plaited throughout her mane as well.

“Considering I normally wear white T-shirts and jeans on a daily basis, yeah, I guess you’re right,” I reply, looking down at my glamorous and sequined outfit. “I’m a little decked out.” I added a few new shirts to my wardrobe during a recent shopping trip and I’m secretly glad that Rafe noticed the difference. Of course, the man notices every little thing about me.

“I like your hair, too,” he adds, tugging on the end of my braids. I may or may not have added the ribbon that matches Stargazer to my locks, as well as black eyeliner and purple eyeshadow so my eyes pop underneath the lights.

“You should since you were the one who suggested I wear my hair this way.” Sometimes I leave my hair loose and flowing with only the top pulled back in a clip, others, I pull it into a low ponytail or get French braids. Whatever will keep my hat on my head.

“So, who do you think is gonna win this one?” Rafe asks, looking down at the program. “I see Tex is on Bandit from Hell, while Horace has Hellhound this time.”

I shudder because both bulls have a history of hooking their riders. “I hope the clowns are ready,” I murmur. I glance around the arena and notice that there are already ambulances in place for emergencies. These two bulls are well-known throughout the circuit and are veritable monsters when they’re let out of the chute.

“Honestly? I think it’s gonna be a toss-up,” I finally reply, glancing over his shoulder and reading the lineup of riders. “Both bulls are scary as hell to me and seeing as we breed them on the ranch that’s saying something, Rafe. But these two seem like they evolved from the pits of hell or something.”

He chuckles but nods. “I sure as fuck wouldn’t ride either of them willingly and you know I never backed down from a challenge.”

Once again, I find myself shuddering because at one rodeo, both Rafe and Gage were hooked by the bulls they were riding when the bullfighters, who are usually dressed in clown makeup, didn’t get to them fast enough. It was one of the reasons Rafe gave it up because I was damn near hysterical when I finally reached his side.

“I’m glad you don’t ride bulls or broncs any longer,” I confess. “I swear, my heart always went crazy whenever you were in the chute waiting for your turn.”

“Yeah, I prefer riding you or my bike,” he cheekily replies, smirking at me.

I hear a gasp and turn my head to see a woman holding her hands over a child’s ears while glaring at Rafe.

“Hey, lady? That’s probably not gonna be the worst thing your kid hears around here. Cowboys and ranch hands don’t follow proper etiquette and they sure as fuck don’t worry about their foul language,” I sneer.

I refuse to let her embarrass me since she was the one who was eavesdropping on mine and Rafe’s private conversation. I barely resist the urge to flip her off, to be truthful. Rafe’s chuckle brings my focus back to him and away from Mommy Prudest.

“Babe, I’m not embarrassed by anything I say,” he states.

“I know, I just think it’s ridiculous for someone to come to a rodeo and expect folks to be at their Sunday best,” I mutter, still a bit peeved by the woman’s behavior.

Rodeos are rough and tumble. The cowboys and ranch hands work hard and play even harder, which is why there are so many buckle bunnies running around today. The headliners in the various events are competing and those women are looking to score a chance to say they fucked so-and-so. Most end up being one-offs since a lot of the men, and even some of the women who compete, aren’t ready to settle down. They live their lives on the road, hauling a fifth wheel behind their pickup truck from town to town. They have ranch hands that pull the trailers with their horses, which are then boarded at the closest facility near the next rodeo.

“Pay attention, Issy,” he suddenly says, nudging my shoulder toward the arena. I scoot to the edge of the bleacher, my heart pounding in fear for the rider who’s about to attempt to stay on for eight seconds.

“I swear to God, watching this gives me flashbacks. I think you and Gage gave me PTSD,” I grumble, causing Rafe to start laughing at me as he wraps his arm around my shoulder, wrapping me in his warmth.

“Babe, really?” he chuckles, placing a chaste kiss on my temple.

“Yeah, really , Rafe,” I retort, my body trembling from mentally reliving the malefic memories. “Check my pulse.”

He shakes his head at my silliness but does it and I watch his brows shoot nearly to his hairline. “Fuck, Issy, I had no clue,” he whispers. “We can go if you want.”

“I’ll be fine, Rafe, I promise,” I rebut, reaching up and lacing my fingers with his that are lazily hanging over my shoulder. “I can feel you right here and that’s centering me. I won’t wig out on you.”

