Читать книгу One Rodeo Season - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

“HEARD YOU GOT into it with Salzberg,” Jack said, giving Ian a look. “Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

Ian bristled. “He had Lacy pinned against her trailer. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”

That got Jack’s eyebrows up and moving. “Lacy, is it?”

There were days that talking with Jack was like talking with Ian’s father, Dave Tall Chief. Dave had a way of making Ian feel as if he was still fourteen, big and wild and more than a little stupid.

This, apparently, was one of those days. “I reckon that girl can take care of herself,” Jack said, lazily scratching his throat.

They were sitting behind the chutes. The rodeo didn’t start for another hour, but the crowd had started to filter into the outdoor arena as people jockeyed for the best seats. The stock contractors were loading the bulls in order.

He looked around, but he didn’t see Lacy. All he saw were bull riders strapping on their spurs and chaps or rosining up their bull ropes.

Every athlete needed a pregame ritual to get their head into the game, he thought. When Ian had played football, he’d needed to smash helmets or bump chests with his teammates.

Ian and Jack had some collapsible chairs that they set up next to their watercooler. Jack liked to watch the bulls and try to guess which ones would give him the most trouble. Ian always had a hard time sitting still for this part—he’d always been a little hyper. But today was worse than normal. He wanted to find Lacy and make sure she was all right. At the same time, he was sure that doing anything remotely like that would get him in trouble.

More trouble than he was in, anyway. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I watch your back. Why shouldn’t I watch hers, too?” Jack snorted, so Ian went on. “I thought you were the one who told me that rodeo is a family and we look out for each other.”

Jack sat forward, his massive biceps straining at his white T-shirt. Ian was big—but Jack was bigger. “I’ve fought too damn hard to prove that I’m not some gangbanger playing at cowboys and Indians for you to toss that aside for some chick. You dig?”

Ian glared at his friend. “All I’m saying is that we stick together because we don’t fit in with them,” he said, nodding toward where the all-white rodeo riders were gearing up. “And Lacy doesn’t fit with them, either. You know some of them don’t want her here because she’s a woman. How’s that any different from someone calling us names?”

“This ain’t the Land of the Misfit Toys, man,” Jack drawled in his strongest Texas accent. He only busted it out when he was being condescending—or when he was trying to pick up buckle bunnies. Either way, it grated on Ian’s nerves.

“Like hell it isn’t.” Ian spotted her. She’d walked up alongside the chutes, her eyes on the bulls. “I’m keeping an eye on her,” he stated. “If you decide to grow a pair and man up, you can do the same. I won’t tell—it’ll be our little secret that big, mean Black Jack Johnson’s got a soft spot for misfits.”

“Boy,” Jack growled, “that mouth is going to get you into a lot of trouble one of these days.” But he slumped back into his chair, the fight gone from his body.

“Too late,” Ian said cheerfully. He’d won this round. Winning wasn’t everything, but sometimes, it came close. “What do you know about that Slim fellow?”

“Slim Smalls?” Black Jack chuckled. “He’s an ass. Always has been. There are some that don’t think a black man should be in the arena and Slim is always leading that charge.”

“The more things change?” Ian asked.

“The more they stay the same,” Jack agreed. “But his bulls are rank and he knows how to grease the wheels. Got friends in high places and all that crap.”

“And the Straight Arrow?”

Jack shrugged. “Man...”

“Come on, Jack. You know everything and everyone. I don’t know a thing.”

“Wait!” Jack dug his phone out of his pocket and held it up. “Say that again, Chief. I want it on the record.”

“Ha-ha. But you know what I mean. She said she’d lost her traveling partner.”

“Honest to God, I don’t remember a lady stock contractor,” Jack replied, pocketing his phone again. “I want to say that the Straight Arrow was owned by a guy named Dale? If I’m remembering right, nice guy. Never made a big deal about me one way or the other. Quiet, kept to himself.” He gave Ian a blank look. “I suppose you’re gonna want me to ask around.”

Ian shrugged. “Don’t put yourself out, man. I do have my own connections.” He could always call Travis Younkin, June’s husband and a former world-class bull rider in his own right. Travis would make a few phone calls and get back to Ian with all kinds of information.

But then, Ian could have already done that. And he hadn’t.

He wanted to know. But for some ridiculous reason, he wanted her to tell him.

Like yesterday, when she’d finally told him her first name. He could have found out, but it was sweeter hearing the name come out of her mouth because he’d earned it. The fact that she trusted him with her real name was powerful stuff.

He wanted to show her that men weren’t all Slims and Jeromes. He wanted...

Well, hell. He didn’t want to be the man he’d been seven years ago.

Ian realized he was rubbing the ink over his heart again. “We gonna get to Vegas this year?” he asked Jack.

Jack notched an eyebrow at Ian. “Might,” he drawled. “Assuming you stop pulling dumb-ass stunts like you did last week. Why?”

“No reason.”

Except for Eliot. Ian knew the boy and his family lived in Las Vegas. If Ian could get to Vegas, maybe he could see if Eliot’s folks would bring the boy to the rodeo. Maybe, after all this time, Ian could meet his son.

He found himself looking at Lacy again. What would a woman like her think of a man like him, if she knew about Eliot? Would she think he was a deadbeat dad? A serial womanizer who didn’t care what happened to the women he loved and left?

Would she still trust him with her name?

Jack stood up and began to stretch. Ian did the same. They’d get loosened up, don their matching work shirts and suffer through the opening rounds of the same tired jokes that the rodeo clowns used at every stop along the way. Then it was time to dance with the devils in the late-summer light.

“She brought that bull I took down last week,” Ian told Jack as he stretched. His back was still tight where he’d pulled it last week. “Rattler.”

“Yeah? The bull wasn’t hurt, was he?”

“Nope. She wouldn’t even let me pay for the vet visit.”

Jack cracked a wide smile. “You be careful. A woman like that doesn’t take crap from anyone—not even the likes of you.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

They went out for the introductions and the opening prayer. The Land of the Misfits, Ian thought. It wasn’t far off. He didn’t fit anywhere else. He had a job back on the Real Pride Ranch and the rez would always be home, but he’d wanted more. He’d thought football was his ticket to the rest of the world, but it hadn’t worked out like that.

He found Lacy. She was behind the arena fence, apart from everyone else. Instead of having her head down in prayer, her hands were clasped as she stared up at the dusk sky. For a woman who was not to be taken lightly, there was something fragile about her that pulled at him.

The fireworks shocked him back to himself. They were all noise and smoke, but they got the crowd energized after Preacher’s solemn prayers for safe rides. Heavy metal music blared through the speakers as the riders got back behind the chutes and began to mount up on their bulls.

He couldn’t think about Lacy right now. Distractions could be deadly. He had to focus on the bulls and the riders. He let the music push him until his adrenaline was flowing and his head was in the game.

Lacy would have to wait.

It was time to go to work.