His knuckles creaked as he clenched his fists. “Back off, man.”
Beau wasn’t here. Neither was Ace. He would tear this shithead apart.
“Why the fuck should I? You’re old, washed up, and you’re taking a spot from someone who deserves it.”
“What? You on the fucking bubble?”
“Nope. I got cut. Weird, huh? When I been riding and you ain’t?” The little fuck’s voice was getting louder. “Must be nice, huh? Blowing the champ, getting a free ride, a house, a nice truck. Must be fucking something, to get cornholed and stay on tour. You letting Porter fuck you, too?”
That was all he needed. He didn’t even feel the first blow, or the second, or when the little fuck started fighting back.
In fact, he didn’t feel nothing but rage until the sheriff’s deputies slapped him in cuffs, and by then, Bywater wasn’t feeling nothing at all.
“Christ,Beau, you need to go home and keep Sammy on a leash.”
“Whut?” Beau glanced up from roughing up his rope, staring at Troy, who looked for all the world like the cat who’d swallowed the canary. Shit, that had to be bad news. Troy loved to deliver bad news.
“He got into a scuffle at the rodeo in Arkansas. Bailed himself out, though.”
“Bailed himself…” What the fuck? Beau didn’t--he couldn’t deal with this. Not before the short go. “I’ll call him.”
“You do that. Tell him to behave.”
Beau nodded, biting off his instinctive ‘fuck you.’ Shit. Jail? Bail? What the fuck was Sammy up to? Beau had been real proud of Sammy winning the roping at the little events, proud enough that he put up with the lonely and the grumpy and the need and the hurt when he’d asked Sam to come to an event just to watch and Sam had said no.
It had been a blow to Sam’s pride, right? Beau had tried to understand.
Fighting at a rodeo, though, and going to jail. Well, that was taking shit too far. Beau went back to his rope, his head down, his ears hot as the good-natured jeers started coming from the guys.
Word traveled fast.
He was gonna go out there and ride his fucking bull. He was going to win the round and collect his check.
Then he was gonna call Sammy and rip the man a new asshole.
He really didn’t have time for this shit.
“So, what? You’re fighting now?”
Sam rubbed the back of his neck, kept his tired eyes on the road. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Fuck, Poot? You got arrested, for fuck’s sake! Ace is chewing my ass. Sandy’s riding me like a prize pony!” Beau sounded good and pissed, and Sammy was feeling a lot like he didn’t fucking care.
“It ain’t your business, Beau.”
He’d bailed himself out, hadn’t he? Hell, he’d bailed himself out in time to ride. Beau had been on the other side of the fucking country.
“If it ain’t my business, then why the fuck is everyone crawling up my fucking ass?”
“Maybe because you’re the champ?”
“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
He snarled, heading down the road at a good clip. He’d done dropped Landon off. “Well, why else would they be bitching at you about me fighting some pussy asshole in Arkansas?”
“Because you ain’t here?” Beau sighed. “Poot, you got to slow down, stop fighting it so hard. That’s the only way you’ll ride.”
“I been riding. I been roping. Making money. I’ve earned my spot, damn it!” He knew what people thought, what folks said.