The emcee comes over the loudspeaker, breaking through the country music that’s almost a prerequisite at rodeos, and announces the first rider. I grip Rafe’s hand even tighter knowing that as soon as the rider is set and nods his head, the clowns will release the bull and the timer will start. They’re not actually clowns per se; they’re trained bullfighters who wear the makeup to keep the little kids entertained and from getting scared should a bull hook one of the riders. Their job is two-fold; they run interference between the enraged bull and the rider should the rider fall, while distracting the audience if that happens and the rider ends up getting hooked. Sending up a prayer for the rider and the men whose job it is to distract the bull if the rider falls off, I brace myself for the next few seconds to play out in living color. The first rider finally gives the signal and he and the bull surge out of the chute, the bull, Mad Max, already trying to get rid of his rider.

“Shit, look at his pose,” Rafe yells as we watch Chaney Thomas attempt to stay seated for eight seconds while the bull bucks, kicks, rears, and spins in an effort to knock him off.

With both the bull and the rider being judged for a possible cumulative total of one hundred points, the judges have to stay on their toes to make sure they don’t miss anything significant including any of the moves the bull may try.

Somehow, Chaney manages to make his eight seconds count, causing the crowd to go wild and roar in excitement as the clowns move into position so he can safely dismount. I notice he’s wearing one of the vests that Cody Lambert, a veteran Pbr bull rider, created and developed after Lane Frost was tragically killed after a perfect ride when the bull pushed against him with all his weight.

While I don’t have to wear one in my sport, I made sure Rafe got one and it’s quite impressive. It’s made with a high-density foam which allows the shock to disperse throughout the whole body, then covered with Spectra, a ballistic material similar to Kevlar to protect against the raging bull’s horns. Once that’s done, it’s covered in leather, giving it a western look.

“He did well,” Rafe says as the next rider prepares for his shot at points toward a buckle. “Got one more we can watch, Issy, then we need to head over to your arena so you can prepare for your race. I know you always give Stargazer a pep talk.”

I giggle because it probably sounds funny to anyone who isn’t on the rodeo circuit, but it’s something I used to do when I raced Starlight and I’ve continued that tradition with her daughter. Since she frequently won, it became one of my perfunctory routines before I ran the barrels. Superstitious? Probably so, but my motto is… why mess with what works?

I squeeze his fingers before unlacing them and twist in his direction, all but wiggling on my bench seat. “We can go now, because I need to pee.”

“Probably has something to do with the giant bottle of water you just finished, but I think it’d take off points if you accidentally wet yourself during your race,” he jests. “So, let’s keep that from happening.”

I smack his shoulder which does nothing at all to shift him since he’s all brawn and muscle, then he grabs my hand and laces our fingers together again. I notice as we head toward where the barrel races are being run that there are quite a few of Rafe’s brothers around, but when I see Riptide striding in our direction, I stop moving and glare at Rafe.

I skeptically raise my eyebrows at him, peering at him through pinched lids. “What’s going on?”

He clears his throat then pulls me into his arms. “Issy, the club has another enemy and they’re in town. This is merely a precaution,” he tells me, his voice calm and controlled. “We’re all here to keep you safe, sweetheart.”

I can’t help it, I start shaking as my last rodeo comes to mind and the insecurity I thought I’d put to bed raises its ugly head, smirking at me while wiggling its fingers at me, taunting me. That one ended well, as far as how I placed on both horses, but not so good for me, physically, emotionally, or mentally. Just the thought of what Gage did has me becoming nauseous and I grip Rafe’s biceps to keep from falling on my ass as dizziness tries to claim me.

“Rafe,” I whisper, my throat suddenly drier than the Sahara Desert. Hell, even the tears that started to well up in my ducts are completely gone now, such is my horror. “I… I can’t go through that again.”

“And you won’t, Issy. It’s why we’re here, babe. We’re your protection. This punk-ass group of gang bangers want to swing their dicks around and they’re coming for the Kings. Since they’re based around this area somewhere, we weren’t willing to take a chance with you or the horses for that matter. Even though I was gonna be here with you no matter what, and Luis was coming along to oversee the girls, the brothers and I wanted to make sure we had plenty of backup in case things go sideways.

“Including Riptide?” I ask.

“His charter is not far from here, so he likely has more of a vested interest with regard to who these assholes are. I swear on Paps’s grave that you’re safe, Issy.”

