Dax looked at me. “They have rodeos in Germany?” I asked.
“You learn something new every day.” He shrugged.
It didn’t matter. This was Wyatt’s event.
Wyatt.
I scooched forward on my seat, my hands pressed between my legs. The wind picked up, lifting my hair and cooling my neck. I felt the tension in the air as two riders rode up, right behind metal gates. A cow was herded into a chute between them. A buzzer sounded and the cow bolted out, the two riders quick on its heels.
The first cowboy threw his lasso, hooking the cow’s horns. The other rider was close, his lasso twirling in the air. Once he saw the rope was secure on the cow’s head, he let his lasso fly, catching the cow’s back legs. The cow stumbled to a stop, showing it was caught by both ropes, and the cowboys let go of their leads, letting them fall to the dirt. Freed, the cow ran to the other end of the arena, the ropes falling off as he went, while the two cowboys followed, their eyes glued to the scoreboard.
“That was fast,” I murmured.
“Not really, sugar,” the man behind me said.
I turned around. The man was brown, his skin wrinkled like leather. His hands were gnarled around the longneck beer bottle in his hands.
“I wouldn’t really know what a fast time was,” I admitted, smiling.
The man tipped his hat at me. “Well, sugar, I can help you with that.”
I nodded. “Thank you.” Dax rolled his eyes, but he leaned back to listen too. We were both clueless.
“Now, the boys need to make sure they didn’t break a barrier,” the old man said. “Once the header gets the steer, the heeler needs to be fast.”
I glanced at Dax, who was grinning. Keep smiling, smart-ass . “You lost me,” I said. “I’m assuming the header is the one that—”
“Next up, Gabe Garza and Jorge Mendoza, from Houston, Texas,” the announcer interrupted our lesson.
“Watch.” The old man leaned forward, between Dax and me. The buzzer sounded and the cow shot out. The first rider threw his rope at the cow’s horns. “Header,” the old man said. When the other rider looped the cow’s back leg, he said, “Heeler. But he didn’t get both legs.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“That’s bad, sugar.” The old man smiled, sipping his beer. “Penalty points.”
I nodded.
“Next up, some locals, Wyatt Holcomb and Hank Pendleton,” the announcer said. “Word is these boys are thinking about heading to Regionals before Hank is deployed.”
The crowd went crazy.
7 CHAPTER SEVEN
I stared at Wyatt, watched his every move. He had a length of rope in his mouth, his lasso in one hand, and more rope in the other. His knees gripped his horse, but nothing else. He was rigid, his entire body poised for movement.
It was so fast I didn’t really see what happened. “Now that was a good run,” the old man said, sitting back. “Damn good run.”
All I saw was Wyatt, his smile when his score was posted.
“Best score so far,” Dax said. “Where’s that whistle now?”
I started to, but my dad beat me to it. All the same, Wyatt turned and found me.
I didn’t think his smile could get any bigger, but I was wrong. He looked so damn gorgeous as he tipped his hat at me. Why did his public display of affection have the opposite effect of Levi’s?
“Stop smiling at him,” Dax warned. “If you don’t like him, don’t lead him on.”
That’s when I realized I was smiling right back at Wyatt, a huge, stupid grin that had no place on my face. “Shit,” I murmured.
“Shit is right.” Dax frowned at me.
I frowned at my brother. “I didn’t mean…I’m not…I don’t want…” I stood up. “I’m going to get something to drink.” I paused then. “What’s next?” If Molly was coming up, I wouldn’t leave Dax—even if he was being a dipshit.
“Kids’ calf scramble,” the old man said, openly watching Dax and me with interest. “You won’t miss nothin’ special while
“You learn something new every day.” He shrugged.
It didn’t matter. This was Wyatt’s event.
Wyatt.
I scooched forward on my seat, my hands pressed between my legs. The wind picked up, lifting my hair and cooling my neck. I felt the tension in the air as two riders rode up, right behind metal gates. A cow was herded into a chute between them. A buzzer sounded and the cow bolted out, the two riders quick on its heels.
The first cowboy threw his lasso, hooking the cow’s horns. The other rider was close, his lasso twirling in the air. Once he saw the rope was secure on the cow’s head, he let his lasso fly, catching the cow’s back legs. The cow stumbled to a stop, showing it was caught by both ropes, and the cowboys let go of their leads, letting them fall to the dirt. Freed, the cow ran to the other end of the arena, the ropes falling off as he went, while the two cowboys followed, their eyes glued to the scoreboard.
“That was fast,” I murmured.
“Not really, sugar,” the man behind me said.
I turned around. The man was brown, his skin wrinkled like leather. His hands were gnarled around the longneck beer bottle in his hands.
“I wouldn’t really know what a fast time was,” I admitted, smiling.
The man tipped his hat at me. “Well, sugar, I can help you with that.”
I nodded. “Thank you.” Dax rolled his eyes, but he leaned back to listen too. We were both clueless.
“Now, the boys need to make sure they didn’t break a barrier,” the old man said. “Once the header gets the steer, the heeler needs to be fast.”
I glanced at Dax, who was grinning. Keep smiling, smart-ass . “You lost me,” I said. “I’m assuming the header is the one that—”
“Next up, Gabe Garza and Jorge Mendoza, from Houston, Texas,” the announcer interrupted our lesson.
“Watch.” The old man leaned forward, between Dax and me. The buzzer sounded and the cow shot out. The first rider threw his rope at the cow’s horns. “Header,” the old man said. When the other rider looped the cow’s back leg, he said, “Heeler. But he didn’t get both legs.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“That’s bad, sugar.” The old man smiled, sipping his beer. “Penalty points.”
I nodded.
“Next up, some locals, Wyatt Holcomb and Hank Pendleton,” the announcer said. “Word is these boys are thinking about heading to Regionals before Hank is deployed.”
The crowd went crazy.
7 CHAPTER SEVEN
I stared at Wyatt, watched his every move. He had a length of rope in his mouth, his lasso in one hand, and more rope in the other. His knees gripped his horse, but nothing else. He was rigid, his entire body poised for movement.
It was so fast I didn’t really see what happened. “Now that was a good run,” the old man said, sitting back. “Damn good run.”
All I saw was Wyatt, his smile when his score was posted.
“Best score so far,” Dax said. “Where’s that whistle now?”
I started to, but my dad beat me to it. All the same, Wyatt turned and found me.
I didn’t think his smile could get any bigger, but I was wrong. He looked so damn gorgeous as he tipped his hat at me. Why did his public display of affection have the opposite effect of Levi’s?
“Stop smiling at him,” Dax warned. “If you don’t like him, don’t lead him on.”
That’s when I realized I was smiling right back at Wyatt, a huge, stupid grin that had no place on my face. “Shit,” I murmured.
“Shit is right.” Dax frowned at me.
I frowned at my brother. “I didn’t mean…I’m not…I don’t want…” I stood up. “I’m going to get something to drink.” I paused then. “What’s next?” If Molly was coming up, I wouldn’t leave Dax—even if he was being a dipshit.
“Kids’ calf scramble,” the old man said, openly watching Dax and me with interest. “You won’t miss nothin’ special while
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