“Yeah, Daddy, show ’em,” Ruby cries.
I glance down at her. Her face is covered in ketchup as she dunks another long spiral rope of fried potato.
Shelby says she’ll watch Ruby.
So, I go.
Praying my hands remember how to do this.
By the time Royce and I swing our legs over the fence and drop down into the dirt, I can already feel my pulse picking up.
It’s ridiculous really.
I’ve roped cattle in rain, in dust storms, in the middle of the night with nothing but headlights and a prayer. I’ve done it in crowded arenas full of cheering fans, half asleep, half drunk, half frozen. I’ve done it when the stakes were high enough to cost me my next month’s rent.
This?
This is a fall festival with cheap buckles and a handful of wannabe cowboys trying to impress their girlfriends.
Still, the nerves are there.
Royce slaps me on the back. “Damn, relax. You look like you’re headed to the gallows.”
“Feels like it,” I mutter.
We head toward the temporary corrals set up behind the arena. The smell of hay, manure, and sweat blends into something oddly familiar. The cattle for the roping are already lined up—slow, fat steers that have probably never been pressured a day in their lives.
Which somehow makes it worse.
You miss on a wild one? Folks understand.
You miss on one of these? You’re just an old hack.
Royce swings up onto his bay gelding, who looks bored out of his mind. I take the sorrel they hand me, settling into the saddle with a quiet, internal wince as my body remembers all the reasons I stopped doing this competitively.
But Royce was right. As soon as my ass hits the leather, muscle memory kicks in.
My hands know exactly what to do.
That part never leaves you.
I glance up at the bleachers. Shelby stands just below Matty, Ruby perched on her hip, unicorn wings bobbing every time she shifts.
Ruby sees me and squeals, pointing, “There’s Daddy!”
The whole section bellows as I wave at my girl.
Shelby catches my eye and lifts her free hand in a small wave, her mouth tilting into that half smile. Not the fake smile she gives when she’s just being polite, but the one she gives when she’s truly pleased.
It does something to my chest that I pretend not to notice.
Royce nudges his horse closer. “You ready, cowboy?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He grins. “Good. Let’s go kick some ass.”
We take our place in the box. The announcer’s voice crackles over the speakers, introducing us with a level of enthusiasm that feels wildly overzealous for such a venue.
