A picture of Tate and I fills the screens. The both of us on our horses, driving them into action during the amateur roughstock events. For years, we’ve both volunteered as pickup men when they needed them. As much as I hate to admit Tate is good at anything, we’re an unbeatable team at it.
More pictures scroll by as the announcer introduces each competitor. One by one, we step out of line, waving our hats to the crowd, most of us flashing nothing more than a closed-lipped smile. With each regular’s name, the crowd cheers louder. The roar deafening but exhilarating.
“And none other than Grayson Garrison. A bull rider just as good as his brother!”
My smile had been wide, waving my hat wildly until the announcer added on that last bit. Why the hell can I never just be my own person without that asshole’s name tacked onto mine?
Yet again, someone feels the need to compare Tate and me. At least this guy said I was as good. Most tell me I have the talent to reach the champion level the way Tate did in the PBR.
“And Tate Garrison! This town’s very own local champion!” The crowd roars. The cheers ten times louder than anyone else received. My brother eats it up with a crooked grin and a final wave of his hat before slipping back into line next to me.
“What? Did you pay them to say that?” I grunt, shifting the tiniest bit away from Tate’s side.
“Fuck. Gray. I didn’t do shit.”
“Right. That’s why they all act like you’re a fucking god.”
“Grow up.”
“Fuck off,” I snarl. My fingers slow curl into a fist. I’m so tempted to punch the fucker, but I won’t do that in front of these people. The people who are from my home. A home I got just far enough away from to say I don’t live here anymore because Tate does.
Even worse, his farm—my childhood home—borders this place. Everyone at Boulder Ranch knows and accepts him like he’s family.
“Can you two go five minutes without acting like a bunch of asses?” Bill hisses.
Tate snorts. “Some of us can.”
With a scowl, I turn my attention back to the screens. There are so many memories up there. So many I’ve gotten to be part of.
“Ladies and gentlemen, these are your weekend competitors. Let’s give them another round of applause.” Cheers and whistles roar through the space once more. Another smile finally pulling at my lips. A painful one, but I grit my teeth against it. “Now, as many of you know, this will be the last year the Miller family is hosting the rodeo at Boulder Ranch. Come the end of the season, it will be under new ownership.”
There’s a mix of loud sighs and clapping from the crowd. So many of them grew up here too. The nostalgia making us all wonder what this place will become.
Moments later, our line of competitors filters back to the rear of the arena. Sharp pain lances through my face with every step. The tightness growing unbearable as my jaw continues to swell. My hand throbs, too, but I still have a job to do.
Tate thinks I don’t take anything seriously, but I do. When you’re in that ring, it doesn’t matter if you’re the one on the animal or not. It doesn’t matter if you’re the bullfighter, the rodeo clown, or the pickup man. Animals are unpredictable, and we have to be vigilant. When I’m in that arena, I become someone different.
“Hey, Garrison,” Tammy Whitelaw calls to me.
She’s a local barrel racer. I’ve known the woman since we were in diapers. My view of her more sisterly than she’d like. I’m no saint, but she’s a woman I’ve refused to ever touch.
“Hey you,” I slide up next to her.
“You headed to the Thirsty Pony after?”
“You know I always do.” I smile wide, though the pain is almost unbearable.
Her head tilts the way so many others have observing the side of my face. You’d think this damn beard would do a better job of covering it. “You might want to start working on ducking your brother’s punches,” she nods toward my swollen cheek.
“Sound advice.”
“Save me a dance, okay?” Her eyes noticeably rake down the length of my body before finding my face again.
“Don’t I always?”
She just grins, hopping off the gate and disappearing around the corner.
Inside, I’m groaning.
