“I gotta pull your rope.” The short-go was coming up.
“You know I want you there, but not if you’re not feeling good, Poot.” Beau’s fingers ghosted over the back of his hand.
“Pshaw. I can pull rope.” Prob’ly.
“We’ll see. I got some time.” Stubborn Cajun.
“Missed Pharris out there. Good to have Mac, though.”
“Yeah. They did good. Should have seen Natty’s face. He was real worried about you.” Beau sounded a little angry, but that was how his Cajun dealt with fear.
“Me, too.” He’d rode, though.
“Yeah.” Beau sat back, hand next to his, warm enough to feel.
Packer peeked around the door. “You won the round, mate. Didn’t quite make it to the short-go.”
Oh, thank God.
“You’ll pull my rope, Packer?” Beau gave him a glare when he would have protested. “Bell rang his bell.”
“I can do it.” He’d puke again after, but he’d do it.
“You so much as cross your eyes, and I’ll send you back in here.” But Beau looked relieved. Superstitious fuck.
“I won’t.” That was his fucking job. To talk to Beau, distract the nervy little fuck long enough to have him ride.
“Well, come on, then.” Packer helped ease him off the table, Cotton coming to help, big black stitches standing out on the kid’s face. Nice kid.
He swallowed hard and got to moving. “Let’s go, Boug. You need to buy my ass supper.”
“I do. I figure we’ll get something to eat in at the hotel, huh?” Beau was acting real normal, but he could tell the man was still worried. Time to get Beau’s head in the ride.
“Works for me. This one spins left. All you gotta do is hold on. You have this in the bag.” He nodded to Cotton, as Beau got his chaps set, starting working his glove on.
Beau’s eyes were focused on nothing, staring forward, but Boug nodded every time he made a point. Beau was listening, just like he did.
“Watch on the get off. Mac’s a lefty, so’s Nate, so they bang together and leave the right open. It’ll be better in a few.”
“‘Kay.” Beau rolled his head on his neck, jumping up and down.
He watched Kynan go cartwheeling like God was flipping a cheese omelet, landing in the dirt. Then Raul went down, then Balta. Damn. Beau might have a shot.
“You ready, cowboy?” He nudged Beau’s shoulder, grinned.
“I am.” Nodding sharply, Beau headed for the chute, standing and watching while they readied the bull.
Cotton worked the outside of the chute, Packer had the inside. He held Beau’s vest and talked, hard, just jabbering about anything and everything. Beau needed to hear him, not the fucking crowd. The bull rocked in the chute, pushing Beau, and they had to resettle, do it all again. Beau couldn’t spend too much time in the chute, damn it.
“Come on. Come on, y’all.” This ride and he could get a drink, some ice.
Packer nodded, grunting. Cotton yanked at the rope, and Beau got a seat. Then his Cajun nodded, and all hell broke loose, just like always.
Sam hollered his damn head off, ignoring the pangs of pain that caused.
Beau started to slide at six point eight, but he held on, half off the side of the bull, until the buzzer went off. Someone wanted the whole season this year. Someone was gonna get it, too. God damn!
That hat went up in the air, the crowd going wild.