I nod as he lightly squeezes me. “Okay, now I really need to pee,” I tease.

“After you, babe,” he says, waving his arm in front of us suggesting I lead. “This way, I can watch your ass.”

“Okay, Gazer, just like we’ve been practicing,” I murmur as I go over the fastenings to make sure everything is buckled down and tightened as it should be. I trust Luis, of course, but a good horsewoman always checks over her equipment as well. You never know what could happen between a person securing things and showtime.

The competition at these events is vicious. Sore losers are in every aspect of life, and unfortunately, it’s been known for one competitor to tank another one in the name of jealousy. Stargazer’s soft whinny blows warm air against the back of my neck, and I giggle just as Luis walks up to where we’re temporarily settled.

“Miss Issy, I have your racing hat,” he says, making me grin. I’ve been walking around the rodeo with my daily one I wear when I’m not racing or riding, as the racing one is slightly tighter to keep it from moving or flying off my head, which deducts points.

“Thanks, Luis,” I reply, stepping away from Stargazer to take the hat from him. “Will you give Rafe this one?” I ask, giving him my worn one.

“I’ve got it, Luis,” Rafe interjects, walking over to us. He leans in and kisses me for luck and says, “Go get it, Issy!”

Luis walks beside me as we make our way to the holding area. Once our names are called, I’ll enter the arena at a full run and go either left or right to start my race, which is a cloverleaf pattern utilizing barrels as the turning point. An electronic timer called the electric eye will start timing me when I cross the beam and it’ll keep running until I cross it again on the way back through the pattern. While a good time is important in order to place at the top, I also need to make sure we don’t knock a barrel over because that will add at least five seconds to my allotted time and keep me from being in the winner’s circle.

“You’ll do well, Miss Issy. Stargazer is ready and I’ve seen the times you’ve gotten at the ranch,” Luis states, encouraging me as we patiently wait for our turn. “Plus, while I know a lot of the racers use whips to make their horses go faster, I think you have more success not using one.”

“Paps always said if a rider wasn’t in tune with their horse, no amount of whipping them would change that fact. Both my girls have been raised with that in mind. Did you know I let Starlight run them a few weeks ago? She’s still as fast as she ever was, Luis. Both my girls have a competitive streak, and they almost anticipate my cues. We’ll hopefully crush this today.”

Finally, my name is called, and I bite back a smile because while the times we’ve ran in the past have been good, the ones that I’ve been getting at the ranch when we practice are two to three seconds better. The buzzer goes off and I yell, “Hya!” then speed into the arena before fluctuating the reins, indicating we’re gonna go to the right.

I’ve found over the years that most will go to the left to start, but my Gazer, she likes to go right. Using my thighs and calves, as well as a spare rein when needed, I allow my horse to have her head, grinning when we cross the electronic timer line again and the disembodied robotic voice intones, “Stargazer, Triple R Ranch, thirteen point four zero seconds.”

Shit, that’s almost two seconds shed from my personal best. It’s faster than the person who was sitting comfortably in first place. Guess me and Stargazer have upset the proverbial applecart. Again. It’s not the first time we’ve done it at a rodeo, and I doubt it’ll be the last.

“Fuck, Issy, you were flying ,” Rip says as I cool Stargazer down in the after-race corral. Rafe’s standing next to him, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face as he nods in agreement.

“She was in the zone today,” I reply as Gazer prances around, showboating like she knows she won this time.

“C’mon, babe, the brothers are chomping at the bit for some rodeo food,” Rafe says, hopping the small fence and grabbing Stargazer’s reins, ready to lead her to our friend. “Luis will get her sorted out since I know you’re hungry too.”

“Yeah, I hate eating before a race because I still get that pukey feeling just before the buzzer goes off,” I admit, grinning down at him. “Stay, Gazer,” I command. Once I’m sure she’s not going to move, I let Rafe help me down then we walk her over to Luis who is grinning from ear to ear.

“Already sent my papi the video of you and Stargazer racing, Miss Issy,” he says, taking the reins. “He’s very proud of you both, as is mama.”

“Thank you, Luis. Y’all had a hand in her winning too, y’know,” I reply. “Good food, clean stall, regular workouts when I wasn’t allowed to ride. It all matters.”

He shakes his head then states, “We’ll agree to disagree. I’ve got her now, y’all go eat.”