Page 17 of Saving the Rain
Come to the Hog on Saturday? We’re putting on a thing for Oscar since he’s back in town. You can be my bar bitch. Wash glasses and look pretty.
I type out a reply while I’m still here and have cell coverage. After my chat with Brad and knowing all the shit I gotta keep on top of at Devil’s Peak Ranch, I’m not feeling it.
As tempting as that sounds... Nah, I don’t think I can be bothered.
C’mon. Do it for Knox?
Apparently business is always way better when Crimson Ridge’s star attraction turns up.
It’s me. I’m the star attraction.
Sighing and shaking my head with a wry smile, I start tapping at the keys. He loves nothing more than to flash a set of pearly whites and play up the starlet bareback bronc rider role. And he’s not wrong; the nights when The Loaded Hog can advertise that they’ve got rodeo competitors in-house to take some photos with and sign some autographs, the place packs out.
Your modesty is fucking breathtaking.
I’ll think about it. No promises.
A reply pings back quickly, but knowing Chaos, it’ll be something dumb. So I slip my phone into my pocket and cut a path across the yard to my truck. Between opening up about what I’m feeling for the first time, to all the failed attempts at getting in touch from Mom, to worrying about how my next event is going to go, my head is a swirling mess circling the drainpipe.
Yeah, I’m just needing to cover some miles and blast some music, and not have to deal with any of it at present.
Once I’m behind the wheel and cruising down the long gravel drive, my head is dragged to another part of Crimson Ridge, to dwell on thoughts of the other ranch where I spend so much of my time at present. Maybe it’s the lingering ghost of seeing my mom’s name on my phone, but inevitably, my past with Raine lurches to the front of my mind as I bounce over a pothole.
It still stings like a bitch what he did. The way he justleft.
To make it worse, even though we were still in each other’s lives, he made it plainly obvious he didn’t want to know me. The rodeo community does what it does and stays tight, but he couldn’t have flashed a biggerfuck offsign my way. Once I was old enough to start competing, I still saw my stepbrother all the goddamn time, but now it was in the arena. It was only ever under the spotlight and glare of going up against one another.
We were permanently skating on thin ice, being in close proximity, a hair’s breadth from a fiery standoff at every turn. Angst and rampaging testosterone that threatened to spill over whenever the jagged, torn edges of our worlds touched. Heap on top of that a rivalry in competition standings, constant points scoring, and the drive to come out as the one astride a podium... well, that soured our dynamic even more.
There wasn’t ever a world where me and Raine were going to get along.
He set the tone from that very first day, when he might as well have spat in my face at the prospect of our parents getting married.
He made it abundantly clear he’d rather chew glass than get to know me as a person.
He was the one who sneered and told me to get the fuck out of his life.
And yet, the most wretched, starkly messed up part in all of this—the bit I can’t seem to shake no matter how hard I try to ignore it—is how he stood in my way and blocked my entrance to the barn. He might have been slinging verbal barbs in my direction, but there’s something about his presence, seeing him up close, that keeps nagging in my brain.
If I had to put a label on it, the fact he didn’t ignore me and walk off without saying a word, was... different.
Why did having Raine’s attention on me feel like awelcomething? And more importantly, why the hell did it warm my blood, rather than causing it to boil?
Chapter 7
Against my better judgment, I allow Chaos Hayes to do what he does best, and sweet-talk me. He successfully convinces me to turn up at The Loaded Hog tonight.
Some people in my situation might feel like a frog being boiled alive, having to spend time at a bar after giving up drinking. For me, frankly, I don’t mind being here. It’s a place I feel comfortable, even if there’s a flurry of hazy memories that race through my mind every now and then. Flashes of a time when I was no better than a shit-faced cowboy stumbling around with a bottle in hand at every opportunity.
Though, the idiocy I got myself tangled up in magically disappeared once I stopped seeking out the type of people that attract nothing but trouble.
Funny how that works.
It helps that the Hog is run by friends now, I suppose. They look out for my ass and will be the first to let me know I don’t have to stick around if I don’t want to. But they also know me well enough. They understand my need for being around people, and how keeping that in balance is actually a helpful thing... even if I’m doing it all while staying sober in this shiny new era ofKayce Wilder.
Walking through the doors, a live band belts out a honky-tonk tune, and the booths are all packed. It’s more or less a comfortablestanding-room-only vibe tonight, with an area set up along one wall where Oscar looms larger than life. The guy is inpro bull ridermode, flashing a practiced smile while giving a thumbs up for a camera.
Close by his side sits the familiar face of his wife, Tessa, and in the next booth over from hers are the folks I spend most of my time with in Crimson Ridge; Storm and Briar, and the crew from Rhodes Ranch, including Brad and Flinn. A major difference is that my dad and Layla aren’t here among them. This fall, it feels more noticeable, since they’d ordinarily stick around until winter before heading off overseas for her veterinary placement work.