Blair’s fingertips grazed my upper arm in a halfhearted slap. “Shush, jerk. More ice cream for me then.”
“Have at ’er. I’d rather go without ice cream for the rest of my life than eat that.”
She dramatically rolled her eyes. “Oh,as if. It’s just walnuts, drama queen. You’re acting like I said to put sardines in your ice cream.”
“Wouldn’t put it past you. That’s an old lady food, too.”
A look I’d never seen darkened her eyes. Maniacal. Plotting.Terrifying.
“No…I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” A small dimple formed in her right cheek as she spoke.
Crap.
“Well, great. I’m going to be terrified of eating ice cream anywhere near you from now on.”
“You should be, Denny.” She glanced down at the dainty silver watch around her wrist, and her shoulders fell with an exhale. “You should get back. They’re probably going to be starting steer riding soon. Sorry for making you waste your time.”
“I had more fun here than I would’ve with the stupid guys up there.” My chin pointed up toward the rodeo grounds, and the small smile on her lips was contagious. I jumped to my feet and shook out each leg to wake the muscles back up. “Come on, we’ll leave the coins and come back to check after.”
I extended my hand, a little surprised by the soft warmth of her palm when she grabbed mine to pull herself up. “Come watch me ride?”
“Sure. I have nowhere else to be,” she said, looking briefly over her shoulder at me as she started toward the hill. Blair began scrambling up the slippery, dusty bank on all fours. “Just gotta be back at the old folks home by five, or I miss out on a pudding cup.”
My chest warmed, and not only from the intense cardio of climbing the hillside. “Well shoot, we can’t have that.”
“If you make me miss butterscotch pudding, you’redefinitelygetting sardine ice cream next weekend, Wells.” She stopped briefly on the hill to turn to me with a menacing glare and finger point, nearly losing her footing, which would’ve sent her toppling down to the bottom.
“Of courseyou like butterscotch. You’re an odd duck, Hart.”
—
Protective gear in place, I stood behind the bucking chute, eyeing up a steer by the name of Big Tom while my momplaced my number on my back. Despite not understanding my desire to climb on an untamed steer for eight seconds, she never missed a ride and she never tried to talk me out of competing.
“Give ’em hell, baby.” She rubbed a firm hand across my shoulder, then moved to give me a final pat on the back when I stepped onto the metal rail. Poised to climb into the chute, I smiled down at her.
Adrenaline and excitement coursed through my veins. A rush of blood through my chest. A dull, steady drumming rhythm played deep in my ears, and radiated around my skull like a sturdy helmet—something to protect against natural fear. Arguably nobodyshouldbe comfortable climbing on the back of an animal that wants to see you die. And yet, knowing the steer could maim me was part of the thrill.
Sinking down, I tucked my hand under the steer rope, sliding the leather handle along my palm until I had a steady grip. Youth steer riders were permitted to hold on with two hands, but I wanted the real deal. I wanted to prove I had what it takes to compete with the men. I would’ve hopped on a bronc or bull, instead of a steer, if they’d have let me.
Swallowing the saliva pooling at the back of my throat, I heard Grandpa’s voice in my ear. His baseball-glove-sized hand cupped my shoulder. “You got this, kiddo. Remember, three deep breaths—fix that hand—and let your body flow with the momentum. Don’t overthink it.”
I inhaled the dusty air, letting the animal odors settle in my lungs, and exhaled. Three times. Grandpa’s hand left my shoulder, he nodded, I nodded.
The gate swung open and the steer flew out into the open air, jarring my body with every stomp. Swinging me in every direction. My grip tightened and I relaxed into the motion, letting my movements roll like an ocean swell. A train horn sounded in perfect harmony with the buzzer, and the pickupmen couldn’t get to me fast enough. The moment my boots hit the dusty earth, I was sprinting.
Over the fence rails, already tearing off my gear, I tossed my chaps in a heap next to where Mom had been watching, and breathlessly exclaimed, “Gotta go find Blair for a second. Be right back.”
If she questioned me, I didn’t hear it. Blood pounding behind my ears, I jogged down the alley to find Blair. She was sitting on a metal bench, watching the pickup men try to herd the steer out of the arena, when I plunked down next to her with a loud exhale.
“Oh,” she said with a startled tone. “Hey. Wow, Denny. That was a great ride. Like…you were amazing.”
She smiled at me, brown eyes taking on a gold hue in the sun, and I wasn’t about to tell her it was merely anokayride. Definitely not my best, and I didn’t need to stick around for the score to be announced to know I wasn’t winning.
“I heard the train. Let’s go check our coins.” I grabbed her hand to tug her to her feet.
“Denny, it’s really notthatexciting,” she said as she followed me to the clay banks. “Like, they’re just flattened coins. They aren’t going anywhere. We could’ve stayed to hear your score.”
“Meh, I’ll find out what it is later.” My feet sank into the fine, powdery clay and instantly slipped out from under me. I fell backward into Blair, who was smart enough to not even bother trying to get down the hill in any way but by sliding on her butt.
